Best Sectioned Poems
red cherry pit
gutted, c-sectioned
fingertips stained
5/27/2018
We are ordered to provide notice to avoid a global psychosis.
Your dedication to take this medication will give you the perfect prognosis.
Take your pills to ward off those ills. They affect your brain, you’ll all find.
It’s better for society that we remove this anxiety from your very unhealthy minds.
It’s a worldwide confession that we all have depression, A phenomenon from the beginning of time.
The men in the labs provide capsules and jabs ... to refuse will become a crime.
I approached him, astronaut suit tight to my ribs and thighs, but hesitated at the anti-climax of the meeting. We were in the same spacial area but inhabited different worlds because simply I had oxygen and he did not, or it did not. His perceptions couldn’t take him into an ordered relationship with me, his eyes maybe could not love like me, his torso did not spring arms to hug, his head did not glamourise him with hair, and his mouth did not support a controlled tongue which could wield expressive language.
Indigo meeting,
No relationship offered,
Only stares confound.
I wanted to know if he could spout goo, space dirt or even acid, so I took a small step to for him to expose his personality. He squealed, or so I thought he did because I couldn’t hear him in my helmet, and then squirmed just like an enormous worm. He did not apparently have an apprehension of my friendly gesture, but at the same time he did not actively object to my figure, so after a second I returned to my non-controversial position and he circled and circled and did a bit of a dance. I realised then that I could love him as I should as he’d shown me that he understood basic movement and that he had some body rhythm.
First move mine, human,
Any reply, any way, fine,
Gratified maybe.
Taking him home would’ve been perfect, back to earth to enjoy a specially made atmospheric arena, and we would’ve observed him because he would not have been as a teen observed in a glass box or as a person unwell who is sectioned for sedation, but he would’ve had a relationship with me, entertainment, and hopefully fun in his own sphere. We would’ve let him and encouraged him to develop so that he could’ve grown his brain in order that he could’ve spoken to me for him to realise we only wanted to share our humanity with him, love him and learn from his existence. But how could we transport him without accident and with respect for his physiology and his own special systems? Could it be done?
The gem oxygen,
Two worlds expressed bodily,
Oh come back with me!
The original version of this piece is too long for me
to post in its entirety, so it had to be sectioned off. Of
all that I've written, I am most proud of this work due
to its historical accuracy. I hope you enjoy it as well. It
was an honor to write this.
Lying in this shallow ditch I hear as they arrive, the
miracle of God is all that's keeping me alive,
and it is that belief in God to which each day I strive,
surprised at this much faith? Just simply gaze into
my life.
Was born in 1800, month October 2nd day, and knee
high to a hopper when my daddy ran away,
before you climb your soapbox and begin to think
that way, remember these are times when all the
black folk here are slaves.
Imagine being sold like stock, to work when cold or
hot, the overseers beatin people if they're old or not,
do not defy the owner, best believe you will be sick,
of getting 10 to 20 lashes from the master's whip.
My last name wasn't given at my birth and that's a
fact, my given name's Nathaniel but they choose to
call me Nat,
the surname of my owner Samuel is what I claim,
you put it all together yes, Nat Turner is my name.
I think about Old Bridget, that's my grandmother you
know, they snatched her out of Ghana, brought her
here to freezing cold,
she ran the Coromantee who were known for slave
revolts, she watched the seeds get planted in me
grow and take a hold.
I thought myself the lucky one for I could read and
write, it brought me to The Bible and I learned to
read it right,
then spent my childhood years admidst the Spirit up
above, it fit my needy soul just like a mitten or a glove.
I ran away at first when I was only 22, I should've
stayed away because I really wanted to,
but 1 month later, picture this it's me a black man
free, a vision told me that I should go back and that
was key.
The visions I receive I know are messages from
God, Old Bridget had religion shining deep within my
heart,
I will inform the brethren and won't stop until they're
saved, The Prophet is the name that I was called by
fellow slaves.
As 6 years pass of this I know it never is too late, the
hands of the Almighty have me primed for
something great,
I carry heavy shoulders for a man of 28, until I
worked the master's field one faithful day in May........
To Be Continued
I need to Get this off my chest I need to say this
This picture won't be perfect, no matter how I display it
But I'll try to make it as beautiful as possible
I'm going out of my mind, because you've been sectioned and admitted to hospital
I wish I could help you, but you're in the best place
I lost my dad at 14, yours died 2 weeks ago, I hope your shoulders soon have less weight
I hope you talk to the hospital staff, and aren't planning your next escape
I hope you realise it doesn't make you less of a man to shed a few tears
You were clean from drugs for 14 months and off section for 2 years
Before this relapse, but it was to be expected
You don't want to speak to anyone, so I can't even send you a message
We've never been the closest, but I always hold you dear
If you need me, then I'll hold your tears
Talk to me, and I'll hold your fears
I always hated drugs because of how they made you & our sister turn out
Maybe I'm wrong for being this honest and putting them words out
But growing up in care, due to my families drug habits, put me off trying them
Words on a page is the form I'm crying in
I wish I could pull you up, if you need me, grab a hold of my hand
I promise to go a full day without mocking you for being a Liverpool fan
But that's banter between us, cause I'm a United fan and our teams have a big rivalry
I'm only putting this out there, cause I can't speak to you privately
Some people have beautiful lives, why does ours have to be a war?
I'll die with my pain if it means you can be free from yours
You're my brother, why should nurses dictate when and how long I can see you for?
Same mum, different dads, but we both love Hip-Hop and football
I hope once you figure your own mind out, you'll accept my calls
We've never been the closest but that needs to change quick
But neither of us have energy because depression drains it
I'm bipolar and you're schizophrenic
So if we're together people are quick to panic
The difference is I'm the better looking one
Sorry, I'm just having a little fun
Trying to bring a little humour to a hard time
I hope you find some light for your dark mind
We're not the closest, but I'm rooting for you
I hope you make it
I'm sorry because I had to say this
The picture isn't beautiful, but it can be depending on how you display it
Once upon a day there was
A young princess like a bloomy vase
A day a night and a year have passed
Waiting for this princess to be surpassed
A day a night and a year have passed
With this princess being just a past
Her marvellous beauty was never perceived
But once you meet her you feel relieved
Her shining eyes were deep black holes
Attracting brains and even souls
Her hair was strings of a wooden guitar
Or sectioned wires from a golden star.
All of this beauty went beyond sights
Deeper than valleys and higher that heights
To a world of awe and glory
Where our princess starts a new story
Between maids of equal splendour
And brave knights who do not easily surrender
Her wonder will stay as the eighth
Of the seven wonders of human faith
Raped of all freedoms, basic democratic rights
Restraints ever tighten casting underdog to fight
Sharp scratch of needle pierces State sectioned vein
I submerge to a world of the psychiatrists drain
Adult my dummy preventing tongues loss to bite
Held within induced seizures epileptic in might
I welcome the darkness, one silent scream
Memory the victim midst non-consenting scene
Consciousness awakens clouded mind to dull mist
Punch drunk I sit to chemical onslaughts new fist
Medicated features exaggerates hollowing face
Expressionless my return, a salivating disgrace
Emptied companions stare at floors, piped TV
We sit, we quietly stare at the nothing now to see
Surrendered manic thoughts, depression held at bay
Psychiatry cures tomorrow by destroying my today
This legalised torture, "Electro Convulsive Therapy"
A disproved mental abattoir of Victorian barbarity
Why erase future names from the timeline of mankind
Whilst celebrating all achieved by past great bipolar minds
USA
This land is the land of the free....the land of dreams....
the land of unlimited opportunities....the land of greed...
the land of schemes, and broken city schenes....
the land of the judged....stereo typing us by classes....
sectioned in cities....in different neighborhoods....
where its easy to by pass us....dreams shattered like glasses....
schemes becoming more contriversal poisoning the young's mind like gases that pollute our air...
high class treated special....middle class treated fair....
lower class treated as if they're not there....we are aware...
not easy to scare....we are here with no fear with our polluted air to share...
this land is the land of the free...costing so much to live...
the land of dreams.....nothing real to give....
the land of opportunities that has been taken by the greed....
the schemes that feed the need to stereo type us by classes...
sectioned in our cities...Government Bullies we are not scared of ya....
because this is still our UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
(this land is your land...this land is my land...from California...to the New York Island...)
United We Stand...Divided We Fall...
New York City....The City for All....
By: Peter T. DeSpirito
The rays lay slanted upon tectonic plates,
The days for which i feel bad are gone,
The sexual tension is thick for platonic fates.
The plays for which i stole souls of the strong.
The days for struggle lay dead in my back yard,
Looking at the past, ill pass,
I want all of my cake, down to the last shard.
Hard cake is better than no cake mister, no sass.
A drunk giggle right before the bottle of liquor came down with a crash.
Old days are gone and look at me through windows with bars.
Leave me be, I'm good, i promise,
The may-be's never seem to amaze,
But even now i must stay honest.
In my back yard there are failures sectioned in days.
It took forever to get here but now that Ive risen I'm not astonished.
I walked down jazz alleys with stingy cigarettes
and a head filled with typewriter dreams,
silently praying to sidewalk gods
for the inhaling of coconut rum,
Chicago and Havana,
minds heavy with thoughts of steel and uranium
in the years before cold war, red missiles,
and the rusting sickle of Russian terror,
seeing dusty men gathered outside newspaper stands
waiting and plotting, in quiet conversations about Che Guevara,
and in America, small bankers with obscene moustaches
fingered money with a capitalist fix, primarily
out of the silk lined jackets of a charading middle class,
that got stuck in first, like early model Cadillacs, blooming
in the 60's like early spring lilacs, violent purple, pink,
and the blue of acid blotter fractal brothers and Grey's
later paintings of cross-sectioned life, where Jesus was spread out
and examined in new eyes of a public embracing science and
the sub-atomic nuclear buzz, in the years before computers
and solitary confinement of plastic and lamplight, in the years
before the war on multicolored terror and human entropy,
here, the rising fist was a message, not a punchline.
The Bullet
By Nathan Hannen
This torpedo of death smashed the heart
This precious gift of life is torn apart
It was this that allowed us to play our part
Spearing through lives and breaking peace
Never told and never asked just sleaze
I can't go on, I am not that strong, Appease
Congratulations you have just killed another
An old man, His sister, Or it might have been your brother
In a quiet place there is a girl and her lover
The power they have does not permit them cover
When piercing fragments attempt to write a thesis
No one man can be there to pick up the pieces
There may be losses and leakage of our species
But remember blood is life and there are leeches
There is a boy playing under a morning sky
A man pretending to feel sorry for his lie
The end is black and the stars say it is nigh
The lady cries in pity, A mirrored image in her eye
Tell me this and explain that in a second
Its something that we couldn't comprehend and only reckoned
The stars are not scattered, Just sectioned
A body grove in the soil with a stench of death
The putrid stain of blood on blood with no breath
The lord will lay these souls to rest
The End.
Many patterns appearing within grasp these few months avoiding them like hurdles cuz they reach into my depths to much
expanding and evolving, scaling my thoughts, weighing 1,2, or 3 tons just mathematical coincidence, sends me into a sphere'd sum,
replications and ratios, dimensional roots of perfection but what is with the confusion and decision of the graphed selection
parallels to coincidence, perhaps it's just theory, but for me it's to natural and it's a bit to eerie
geometric shaped thought bubbles thrown like a curved ball and ideas are placed and they vastly install
segments of variety, organized enough to function, nature,math, science, and words become 'a matter of fractual con-junctions'
magnified or reduced, it's locked into position, and no matter the altering, they still keep from switching
never losing consistency it's a stable setting, combined in combination of emotions I hold dear for mainting
moving with smoothness steady into place, abstract complexity with a divine sectioned base
a connection of 'a butterflied effect' mirrored image of familiarity like a doplegangered copy a direct similarity
such an opposite pattern, yet there's a such common denominators
almost can see patterns forming like I'm a prognosticator.
I am©2017
Written by
Lewis, Y.K
I am orchestra. My music is beautiful, wildly, strong, sensual, and playful at times. Within my orchestra is where I live, love, hate, dream, joy, happiness, strength, sadness, fear, and weakness which fight for my attention pulling me in every direction and I am complete.
Each operates a different section. To the untrained mind it's chaos screaming to be sedated, locked up to be placed out of sight of prying eyes and lying tongues. My orchestra is sectioned like no other, my infinite mind that transcends space and time gives me a duality to just be.
The wind represents my sexuality due to the reed must be placed inside ones mouth to produce a rich earthy tone being surround by wetness of one's tongue as it saturates the reed. In the center stand just one,
who has the ability to handle the fire and passions of the heart.
The right conductor has a desire and tools to deal with this type of crazy that is appealing to one’s self.
Did my conductor chose to love me or play to the audience?
Just remember the conductor has to turn their back to someone. As the orchestra I have the ability to remain connected whether I’m on top, on the bottom, on my side, and even when I turn my back to him I remain connected.
So much freedom as an orchestra. Once I’m at rest my conductor is left exhausted.
I am of many and one in the same.
I am.
My mind is filled with thoughts I don't need
My eyes fill with tears while my heart bleeds
As a teenager they wanted me to be sectioned and monitored
With all of this on my mind, is it any wonder I have Insomnia?
Tired all day, But as soon as my head hits the pillow I Lie awake
Anxiety builds my thoughts up, So I fantasize about being able to hibernate
A new fear for me to overcome, another obstacle for me to annihilate
But I need a rest, I wish I could fly away
I'm trying to remain calm in the drama
But I walk in the way of harm with no armour
I've got new scars on top of old ones that never finished bleeding
I hear voices, even though I'm in a room on my own, with no one speaking
I miss my ex, so my head forces me to think about who she's laying with
Is he making her happy? Or is she faking it?
I pushed her away, but she got over me quicker
Isn't it funny how when you taste your own medicine, you get sicker?
Depression has a hold of me and tells me I'm worthless
I've attempted suicide in the past, do I deserve this?
Am I a coward because I crumbled and fell a few times?
Do I need to repair my heart or do I need a new mind?
I need a hug, but there's no one I can tell
Lying in bed wide awake, I feel the need to yell
Been tired all day, and I'm in bed now
But thanks to Insomnia, the last thing I'll be doing is getting my head down
My mind is filled with thoughts I don't need
My eyes fill with tears while my heart bleeds
As a teenager they wanted me to be sectioned and monitored
With all of this on my mind, is it any wonder I have Insomnia?
Sectional life in the boxes or wedges.
Bold colors, mixed up life
Were you evil or prophetic?
Was it all to be noticed?
Art you way, no explainations!
Subjects cross-sectioned, dissected,
Grossly or brilliantly created?
Art observed by the viewer, for the viewer to critique.