Long Viewed Poems
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We have a tendency to focus on our flaws, despite it being what makes us human; what we despise is what one desires, and what we desire is what someone despises.
I felt this way for years; I still do- the perpetuous feeling that I’m horrendous.
When I look in my mirror, I don’t see my full lips, my long lashes, or my hourglass; I see my short legs, protruding stomach, and my eyebags.
Yet people with those flaws are beautiful- so why am I not?
The answer is that I am; I am beautiful, I am worthy, and I’m not horrendous- I simply haven’t been able to process my worth yet.
It seems that each passing year, I reflect on myself, making those negative remarks, rendering myself as unattractive.
Though, next year, I’ll look back on myself and realize how gorgeous I truly was; though it’s not that simple to prevent those negative feelings from pursuing.
Does beauty even exist, though?
It’s repeatedly changed over time, and it’s quite subjective, which has caused me to believe that true beauty doesn’t exist; it’s simply a perception.
I shouldn’t waste my time trying to ease the perceptions of others; I should follow my own, because short legs, protruding stomachs, and eyebags are beautiful; they’re only viewed in a negative way because society itself is ugly.
If I abide by every standard of others, I’ll only feel regret, for my happiness shall pulverize.
If I create myself to be someone who is healthy and who I love, my happiness shall thrive.
Though these insecurities will persist, even with the most attractive individuals- they’ll always haunt you, whether or not you believe in yourself.
So I dissected myself.
…
Carving every inch of me until my insides are out; but when I do so, my organs look the same as everyone else’s.
Bathing in perplexion until I realized; we’re all the same on the inside- and as I try to stuff my organs back inside of me, I remember what people say-
See, I’ve been told before, just like anyone else, that I’m ugly.
People take advantage of others' sensitivity in order to ease their insecurities; but they’re morons who don’t know what they’re talking about.
They try ridding of their “flaws” by projecting it on others, though those rigid thoughts will always remain inside.
But truth be told, we all have the same interior- and..
You’ll truly be happy if you stop caring about the perceptions of others.
If you've lived in outback Queensland just as I have,
you must've faced at times the scourge of drought.
You'd have watched the senseless dying of your livestock
and felt completely drained and numb no doubt.
Did you ponder on why life can bring such sorrow,
when other times you’re dealt a joyful hand?
Though the bitterest of blows is when the children
express, "Dear Daddy, we don't understand."
How I hate to see the hurt upon their faces,
but more so when they give your hand a squeeze.
And the question that forever haunts my thinking,
"What do I tell my children? Tell me, please!"
Then one balmy morn way back there in September,
my children settled down upon the floor,
as they planned to watch Play School on television,
but little did we know what was in store.
How they sat perplexed at seeing the explosions
of buildings there upon the tele screen
and the aftermath then left the children reeling -
left wond'ring at the images they'd seen.
Though I sensed the children's minds took on the notion,
that things they viewed were happening overseas,
how that question still forever haunts my thinking,
"What do I tell my children? Tell me, please!"
Hosts of men, who searched the mountainous piles of rubble,
live vividly within each young child's mind,
plus the endless walls of pictures of lost loved ones,
placed there by anxious folk now left behind.
In their classrooms children talk about the horror
and can man stop the threat of war somehow?
Though our home is miles away from New York City,
our children know that life is altered now.
As my children leave the light on in their bedrooms,
lock windows which exclude a nightly breeze,
yes, that question still forever haunts my thinking,
"What do I tell my children? Tell me, please!"
We had planned to fly the children to their grandma’s,
who lives just north of Brisbane on the coast,
but the thought of going on a 'plane is not on,
as flying is the thing they fear the most.
So as parents we have organised this summer,
a camping trip with some of their close friends,
but I fear the world will never be the same place,
though live in hope the terrorism ends.
All I wish is for my children to be happy,
that innocent young minds can be at ease.
Though that question still forever haunts my thinking,
"What do I tell my children? Tell me, please!"
From Chicago to Tampa Bay in a Ford Granada some time in the mid- 70's. Unfortunately, we were not interested in mountains, because we took interstate 75 and drove through Tennessee 'at night'. We felt the elevation but never saw the Smoky Mountains.
As we proceeded south, our four year old kept asking, "Are we there yet?" Can you blame her? We should have had at least one mountain story to tell; and why did we not take time to enjoy the healthy smoke? We arrived in Tampa by way of mostly 'flat lands'.
On another occasion we drove from northern Mississippi to Atlanta. While there, we not only viewed, but also trekked until we grew tired. The visit on 'Stone Mountain' was a good one as we also enjoyed the beautiful water fall.
Fast forward to 1981, and find me driving a '79 chevy chevette from San Francisco to Lake Tahoe. Oh, what a ride! From just above sea level to over 9,000 feet and the worst head ache of my life. Our second child who was then four was on board, but he was head ache free. Nice sceneries, and mountains aplenty, but I should have had my head examined; not because of the elevation, but because I had the audacity to drive a Chevette.
Later in the early 80's with my entire family on board, I headed up another mountain in Marin County, Ca. This time there was plenty of room and power in an 8 cylinder full sized Chevy van. Just beyond the Golden Gate is Mt. Tamalpais, but we never reached the top, because my wife changed her mind.
My most recent mountain experience was a scenic view from a Jumbo Jet. Returning from a vacation by way of Portland, I had a nice view of *Mt. St. Helen 36 years after the mountain blew its top in 1980. No, that does not make me a 'Mountain Man'; but from where I sit 30 feet above sea level, it is rather refreshing.
08052017PSContest, Mountains, Julie Rodeheaver
*Or Was it Mt. Hood?
WHAT'S REALLY GOING ON
SOMETIMES I JUST HAVE TO ASK...WHAT'S REALLY GOING ON.
AM I REALLY... HERE ON EARTH... OR DID I GO BEYOND.
VOLCANO'S HEATING THE OCEANS TEMPS.
LAWYERS TWISTING LAWS TILL BENT.
HOMELESS SLEEPING IN LITTLE TENTS.
WORKING PEOPLE CAN'T PAY THEIR RENTS.
SOMETIMES I JUST HAVE TO ASK...WHAT'S REALLY GOING ON.
AM I REALLY HERE ON EARTH OR DID I GO BEYOND.
BANKSTERS CONTROL THE CURRENCIES.
PRESCRIPTIONS WRITTEN WITH URGENCY.
ZOMBIES PASSING IN FRONT OF ME.
SO MANY THINGS ONE CAN'T BELIEVE.
SOMETIMES I JUST HAVE TO ASK...WHAT'S REALLY GOING ON
AM I REALLY HERE ON EARTH OR DID I GO BEYOND.
DRUG MANUFACTURERS, POISONING MANY PEOPLE.
MAIN STREET MEDIA TURNING THEM IN TO SHEEPLE.
INTERNET VIEWED BY MANY AS A DIRTY LITTLE PEEP SHOW.
I FIND MYSELF ON MY KNEES UNDER A CHURCH STEEPLE.
SOMETIMES I JUST HAVE TO ASK...WHAT'S REALLY GOING ON.
AM I REALLY HERE ON EARTH OR DID I GO BEYOND.
ALL RELIGIONS CAN'T BE WRONG.
IF I DON'T BELIEVE SO I DON'T BELONG.
HATRED SPREADING FROM A SONG.
GOLD BOUGHT AND SMUGGLED THROUGH HONK KONG.
SOMETIMES I JUST HAVE TO ASK...WHAT'S REALLY GOING ON
AM I REALLY HERE ON EARTH OR DID I GO BEYOND.
THIS CAN'T BE HEAVEN, IT MIGHT BE HELL
ECONOMY ISN'T DOING WELL
LOOSING FREEDOMS FROM WHAT I CAN TELL.
NOTHING TAUGHT ABOUT LIBERTY BELL.
SOMETIMES I JUST HAVE TO ASK...WHAT'S REALLY GOING ON.
AM I REALLY HERE ON EARTH OR DID I GO BEYOND.
OH MY GOD...LORD HAVE MERCY...HELP ME UNDERSTAND.
I REALLY BELIEVE THERE'S SOMETHING WRONG.
WITH OUR MODERN MAN.
I KINDA FEEL ...I'M CONFUSED..I'M REALLY IN A JAM.
CAN YOU PLEASE...SHED SOME LIGHT...SO I CAN UNDERSTAND.
SOMETIMES I JUST HAVE TO ASK...WHAT'S REALLY GOING ON.
AM I REALLY HERE ON EARTH OR DID I GO BEYOND.
I heard someone say never make the same mistake twice
They were referring to love
So I started to relate, my mind started to penetrate
The reasons why the heart had grown cold
Like a movie, the plot started to unfold
And I saw myself.
I mean, really viewed myself and became third person
Why not first?
Because it was too painful to tell my own story
So I became she
A woman who forced her own misery by believing she could control her own
destiny
Heart pacing with every sound, she declared to understand her emotions
Chose a man who did not reciprocate devotion
Lacked respect so didn’t think she needed none
Who needed love, he thought, when life was all about fun
She tried to reconstruct her appearance for him
So I nicknamed her Vanity
But nothing would ever suffice, causing her to somehow lose her sanity
A perfect love.
Dreams of starry nights and kisses on the forehead
Curled up under the nook of his arm on top of his bed
Sharing secrets and penetrating hidden walls
Making love until the roosters made their morning calls
Vanity wanted to live in a movie,
She wanted the fame and the beauty
She visioned scenes of her admirer answering her every beck and call
But pieces of the movie started to crumble and fall
So she settled.
Vanity didn’t even have faith in Prince Charming anymore
Those kind of men didn’t exist…the type that open doors
She led a dead end journey to a man who’s heart she would never own
With every kiss from him, she still knew she wasn’t alone
He became her best friend, and a passionate lover
But every night he still committed to another
At times things felt just right, but never good enough
She knew her mother raised a young lady better than this
And her decisions were tough
Vanity cried the day he told her he loved her
She cried because that was the day the affair ended
They were both in love but he wouldn’t leave HER
She could barely stomach to see herself in the mirror, everything was a blur
Vanity wanted to hate him, “What an awful man”
She would try to instill in her mind
But her heart didn’t believe it, he just wasn’t the right kind
The kind you would hate.
So instead, she hated herself for giving up on love
For trying to borrow someone else’s love
Vanity had lost the biggest fight of her life and the truth was
Vanity…didn’t even know what love was anymore.
I was a marvelous ophthalmologist, impacting how others saw this world,
As tomorrow one day sees yesterday, on lanes where hued leaves swirled.
I corrected hazy, crazy vision problems, with eyeglasses and with surgery;
Like a second look, evoked by raspberry rose, to verify beauty's certainty.
I also did frequent research, on hidden causes and cures for eye disease;
Just as reasons for rainbows and stardust, lay hidden in nature mysteries.
I had once studied cosmetology, and I loved the art of applying makeup;
And I never left home without it, like opening red tulip, at sunrise wakeup.
Friends fascinated like fire opals, bringing fetching colors into a vibrant life;
And we relished flaming, flamboyant Fridays, under maroon skies of strife.
Flavorful fruits were fanatically ripening, when feel-good family visited me.
Fiery red raspberries and fat blueberries, fell beneath puff clouds, so pretty.
I lived in the house of sudden mists, in oranges, pinks, purple and scarlet,
Where any day could be right for lovely visions, before the sky grew starlit.
Snap peas and sweet potatoes grew in the gardens, along my sunny street,
In days of searing, scarlet sun salutes, and gold hours of pause and repeat.
Nearby noon gave nectarine notice, as neighborly neighbors came visiting,
When green nature bore a heatwave, like the nesting woodpecker, knocking.
Pink fairy wings bloomed fantasy gardens, as the yellow tiger lilies roared;
And the dragon lulus breathed fire, like ardor cooling for one, once adored.
Brain cacti meditated summer greenery, whilst toad lilies attracted insects;
And pink bottlebrushes swept away sad blues, scrubbing aside dour defects.
I was attending a Fourth of July cook out, hosted by the fondest of families;
But the makeup I'd ordered was late, forcing me to put aside pure vanities!
By the time I left for the plum, pleasant party, I was feeling oddly liberated;
And family and friends did not notice my lack, like stars, clouds obliterated.
I had a lovely time that rosy day, when martins sang like the Fourth of July,
Amidst mauve festivity and lemon sunshine, and bellflowers ringing nearby!
The lesson I learned that vivid day, is to glam up or not, according to mood,
For people are still loveable either way, like faint dawn moon, briefly viewed.
We've a third string coach running the team
who can't even remember his own play book
so a batch of amateurs
are running the show
from the bench
from the trenches
of their minds
Its a play book mirroring
Alice in wonderland
where everything is viewed
through a kleidoscopic -myopic
upside down opaque lens..
where predators are entitled to
a lifetime of get out of jail free passes
then given a badge of martyrdom
when they finally run out of lucky gas-
its a land with a Rio Grande autobahn
where illegals blitz through an open border
and its leaders put its own citizens on lockdown
where honest Abe has been shot in the head... again
by far-far- leftists dregs
who lecture the working man about global warming
while poking holes in the ozone in their private jets
Its a land where black people matter
but matter somewhat less if they dwell in the cities...
if they slaughter themselves over drugs and turf...
if they happen to go against the current-are conservative..
Its a Land where blacks are ferried
to a rabbit hole called planned parenthood,,
who(despite the name) ironically kills a half a million black babies a year....
black wombs are rivaling the gas chambers of Auschwitz and Treblinka
its a land with no rules except for its own citizens
who pay the bills for the lazy-for the illegal
for the ungrateful for the criminal...
and for all of their honest efforts
or for having a differing opinion
or simply being heterosexual
and being of white skin
despite their best efforts
to accommodate
to be empathetic
accepting....
sympathetic,
are constantly branded
racists-
homophobic
xenophobic...
a genuine all around
globo phobic menace..
Yes indeed...Its an upside down land
that's been stamped systemically racist
infested with white supremacists
even though a black man
was elected president
and ran the country for eight years
even though people of color have
the highest standard of living than in most
if not all countries
Why then if this country is so racist and hopelessly bigoted
do people of color flock to the border by the millions to get in.
If I were a person of color, I would avoid this so called
house of white supremacy horrors like the plague
and roll the dice on another color of velvet ...
people....welcome to Joe in Wonderland
A nubile young vicar named Jude
Was seen swimming, totally nude
The bishop said WOW
Just look at you now
Your assets - they need to be viewed!
Fiction write!
07-05-17
Invited him home for a drink
A toast as their glasses did clink
Robes down on the floor
Performing a chore...
How far will this story now sink.
WRITTEN BY TIM SMITH
The vicar bent over to pray
The bishop could not look away
So for his protection
Took up a collection
A robe now conceals his display
WRITTEN BY CHRIS GREEN
I think this story about being nude will sink low
I will tell on those guys, all I know
Those two men are not holy
The bishop's roly-poly
And the vicar used to be in a nude girly show
WRITTEN BY LIN LANE
The bishop was feeling romantic
The vicar thought the man pedantic
When the vicar turned around
To give the bishop a frown
The bishop gasped, "Lord, you're gigantic!"
WRITTEN DALE GREGORY COZART
Said Jude, will we both go to hell-
Said bishop, you never can tell
But please will you turn
I've got carpet burn
And my knees are beginning to swell
WRITTEN BY GARY SMITH
As the bishop continued to stare
He thought such a body's not fair
To see the nude vicar
was hard on his ticker
and soon he had to change underwear
WRITTEN BY ROGER ADAMS
Mother Teresa told me so
In the heaven we’ll dance too slow
If you want to come
Bring us some Rum
Otherwise you may stop and go
WRITTEN BY PASHANG SALEHI
btw... What would the Pontiff say?
Would there be hell to pay?
Or would the Pope
just drop the soap
and hope he'd be invited to play
WRITTEN BY LIM'RIK FLATS
When suddenly a knock at the door
they decided they'd rather ignore
in walked the pope,
joined in the group grope
next day they were all saddle sore
WRITTEN BY DANIEL TURNER
The pope thought it not at all freakly
when asking the other men meekly
that if they were game
and would do the same
they could set up appointments weekly
WRITTEN BY DALE GREGORY COZART
Jude's assets developed so well
As the bishop could obviously tell
But you might be surprised
How it grew to that size
Well, he used it to ring the church bell
WRITTEN BY RAY GRIDLEY
07-06-17
Modern day scoffers say,
only the strong will survive
That the weak will be eaten alive
Only T-Rex,
cold-blooded logic will thrive
The talking serpents e-vol hiss,
instincts of compassion and kindness won’t abide
Forgiveness is viewed as fleece clothing
to bear skins
sin cloaked in naked pride
Warmly showing forth utter soft, sheer love
will get an Abel body devoured by crocodile eyes
Whose gator jaws have teeth
sharp as knives
Carnivore minded thinkers believe those
with the most leopard spots
will claw ruthlessly
to the genome mountaintop
But, my bleating heart
was verily, second Adam told
this was not so
From the dawn mist of Eden’s birth,
the first paradise promise
spoke the Gospel truth —
That the meek will inherit the Earth
New Age Sadducees tout,
how the wolves were gonna turn
the Moon glow red
Make the ewe reflection of the sunlight
get darkened instead
Tho’ the Son still shine on the wolfsbane,
genetic scorners mock in vain ...
Derisively baring the fang,
spouting ebb-and-flow abysmal theories
Cloned Dolly insane
Boast howl those silver tongues
were green changing, cheatah fast,
the wavy blue to bright crimson
Like grisly paw mouths of the past
Raptor grip moneychangers
who prey devoured the pray fittest least —
Faith impoverished lost sheep,
who idol strayed
into the coin belly of the beast
But, my poor, bleating heart
was verily, verily, Lamb of God boldly Amen told:
The pyramid scheme/food chain feast,
to saber tooth prowl
evilly for eternity,
won’t ever Last Supper be Red Sea parted possible
Oh, my bleating heart
was verily, verily, double blessed told:
That the Resurrection Exodus was in the sheepfold
Good Shepherd voice activated, ready to go
Yes, my enriched, bleating heart
was surely comforted gently by buried wisdom gold
Three-day-old alabaster ointment
(that was dirt price sold)
caught the tiger by the evolutionary tale,
I was so graciously Only Begotten revival pulse told
Mercy green pastures of meek hope
wasn’t grazed for woolly naught
Ere crucifixion teardrop thought
got turned into a beautiful, Salvation pearl
When every saintly flock
closed eye awaken joyously,
(with bloodstain-free,
sin clean fleece,)
there will be no predators in the new world
The poems that weep with grief
The one that bleeds a sadness unnoticed
The ones that grieve the erasure of colour
I wish I didn't have to write poems
To convince you of our pain
The one that stains every word on every page
The ones that can't bleed out of existence
The ones that break and linger
I should've never had to write poems so sad
But what else must I do to prove to you
The mistreatment of my people has always happened
And continues to do
What is there left to do to stop the cycle of abuse
You silence our voices, you mute our words
But still I will write, for our stories demand to be heard
I should never of had to write poems of self worth
To convince you of black beauty
When we are the blueprint
Why must I need to write
To convince you of our light
A light that burns brighter than the sun
I should never have to write poems of love
Where we don't have to struggle
Where we are the main characters
Why must I convince you that we are not hard to love
That we deserve the sun, the moon and the stars
That we deserve more than the bare minimum
Why must the world make us cry
Despise
The skin that we live in
Why must I convince myself that I deserve love
That just because I'm black
Doesn't equate to being viewed as good enough
Why does it feel like I have to beg for acceptance
These are written poetry I should never of had to create
The poems lead by strength
Filled with the empty fuel of endurance we had no choice to go on without
The poems where our hearts are vigorously tested to see if we can make it to the next line
Why oh why is our pain a testament to see how much we can take
A test to see if we break
Because when your black
The weight of the world is on your back
And any sign that you may crack
Is their own permission to attack
Why are these poems I have to write
Where beneath the ink
Is the blood of my hands
A sacrifice of demand
For the price of being strong
I, and others should never of had to write the poems to explain
That being black means to always be with pain
Not just physical but also psychological
Where our existence is put to shame
And the grief that comes with the erasure of our names
But being black shouldn't mean a life boxed in by strength, yet somehow this is a burden that remains