"abdication" poems
1551
Those—dying then,
Knew where they went—
They went to God’s Right Hand—
That Hand is amputated now
And God cannot be found—
The abdication of Belief
Makes the Behavior small—
Better an ignis fatuus
Than no illume at all—
30.7k
Chance
is being in the right place
at the right time,
coinciding with the orbit
of another searching
the aspirations that you to seek.
A connection needs attention,
a compliment, a smile,
an enquiry of mutual interest
that engages instantly.
The abdication of convenient norms,
a shift in behaviour,
adopting a new travel direction.
It requires no discrimination,
but an open welcoming mind,
conjoining parallel convergence,
Meeting.
© Pagan Paul (2018)
Jun 7, 2019
Jun 7, 2019 at 6:27 AM UTC
like a good poet, I whine and whinny:
the muses are unreliable, get too much paid vacation,
unlimited unpaid, and pretend their cells are out of range,
even when they are in bed with you and you’re near desperate
to cop a feel of inspiration
my problem is a variation on the theme. Everyday I jot down
too many possibilities, a handful of words added to the list of
pound bound childless titles, sad faced orphans, dogs and cats,
squeaking “pick me, pick me,”
our reply a casual
“you on the list” rather than admit they are titled, but bodiless
until cupid smashes a cupcake in my face and the bell rings
there they stand - at a friendless crossroads - direction home,
path unknown, awaiting a poet tour guide to complete them
if this sounds a bit like a bad achy breaky country song,
then you and I, on the same side of where I could be headed
cause at the friendless crossroads, always unsure, left foot first? that first line, first step, could be a false messiah,
or a free-at-last, a free-at-last emancipation
but there are no sidelines in a forest there no sidelines in a poet’s mind; there are the minefields of mindfulness that can explore explode and explain why it is tempting to believe that every gifted one deserves a break today
but you cannot be broken or break off from the community
“Hillel said: Do not separate yourself from the community; and do not trust in yourself until the day of your death. Do not judge your fellow until you are in his place. Do not say something that cannot be understood but will be understood in the end. Say not: When I have time I will study because you may never have the time”
my friend,
substitute writing poetry for study, for study is for us the analysis of everything, that is, everything we say, see and know the need to communicate
so
those who abide in the life of good words will not suffer an abdication (yours)
do not think
there are friendless crossroads,
there are only crossroads that the eye cannot yet see a fellow sojourner coming toward him,
bearing an oversized load of
the inside insight of responsibility
that demands sharing
that is why we call our meetings at
a crossroads,
a cross
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 10:21 AM UTC
642
Me from Myself—to banish—
Had I Art—
Impregnable my Fortress
Unto All Heart—
But since Myself—assault Me—
How have I peace
Except by subjugating
Consciousness?
And since We’re mutual Monarch
How this be
Except by Abdication—
Me—of Me?
5.8k
cast out
chucked away
deep-sixed
discarded
discharged
disposed of
expelled
flung aside
thrown down
jettisoned
deserted
jilted
vacated
left in abdication
aggravated
outcast
rejected
eliminated
forgotten
given up
godforsaken
Oct 4, 2011
Oct 4, 2011 at 11:02 AM UTC
Run with this cauldron, ladle out soup
To the soldiers of our land
In the field of battle, lay out a cloth
And let them stretch their bloodied limbs as they eat
Their minds are weary, untrusting
Each spoonful less viscous than its predecessor
A succession of leaders repeated in their heads
Every dead soldier, a reason for abdication
The people hate the war they’ve started
The fools!
No matter how much soup I take to them
No matter how watery the broth
Each day they watch me leave the front
Each day I walk alone back to base
And munitions are airlifted daily
Jul 10, 2010
Jul 10, 2010 at 1:06 PM UTC
the fan on the lowest setting
still disturbs the decade of dust
enveloping the books that formed
my adolescence;
the disorganized organisms and
******* that have dissolved
in these sheets and these short days
haunt my dreams;
how do i sleep,
knowing that the past future present
perpetuate the block universe of
betrayal and boredom and
baby cries, my mother's eyes,
the abdication of adulthood
and absolution in the absence
of harrowing hope.
i broke my own heart
three states over and now
working and waiting for the
answer to be revealed;
my teenage self says that
sadness is my truest form,
but my soul knows there is more
Apr 22, 2023
Apr 22, 2023 at 9:41 PM UTC
There's a pretentious air
In the way you presume I care.
How could it possibly be fair
To treat brother like mare?
To pass on your obligation
Is to inspire my frustration.
The thoughtlessness and abdication
Resumes hateful thoughts of vindication.
One asks not for reparation
Or from friendship a vacation.
Just a token of creation
Of an equal-footed communication.
I won't hold grudges, or hate
But you've been tense as of late.
You've been jumping my words to conflate
The words for your anger I use to negate.
Could you just chill out?
Nobody is out to get you.
It's hard to be a friend
When even enemies get more respect too.
Nov 29, 2010
Nov 29, 2010 at 10:31 PM UTC
Application of misinformation
Falsify a failed nation,
Eradication of all creation
Misinterpretation
Of representation
Deny the station
Granted by occupation
And the inhalation
Of justification
No prerequisite information
Just accumulation
No moderation,
Their determination
Through stimulation
Cultural ************
Communal degradation
Societal desecration,
Dehumanizing revocation,
Worldly humiliation,
Mortal sterilization
Never achieving mobilization
Lack of communication
Excelling in vile persuasion,
Proponents of procreation
Birthing digitization,
Destroy civilization,
Indications of adoration
Isolation in delineation,
Irrational indexation,
Fluctuating indignation,
No innovation,
Divination
Retaliation,
Immolation,
False ovation,
Lacking limitations,
Contextual intonation,
Divine fabrication,
Private publication,
Evolving fornication,
Give me extermination,
Notwithstanding annexation
Of dismaying oxidation,
Of valued perpetuation,
Global mass-castration,
Redundant rhetoric, dictation,
A donation, a dilation, a fixation,
An annotation of fibrillation,
We are personification
Of Contamination
Through globalization
Praising idolization
And finalization
Through **********
No pragmatic exoneration,
In all frustration
We see not utilization
Nor stabilization,
Fearful implications
Of wayward stations,
Surplus mutilations,
Seeking militarization
Of worthless nations,
No conservation,
Just excavation
Of the population
******** on education,
Spitting on graduation,
No validation of aspiration,
Indoctrination of baptization
Mitigating litigation,
murdering habitation,
Quelling all vegetation
We will end in radiation
Through faulty navigation,
Abdication and abnegation,
All worldly agitation
Leads us to expiration,
Self-made annihilation.
There was never an end in sight,
We’re lost, and hope is a lie.
Aug 31, 2016
Aug 31, 2016 at 8:14 PM UTC
The deafening sounds of police sirens
Tear through the evening air
Leaving behind an air of indignation
Hoping, out of thin air, to create a nation
The ebb and flow of truth and lies
Turns our interests into a public pastime
And we watch on in abject fascination
As we bring to its knees, this nation
They come and go as plastic figurines
With serpent-like tongues and vice-like grips
As we promote excessive procreation
The wheels must keep turning, to this nation
Progress, Growth, Youth, and Opportunity
Are but some of the buzzwords
Abdication of thought is the foundation,
To the structure of this nation
Power and oppression are but two sides of the same coin
Without one there cannot be the other
Smothering each other with precise calculation
Just to access the throne to the nation
Storytellers stand atop podiums and enchant the masses
While they shower them with praise
Year after year, they stand in the same formation
And salute the flag, the one that makes this nation
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 6:52 AM UTC
He reclines in his brittle chair carved from his own grief,
Not very regal, but heavily resigned to the aches.
The weight of silence cleanly cuts through the air.
His hands, now mapless, no longer seek.
Memories he left behind in clouds, were few and brief.
Books cradle their breath upon the shelf.
Never once a glance as he knows their unchanging tone.
The windows screech with tempered light
As regret drips down the pale pane of ivory bones.
His posture reflects the weight of years notched in his belt.
The leather groans, stretched too thin like his sense of self.
The hour never bows a whim to beg his name.
Dust circles, never sure as to where to fall.
His suit of choice is a reliquary of loss.
Each button, a distant memory hard pressed in shame.
The air is stained
The room too small.
A silent gasp
The last breath falls.
May 19, 2025
May 19, 2025 at 11:15 AM UTC
Witches, Jokers, and Demons
Which one deserved my attention
Potions, tricks, and believing
Entities needed freedom
Smile, you painted the smiles
Gather together and sit for a while
Plundering into a polluted pile
Of scratches, aches, and a tortured child
Psychosis, mitosis
My cells are toxic
Overdosing, osmosis
I'm drowning in this box and
My mouth is dry
Philosophically crucified
Witches, Jokers, and Demons
Which one deserved my attention
Potions, tricks, and believing
Entities needed freedom
Observations and distorted perceptions
Impossible intentions
leading to abdication
I'm walking, falling
I lost my first step
Crawling down the halls
Scaring the psychiatrist
Locked in a stall
Preserve the neanderthal
Aripiprozole-- let's end it all
Witches, Jokers, and Demons
Which one deserved my attention
Potions, tricks, and believing
Entities needed freedom
Aug 5, 2017
Aug 5, 2017 at 10:02 AM UTC
legs forced wide awake
being *****
by the gaping black hole
of nothingness
...
oh **** it...
go ahead...
have at it.
incapable of even
pathetically
grasping for air
or begging for leniency
as they shovel
handfuls of oily, greasy
chunks
of societal lard
and ****
down your throat.
you lie back
and recede
(but not even into yourself)
for they have stolen that as well.
Apr 21, 2010
Apr 21, 2010 at 11:36 PM UTC
King James demands a Scottish play
and believes in witches three
Look close and see they are the fates
that set our destiny
I can't write about his mother
or the ****** of her clerk
One whisper about Darnley
and we'll all be out of work.
After that unhappy business
about Essex and the Queen.
I won't risk another incident
no abdication scene.
Keep the text, in time to come
it will prove rare like gold
I kept it shorter than King Lear
your attention span to hold.
Dec 18, 2011
Dec 18, 2011 at 3:07 PM UTC
It's hard to fathom
How we spend so much time
Thinking about one person
I might be in the minority
But I'd rather stay there
Hard to say I never cared
Hard to say I never dared
I'm not a soul that likes abdication
I will become a mind of interrogation
Because I analyze everything up and down
That's just who I am
I spend some of my time thinking about you
When there isn't much going on
It passes the time when all my other options are absent
In reality, they're just distractions.
You're the best kind, and I want to become more immersed.
Feb 9, 2017
Feb 9, 2017 at 9:54 AM UTC
I'd like to step foot,
In the land of dictatorships,
Despots,
And dead-men;
To voice my Western opinion,
Through the veil of the immune.
I'd like to step foot,
In the land of the lions,
The gazelle,
And bright birds,
To experience all,
That cannot be said through mere words.
I'd like to step foot,
In the land of old Queens;
The land of abdication,
From which the French coast, it gleams.
I'd like to step foot,
In the permafrost of the north,
And experience why,
Others don't venture forth.
I'd like to step foot,
In the tropics of the south,
Where the rain pounds just like,
A forgotten old sink,
In which the sound is so loud,
You can't hear yourself think.
I'd like to step foot,
On the island of the abnormal,
Off the coast of the near-east,
Where it seems strange to act formal.
I'd like to wade through,
The ocean of men,
In a Tokyo square,
In which you lose count at ten.
I'd like to float forth,
From the bounds of this Earth,
And with my own eyes,
See all life as it's worth,
From our desolate moon,
Watch our world as it rise,
And from eons away,
Watch a star as it sighs.
I'd like to see life,
Through my eyes,
As a prize.
Sep 7, 2010
Sep 7, 2010 at 4:18 PM UTC
Misanthropy is too easy;
An abdication of moral
Responsibility to those
Less enlightened and inspired
Than one's own glorious self;
The response of a certain hero
Who faces down the dragon,
Then casts down his sword, deciding
It's not such a bad sort after all,
And lives in harmony with it.
It lacks the passion of pure hate,
The serenity of compassion.
A sputtering, poorly-fed flame,
Basking in its own lukewarm glow,
That heats nothing, burns even less,
Exists in a self-perpetuating
Lonely winter.
Aug 30, 2013
Aug 30, 2013 at 8:25 AM UTC
Once affirmation became deformation
aspirations turned into desperation
aspirations turned into exasperation
existence undocumented persistence expired
acumen undocumented the pittance expired
normal life forms a life
but nightmare world lights the world
dream journals adjourn dreams
through fantastic fantasies
of affirmation and affinity
or affirmation reaching infinity
so affirmation is gained at the expense of others
and affirmation is what we expect from others
but the affirmation comes at the cost of the abdication
of a firm nation inducing affirmation
selling being right
who's wrong is who's left
behind the hugfest in social unrest
the hugs infect becoming a test
to affirm what others choose
affirmation signaling their virtues
and if one doesn't affirm they'll sit and burn
which will affirm affirmation.
Please tell me I'm right.
Oct 8, 2022
Oct 8, 2022 at 10:02 PM UTC
So this is love, oh had I but known.
Your beauty leaves a heart enslaved,
Were I a king-for you, what of throne?
My abdication subjects would forgive.
A world without you would be grey
A canvass without its colour.
A divine artist though passed this way.
Oh please- never meet my brother!
My heart no longer dwells within
I wear it on my sleeve.
The end of me would be your sin
Should you ever leave.
But wait. What beauty does approach?
Oh fickle heart of mine.
Now shall I incur reproach.
Er-What was your name again?
Sep 8, 2010
Sep 8, 2010 at 1:17 AM UTC
I shall gallivant after dark
when droves of waves depart at dusk
to point a gun at Mortimer here
still swears allegiance to France
but bid my bride on coach farewell
only to surmise inheritance again
how treacherous the streets lurk
there's upheaval in every crypt
so peruse if your dreams scheme with mine tonight
with a legion in silhouette
as her benevolent shall copulate
even corporeal lie mosey and
to pretend such revolution here
only justice might enhance constitution
on the road with sound
where golem ampleness in sweat
still sings a melody this ritual part in excellent lore
that would succumb world in the dark
if gander again jog along memory lane
while seance must intrigue each tog
that Nottingham's still absorption and namely a craft
in situ just to incept a suffragette abdication abound
this an extant with luxury again
and forthwith evermore.
Mar 19, 2017
Mar 19, 2017 at 8:30 AM UTC
*Distorted heart -
Breaks and shatters a millionth,
Agonizing on the torment it had to bear,
Withered and terminating till its last,
Abdication has left me frail,
A void that now resides in the center of my heart, diffuses,
Penetrating torturous scars and bruises,
Aching from within,
Like a broken wing,
Or a leaf defoliating,
My heart slowly turns pitch black,
Ready to face extinction,
A wave of despair,
Constricting the walls of my veins,
A lumpy formation in the middle,
Not blood, just loss!*
Oct 26, 2016
Oct 26, 2016 at 1:10 AM UTC
Maybe the distortion of this portrait will create an even more captivating picture than viewed before.
The difference in the pigment of pixels may provoke a deeper message,
triggering currents of the subconscious to bring beauty of illustrious moments ashore.
Perchance an installation of last minute alterations won't lead to abdication but rather depict a trail of a beneficial journey embarked.
It'll be titled. . . "Matters of the Heart"
An abstract image of two roads diverged apart.
And when viewed from different angles, it's comeliness is untangled.
Conveying new meanings of art.
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 8:12 PM UTC
If today I died
I wouldn't be sad or mad
Void of life I doubt
I would feel at all
But surprisingly I'm ready
Not to end life as I know it
But if it were over
I might actually feel glad
Glad that feeling is no longer a necessity
Feeling love or any other pain monger
If love is the cause
Pain is almost always guaranteed to be the effect
When there's no more joy in feeling
What's the point of living
So yes I'm ready
To let go of pain
And all things leading to it
True I haven't accomplished much
And definitely not everything I wanted
But what's the point in trying
When the simplest of feelings
Seems to always remain unattainable
And being happy feels more like a facade or job
Than a blessed emotion
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 2:22 PM UTC
I'm losing every bit of courage
You left me with a rage
How do you expect the pain to submerge
I'm neither a saint nor sage.
You were my north star
Shining through the thick
You were my herb tar
Curing me, when I'm sick
I've been patient all along
I've endured the pain life long
My story is the saddest song
Sung with the beat of thorns on thong.
My dreams are deception
What happened to me seems abdication
With untidy water, is my ablution
I'm a soul now self neglecting, performing self reflection.
Neither a saint
Nor a sage
Just a soul patient
All his age
A reflector, with pain as wage
Thrown after use,like a bandage.
Neither a saint nor sage.
Decades of pain as age.
Purified by the tears
The wanderings alone throughout years
I'm a mountain of wisdom
Awaiting to be known
I'm neither a saint nor sage
But a dervish unknown.
Dec 7, 2016
Dec 7, 2016 at 12:26 PM UTC
i slipped into a wooden box encased with
childhood trinkets and the smiles
i once possessed.
four walls, i circle around
scraping the remaining abdication out of the corners.
the light fights the cold so i don't have to
and i'm still here,
exerting the force stolen from me.
what do i do when you're not here?
the pleasure of absence is so refreshing.
it's like i'm feeding off that piece of rejection that
you'd snorted.
i am hurting;
my limbs can't push down these walls.
a constant polarization tainted with darkness
clouds the sky and the wooden splinter
and i am still here.
I am still here.
right now isn't the time for love
or for dutiful thought.
i just wanted to mean more than i meant to you.
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 8:30 PM UTC