"abnegate" poems
There's a man with no face
amongst an empire of apes
that spill blood like fine wine
made of concord grapes
I carry the worlds weight
with enemies pursuein
but the king of the jungle
won't stop til I'm ruined
Now you can call this my sedition with semantics
or satanics toward the nation
but let me advocate this adverse scope.
And holla at my brothers who's down
and salvage hope.
we neglect our abilities
to comence to be
masters of our destiny
we choose to stay tantalllized by the streets
get lock up stay wishin we was free.
Ballisitics takin' away all our family
these anomalies
got us lookin stupid
forgetting we're not aboriginies
of this land oh man
we can never bow to the man
Choosin to bang
instead of abstain
from this
belligerant babble
the system rattles your cage
with rage
we anhiliate
assimilate
the emotions it produces
abstract thinkin causeing back lash
abysmal thoughts of how to get that fast cash
when cats dash past
we take everything
even all their back stash
but we tend to abnegate
the zenith
to which we are
entitled
archaic ways are the axiom
so we need to absorb this alchemy
and abandom them
alliviate
this absentmindedness
and abtruse forces as our accomplices
There's a man with no face
amongst an empire of apes
that spill blood like fine wine
made of concord grapes
I carry the worlds weight
with enemies pursuein
but the king of the jungle
won't stop til I'm ruined
Jun 9, 2012
Jun 9, 2012 at 3:54 PM UTC
Now that we've seen the true depth of evil
The cunning agents who wield the power
Set in motion machinery of destruction
The insidious shackles of war and death
Washed up on our shores
The crone in our own reflection
Can we abnegate the course
The blind rage that sets our mouths casting stones
Can we truly love as the so called righteous sanctify
Other lies
We condemn men, governments, religions
We ostracize, prostelitize, criticize
Until our eyes don't recognize
The dignity of 63 lives
Born into a world forever changed
By the sacrifice of mothers and fathers
Sons and daughters
Serenade the heroes who did not falter
In the face of demons and ashes
Falling glass and jet fueled funeral pyres
With the apropo of excellence they chose
To stay...to fight...to climb the stairs
The true bane in the battle is the heart
So scorched it cannot care
For 63 lives in the balance
63 sets of ancient eyes and smiles of a child
It is time
To rise
TL Boehm
Originally written 9/11/06.
Celebrating life.....
ABC NEWS - 9/11 babies five years later - google it
Oct 26, 2013
Oct 26, 2013 at 6:08 PM UTC
So much time wasted clouding every breath
Drinking&Drunk; On lust,
obscenes & Sweet mad death
Living dead walking Deprived of all my Dreams
Filling my empty cavity with cheap poison and fantasy
For Salvation I'm Reprobate And I Abnegate any God
My soul it lags a clime behind Wondering along a Trod
Upon rough road This Night I drag my soul
My Eidolon I so abhor, And whats more -
The debt of sins My Father left
I am cursed to forever labor just as
My iniquitous score is payed for
Not by me But my first born
All my wrongs Forgotten
All the chores I've left undone
And of the least do I concern
Our battles cannot be won &
some good deeds if not them all
are bound to go Unsung
Aug 10, 2011
Aug 10, 2011 at 8:23 PM UTC
Her eyes are sunken
And I'm still sinking
Into them
Treasure I find
In my accidents.
Drowning feigned
Became a beauty faint
The call of a friend
Are laugh lines that don't lie.
And when our grooves meet
Does a shining light crack through
To place peace between teeth
Teaching a tenacity that is true
No longer lying loose
We grew new notions to never lose
And to abnegate abuse
Then sunken eyes sought vivid views
Oct 3, 2018
Oct 3, 2018 at 5:12 PM UTC
What do you see, when you look into
A clear lake?
When there's a ripple
From skipping stones
When waves rise golden
Against sunlight
Tell me, what do you see
When you try and fathom
With your orphaned eyes.
What do you see
Through orphaned eyes
When you open a window
When waves of warm light
Come creeping in
On dandelion wings
To reach out to you
To tell you
A tale long forgotten from
Your orphaned mind.
What do you hear, when in a meadow
With your buried ears
Footfalls on velvet green; cry of a lone wolf
That follows behind?
Do you hear?
Leaves, whispering secrets
With the coming of a cool Autumn breeze; the silence
Of the night, that leaves behind pearls
On blades of grass?
If only
You could hear anything
Anything at all; save stories
That haunt you with songs
Of a barren land.
Would you stop, nomad?
Stop yourself and breathe life
Into those flowers, trampled
In your trail.
Would you taste your misery
And seep, into
The flavors of your orphaned soul
And be whole?
Yet you abnegate
Subjectivity.
In fear, in denial
Why would you do so?
Why would you do so?
You know you stand
On fractured pieces of you.
Yet you hide behind faces
Masquerading; far away
Why would you ache
To be a wraith; drifting
When you're already home
When you're already home.
Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 5:22 AM UTC
There's no push, and no shove
only ebb, and flow
No condemnation from high above
and none, from far below
Apr 6, 2017
Apr 6, 2017 at 2:42 PM UTC
Forwards I go
Energy is blown
Backwards I fall
Stealing my flow
Upward I climb
Dizzy heights ordained
Downwards am drawn
Dante's glowing Inferno
Which should I choose
Or stop where I am
Stand tall and appeased
Sit down and abnegate
Martyrdom a choice
Sacrifice a desire
You need to listen fairly
On my terms ascribed
Coping styles are all
The truth is in my hands
I am not a statistic
Therapy is not always me
I learn and build
I will engender my body
I hunger to know my mind
Engaging with this world
On secure footing
I now proceed
Mar 23, 2021
Mar 23, 2021 at 5:43 PM UTC
“When you whispered in her ear,
A thought of your heart whimpering,
An inexplicable feeling of Romance,
You bare the beauty of a Deity,
As you sit before me my eyes gazed,
With such profound admiration,
In hopes that you acquiesce,
As you feel the aching of my bones,
How I long to hold you close and near,
As I note the intense feeling in your eyes,
Giving me the sensation you have no fear,
It is then I have become a man of parvenu,
Abnegate me rations or oxygen,
Needless for your beauty and laughter
Keep me alive,
The redolence desires adherent
In my veins,
Charmed and stimulated as we will,
Embark on an interminable eve of
Unending PROPITIAION“
Nov 29, 2017
Nov 29, 2017 at 7:59 PM UTC
Innocuously incubated kindled
imperceptible dire strait
restlessness like tinder
with pinterest Deutsche agitate
barreling like a freight
train running so much
faster than an eight
track uber twittering,
rumbling, quickening and inculcate
dissension among dissolute
rabble rousers, who
do obediently initiate
rank and file will not abate,
boot re:reed out (bus) soon,
thence coalesces into ablegate
insidious encroachments
no longer patiently await...
ideal conditions to hatch
schism within parched
soil perfect for hate
mongers of democracy
breeds anarchy to facilitate
chaos, which quickly spreads
like kudzu, or wildfire Arson
Welles immediately forcing leader
of free world to abnegate,
(heard to trumpet "FORGET
THE WALL" mate),
(despite being caught in his
pink frilly underwear), to late
for Mar a Lago escape, where
formerly great wealth did
pool lightly coagulate
elite class heard faint stir of echoes,
then earsplitting clangorous louder
than an ICBM din (er bell)
rent asunder forcing
freedom of "FAKE
MEDIA" to abdicate
all the while pointing beringed
index finger to accentuate
his Taj Mahal ululation
interspersed veni, vedi,
veci stopping for spate
to coif (died in the will)
hirsute and aerate
said wind swept hairdo
pausing every now and again to snap
selfie portraits, plus
instagram loved ones to alleviate
that pompous, outsize,
and humongous ego fast deflate
ting into a shriveled up POTUS
float hissing boilerplate
hot airy premature ejaculations,
he would not capitulate
(sooner be rocketed
to Pyongyang and cell bate
good times with Kim
Jong-un to emasculate!
I now absolve myself
that aforementioned jest,
a tongue in cheek diatribe belies
my means to predict any forecast,
yet if any resemblance
of chance events
materializes between
my pablum childishness at best
there could arise fruitful market
for kitsch sheen collectors items
high as Mount Everest!
Jan 1, 2019
Jan 1, 2019 at 10:52 PM UTC