Quiet Poetry Lounge : PrEsSuReS qUiLt

Discussion in 'Black Poetry - Get Your Flow On!' started by lilcherry76, May 13, 2005.

  1. lilcherry76

    lilcherry76 Well-Known Member MEMBER

    Mar 17, 2003
    Likes Received:
    17, 11th grade at GPHS
    Houston, Texas
    +8 / -0
    Trying always trying,
    To fulfill a legacy.
    If not,
    Then a family tradition.
    If not,
    Then our own goals.
    Striving to make it out from under,
    The worlds pressure quilt.
    Which every mean person has stitched together,
    In their lifetime—to cover us with it.
    How many simple No’s,
    Will we let slide?
    How many countless lives,
    Will we let die?
    How many times,
    Will we brush off caked on removable pressure?
    When the sky is grass,
    And the trees are clouds?
    Does the impossible have to happen,
    To get the possible started?
    Mind games and board games,
    Twisting our thoughts.
    Laying them straight out,
    Onto reality’s dinner plate.
    We’re dined and wined,
    Pampered and primped until.
    We can’t tell Barbie,
    From our own face.
    We wear the mask,
    True forever true Mr. Douglass.
    Love searches,
    Yes searches.
    For the face that’s not artificial,
    Or superficial to itself.
    If that face can be found,
    Then mirrors don’t exist.
    Is merely a shadow.
    And lip liner,
    No longer a boundary for our words.
    Hypnotized from the backside.
    Keeps us locked up in the category,
    Of trying.
    And not the category,
    Of accomplished.
    We TRY to run a race,
    Sad sight—dehydration—Gatorade anyone?
    We TRY to cook perfection,
    Wrong ingredients—reality—care for a slice?
    We TRY to change the same,
    Sometimes achieved—yet others are deceived.
    Because they saw the fruit that we bore,
    When we were corrupted trees.
    Yet others are deceived,
    For it stares them in the face while they echo—we still don’t believe.
    Another addition to the days,
    Of infamies.
    Another cut upon my open wound,
    Opened at the mercy of prayers infantry.
    Yet—those dear—dear others,
    Cease to believe.
    Wrong so much multiplied,
    That not enough good can equal or balance it to be justified.
    Doing good,
    Unnoticed and ignored—like an ugly sepulcher.
    One time—one time wrong,
    And fast approaching comes our electric tongued lecturers.
    The system remains undefeated,
    Even though people have broken codes.
    The system remains a system,
    Before our time—prehistorically,
    It was shaped and mold.
    Hands placed so roughly upon it,
    Shaping it to be the only monopoly considering in.
    That triggers self-evaluation,
    And mind oblivion.
    Sisters your stiletto’s,
    Appear to be wide.
    Brothers your spinners,
    Boast with pride.
    To the blank—like previously stated,
    Minds eye.
    Though that may not be so,
    It appears to be physically.
    That money has crowned ya’ll,
    The head rulers and nations of poor countries.
    You are famous,
    But your fame is unknown.
    Ruthless and cunning fools,
    Have taken your thrones.
    Pressures quilt grows,
    With each passing idea.
    Court over,
    I’ve already heard your appeal.

    (leaves room)

    (pops head through the crack of the door)

    Press on then,
    TRY to survive.
    You TRY,
    Call me when you achieve.
    And I in return,
    Will do the same.
    Think about this—all thoughts are real
    No memory is finalized in a decision based on the technicalities of an individual.
    Just like all people are themselves,
    Until they copy someone original.
    Habitual defiance,
    No bone structure is compliant.
    Steadily grouping together to form an alliance,
    Sneakily doing so-so quiet.
    But the reason for gathering,
    Is only a component.
    To the real meaning of saying,
    Dog gone it.
    Compulsive is the beautiful,
    Human revenge.
    Yet we turn our red badge to yellow,
    How is it that now we cringe?
    Does the flaunt ness of society,
    Cause you to act as though you’re embalmed?
    Captured and taken hostage,
    Like Saadam?
    Throw revenge off the balcony,
    By oodles and oodles.
    Stop lying to yourself,
    For the system can’t be bamboozled.
    For the pressure quilt,
    Has no kind word to give.
    For it patches are hate,
    And thread-like words are insipid.
    Are these words irrevocable,
    Too high to be seen?
    Or could it possibly be,
    Clear to you as Florida’s oceans and seas?
    One should practice understanding,
    Like monogamy.
    And let others do what they love to do,
    Perceive—assume—and act greedy.
    I molest you not,
    Neither physical or literally.
    But instead inform you,
    I’m just a prodder,
    Lacking profanity.
    Yet those dear—dear others,
    Cease continuously to not believe.
    I TRY and die in doing so,
    But live because of it.
    And don’t suck on lies,
    Or rumors that have been passed and licked.
    Pressures quilt grows lighter,
    With every passing phrase.
    Making the insane smart,
    Throwing their minds into a craze.
    Their eyes,
    Into a glaze.
    Their hearts,
    Set a blaze.
    And 25 cent juice stands,
    Some lemonade.
    How is it hat a cool refreshing pleasure, (lemonade)
    Can be guzzled down quickly-tongue never stopping to taste the flavor.
    But when a steak is set before us,
    We take our time—and it savor?
    Do not categorize,
    This writing a rhetoric.
    For to do so,
    Would title my thoughts pathetic.
    Time after time,
    I’ve reversed my writings on me.
    And found a well known,
    Also unknown quality.
    That is the diction,
    Contains a power so undisturbed.
    That I—myself,
    Wonder where these things I’ve heard.
    I’m not absurd.
    Or some quick-witted,
    I am,
    I am…me.
    You call that to be.
    Not locked up or bound,
    In society’s category.
    Quod erat demonstrandum,
    Which is the thing to be proved.
    Has slowly,
    Been removed.
    Into another titles,
    Enclosed room.
    Given in a full audience,
    I’ve not stated my atonement.
    For to do so,
    Would’ve blow this.
    Into a million pieces,
    Unfixable by human hands.
    It’s all about life’s monogamy,
    Now do you understand?
    This here enigma,
    Was wrote to enter the endocrine.
    For too many people want to enter things,
    Into your mind.
    Not me,
    I get out from under pressures quilt and peoples category.
    I just TRY to give energy,
    To the needy.
    Which is to you—those dear others,
    And to your surprise—me.
    Now our electric tongued lecturers,
    Have lost their shock.
    And gained enfeeblement,
    That only whispered to them soft.
    The message here is very urgent,
    That unspoken atonement—I must now purge it.
    Before thread gathers themselves,
    And patches come together in guilt.
    To place me under the weight once more,
    Of pressures quilt.
    Leaving now has come,
    This is no vainglory.
    This partakes of me and others,
    I tell for them and myself—not a based on—but a true story.
    Of aimless vagabonds,
    And minds interwoven.
    For those understanding this,
    Only a handful are chosen.
    But great is the number,
    Whose mind is in oblivion.
    For I can not restate,
    Or start striving and pressure over again.
    They are yet lost,
    Not forever—just a while.
    Until they’ve learned that under pressures quilt,
    You are not to smile.
    You are not to smile,
    Not yet………..
  2. MzBlkAngel

    MzBlkAngel Well-Known Member MEMBER

    United States
    Aug 26, 2003
    Likes Received:
    somewhere ova da rainbow....
    +219 / -0
    this was tight i enjoyed this read....
  3. $$RICH$$

    $$RICH$$ Lyon King Admin. STAFF

    United States
    Mar 21, 2001
    Likes Received:
    BUSINESS owner
    +4,174 / -2
    time we strike back with wisdom/ knowledge and hope
    to get from under this wet blanket that holds us under
    tyte drop well heard and felt
  4. lilcherry76

    lilcherry76 Well-Known Member MEMBER

    Mar 17, 2003
    Likes Received:
    17, 11th grade at GPHS
    Houston, Texas
    +8 / -0
    'preciate the love ya'll, it's just that life has really been speaking you me lately and it's like i didn't mean for this to be so long, but sometimes length lets you see that the period doesn't have to end..............sometimes...PeAcE