agent-provacateur4
**at your own peril** / / dare to vex / / provoke, antagonize, exasperate / / that is what my words will do / / they won't irritate or annoy, / bug you or peeve, / a simple bother / insufficient / / vex / your core, / demand / that you more / mere question
oft & long,
do I write,
but not for here…
but today great happiness and a worldly sad
intermingling and in it,
within it,
'tis a day for short,
a shrift (1)
of a great brevity
for the truly important things in life,
there exists already, a single word,
that hints and speak volumes to our
soul;
today, that word without further explanation is:
shrift
Oct 13, 2025
Oct 13, 2025 at 12:12 PM UTC
-<>
Maestoso
(Italian pronunciation: [ma.eˈstoːzo]) is an Italian musical term and is used to direct performers to play a certain passage of music in a stately, dignified and majestic fashion (sometimes march-like) or, it is used to describe music as such.
-<>
An unfamiliar
provocation
intersects with my browsing eyeballs,
and further
exploration
unearthes words prior present,
but now surfacing
as heat ******
magma lavs busting
earning instant recognition
*I know
this conceptual,
stately, dignified, even
majestic,
though a rarefied
in almost everything
of the daily diurnal churn
of the concerns, them old burns,
there is an instant though vague
famiar feeling
no church goer he,
where was then this
stately seen, perceived, a felt feeling,
like a rare earth mineral,
invisible seen, but presence felting,
just can’t quite pin it down
bur a sonorous voice
gravelly bass whispers,
when you vision
humans rushing in,
running to,
towards fire, crumbled buildings,
flooding survivors staying alive on
rooftops
listen with care!
in the air,
the heavens
the music
Maestoso
is playing
for the gods,
lose their composure when
witnessing
unbridled acts
of human goodness
Sep 23, 2025
Sep 23, 2025 at 12:33 PM UTC
tried- yeah, yeah,
what an idiot,
what hubris,
but if you knew
the weather-or-not-Gods
like I do, dat true,
we are closer than
next door neighbors,
we are kinda
married
first thing that embraces me
daily, like a lover more human
than you reader!
them gods are more emotional
than your average teenager,
one day you’re kissed from
head to toes, twice, up ‘n down,
plus reversd revered direction,
and the smile on mouth bout
ear to ear, cheekbones glowing,
then,
someone wakes angry, ***** double down
***** slaps the pillow upon you were resting,
growls, nah, howls, and the sheets ain’t big
enough to hide under, and you cannot appeal, squeal, sell threaten big secrets reveal, the noises are voluminous, ludicrous, insurmountable…
I am an agent provocateur,
making trouble is my busy-e-ness.
Endless and nonetheless, I failed,
Will not reveal what my bribe was,
and secretly concealed, let me just say this;
please go on saying
“have a nice day”
which they believe
is a prayer to them,
reports of my being
struck by lightning
are just
premature…
Aug 6, 2024
Aug 6, 2024 at 8:35 AM UTC
to quote a generation, “Whatever…”
history will mark the day this uselessness
is forever banned, this day will be paraded
along the Avenue where astronauts feted,
Super bowl heroes greeted in tall canyons,
no more ticker tape, will shred them invoices
marked overdue, so they will remain status
unchanged, but whatever will be part and
parcel of the disparaged disappeared, for
it insults the recipient twice as much as the
mutterer utterer, for why not say, best direct,
I disrespect us both and won’t give a moment
to consider what you’ve stated, afraid, that exercising a
right to minimal modicum of caring will die out
with that generation, and we will spake a loud
Aleleuya,
and all will answer with feeling,
with a smiling thumbs up,
and W. Whitman will join in…
11:40am
Sun May 25, 2024
May 26, 2024
May 26, 2024 at 11:49 AM UTC
*tremulous and tender, the crook'd finger
neither timid or tentative,*
yet trembles,
*though it be from
care, not fear, consideration, not trepidation
the renegade finger strokes her sleeping cheek,
tender the tip to each cell beloved, as if sealing a bond
there is no more to say
when awakening comes, one will be gone,
with no note, thus this last soft stoking, outline stroking
tremulous and tender, his finger, U shaped-crook'd,
but he is no longer is her
you*
he leaves, departing, yet lightly shaking,
no longer can he be her prized and proud claiming show-horse,
gone, that man she loved, for he cannot abide his being
called a former, dark glory, a bent cane spirit,
his body, its entirety,
crooked by weight of an improvident provision,
not just his finger, this, his,
a greater intolerable,
his pain of failure unacceptable
and shame searing,
his woe bends his love acrooked
Oct 19, 2017
Oct 19, 2017 at 4:41 PM UTC
*saw:
the adoration of the daddy,
as his red haired babes
leaned into
either side of him,
courtiers to a king
on the way to school this AM,
transfusing his magical super~fatherly,
by inhaling his special powers through
their nostrils, direct from his
broad and powerful brave-heart chest,
for use later in the wild jungle*
of second grade
•••
*an elderly gent whose walker rattled
with every lift and kerplunk on
the street~steppes of a dangerous city
for the brittle of bone and the easily dentable,
and the crowd that gathered round walking
at precisely the same pace he required
to make it across the widest boulevard
which was thirty seconds more than the
Dept. of Transportation's asinine calculations
and a miracle from Lourdes occurred -
not one horn honked in ire as the court
escorted their Long Live the King
safely across the street, as if*
***idiocy was like rain, against the law,
until after sunset as in Camelot***
•••
*an elegant germanic man,
in homburg and velvet collared overcoat,
taking care of sales and distribution of
newspapers and candy at the corner paper "stand"
while the elderly owner, whose partner~wife of
fifty years had recently passed, now had no one
but someone's pop whose was out
walking our cocker spaniel,
to tend the place while said candyman
obeyed nature's callings
and all his fans and friends who passed
on their way to the adjacent subway station,
exclaimed Erwin, Erwin what are you doing?
his twinkled crinkled eyes replied,
enjoying their puzzlement, laughingly saying*
"making spare change"
•••
*where I lived these little miracles occurred so frequently,
was told a story that the ministering angels
could not keep up with their duties,
complaining to the On High, who resoundingly loudly
commanded their silence! by reminding them that
all these, his creatures, were his own precious,
the reason for creation and why they were needed,
and the sum of all these small acts gave them their own
existential purpose, now angry at himself for loss of temper,
soft spoke as a parent and told them better,*
hush my children, we have much to do!
•••
*so now you impatiently need to know
why this scripture
came to be known as
$$$$$
for I was witness to all of this,
all on that day,
that was twenty fours hours long
across many hard hearted Hiroshima decades,
that made me
temporarily
the richest man in the world
Oct 4, 2017
Oct 4, 2017 at 2:50 PM UTC
coerced and inundated,
demands insistent, strident,
prioritize me before-the-less-restless,
escape to the land of
reply all.
our dictionary is now closed.
all words are currently unavailable.
delays are currently unavoidable.
no guarantees re punctuation accur,acy imp lied.
your on your own today.
common sense is still open and trading.
make your own words.
clarity, your burden, innovation, your standard,
all one words spoken.
replytoalltoday.
wearenolongeracceptingapplications.
themarketofthemindisclosed.
donotreplytothisreply'all
Sep 29, 2017
Sep 29, 2017 at 4:19 PM UTC
*the light brightening-to-shadow,
gradating
what
can be done,
what
we call it,
when
humans color,
bleach and dye their body's
hair
if only
we could gradate,
gray-date,
our lives,
select the days
we graduate
when
where
the light dissipates into shadow,
bleaching and dying
our lives
when, where,
we could be the being,
the changeling,
dyeing the destiny of our designation*
why would we need poetry?
Sep 26, 2017
Sep 26, 2017 at 11:43 PM UTC
block me if
you will
for I will never be satisfied
trite me cut with a boredom knife,
hackney me to death with kitsch,
migraine me with banal,
bromide me with the pedestrian,
if you can only sing the exhausted, old familiar,
drain me not with your jejune
write me to soar,
pleasure me with convincing adjectives
of the posterous,
never before heard, untill my lips parse your words
write me to vex
so my sides, clutching
in the most desirable agony
you want to boast of how you cut?
then cut me if you can,
bravo
carve your initials into my brain,
so when I read your words,
I scream I weep I confess
you have vexed me,
in the places where
the very few dare tread,
in the places
where good poetry goes...
Aug 29, 2015
Aug 29, 2015 at 11:43 AM UTC
at your own peril!
*dare to vex
provoke, antagonize, exasperate
that is what my words will do
they won't irritate or annoy,
bug or merely peeve,
a simple bother
insufficient
vex
your core,
demand
that you more
than mere question yourself
but riptide extracts the
elemental,
battery acid on the essence bared
learn the power of crafting words
for maximum effect
torment, infuriate,
expose yourself,
what has lain beneath the skin,
you will let me in,
to let you out
why play with poetry,
the most dangerous weapon
unless you nakedly intend to*
!dare to vex!
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 8:00 PM UTC