“ Care about what other people think,and you will always be their prisoner.”
~Philosopher, Lao Tzu~
So dying to be adored!
Empty as dried out lakes.
Oh, how tragic to behold,
The old, being just fakes.
We, especially who have
trouble seeing or hearing.
Do simply not understand,
At the young, stop your jeering!
Take inventory of our time left.
Knock off telling the old to follow.
Cheapness is our great sorrow.
Hiding well what we have learned.
Flashing our bold sheepskins?
They all should be burned!
Have we learned nothing at all?
Deaf ones, prideful, should be scorned.
Younger poets we treat with derision.
As is we were gods, with some royal
circumcision?
No, no. do not ape the crowds.
Sing your song fearlessly, sing it loud.
Never be cheap, a crowd pleaser.
You, afraid to speak truth?
Nothing but life’s greatest teasers!
12/14/2021
homeless man on the edge of the park
devours his gifted pizza
crumbs stick to his dirt streaked face like layers
of public disdain
people about regard him a walking virus
homeless man scents the air with squalor
his torn clothes proclaim the cheapness of rags
an untidy emptiness
a life throttled by dysfunction
as dark as a closed theatre
How can we turn pumpkins into coaches?
What restores a life uprooted?
this man, stooped, ungainly like tall weeds,
pinches bits of pizza crust thrown to birds
that gather about his wounded wildness
a salvage gesture to feed the birds
a clarity to nourish what's unprotected
to stow away grief
to worry about his next meal
implanted,
like a field under seeded
Poem Composed October 7, 2021
Contest: This or That Volume 7
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Ambition hits her normally at wee hours
But effort is all so useless
She disregards every door with unstrained rudeness
People advice for a mechanical practice
But force brings internal cheapness
She wiggles spitting at people's foolishness
Those sucked wind nights
where cloud are never left to rest
in there formless complaints
wrapped in marshmallow gulp
Where splattered rains
mould the skin
in lakelets spawn
Taste the charge of storm
bitter in its cheapness
but father of this
page torn
and words
strewn
"So how are you today, Hun?"
I always picture myself in terrible armor when I hear this.
The Attila in me wants to run her through with my sword.
I look behind the couch.
Not there.
I look under the couch.
No.
Could it be stuck on something?
I find the sword three days later,
when I'm not in the mood to
even use it.
So what good is it anyway?
Which is why I
have trouble with the
cheapness of bullets.
Give them all the guns
and permits you want,
folks, but each
bullet should cost about
$100,000.
The Attila in me picks up the sword.
Got to go.
Right to play
Story star when the sun pass
You had a drink and called me
To tell I want you to be as a partner
I was mad in love by hearing this my heart purely
Except your proposal we take
Many sips of love and married
in a temple so that you may not
Think that I am cheating you in
Life but as someone told me Love
is a name of freedom you
Checked many other guys and
give me pain like needles in my
soul as a woman you have a right
to play and show that you are right
making me wrong with my emotions
which fly on land of your cheapness
beauty is dis a world where only woman
has right to play my heart is not allow
me to say I hate you more than
I want to tell I love you miss treas are
falling like rain because you have a
right to play
With love all
Jagdish bajantri
Five Senses
When you look at me
What do you see?
Am I everything you need
Or am I just a rebound
Cause that *****with pounds didn’t work out…
When you look at me
What do you feel?
Is it my gifted talent
That I breathe with every breath in me
Or is it my positive vibes that you couldn’t get
From negative energy
When you look at me
What do you hear?
Is it a beautiful voice intelligently indulging
In life’s choice or is it the real that rolls
Off the tip of my tongue
When you’re wrong claiming to be right
When you smell my scent of Givenchy
As I pass when I’m walking
Do you snatch me up and sex me down
Or do you daydream about your ex
And the cheapness of her scents…
How ignorant!
Maybe you’ll get it
Maybe you won’t
But what I wanna know…is this…
When you smell my scents of Givenchy
Do you look at me
To touch my cheeks and immediately
Hear what you see in me
To taste the sweetness of my lips
Or are you hypnotized by reverse psychology
Cause “real to real” don’t match false identities.
by: Aleasha Martin
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