I have often wondered if they blundered
or if there's any truth to the advertising
within the words written on me
a simple clothing label advising
a promise a guarantee
100% Cotton
but does it refer to the garment or myself
the mere material it is printed on
a paradox perhaps
all of which goes to show
it's a dilemma the answer to which
this enquiring mind needs to know
Label each other,
What a witch! Just like mother,
Genes passed to smother.
I don’t know if he needs me, or if he wants me near,
But I can't help wishing I could calm his fear.
Whether he asks for comfort or not, I still care,
I want to be the one who’s always there.
I keep my face calm, though it’s hard to pretend,
But inside my heart, I can’t stop wishing for him.
I pray he’ll come, to fold into me,
Like he was always meant to be, just for me.
We have no label, no promise, no place to stand,
Just shadows in each other’s lives, unplanned.
But deep in my soul, I hold a secret plea—
To mean something to him, to be the one he sees.
Not just "someone" in the crowd, unnoticed and small,
But the one he calls his love, the one above all.
To wear his love like a crown, my heart’s only vow,
And his last name like a promise I would take now.
—Beloved
—A love unnamed, yet echoing in the stillness of the heart~
“A geek!” they cry,
But I’m not a trend to pass by.
The teacher glances
A frown, a silent glance.
Laughter scatters like falling rain,
But I remain firm, unshaken.
Eyes roll, fingers point,
But in my heart, I won’t disappoint.
What they miss,
Is the fire within.
Worlds I build, dreams I chase,
I move forward with steady grace.
Call me a geek,
But what you speak
Is a shield for fear,
For a mind that’s yet to appear.
The future’s mine,
With each step, each climb.
And when I rise,
You’ll see I’ve always been wise.
Campbell's 'Soup' is no more, with its name change usurp,
Eating soup without a label, makes me a twerp,
I’ve sipped every bowl,
Now it’s taking a toll,
If I ladle soup, with no soup label, I’ll burp!
I'm a refugee
in my own country
I'll never be free
because they've
labelled me
They say I'm far right
And I'm not too bright
Took away free speech
Now it's out of reach
My mother would tell me
as I sat upon her knee
how we had saved the world
from tyranny.
She'd say how great we were
how freedom was our spur
I had no idea this situation
could occur.
I'm a refugee
In my own country
And if I speak out
They'll throw away the key
David Cox 07/09/24
Someone can call you " rebel "
Which is his " her" new label
As you are not under his " her" control
Then he " she" turns to be your new patrol,
That consumes much petrol.
I could wrap you
In secret
And cling
Like double-sided
Just to keep
Your gift
From prying eyes
But I have
No label
A name, perhaps
But no concept
No complete picture
For the pieces
Of you
Labels
Are for things.
Boundaries.
Pigeon holes.
For just a
Moment
In the journey
We remove them
On arrival
Or when they are
Dog-eared
Or when they are wrong
Or at least
We should
I don't want
To label
You.
Me.
Or
Anyone
Unless
That label..
Reads as follows:
"Seen"
"Found"
"Friend"
"Unique"
"BeLoved"
"Beautiful"
"Accepted"
"Treasured"
"Marvellous"
"Just perfect"
"No changes required"
"If lost, please return home"
Nothing can be further from the truth
Just look at religion which provides proof
This is a truth we need to scream from the rooftop:
People only label themselves blessed when money is involved!
“What does it profit a man if he gains the entire world but loses his soul”
Don’t be fooled
Money is needed
But the cemetery holds none of it!
Enjoy your life
In the end, it is all vanity!
Let humanity know that you are not
Only blessed when you have money!
Here today, gone tomorrow
Humble yourself in the sight of the Lord
You cannot afford to be too prideful
Don’t be fooled
Money is needed
But the cemetery holds none of it!
Mark Frank
Copyright 2023
ONE:
Is our Near East in Asia? Are Israelis "Asians"?
People from India are called South Asians
The same folk in Caribbean are East Indians!
Fancy that: West Indians being called East Indians
STOP: DON'T BLAME COLUMBUS
He simply said, Indios! You say South Asians
But I don't see North Asians, East Asian, or West Asians!
Two (2):
Now, Arabs are classed WHITE in USA
These South Asians are not
I guess Near East is WEST enough
Unless you are bad, bad Saddam - cast out
I means Indians being called anything but!
What gives?
The labelling police got me bad
(At John's Hopkins University way back when
I was a "meek Hindu." I did sue @ JHU)
Jesus made me a "meek" CHRIST-ian
Following the Meek of the Middle East
Holy Land's Meek Moses, man of God
THREE (3)
IN A NUTSHELL
This South Asian is really South African
A nutty situation: I'm not African African
Here they don't use ASIAN, but "Indian South African"
Yet if Whites can be "Afrikaner," why cant I?
I speak Afrikaans
Even pray when i evangelize, in daardie Taal!
Dankie Here, in die Naam can Die Vader, Seun en Heilige Gees amen
We used to label our Iowa garden at the end of the rows with seed packets.
We would plant the row first, sprinkiing the teensy seeds and covering them.
Then we would nail the seed packet to the stake at the end of the row.
Like little soldiers we saw peas packets, carrot packets, radish packets.
Lettuice packets, potato packets, green bean packets, rows and rows of them.
Mom always threw in two rows of flowers - usually marigolds and zinnias.
Dad rolled his eyes, but I think he liked them too; we kids did also.
Our table always had fresh vegetables, berries and mushrooms from nature.
The rest of the field next to the garden was left to plant corn. Big juicy corn.
We lived in Iowa, so we never had to label corn; everyone recognized it.
Let’s put the title of these thoughts
aside for a while.
None of this is real anyway.
The talk is ghost chatter,
a pitter-patter of escaping images.
The arrangement of these words
claim to be poetic
yet can you hear the uncouth hammering
of blind console keys?
What is thinking now is a passing jiggle
on an oscilloscope attached to your awareness.
What you think when reading this,
even now
is transforming into distant gull cries
strained through a megaphone.
Don't try to make sense of thoughts
and words
your reactions are a part
of the lie we peddle between
ears and mouths.
The poem is done.
It will live now
just as long as it can be contained
in a storm tossed teacup.
Be as reasonable as you can,
move on
read or write,
imagine a day
without you dreaming you.
“God alone is, the all there is ~
Feel within, His vibrant bliss fizz”
_____________
Inbuilt prejudice,
as beliefs that hiss,
negates divine light
and bliss beats delight.
Mind’s designed to size,
compartmentalise,
whilst God and we’re one,
glowing like the sun.
Innate aliveness
is one with oneness,
until scarred by mind,
gripped in ego’s bind.
Jesus and Buddha,
Shiva and Durga,
are each love essence,
God’s luminescence.
Religion’s a crutch.
Learn to love by touch,
each moment complete,
vibrant, bliss replete.
21-June-2022
The basic characteristic of hate
It's the power of corrosion.
Inside us,
Cups and more cups contain it:
Poisonous liquid flows through a pipe
No special storage conditions.
The inner manipulation of fury
It helps us to promote the harmony of cholera in our organism.
It is a weapon that requires instructions.
But we don't need a manual that teaches us to hate,
usually our victims walk away scared,
for we give warnings with our own eyes.
Society wants to stick me into a chair and label me.
I think it is hilarious.
I have an identical twin.
If they gave us each ten labels, we would not end up with
a single one that is the same.
We have the same face, laugh, voice, and mannerisms.
Society would not understand.
For they are not us.
They cannot get into our mind.
They want to tear our hearts out by labelling us.
We are the same in this only.
We both laugh at her.
Related Poems