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Hey guys, I'm an ESL teacher in Australia. I currently work at a 100% indigenous boarding school in Alice Springs. I've experienced first hand the issues Australia's indigenous youth experience in assimilating due to their population's subscription to victimhood mentality (among other causes). Recently I've started a blog as a method of poetic and political procrastination while I write my first novel in my spare time. I recently saw Stefan's "White Guilt" speech on Youtube, it spoke deeply to me about my own experiences. BEFORE I saw his speech I had written a poem about censorship, the feeling of white guilt that prevents us from criticising ancient cultures and how the lack of dialogue effects my students. I hope you like it. I would post it here but I'm not sure that all my formatting preferences are supported on this site (I like to make my poem's visual, placement is intentional). Feel free to comment on my poetic technique. You may gather what ideas I value from reading some of my other poems. https://nathanravesteyn.wordpress.com/2018/08/12/poetry-the-games-name-censorship-a-b-e-a-u-t-i-f-u-l-m-i-n-d/

I often write out short poems to get a sense of my own emotional complexities and to feel something in times where I feel somewhat numb. I'd like to get a poetry topic going, I searched for one and couldn't find any. So this will be a topic for those who want to share poetry and comment on each other's. Pain Everyone I've ever known Has left me to be alone I'm desperate for connection Of virtuous reflection All I really wanted was love And I was always left with a lack thereof My head pounding with rage heart aching in this cage Rejected, neglected, and played Dissected, elected and made To feel as if I could trust Completely blinded by lust How do I escape this mental prison Where are those with the keys? To be from the dead risen Is all I ask please.

I have written a poem. This is my first serious attempt at writing a poem. I am inspired by and very mindful of Stefan's exhortation for creative output to promote truth against the poisonous leftie anti-truth culture of "political correctness". At the moment the arts are heavily dominated by leftie thinking, and we must change that. Poetry is a powerful weapon in that struggle, as is comedy and songwriting. The poem is about the true case of a woman you may well have heard of, who is suffering terribly purely because of the tyranny of bad ideas in her country. I hope the poem makes sense and I would welcome your thoughts. Here is the poem: https://chaunceytinker.wordpress.com/the-ballad-of-aasiya-bibi/

Today is Superbowl Sunday.. Yet another day of embarrassment for the human species. In tribute to unfulfilled lives and forgotten dreams we dedicate this day to you Sports Celebrities and Corporate Entities whom profit from our Ignorance. We are but Frightened and Confused Peasants desperately grasping for anything to distract us. Today we drunkenly dedicate ourselves to thanking our masters for allowing us an opportunity to experience feelings of excitement and accomplishment. We are unwilling to dedicate ourselves to manifesting and maintaining these feelings authentically in reality, in our own personal lives and communities.

So this poem was posted by a dude on Facebook... Money empowers, but I'm a slave to my wage, working hard for nothing but I need to be paid. I need my money to survive, but working so hard I'm not living, I'm just alive. Money controls everything, who lives and who dies, it's even a cause to invade money is the master and I am the slave. Here is my response... You're enslaved, but to what you do not know. Money can't tell you where to go. Life requires effort in order to survive, with or without money you must work to stay alive. Not working for the man or following his plan, but consuming for the body to increase its lifespan. Money is time spent working, effort, sweat, and even some twerking. A man who's a slave and desires power doesn't see the hour on the bell clock tower. Possessing lots of money is to own the efforts of other men. Money only amplifies the qualities within. A slave remains a slave when he fears his master. Waking to the truth won't be a disaster. You are the chained and the accuser, continuing the pains of child's abuser. "Please, daddy, play catch with me!" "Not now, son. Don't you know food ain't free?" "Please, mommy, sing to me!" "Not now, daughter. We have guests, you see?" Break free from your past and you'll no longer be enslaved. Money is not a blessing or a curse, but a means of exchange. Men don't invade for money; they invade for slaves. ---------------------------------------------------------- Thoughts?

Hello, everyone I'm taking a class in writing poetry right now, and I've written two poems inspired in part by Freedomain Radio. Below is one of them, and I'm fairly proud of it. It's going into my class portfolio after I edit it. The poetic form is called sestina. Credit to Stefan for the "philosopher king" that I refer to! I'd like to know what you think, and if you have any comments, I'd be happy to read them! Sestina: Coming Free Far-off land, under cold northern sky. Asphalt-shingled houses cap off a storm. Furies drawn in wet cigarette ash. Harsh words by which she breaks her own rule. Dull little place, and the money’s in iron, Despite all the sameness, they’re hardly one people. “Why can’t you be like the other people?” “Aren’t we all God’s children, under the sky?” Words spent, time for chores now, find clothes to iron. A singular son walks into a storm Of tiny infractions, each breaking a rule. Forget it, go raid that secret weed stash. Flick that Bic in the alley, tap off the ash. Buzz-hunger, but no stomach for people Who measure their words by some secret rule. Falling mood fits into darkening sky. Can’t stay the night, can’t go back to home’s storm. Lost and lonely where the money’s in iron. Fall tumbles in with clouds dark as iron. Strip mine blasting peppers red leaves with ash. So how’s that for a curious storm? Dusted by deluge, and still not one people Dark-clouded eyes upturned, searching for sky, Submit with ease to a blind kingdom’s rule. Easier still just to follow the rules. Your sensitive sons enclosed by the iron. Are we one people under the sky? Draw your judgments in wet cigarette ash. “Why aren’t you like other people?” Ghost-iron words invoke the inner storm. New-born calm calls to the eye of the storm. Philosopher king calls for a new rule. “Remove the tyrants that bind the people!” “Tear down the walls, and the cages of iron!” “Erase the marks of we cigarette ash!” “Then be the true tribe under the sky!” Under the sky not tinted with iron Free of the ash of misguided rule We’ll be the true people sharing the sky.

I haven't noticed a Topic where we might informally share our more artistic ventures, so I thought I'd start one. The world is influenced through the arts and creativity is a marvelous motivator. Does anyone have any music, art, writing on all topic life, love, philosophy? Dare to Share! I will lead by example. If it touches you, hurrah, if not, know I'll keep doing it anyway Our Dogwood Trail Beneath a canopy of jade I walk the path Guided by instinct I quack with the ducks I watch the fawns They watch me watching The eagles come with their demands of flesh I wave them away and bang my drums Like a woodpecker I tap out my territory I howl through the night and crow through the day I never dream that time will pass away Beneath a canopy of emerald I walk the path Guided by intention I am the salmon against the current Destiny depends on me The bear on shore hasn’t got a chance I swerve to the side The fool in the Fiat will be the one today Not the threat of a viper’s pit would stop me Mastery morphs into flow The muse comes and goes and comes again But the story never ends Beneath a canopy of amber I walk the path Guided by knowledge I still burn the hours in quest with the ferocity of a lioness I gracefully hold the jackals at bay Having learned to surf the current like a butterfly I feel the air shift as the breeze sweeps from the North The pine needles crushed beneath my feet A jay bolts down and startles me He screeches and when I look back cross-eyed and yell “I do not understand!” he only screeches again and flies away Beneath a canopy of blue I walk the path Guided by faith I confront the turkeys with hardly a squawk My mere presence sends them scattering I laugh as they squabble together Circling then in their warrior’s dance I laugh again If only they could see the sky like I If only they could follow the forms of light that skip between the clouds Like glitter spinning through space and time Particles of fairies or ghosts or cosmic dust Do they also watch me watching? Beneath a canopy of white I walk the path Guided by wisdom The turkeys have established their pecking order The ducks shake under the fountain The fawns graze absentmindedly right in front of me But the dogs then bark and scare them away I don’t mind though We will live to see one more day Before the light fades and the sky turns gray The stars come out and call me near The chirping of invisible life sonorously surrounds The scent of eucalyptus drifts before the final sound A glow pierces through the shadows and falls across my breast And in a ray of infinite knowing I lie down and beg the light enchant me I pray the stars play for me the greatest mystery of all things They merrily oblige They sing a festive song as I pass along No more mysteries for you now strident one The ducks the fawns the turkeys are all gone The wind whispers your last words in silence To the gods our Dogwood trail moves on.

Oh, If atheists invented holidays, how complete the world would feel. I'd mark the calendar in many ways, there's so much time to steal. Oh, If atheists invented holidays, what creative minds we'd see. Festivals with artistic blaze, oh such a world would be. We'd praise our friends, and count the stars. We'd morn their ends with rock guitars. Oh, If atheists invented holidays, in a world full of virtues. May anarchist have their ways, so all of us may choose.

My birthday is coming up and as a gift, I was wondering if you would all allow me to post my favorite birthday song? ... It's meant to be deep and brutal like the birthday of every abused child. For me, my birthday signifies"child abuse awareness year." ...Whatever... I'm doing it anyway: "Happy Birthday To Me" by Bright Eyes All eyes on the calendar. Another year, I claim, of total indifference. To here the days pile up, with decisions to be made. I'm sure all of them were wrong. Into this song, I send myself, and with these drinks, I plan to collapse and forget, this wasted year, these wasted years... "Devoted friends," they disappear, and, "I'm sorry about the phone call and meeting you. Some decisions, you don't make. I guess it's just like breathing, and not wanting to. There are some things you can't fake." I guess that it's typical, to cling to memories, that, you'll never get back again. And to sort through old photographs, of a summer long ago, or a friend that you used to know, and there below his frozen face, that ancient name, that ancient place, that ancient date and, you can't believe he's really gone, and all that's left is a fucking song, and, I'm sorry about the phone call, and meeting you. I know that it is late, but thank you for talking, cuz I needed too. Yeah, some things just can't wait. Some things just can't wait. Yeah, this can't wait. Thank you. that's the best way I can explain how I feel about my birth anniversary. Support would be greatly appreciated. No bullies allowed at my birthday. You bully, I block por permanente. LOL