Showing posts with label Poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Poetry. Show all posts
Monday, December 2, 2013
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An Apology for Equality

It sickens me that the thing you do so much better than I
winds up being less because of the chance of birth.
If I were to speak about science or math,
you'd be drowned out; my gender determines my worth.

The conversation, for the time being, will shift to your hair,
it will shift to your chest, your supposed promiscuity.
I could speak of things I do not know
and I'd be trusted over you intrinsically.

It's important you know that we aren't all alike.
Some see intelligence, instead of a potential "wife."
I can do no more than stand with you, cursing them down.
Is that enough to bring equality to your life?


This one was inspired by Emily Graslie of the Brain Scoop's video talking about gender issues in the field of science and in general. Thanks to Upworthy for bringing this to my attention.




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Friday, November 29, 2013
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The Black Plague

As you gave thanks, did you leave something out?
Clearly, it's worth leaving a footprint on a face.
Does your new debt leave new doubt,
or does it leave you feeling stout?
I doubt it furthers the human race.
Today, you give your life, your time,
putting material in love's place.
Remember, as you stand in line,
the precious few things money can't replace.








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Thursday, November 28, 2013
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The Lumberjack

There's a man who walks with an ax,
though he needs it not for work. 
He knows he'll pass my brambles,
by ivy, by stands of thick birch.
While some require
little more than a climb,
others need for the swift cut,
separating the pieces entwined.
He hopes that his blade
will remain stayed by his side,
but he fears not
the cut given in stride.




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Wednesday, November 27, 2013
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Perspective

To the high-schooler who has no idea of what he reaps,
be warned of the damage you do when you betray the secrets you keep.
Time, it may pass, and friends, they may treat you ill,
but you always remember the times when you betrayed of your own free will.




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Tuesday, November 26, 2013
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Floaters

There's a blue light in the sky.
I wonder if you see.
Is it only in my eye,
or do you see what's in the sky?
I hope it's not just me
who sees what's floating here.
For if it's just me,
if my vision's unclear,
then I worry what it might be.






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Sunday, November 24, 2013
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You're Looking the Wrong Way


When we are defeated,
it's often a surprise
to find that the way forward
is simply to raise our eyes. 

It's too easy to look backward,
focusing on everything you regret.
It may be trite, but the best,
well, you haven't experienced it yet.

Looking back on the past can be smart,
but ultimately, it's a rouse.
An excuse to hold yourself back,
instead of a chance at a life you choose.






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Friday, November 22, 2013
30 Days of Prose: Day 20: The Ninth Was Right About Cardiff


The Ninth Was Right About Cardiff

Doctor Who Tardis flying through space
Markwiggy's 'The Flight of the Tardis'
Source:http://www.wallpapergate.com/wallpaper21197.html
Cardiff, Cardiff, you're ever the fool.
I write you by day, by night I dream of you.
Cardiff, Cardiff, at least four hours a day,
I dream of never writing of you,
not for free and not for pay.

I'm sure you're a lovely city, despite all accounts.
The ninth thought you terrible, but the Doctor lies, I'm forced to recount.
If you would quit haunting me where I work, where I live,
I'd be so much more likely, more ready to forgive.

But Cardiff, Cardiff, cause of my pain,
when Monday comes you'll just wound me again.
I'll write of your charms, though I'm told they're few,
and I'll suffer sickness when you come into view.






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Tuesday, November 19, 2013
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The Pitch

What should I say?
What do you want to hear?
I've got an idea, but
to you it may sound queer.

Here are my qualifications,
though admittedly they're few, but
I've got this really great idea
to share with you.

This man who lives down the way,
he spends his life singing.
He hasn't any money and he lacks smarts,
but he sings true, to that life he's clinging.

No?
Well, that's fine; you see,
I've got one more.
By this point you might be impatient,
but let me try for the score.

There's this woman
she's opened a shop.
It sells soup and sandwiches and...
"stop?"

What should I say?
What do you want to hear?
I thought these were great ideas,
but they don't belong here.



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Sunday, November 17, 2013
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House of Matchsticks

She built a house of matchsticks
and hoped that it could stand.
It was built for independence,
she needed no woman or man.

One by one she stacked them, until
her home stood three stories tall.
Tenuously, they held together,
though eventually they'd fall.

When you build a house of matchsticks,
foundations of wood, not stone,
then it takes only one wind or spark
to take everything you own.



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Saturday, November 16, 2013
Friday, November 15, 2013
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Disquieting Reflections

I can't help but wonder
about the root of my malice.
Is it truth or is it blunder
pushing me to avoid a kiss?

It's these disquieting reflections
that cause blackness and antipathy,
because we hate all of the ones
who hold traits we also embody.

I can't help but decline
any relations that could ensue,
regardless of the heart or mind,
I fear in me what I loathe in you.

It's these disquieting reflections
I see when finally you've gone.
There can be no true absolution,
so long I deny myself one.



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