the world will never stop moving
never stop rotating on the axis
keeping the season coming and going.
the world will never stop changing
even in a moment when you think things will stay like this forever.
the world will never stop turning
the earth will never stop moving
the sea will never stop flowing.
the ground will never stop pushing.
the trees will never stop growing.
no matter what you do to our earth, it will never stop.
the people will never stop fighting.
the children will never stop crying.
we will never stop.
never stop loving
never stop living
we will never stop.
never stop fighting
never stop deciding
what to do with our environment
we will never stop.
never stop the pain
never stop the loss
we will never stop.
never stop trying
to change the elders views of the old ways
never stop showing
them the new ways to come
we will never stop believing in a better way.
Sunday, February 24, 2013
Thursday, November 8, 2012
Oxymorons
the world is too full of oxymorons
"buy a car, win a bike"
"I'd kill for the Nobel Peace Prize"
"Clean you room, do the laundry, do your homework, set up the TV, set the table, so it all now, do what I say now but don't stop doing what I told you to do then," say the morons
the oxy comes later.
"buy a car, win a bike"
"I'd kill for the Nobel Peace Prize"
"Clean you room, do the laundry, do your homework, set up the TV, set the table, so it all now, do what I say now but don't stop doing what I told you to do then," say the morons
the oxy comes later.
Beginning of a joke poem from class
I'm too sexy for that shit you say
b/c what you say is below me and
I won't believe it when you say it to my sexy face
I'm too sexy for skimpy dresses
and rather wear flannel shirts
4 sizes too big
and my 2nd hand jeans
than let social pressure tear me down
I'm too sexy for ...
I just found this from a couple years ago and thought it was funny
b/c what you say is below me and
I won't believe it when you say it to my sexy face
I'm too sexy for skimpy dresses
and rather wear flannel shirts
4 sizes too big
and my 2nd hand jeans
than let social pressure tear me down
I'm too sexy for ...
I just found this from a couple years ago and thought it was funny
Is that okay?
I'd like to play you a song
I'd like to play you a song and I think you'll like it
I'd like to play you a song and I think you'll like it because it's similar to what you listen to
I'd like to play you a song because it's similar to what you listen to
and the tune will stay with you
and the notes will role around in your mind
and the words will transform how you look at me
I'd like to play you a song
Is that okay?
I'd like to play you a song and I hope you like it
I'll go and get it and play it and I hope you like it
I'd like to play you a song and I think you'll like it because it's similar to what you listen to
and the tune will stay with you
and the notes will role around in your mind
and the words will transform how you look at me
and the words will transform how you look at the world
because music will do that
I'd like to play you a song and I think you'll like it
I'd like to play you a song and I think you'll like it because it's similar to what you listen to
I'd like to play you a song because it's similar to what you listen to
and the tune will stay with you
and the notes will role around in your mind
and the words will transform how you look at me
I'd like to play you a song
Is that okay?
I'd like to play you a song and I hope you like it
I'll go and get it and play it and I hope you like it
I'd like to play you a song and I think you'll like it because it's similar to what you listen to
and the tune will stay with you
and the notes will role around in your mind
and the words will transform how you look at me
and the words will transform how you look at the world
because music will do that
Life in Colors
Purple. Purple is the color I write my life in, the color my life revolves around, and it carries me to the next step and helps me riddle out the last one.
Green. Green is the color I write my sadness in, the color my tears fall into and you think it'd be blue, but it's not, it's green.
Blue. Blue is the color I write my feelings in, the color that pulls out the words from my head and stretches them into sentence, into poetry.
Red. Red is the color I write my corrections in, the color my words rearrange themselves in, guiding the mislead to where they're supposed to be.
Yellow. Yellow is the color you can't see, it's written all over the page, but invisible to the eye it, it hides from the reality.
Red. Red fills up the page with lines and circles while Green. Green is slowing tearing up and pushing towards the day it'll be one with Blue. Blue writes this, all the while thinking how great it would be if there was something real to write about, unaware of Green. Green looks at the poems and wonders why it's not there, but Purple. Purple is monologue-ing the poems before they are poems and Green. Green is trying, trying, trying so hard not to be Yellow. Yellow hides behind the other colors, unseen on the lines of the paper, looking out from behind those lines like cell bars.
Purple. Purple's paragraphs fills the pages.
Green. Green's tears leave smudges in the words.
Blue. Blue's rhythms are only rhythms.
Red. Red's marks lead those rhythms to rhymes.
Yellow. Yellow's secrets are slowing showing themselves as they sink in.
Green. Green is the color I write my sadness in, the color my tears fall into and you think it'd be blue, but it's not, it's green.
Blue. Blue is the color I write my feelings in, the color that pulls out the words from my head and stretches them into sentence, into poetry.
Red. Red is the color I write my corrections in, the color my words rearrange themselves in, guiding the mislead to where they're supposed to be.
Yellow. Yellow is the color you can't see, it's written all over the page, but invisible to the eye it, it hides from the reality.
Red. Red fills up the page with lines and circles while Green. Green is slowing tearing up and pushing towards the day it'll be one with Blue. Blue writes this, all the while thinking how great it would be if there was something real to write about, unaware of Green. Green looks at the poems and wonders why it's not there, but Purple. Purple is monologue-ing the poems before they are poems and Green. Green is trying, trying, trying so hard not to be Yellow. Yellow hides behind the other colors, unseen on the lines of the paper, looking out from behind those lines like cell bars.
Purple. Purple's paragraphs fills the pages.
Green. Green's tears leave smudges in the words.
Blue. Blue's rhythms are only rhythms.
Red. Red's marks lead those rhythms to rhymes.
Yellow. Yellow's secrets are slowing showing themselves as they sink in.
Words Hurt
"sticks and stones may brake my bones, but words will never hurt me."
I say it over and over in my head as the words said, and unsaid, float around me
they're slowing closing in on me, slowing suffocating me
never stopping for a break, so I get no break, or I'll break
"sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me."
and with those words on repeat, I look back at what was said by who
and what I had done to deserve it
I'm not apart of many stereotypes
I'm not abnormal
I'm not awkward
I'm not even bullied
"sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me."
but still the words come and the words flow
creating an ocean for me to drown in
I have no life boat, no best friend that listens to this stuff
no mother that listens to what
what?
so long it's been like this, if someone actually cared, I wouldn't even know it
So I keep it all in a box in my mind and kick that box into the corner
never to be looked in again,
an I add that sign that says
"sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will hurt forever."
I say it over and over in my head as the words said, and unsaid, float around me
they're slowing closing in on me, slowing suffocating me
never stopping for a break, so I get no break, or I'll break
"sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me."
and with those words on repeat, I look back at what was said by who
and what I had done to deserve it
I'm not apart of many stereotypes
I'm not abnormal
I'm not awkward
I'm not even bullied
"sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me."
but still the words come and the words flow
creating an ocean for me to drown in
I have no life boat, no best friend that listens to this stuff
no mother that listens to what
what?
so long it's been like this, if someone actually cared, I wouldn't even know it
So I keep it all in a box in my mind and kick that box into the corner
never to be looked in again,
an I add that sign that says
"sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will hurt forever."
difference of views
Narrator: But how it happened was so different each way. And every time, when a new person came in from the hallway, the story changed, the perspective changed
Person 1: the first time I heard the
shrieking of steel
through the air
thick with everybody's worries
and everybody's dreams
curled up in a blanket and thrown to the sky
...
the air was thick
...
and the pressure of it weighed us down
and blurred our minds
Person 2: the body just fell
and we couldn't see who it was
till the thick of the fog fell
and we saw who fell
we could distinguish his face
from the crowd those
already weak
and on the floor around him
Person 3: it rang in my ears
a throb of pain
in my mind as
the instant pressure of the fog fell
all on me and crushed me
hands of those around me
hands of hate and
my hands of regret
pushed me out
Person 4: it rang in my ears
a throb of pain
in my chest
falling to the ground
with a thud
I saw the people surround me
hands of hope
lifting me up
Person 1: the first time I heard the
shrieking of steel
through the air
thick with everybody's worries
and everybody's dreams
curled up in a blanket and thrown to the sky
...
the air was thick
...
and the pressure of it weighed us down
and blurred our minds
Person 2: the body just fell
and we couldn't see who it was
till the thick of the fog fell
and we saw who fell
we could distinguish his face
from the crowd those
already weak
and on the floor around him
Person 3: it rang in my ears
a throb of pain
in my mind as
the instant pressure of the fog fell
all on me and crushed me
hands of those around me
hands of hate and
my hands of regret
pushed me out
Person 4: it rang in my ears
a throb of pain
in my chest
falling to the ground
with a thud
I saw the people surround me
hands of hope
lifting me up
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)