Let’s admit it and get it out in the open
That happiness is overrated, over emphasized
And hyped to the detriment
Of basic sanity and balance.
But the bottom line
Is that freedom is what we really need
And what when we get
Makes happiness a pleasant impermanence.
(8/3/25)
The politicians speak and act out in pure oxymoron.
By that I mean say one thing or promise one thing and do a next or the opposite. Some friends also do.
With warm cruelty and in a very nice and seemingly gentle sinister pretentious intentions.
Pure bare cold sweetly favoured and spicy nothings.....nothingnesses,
They promise you a great and propserous year.
But then they do absolutely nothing to improve your life in the slightest.
There is such a cold malignant mliciousness in the kindly promises.
The sweetest and most polished and sincerest sounding Bull you can ever imagine.
Trust them at your own damn risk, to your relaxed sleepy opium filled detriment.
Almost seems like all of them are the same.
No distinct difference.
As the Guyanese say maybe the only good one is dead.
Meaning that good comes with their bad death.
Don't get me wrong though, there have been and always will be a few really good and sincere ones Like my friend Dugu Gordon.
But most of them just live a disgusting honey money lie......they drown in a dirty legacy cesspool of rich bitter sweet mango jam irony and useless unnecessary excess wealth.
Shines would soon be taken off poetry,
When machines replace humans as judges,
By then wisdom will have fled human minds,
Making AI seem more intelligent.
Poems churned out will then be wishy-washy,
Since standout ones will have been discarded,
As machine junks — confirmed by machines,
So undeseving of recognition.
As more and more inferior works are praised,
At the detriment of discarded fine ones,
Our brains will adapt to produce more junk,
And our age will be known for poorer arts.
But are AI-written poems hard to spot?
When all they write is devoid of feeling,
A mimicry of professionalism,
Yet widely accepted as genuine.
I'm torn across axis yet to exist,
Or had once been, since been replaced,
By a sense of self and lack thereof,
When we, by they encased.
Cleavage adorned in modest terms,
Abreast as if more than one.
Still less than two, duplicitous you,
Less I divide by hegemon.
Senses shook, a daily wage,
Of war: be both me and we?
An ancient oath neither new nor folk,
Balanced in breath and breathe.
But neath the solemn sour safety,
Of comfort feigning folly's fiction.
Forces fractured by focused fascists,
Portent predative predilection.
Between divides by you and I,
A smaller font you'll find.
Who's letters miss the passerby,
But slip into the mind.
Conquered race and gender lines,
Further feathered along behaviors;
Soaked in Sun Tsu solar signs,
Matrimony meets our savior.
Boots worn by oceans born,
Mediterranean leather-flavor;
Curing gold from suckled horn,
Mammalian mouths may never savor.
Viral loads in swarming codes,
Placental detriment,
Tossed up population nodes,
Waning wax and excrement.
I walked into the door,
Shut it hind before the shore;
Horus hocus pocus drawer,
Before I knew internal roar.
Who Won
Today as the new president is inaugurated
Another conference is held
It is called the Global Labor Market
When this goes through employers can
temporarily import workers from low-cost countries
Elon Musk can import workers at his plant
In Texas for nine dollars an hour
With this organized labor will cease to exist
To the detriment for us all
Sometimes,
looking back
shows a distorted image;
a mere reflection of yesteryear,
filtered through the lens of today.
What once was will never be again,
too many lost years and spent emotions
have muddied the waters of recollection;
and so, nothing appears as clear as it did.
We all pander to fragile egos and pride
and that often works to our detriment;
especially when young and naive.
Rusty, fragmented memories
can cut as deep as any knife;
draining the heart of love
and the soul of hope.
The past is an elixir
of distilled doubts,
mixed with pain,
love and hate;
a volatile
intoxicating
brew of emotions.
And hope often drowns
within just such concoctions;
treading water in yesterday's tears.
Sometimes Truth
is a bit too enlightening,
eyes preferring haze
over prickly points
of stunning beams –
when the
heart in shadow, a slow
peep can be preferred over a
sharp glare,
though the caution of the
heart, can be detriment to clarity,
also a survival skill taught
by wilderness wandering --
Compassion is not always
truthful…
sometimes best a lie --
like seasons and night and
day – the ice, a slower thaw --
Love first
and never be wrong….
Time to touch the forbidden button
Years of searching for its location
Time is not on my side
Countless hours dedicated for a split decision
My youth hindered my coordination
Going left, knowing I wasn't right
An unattainable reaction drove me to my detriment
For the button remains a mystery,
Never to be found by the common man
It lies dormant until awakened by the extraordinary
If loving you harder allowed you to stay then my goal remained the same
All because letting you go was a story words would formulate
It was detriment to my brain
Alter of reality
To see you leave
It was the disappearing of what could have been
The end to my timetable of forever and then
A memory to hold
As our stories unfold
Praying to keep you closer to home
Allowing you to leave, without giving up hope
Speaking words to the universe adding words to our verse
As pages were written and vows held doubt
Where those once, roses, dried up in drought
Where our love grew distant and our time ran out
Because loving you harder
Brought continuous showers
As we drowned in rumored hour
With eyes on other desires
Setting souls on fire
Entered temptation, and
Our love grown sour.
Heart
Pulse throbbing, breathlessly imbibing the cliff’s enthrall. The crashing of momentous waves against the bolder rocks. The passionate heaving of whisking foam and the swollen coolness of seaside air.
Mind
Blown, for I am not a fisherman, nor reside near the cliffs. What is a haven and harbor to many is a far-fetched tale to me, but here I stand as if Liberty over the seascape. I could walk these rocks, forever in my figment, roll the scene over and over again, watch the washing of the rocks.
Soul
The lighthouse sign, missed to one’s detriment. I take the warning sternly, with compassion for souls lost to the rocks. Resplendently wet, inviting adventure, departure into the lapping incisors. A cork bobbing, sinking, subsiding. Out of sight, I see ghosts clearly. Only fools tread onto the wet rocks. I want to be foolish, but it is not a good day to die.
For those who lack conviction
Aspirations stay but a mirage
And for those crafting mountains from mole hills
Detriment a deadly barrage
Believers of strange eyes upon them
Flaunt shame as a wristed corsage
And without the courage to soften their hackles
Lie confined in their mind's dank garage
Jongleurs of fabled failures
Treat their worry to massage
Subjecting the rest of their dreadful days
To vexation's entourage
Clever inventors of futuristic fear
Paste pictures to a specious collage
And blame the world around them
Imaginary Sabotage
Time to touch the forbidden button
Years of constant searching for its location
Time is not on my side
Countless hours dedicated to a split decision
My youth hindered my coordination
Going left, knowing I wasn't right
An unattainable essence drove me to my detriment
For the button remains a mystery
Never to be found by the common man
It lies dormant until awakened by the extraordinary
We have refused to hearken to her plea,
Our insatiable desires have spurred our spree,
We have jettisoned her cry,
We only look and sigh,
We've been taken over by our cravings,
Pushed overboard by our strivings,
We journey towards a mammoth empire,
Stifling her free course to respire,
We desire a wholesome stress-free lane,
To her detriment and bane,
She stands listless and frail,
As we go on our splurge sail,
She said it is an equal and opposite reaction,
As some have had the premonition,
We're on a lethal cruise,
We're wearing unfit shoes,
A stitch in time saves nine.
February 19, 2023.
Who will you dance for little puppet
Who will take you by the hand
Direct the music lay out the steps
As you traverse this arid land
A mind directed by the Grace of God
This studded mine field safely trod
Or flying by the seat of pants
As everything within you quietly rants
Do you recognize the tune
Have you heard it before
Will you dance this jitterbug convulsively
To your detriment evermore
Will you? Can you?Be your friend.
Put this macabre dance to its end
Take a step a little one then another too
Deliberate the next in this elaborate soft shoe
When you falter forgive your missed step
Determine better the Great Coreographer to rep
And know yes know you are still on his dance card
Inspired
Before this moment in a block
Detriment for a writer .. writers block
Conversations and aspirations… leading to inspiration, but yet still lacked motivation
Creation
The creation of words to touch paper, spoken freely without negative connotations
Paper
Feeling pens, with pointed edges and still words not formulated
Words being beautiful with mental stimulation
Empowered by trust
Never to go rust.. letting moments to turn to dust..
Open minded, not misguided, but enlightened..
Here I am, you, powered and inspired.
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