"accursed" poems
Darkness, it falls like a massive leaden shroud
Over this quiet valley as the dusk infects the sky
Pleasant faces fade into the shadows of the night
As the demons of the dead and dreaming come on out to play
Howling at the moon
Swarming through the streets
Lurking in the shadows
On this night of Halloween
Carve the faces, light the candles
Offerings must be made
In the cold October moonlight
To the Phantoms of Samhain
If you fail
If these ghouls are not appeased
You will be...
Taken
by the spirits of the dead!!!
The Tempter's Chosen
And kin to the Grim Reaper
Children of the Darkest Night
Steal mortal souls to feast on
Ghastly transformations
Amidst accursed corpses
We are possessed by the evil of tonight's demonic forces!
Carve the faces, light the candles
Offerings must be made
In the cold October moonlight
To the Phantoms of Samhain
If you fail
If these ghouls are not appeased
You will be...
Taken by the spirits of the dead!!!
By the light of the orange moon
In the dark of the purple night
We linger in these shadows
And wait there, until the time is right...
On this night of Halloween
We roam your city streets
And among the masks of plastic
We can finally be free
So carve those faces, light your candles
Offerings still must be made
In the cold October moonlight
To us Phantoms of Samhain
And if you do not heed these words
And refuse these simple deeds
Well then, my friend
You will be,
Taken by the spirits of the dead!
And if you do not heed these words
And refuse these simple deeds
Well then,
My friend,
you will be
Taken ...
Taken to the grave!
Taken...
Taken far away!
Taken...
Taken by we, the Phantoms of Samhain!!!
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 1:33 PM UTC
Shouting for longevity,
Slamming at the counterers…
- upon your dignified respite!
Would-be detractors without brevity,
Before the wine-dark Sea at night…
A pleading to philosophy of commonly renowned,
Beating sand and posturing, uncouth before a crown;
“Priam please!”
Sun and Moon,
two sons shall plead,
nay, -beg in tandem with the man;
“He serves the seas, trust him please, our father; this priest of Trojan-land!”
Laocoon
“Fear the Greeks, of mind I speak, approval by a van-i-ty; it surely is a death you seek!
An asp this horse, gift no more and tragedy in due remorse,
I beg of you my call to heed, wooden-burnt this crispy steed,
…alight in flame, glorified name; Poseidon shall endorse!”
Priests of Apollo
“Ridiculous! Worship we must, now bring it to the City thus!”
Laocoon
“The actions of accursed Kore,
Need I remind you all Paris caused this war?
For he mocked this god, the abyss it knows, with terror comes a deadly tide,
**** that fool and his fiddling pride!*
Burn this beast we must with haste for Greeks they have a certain taste,
Their acts meant always to confound, wily, since they were unbound.
What harm may do, to rest at shore? Consult the stars of yester-yore.
Assign no chore, one heaven’s night, plus a day, to sit upon our princely shore?”
Setting
(read/spoken at the fastest pace the reader can go)
A horrid hiss above the wave as two doth slither from out the cave…
The creatures from the darkest days, ancient spectacle for the knaves, bear witness to the punishment, commanded by a great trident, hearing screams of bannermen, for King and council a shocking twist, serpents ****** from out the mists, encircling priest and his kin, the howling they had done no sin, never be forgot-ten, as Typhon cried out merrily, serpents and the tragic sea; swallowed up all the three.
Priam
“Farewell dear Laocoon and two sons with thee!” *
Jun 17, 2016
Jun 17, 2016 at 4:13 PM UTC
I tore the fabric of space
Interrupting my affectionate stalking
Spurts of longing, interspersed
with spasms of premature *****
In vain, hankering to attain that next level rush
*Oh you're a ***** girl aren't you*
That's when I was discovered...
Her shrieks royally flushing my cheeks with shock
-Superseded by pallid chagrin
I fumble to bail,
Pants entrenched around my ankles
Premeditative,
Of absent-mind, in haste
Prime directive a method of escape
Evasion failing
Detection:
Imminent
Reflecting a grim lack of circumspection,
accursed **********
Trying to conceal my turgid ********
Her father particularly beyond reason
And not fond of my indecency for his daughter
Proceeds pummeling me to death with my beloved binoculars
Devoid of clairvoyance;
I am coincidentally sent
outward toward oblivion
Bon voyage through the portal
Falling facefirst into an abysmal wormhole
Its then I voyaged backward through time
To the moment of Creation
And witnessed the universe
**** itself from naught to existence
Spewing forth such cataclysmic splendor
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 10:48 PM UTC
I need only to smirk and you’re mine
Anytime
If it’s god that you want
I have dozens in mind
Devilishly divine
Bending time like a grandeur delusional
Spine
In a mad hatter ectoplas-mystical slime
A prismatic drug addict’s first nursery rhyme
Of accursed hearse verses of graphic design
Now to lay to rest intellect spectacles musing
Of selves glorified more than those of my choosing
To deify Destiny’s
Deathly serenity
Plentifully sending me vibrant surprises
And penning my ending in violent demises
Disguises surmised by the climate arises
Girl always there riding my similar waves
As I try to save face digging mechanized graves
But the cloud tentacles
To the depths
Drag me down
To demented ascension
Black holes in the ground
Where disciples of light
And my huntress in white
Vivify me by day
Resurrect me at night
To instruct and deduct
Reasoning in a state
Of a being supreme
Contemplating its fate
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 4:52 PM UTC
A morning dew sits on my dearest rose:
A shadow of evening's coolness stands still.
How gleeful I'd be to remove that chill—
That accursed blight, I yearn to dispose.
Not in my powers, no warmth from me flows
Not matter the measure of my goodwill.
Only the sunrise this quest shall fulfill
And light, my dear efflorescence expose
Always that morning seems ever unsure,
Yet surely it comes as the world still turns.
Finite be the hours my rose must endure;
Nothing this must be allowed to obscure!
For surely as in the sky our sol burns,
Warmth still exists for my rose to make pure.
~ D.B. Guy (1990 - )
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 2:17 AM UTC
Far away in ancient Jerusalem
Stood a garden, long, long ago
Home to giant oaks and figs
And plants and shrubs of every kind.
On every season, from time to time
Merrily they would burst into bloom
Filling the air with fragrance sweet
And fuelling the hearts with joy and cheer.
Amid the riot of flashing shades
Where Poppies and Pansies held their heads
In a corner, there a Lily stood,
Sans scent and sans grandeur.
A poor loner never once noticed
Nor skilled to steal the show,
Those, brilliant in shade and shape
With contempt openly quipped
‘It’s such a shame
She grows among us
With such pallid shade
And nothing to rave’,
‘Lilies are such lazy lot
Giving only seasonal blooms’
Rang aloud their haughty comments
Rashly blurted out and blunt
The poor Lily wilted in shame
Wishing she had never been born.
Late that evening, through the garden
Into the newly dug up grave
A band of people came with lights
Bearing someone cut and scathed.
With blood oozing, drop by drop
From wounds, left by piercing nails
The body, carefully wrapped in linen
Was the body of Jesus - Son of God
The one who bore the sins of the world
And courted the most accursed of deaths.
The body embalmed was laid inside
And sealed with a giant block of stone
Soldiers posted to guard the tomb
And every vigil so prudently kept.
Early by dawn, three days hence
While it was still very dark
From inside the tomb had come
Rumbling sounds and a blinding light.
Flowers en masse blinked their eyes
Beheld a man, gently walking out
The wounds still fresh on his palm
And the linen that swaddled, lying behind.
As they watched this queer sight
In awful amazement, they did see
A host of Lilies, white as snow
Far more beautiful than any of them
Bowing their heads in reverential glee
And singing Hosanna to the Lord of Life.
All the flora in silent shock
Sighted from whence the Lilies came
They sprang unforeseen in those spots
Where drops of blood from his body fell
Then onwards, without fail
April sees the grandeur and grace,
Of snowy lilies - those delicate blooms
Sprouting suddenly from the crust of the Earth
Joggling their heads in whiffing breeze,
And giving delight to all who behold.
Mar 31, 2018
Mar 31, 2018 at 1:00 PM UTC
Zeus, your predilection for banishing Titans to Hades...
anathema of them--revolt was theirs of you...Titanomachy.
Enter Prometheus, second generational Titan, brother
to Atlas--Prometheus of whom Titan revolt at first ran
no fire through his veins.
Thus, Zeus was well pleased and employed Prometheus
to put earth to water, water to earth...as to yield man.
As so man was, and was unto Prometheus...a fondness
entered him of them.
And in of passion Prometheus' veins were run through
with fire...fire fought fire--thus Prometheus reached out
taking hold Zeus' lightning.
Hid in a hollowed fennel stalk, to be bequeathed unto man.
Torrents of fire now ran Prometheus' veins, and in a fit of
infamous mockery presented Zeus with two packets of
slaughtered animal parts.
A hubris was born in Prometheus that being so halved
God-man gave itself fully to that polarity...he gawked at
Zeus and bade him choose between the two packets.
One of ox meat and innards coated in stomach lining, the
other of ox-bones coated in its own abundant fat.
Thus Zeus chose, the wretched lesser of the two...
inconsumable ox-bones coated by fat.
A charged and terrible air cut and heavied all direction,
pointing assuredly that Zeus was one given over to the
surface of things, a psychological casualty of his own
vanity.
Zeus overcome with Prometheus' disaffection for the God
of him struck at Prometheus' family.
At length, this assault could not, would not put asunder
Prometheus from the ground he stood.
A certain Haphaestus was summoned by Zeus...whose
directive was writ in torment.
Chain Prometheus to Mount Caucasus...where from on
high a sackcloth cloud shall shake loose an eagle, whose
homing hunger shall have only a taste for Prometheus' liver.
Day in, and day out, that accursed ***** shall be the
bounty of itself!
Jan 17, 2012
Jan 17, 2012 at 6:06 PM UTC
'I am of Ireland,
And the Holy Land of Ireland,
And time runs on,' cried she.
'Come out of charity,
Come dance with me in Ireland.'
One man, one man alone
In that outlandish gear,
One solitary man
Of all that rambled there
Had turned his stately head.
That is a long way off,
And time runs on,' he said,
'And the night grows rough.'
'I am of Ireland,
And the Holy Land of Ireland,
And time runs on,' cried she.
'Come out of charity
And dance with me in Ireland.'
'The fiddlers are all thumbs,
Or the fiddle-string accursed,
The drums and the kettledrums
And the trumpets all are burst,
And the trombone,' cried he,
'The trumpet and trombone,'
And cocked a malicious eye,
'But time runs on, runs on.'
I am of Ireland,
And the Holy Land of Ireland,
And time runs on,' cried she.
"Come out of charity
And dance with me in Ireland.'
3.9k
my love brought
me tranquility.
my love bought
me tranquility,
in a Manhattan bodega.
late at night in my city,
everything is for sale
where least expected
in mini marts, local delis,
greek coffee shops, spanish bodegas
pizza parlors, hardware stores,
all selling
salves for late night salvation
purveyors of
differential equations of
differing soulful sustenances,
certain imports that will probably never be
for sale in Walmart after midnight
all, readily available,
twenty four seven
in my miracle Manhattan heaven
My woman,
mapper of the byways
of my ****** landmarks
worn broad~ways,
his-toric foot trails of tears,
lines of laughters,
even a
purported dimple
I call a crevasse.
a sole survivor of
a mother's birthing skill marker,
duly recorded by her upon my visage,
in my miracle Manhattan
She knows, as do
some of youse guys,
that my poetry is
water born(e) and water soluble,
but Peconic Bay always
ain't right handy,
so bring on a
substitute teacher,
a hot bath,
helps me to enunciate
my verbal visitations
my love brought
me tranquility.
my love bought
me tranquility
in a Manhattan bodega.
pour the aromatherapy,
my love brought me
for inspiration into and upon
my liquid writing table,
"Tranquility,"
a summer garden aroma
It soothes
my bad memories,
the herbs salve
accursed ancient wounds
that will never
ever fully heal
or be forgiven
my love brought
me tranquility.
my graces restored,
this poem offered in
grateful appreciation
with unlimited adoration,
something,
maybe even the
very one thing
**that can't be bought,
even,
in my miracle Manhattan**
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 12:44 AM UTC
Rain falls on the windscreen
in shades of grey brown and fogged-up blue,
car become boat in the rain-clogged road
floating away like in a Monet,
into the evening mess.
Frayed nerves, rules break, as dangers lurk.
The wiper slow tells its tale own.
Irrelevant discourse, irreverent songs,
the FM trend for DJ fame.
And we have two 'rivers' in our city,
swelling in refuse, bolstered by the rain;
And we have two beaches in our city,
soak in the surf, if you can ignore the rubble;
And we have many parks in our city
where litter garlands our heroes daily;
The last patch of green, cramped between
rising heights all around, accursed of
dump and construction junk,
steals a dying look at the moon late.
A walk in the woods, by the mist, by late evening.
A stroll, warm, through a field covered in snow.
Nice paintings on my concrete wall.
I'm told, the money plant is good for one's health.
Trees, a luxury for our wealth.
These are all good developments.
Hyper malls round the corner.
Home prices, soaring to Kepler.
Please pour in more investment into my country.
Guaranteed, riches grow in multiplication.
The markets are all about manipulation.
Sep 12, 2013
Sep 12, 2013 at 3:47 PM UTC
(To Ellen Terry)
I marvel not Bassanio was so bold
To peril all he had upon the lead,
Or that proud Aragon bent low his head
Or that Morocco’s fiery heart grew cold:
For in that gorgeous dress of beaten gold
Which is more golden than the golden sun
No woman Veronese looked upon
Was half so fair as thou whom I behold.
Yet fairer when with wisdom as your shield
The sober-suited lawyer’s gown you donned,
And would not let the laws of Venice yield
Antonio’s heart to that accursed Jew—
O Portia! take my heart: it is thy due:
I think I will not quarrel with the Bond.
3.4k
She sits there with her hair left flowing,
Staring out to the sea all knowing.
Singing till the last light breaks,
And darkness comes and claws and rapes.
Lamenting and sad her tears they fall,
Upon her tail and waist so subtle so small.
“Love me forever please the land of men,
For in the sea my heart is spent
Retell my tale but with a happy end,
Where my lover did not bow and bend.
To the whims of another lover,
Who raptures better beneath the bedcover
Whisper lover across the sea,
But stranded here my tail will keep me.
You had your chance to love and hold,
But to the sea my heart you sold."
A mermaid that now is not so little,
Damaged by a man so vain and fickle.
She languishes in perpetual beauty,
Never to forget her punishment and duty.
For if her tail does touch the ocean,
Her heart will falter from that accursed potion,
And to the sea she will fall prone,
And turn to nothing more than the seas soothing foam.
Dec 12, 2010
Dec 12, 2010 at 12:26 PM UTC
You people never took me seriously
For you, I was just a problem child
Who needed to be molded
According to your whims and fancies
You never saw me as an individual
Who has his own thoughts, feelings and emotions
My opinions never mattered to you
You wanted me to improve my verbal communication
As well as my body language
But you never even tried to understand me properly
It never occurred to you
That there is a reason why I am different
Or even if it did, you never truly cared
What bothered me the most, though
Was the fact
That you believed you were acting in my best interests
Of course, it was my mistake
Not to leave this accursed country
While I had the chance
And seek my fortunes elsewhere
A mistake I may probably regret
For the rest of my life
Anyway, as Arabella Figg once said
"There's no good crying over spilt potion"
I was a fool to listen to you
But I have progressed in life
Far more than you would've expected me
And not because of you
But in spite of you
Well, I would love to meet you one of these days
And prove to you
That verbal communication is overrated
Just like you yourselves are
We autistic people can do equally well, if not better
As compared to you neurotypicals
Who are obsessed with correcting others
Well, please look into the mirror
And just leave us alone
Worse than an enemy, is an NT with a saviour complex
Well, we can see right through you
You may think you are being kind and empathetic
However, in reality, you are just a bunch of condescending wankers
Who believe they are always right
Well, there is nothing wrong in having your own views
Just try not to force them down our throats
I will end on this note
Autistic people are human beings too
It is time you learned to appreciate that
Jun 23, 2023
Jun 23, 2023 at 12:37 AM UTC
Thou wast that all to me, love,
For which my soul did pine—
A green isle in the sea, love,
A fountain and a shrine,
All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers,
And all the flowers were mine.
Ah, dream too bright to last!
Ah, starry Hope! that didst arise
But to be overcast!
A voice from out the Future cries,
“On! on!”—but o’er the Past
(Dim gulf!) my spirit hovering lies
Mute, motionless, aghast!
For, alas! alas! with me
The light of Life is o’er!
“No more—no more—no more”—
(Such language holds the solemn sea
To the sands upon the shore)
Shall bloom the thunder-blasted tree,
Or the stricken eagle soar!
And all my days are trances,
And all my nightly dreams
Are where thy dark eye glances,
And where thy footstep gleams—
In what ethereal dances,
By what eternal streams!
Alas! for that accursed time
They bore thee o’er the billow,
From love to titled age and crime,
And an unholy pillow!
From me, and from our misty clime,
Where weeps the silver willow!
3k
Humble gestures of chasten
Crumbling meek shifts to jotted chivalry
Into wrongly seemed semi-finite basins
Grim faces accused by chromo authority
fault at last by accursed impalement
days into mourn and far bliss
and darkness zeal in snide basements
thawed searing into crest
how is chaos' show Humble gestures of chasten
Crumbling meek shifts to jotted chivalry
Into wrongly seemed semi-finite basins
Grim faces accused by chromo authority
fault at last by accursed impalement
days into mourn and far bliss
and darkness zeal in snide basements
thawed searing into crest
how is chaos' show
deepened to cyro void
gone to confluence row
Yearned by those overjoyed
and quip smith's crooked dagger
lanced from pure ways
pride into back alley's sober
goodbye love of sparked days
deepened to cyro void
gone to confluence row
Yearned by those overjoyed
and quip smith's crooked dagger
lanced from pure ways
pride into back alley's sober
goodbye love of sparked days
Feb 6, 2015
Feb 6, 2015 at 5:25 AM UTC
All it took was three steps up
Doors swung open before me
I approached Him, who sat still and unmoving.
unaffected by Time but ravaged by the pain of doubt and ignorance
All it took was three steps forward
Then, strength and courage left me
Worn-down
Beaten by life’s merciless hand
My knees sank as Life’s hand grasped my shoulders and I felt his burden
My whole being collapsed upon the marble floor
The sound echoed and cruelly dealt a strike to my ears,
My senses and my soul
As if Moses struck the rock with his staff
The water came forth
Flowing freely from my soul against sallow, weary skin
Hands trembling
Body aching
I closed my eyes
I saw darkness but an image appeared
****** and bruised
It took all my strength
To utter three questions:
Why (to the Father)
Why does the grass grow, rich and fertile
only to provide for those that destroy it?
Why does my neighbor strip me bare and steal my coat
To leave me unsheltered from the cold wind’s bitter punishment?
Why must I walk this lonely and sullen earth
While the black crow pecks violently at my flesh?
Why? For I have loved but have been despised in return.
Who (to the Son)
Who is the snake that lies?
The brother that prays and the brother that kills?
The husband that beats and the wife that endures?
And the ****** Mother that reigns over all, even you?
Even me.
Who? For I know none and all of them.
Where (and to the Holy Spirit)
Where does the sky end and the Earth begin?
Is it where the body ceases to be and the soul takes over?
Is it where I made my first steps
And tumbled right after?
The indeterminable line between sea and sand;
Truth and lies
Where? For I have looked and looked.
My lips, salted and mad, trembled
Pain pierced my soul
I felt it all
And felt it again
My body began to thrash
I felt it upon me
Misery, sadness, death, despair
I became Samson, tearing down the pillars upon the accursed Philistines
I raged and roared
For hope, wisdom, strength, and faith
I opened my eyes
And Light filled me
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 2:27 AM UTC
I feel most lonely when sitting at my computer.
There is the promise of knowledge, creativity, friends, love, companionship, shared ideals and inspiration.
But the reality of constant connectivity is quite different.
Bullying goes on outside of school.
Oppressive people find each other and a platform to taunt and torment their victims.
Idiots band together and spread stupidity like a modern black plague.
Intelligent ideas are challenged and the people who thought them up as stupid.
Creativity is put down and judged.
People are separated instead of united.
And love? Love seems to be non existent as the ignorant people who turn on their computers to put down good and promote evil don't even realise that there is a real person on the other side of that screen, and even then some do.
My news feed is full of bad news.
Full of sexism, **** inequality, torment, animal abuse, war, ignorance, stupidity oppression, child abuse and ultimately hate.
I realise the collective imagination is dying when I can't even remember what it is I did before this accursed computer came into my life and took over.
My rewards are nothing but imagined friends and fake conversations over text, we're communicating but not connecting, something in me longs to be back when if I didn't meet my friends regularly we lost touch because that is how real relationships are supposed to work.
With care, effort, meet ups and real conversation.
Emotion instead of emoticons.
Care instead of clicks.
Laughter instead of likes.
When photographs were precious personal memories rather than a trophy of 'look where I am' 'look how pretty I am' 'look at how much fun we're having' and sharing them meant a coffee or a few beers and a trip down memory lane flipping through dusty photo albums and laughing at your awful clothes, make up, hair and the state you were in rather than scrolling back through your online albums alone and commenting on how horrendous your photoshop jobs on some of them are.
When people were living their life for themselves rather than living to try and impress others.
When it was face to face rather than facebook to facebook.
I feel most lonely when sitting at my computer.
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 9:15 PM UTC
Applied rouge on the cheeks
Tied a glittering necklace round the neck
Putting heavy makeup,
Over the stubble on her shaven chin,
She looked into the mirror
Through its cracks, saw a million bits of her/him
Those images sneering at each other
She felt trapped in a wrong body,
With its contours n’ longings mismatched
“Where do I belong”?
“Where do I fit”?
These questions plague her incessant
A rough stone with sharp edges
Too hard to be chipped down
Cast aside by the mason
That can never go into the making of a Cathedral
She walks around in haze
Life seems a twisted maze
Each time she tries to claw her way
She sees only walls that hems her in
Before her lingers the stygian mist
Phantoms of darkness surround her
The winds of change swiftly blow
Seasons come and go
But she is tied down in her chains
An anomaly of creation
A curse and a taboo
Swallowing stigma and abuse
Each day waking up with a start
Knowing that she is neither a woman nor a man
But a non binary... an accursed TRANSGENDER
Inviting snide looks
And sniggers from onlookers
People call her a ******
One divided between the selves
A hapless denizen of an inhospitable world
Disowned even by parents
Though flawed and far from perfect
She is human, one of a kind
And needs to be seen through the eyes of God!
Dec 1, 2018
Dec 1, 2018 at 9:03 AM UTC
The rising moon has hid the stars;
Her level rays, like golden bars,
Lie on the landscape green,
With shadows brown between.
And silver white the river gleams,
As if Diana, in her dreams
Had dropt her silver bow
Upon the meadows low.
On such a tranquil night as this,
She woke Endymion with a kiss,
When, sleeping in the grove,
He dreamed not of her love.
Like dian’s kiss, unasked, unsought,
Love gives itself, but is not bought;
Nor voice, nor sound betrays
Its deep, impassioned gaze.
It comes,—the beautiful, the free,
The crown of all humanity,—
In silence and alone
To seek the elected one.
It lifts the boughs, whose shadows deep
Are Life’s oblivion, the soul’s sleep,
And kisses the closed eyes
Of him who slumbering lies.
O weary hearts! O slumbering eyes!
O drooping souls, whose destinies
Are fraught with fear and pain,
Ye shall be loved again!
No one is so accursed by fate,
No one so utterly desolate,
But some heart, though unknmown,
Responds unto his own.
Responds,—as if with unseen wings,
An angel touched its quivering strings;
And whispers in its song,
“Where hast thou stayed so long?”
2.5k
"By the by,"
Said Owl to Fly,
"I caught you in Spider's web;
I spared you for
I loved you so
Though my love would like to have fled."
"I thought,"
Fly replied,
"That you would ask
Not for my gratitude
Nor for respect-
For what am I?
But a lowly black speck to you."
"You may be small,"
Owl's lovesick call
Was nothing short of determined,
"But then how can I
Expect love for
I feast on rats and vermin!"
"So! Ah! We are accursed us
Both meant for solitude:
Me for my size
(Disregarding the eyes)
You for your choice in food!"
"Although,"
Owl stated
Not one to be bated,
"Perhaps we are not so fixed
In five years, or eight
We may curse our fate
And wonder how we never mixed."
"But, I!" Said Fly
"But what?" Owl replied
"I tell you,
I've not been so enamored
Of something not furry,
Not likely to scurry,
Since my last supper's end in a clamor."
"So shall we?"
"We shall."
And Fly settled on Owl
And the two built a life of compassion
'Tween Fly's buzzing vibrations
Owl found a vocation
To reverberate love into fashion.
Dec 12, 2011
Dec 12, 2011 at 5:14 PM UTC
My dear old father,
who always loved me the same;
my dear old father I lament
who died the day before yesterday, just before dawn.
Jesus Christ, it is my daily effort
to observe the precepts
of Thy most holy church in all my acts,
in all words, in all thoughts.
And all those who renounce Thee
I shun.-- But now I lament;
I bewail, Christ, for my father
although he was -- a horrible thing to say --
a priest at the accursed Serapeum.
2.3k
Excuse me, Mr. Politician Man,
who the **** are you to say
what information the Government gets
at the detriment of mankind anyway?
Have you forgotten the Bill of Rights?
The 'inalienable' rights we all have?
Do they even ******* matter?
Do they even ******* exist?
I guess not.
What the **** are they doing
pressing this CISPA ********
Unlawful search and seizure of digital information
and they don't even care for warrants.
Under the guise of National Security
you'd have us all put in Camps or killed
just like we did to the Japanese all those years ago
but we've moved past that... right? Right?
I guess not.
We just keep it all more secretive now:
The people didn't stand for SOPA
and surely not for the NDAA
so what the **** gives you the idea
CISPA will fly, anyway?
Maybe if no one heard about it, it would work...
Maybe that's what you were counting on.
Excuse me, Mr. Politician Man,
who the **** are you to say
what information the Government gets
at the detriment of mankind anyway?
**** you, Mr. Politician Man
along with your constituents.
**** you, Mr. Politician Man
and your endorsements.
The Fourth Amendment requires due process
precluding unjust search and seizure;
but where the **** is due process or justice
in this proposed search at leisure?
You pass new legislation that augments old laws,
so much that they don't even need probable cause,
but not new rights nor protections for the citizenry,
not surprising given your abhorrent deontology:
You'd sooner send drones than diplomats.
You'd sooner stage attacks than be peaceful.
You'd sooner bail out banks than your citizens.
You'd sooner pass a law than change your ******* underwear.
What the **** gives you an inkling of the notion
that a beloved sociopath Politician
deserves your ******* devotion
if they pull this sort of ethical rescission?
Excuse me, Mr. Politician Man,
who the **** are you to say
what information the Government gets
at the detriment of mankind anyway?
**** you, Mr. Politician Man
along with your constituents.
**** you, Mr. Politician Man
and your endorsements.
**** me, Mr. Politician Man,
like you already do behind closed doors.
**** me, Mr. Politician Man
for ever trusting this accursed system.
Well, who the **** are you
trusted making legislation,
you can't even overcome
******* monetary gravitation.
Well, excuse me, Mr. Politician Man,
you want the People to become transparent?
Well **** you then, Mr. Politician Man
we want transparency of Government:
I'm sick of not knowing where Tax dollars go,
I'm sick of knowing over a quarter goes to the Military
which is funny in a deeply ****** up way
because I know I may help pay for
the drone that might fly overhead and see me and my friends as insurgents
and launch an IR missile to blow us to bits,
or the bullet that may be sent through my brain
as a distant if more probable than ever result
of your ******* legislation:
And so I say:
**** you, Mr. Politician Man,
along with your constituents
for making this a feasibility;
you're supposed to serve the people
but you'd rather put the U.S. in a state of futility.
So,
on behalf of all those you alienate each day,
I wish to extend to you a humble and heartfelt
Go **** yourself.
Apr 19, 2013
Apr 19, 2013 at 10:52 PM UTC
Accursed from their birth they be
Who seek to find monogamy,
Pursuing it from bed to bed--
I think they would be better dead.
2k
"I can tell you that Dada was a leftist,
anti-bourgeois, non-Art birthed from WWI
and not some aleatory root to postmodernism
off-shot from a lurid acid rain.
I know that diffraction can be seen
on horizons in the early morning hours
of summer along smooth or dentate curvatures
and that it can have hues of blue, purple and
a soft-handed massage of orange that gingerly
applies pressure to your retinas with sugar-water.
If only eyes had lips that opened and closed.
"It is said that action is the birth of Manyness
and that non-action brings one's soul back to the Sage Mind,
the universe of Oneness, the cup longing to be fulfilled and how
upon brim overflow it longs to be empty once again
because of the relationship between Yin and Yang
and how one cannot Be without the other
and why perspective can change "full" to "empty"
so that the vicious cycle can never truly, truly end.
The difference between French Vanilla ice cream
and plain Vanilla is the degree of creaminess.
Fill up a bathtub and let it soak into my skin.
"There is no way for me to avoid being prolix about the things
I speak about in normal, day-to-day conversation. Science and reason
have accursed me to traverse this reality with the utmost care and precision
of language and society has forced pseudo-logic down my throat like
a bird screeching as it is forced past my pharynx and larynx.
Its sounds are amplified, beak-blared from my nostrils, and its wings are violent,
stretched against my neck skin, creating a pale-skinned, ship anchor image from my shoulders up.
I'll try to sing for you when you reach my trapdoor, I don't wish to eat you.
"I do not believe in anything because with everything comes a something,
a reason for its being. They are, 'from reason,' 'in reason,' and/or, 'for reason.'
There is no escaping this thought.
There is no escaping criticism.
I will find the Truth, mathematically calculated to infinity
from knowable circumstance and perception.
I will know everything and I will believe nothing."
Mar 1, 2013
Mar 1, 2013 at 9:02 AM UTC