Britishness was fairness
Not bothered about race
Jokes that didn’t careless
taken with good grace
We didn’t take it serious
religion got a drilling
there were no inferiors
when there was derision
everything was personal
no grouping in together
words were never worst of all
a bantering endeavour
people got all sensitive
they were not integrated
it would have prevented it
now all we hear is hatred
accusations and censorship
from humour and free will
well I say you should get a grip
we don’t care how you feel
Imported with these people
a way that is not ours
deport yourself it’s simple
if words are giving scars
we don’t need to make the great
let’s make Great Britain British
it takes care to discriminate
you’re the victim of your image
Archetyping of the psyches
Cultural background
Understanding of mankind
Might be not that sound
Trends of music
And the fashions
And opinions
Phenotypes of generations
Rights of various citizens
Models of behaviour
And of interaction
Parties of the politics
Of the whole are fractions
Modern sociology
Paradigms of business
The profession choices
And awareness
Of the how they see us
People do belong to groups
In this quantum grouping
By this wrongly the machine
In its loop it's looping
Can you really to exist
Outside of system
Where for this you're profile
But it's lacking wisdom
What if service is illegal
That's for cyber court
To defend you from the AI
Prove you ain't the bot
Check checkbox
For contracts yours
With the their robot
What for is the Cyber Force
Donut?
Humans are dots on a map
For system of geolocation
For the total control
And the calculation
Privacy, freedom is lost
Hacking their grouping dynamo
King Iguana Guantanamo
And satellite does the targeting
For politics geo and marketing
Analysis of atmosphere
Their the rich and their fear
Migration's migraine of the states
Many on TV debates
Opinions can be disproved
True argument requires the proof
UDHR lost appeal
Such associations aren't real
The naivete and naive
Messages they do receive
Evacuate all the rats
The intuition of bats
No solace evolving in space
This isn't the prison
It's base
For metaphors literate
Right should they have
Of no being unit strategic
The individual level is sad
Search for your soul you eejit
Humanity has just a handful of races
Real, quantifiable genetic differences
Based on evolutionary adaptation.
The rest of us are just a mix.
Not long ago you got bonus points
For “passing as white”
And now the bonus points come
With being identified as a minority.
The ultimate way to classify us all
Would be through genetics.
So instead of a self identified
Or externally observable grouping
We’d get a number of percentage
Which would go into our digital ID.
This would be most accurate
But also most absurd.
The alternative would be
To finally get beyond race
And simply call us, each,
A human.
(10/25/25)
It’s gradually falling
Summer is increasingly lolling
The leaves are gently browning
We can’t wait for October’s crowning
When the gold leaves of lustre
Charm the fold with their cluster,
Flamboyantly trooping the autumn colours
And socially grouping them with lullers.
Shooting bottle caps,
ring finger off thumb.
And a little cake -
the two breaks in half,
fixed with melting wax
and lighter.
Light years of 22
in impromptu breakfast party
then the boy is parting
for Tennessee,
to see to making a few bucks.
Toodeloos to Mom, Dad,
Aunts, Uncles, a random cousin
and a visitor. Who
can refuse to fuse together;
never knowing when
this grouping will reoccur?
Always a little drama, a smile,
too many hugs (we huddle).
Call me. I come. Gather
the troops as todays
don’t come around again,
only the memories; and
they fail to capture
the whole snapshot -
bottle caps bouncing
off familial walls.
"Running through a mile of wasted compiled vile
I find myself conflicted sitting in a position
groaning I'm foul planting a seed of tan and brown
the snake comes out of me and it flees deposited manure
Gastly every movement is not pure, sometime it's deterred
so now I gravitate as I clasp my cheeks
out from the plummets from the tests intestinal ...
verbiage I'm not on my knees
Yet, yes I bow down bowel comes out of me
What I just planted was healthy indeed
it was a groupings of so many seeds
running in through my garden
or would you pardon
Me as I sit posture above a toilet
and now I let Go of the grouping for you see is my bowels moving
My waste has been displaced
into a porcelain throne filled with water clear
as I touch the handle it's spirals down
Maneuvered Manure
the tunnel to eventually become one with the sewer"
Haven't the brains of beings fractioned into lobes various?
The hearts of creatures have dissections multifarious;
My physique and psyche got several separations,
Like a train or a shelf, yet, these have conjoint relations...!
Classifications and categorizations are good,
If, like good deeds, they're optimistically understood;
Like roots, shoots, and fruits, the sentimental segmentation,
Just as constellations, should have a proper fixation...!
Boundaries are for safety and security we know,
Forming only frontiers, we shouldn't our strength and senses show;
Grouping of goals and prioritization of morals,
Must pave the way, like battles, toward attaining laurels...!
Am I, in the process, keeping away from kith and kin?
Does my passion for lonely liberty lead me to sin?
Do my conflicting thoughts and deeds bring me contradictions?
Does my anxious unconsciousness gift me many frictions?
If self-separation replaces cognitive action,
Compartmentalization is simply a distraction;
As bouquets of various flowers are placed in vases,
Prudent compartmentalization can bring in graces...!!!
Different birds have different chirps
So I began to wonder,
Can they communicate
Or do their chirps tear them asunder?
Is all the varied twitter
More like dialects? If so,
They’d understand each other
But with accents they would know.
Or does each bird breed have language
That is only recognized
By the others in their grouping?
That’s the answer I’ve surmised.
So if cardinals and chickadees
Would somehow get to meet,
There would be no ruffled feathers
Since they’d not exchange a tweet.
As the cardinal streaks across the sky
Leaving a trail of brilliant red as it flies
The woodpecker methodically
Peaks away at the distant tree
The mighty bluebird looking royal in blue
Taking over the feeder it rules
Hidden in the trees
Is the black crows of three
The doves can be heard chirping
As they gather in a grouping
The finches small but mighty
Take the berries from the trees lightly
Soaring high in the sky
The bald eagles fly
The hawk screeches
Grabbing pry as it reaches
The bats soaring through the night
Scaring those who see it in flight
The owls are asking who
Are they speaking to you
When suddenly the hummingbird appears
Hovering near to my ears
Sending me to a place of calm and peace
Feeling my soul release
Otto Muller from Germany
briefly in Die Brucke grouping was he
His art though a little primitive
something a critic can forgive
*** THIS WEEK ***
(“If my doctor told me I had six minutes left to live, I wouldn’t
brood. I’d type a little faster.” Isaac Asimov)
The sliced portions of this week
Collapsed, an almost eloquent fall
Into a slow-motion slide
Of morsels
Then, still unnoticed, on into
The soft blue crystals of
This week’s ending — being
Merely a measure of the journey’s recipe
For this grouping of days — thus…
I now see their floating,
Their flour-misty cloud descending
Through a sieve Life quickly set
Over time’s mixing bowl, wishing
To gather anew
A batter for next week’s
Offered cakes.
——————————————————————————————————-
(c) sally young eslinger 5/19/22
With thanks to God
Unsullied nuns in a sullen line,
watching us six year old’s.
Again I hear the quacking of ducks
as new brown leathers shoes
creak.
We stepped and skipped,
though skipping was a serious offense
behind the school fence.
What my eyes took in
or let out
I cannot now recall
or what I was, or who all others were.
We were an ad hoc grouping of tabula rasa
jostling to be known.
Blank slates were our minds.
I do not think anyone wrote on mine
or I on any other.
We were almost children,
happy to be unquestionably
engineered
to be good for Jesus.
This year Santa Claus is trembling with fear
I will not go out until covid will disappear
No gifts to children, he is very clear
So many rules I must adhere
Setting aside his fear, he goes out
On seeing him all children shout
They gather around him and stretch their hand
Police comes and cuffs Santa's hand
It is not a nice surprise
We thought you are wise
Now Santa is in jail
Wife trying for a bail.
Note: In India social grouping is banned and punishable under law.
Savage whims of winter
that bring freezing rain
unrestrained
in a sky re-grouping
flaired forceful with the cold
Ice coated, leaf-less trees that bend
like old men over their canes
Trees from an underworld,
frigid
brutally hobbled by their rich, new coating
Maple trees,
heavy
that seem to weep with worry
Glaze baked into branches that gleam
in sober sunlight
like a church lit by candles
Ice that flickers with sorrow and beauty
a crystal knave
inviting awe and repulsion
for sheeted frost that veils the landscape
Refracted light,
glistening
to fill the cramped chill of winter
Still life stiffened that crackles and hisses
when the wind blows
An icy, lush world that loiters in our minds,
stealthily
to shimmer in our slumber
Poem composed: December 17, 2020
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