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Julian Jun 2018
The ******* of embezzled glory staunchly defend their counterfeit stature by defalcating the public trust of industrious societies governed internally by compunction and sabotaged externally by the tempests of acerbic fate met with inclement aleatory convergence. To supply a society with ingenuity without being complaisant or officious with unctuous pleas to the overlords we must fashion a new vogue that taps the bustle of giants and aggrandizes the margins to oversee their own creative destinies with scaffolded arrangements of titanic promise and justifiable fluidity to conquer the blinkered dogmatism of a dissolute chastity to inveterate apocryphal tenets of factitious but unmerited perspectives. Democracy crumbles when the convenience of sensationalism supplants the resolve of those that fossick hidden wealth and promulgate validity instead of undergirding pomp with precarious prevarications of duplicitous omission guarded gingerly by the gatekeepers of a ****** sanity that whitewashes the discussion with invented hobgoblins and purblind catharsis. To defeat simplicity and enshrine byzantine elegance as the paragon for voguish commentary rather than abide by a bowdlerized decorum for appeasing simpletons with divisive balkanization through identity politics we can overcome the impediments to human progress that are engineered to persist because of the inertia of the listless and the stubbornness of doctrinaire politicization and invent vivacity and festivity anew. We need to divorce ourselves from pedestrian quibbles of hero-worship that endanger the vitality of the common discourse because of fastidious pedantic disempowerment that ravages us with debased dreams by underscoring nuisances and tolerable nightmares that emasculate the virulence of the liberated individual and subvert his ambitions to contend with a picaresque world of limitless promise and self-motivated internal wealth.
      The bane of modernity is how chary the world becomes because of fractured histories intersecting with controversial destinies and the antidote to that poisonous self-defeating self-censorship is the audacity of brazen challenges to expurgation through assiduous resourcefulness and delicate diplomacy in wrangling controversies with outspoken courage rather than whispered resentment. Temerity waged in inclement circumstance is justified and curiosity stoked by lambent flames of fulgurant individualism should be fortified to the extent necessary to conquer the feckless spoilsports of unctuous puritanism and institutional obedience. The quacksalvers that blather about inconsequence strand the imagination in a desiccated desert that is ostracized from the palettes of the artistic whim to wield efflorescence rather than squander life in pursuit of perfunctory lucre or tenuous solidarity around banal idealism promised by social justice warriors that forget the biggest war being waged on humanity is on the ingenuity of the common discourse and the liberty to opine about real issues rather than saccharine conventions of emasculation through linguistic imprisonment and epicurean slavery to fashimites who relish the buzzword but never the enlightened audience that scoffs at feeble attempts at cultural commentary like Childish Gambino’s “This is America” music video. This particular artifact is a demonstration of how childishly fickle the plebeian mentality really is, stitching together a bricolage of violence to engineer controversy and serenading it with the most banal music imaginable and exhorting people to herald it as a high artform while inundating the world with unimaginative comic book movies and Star Wars rip-offs because of the lucrative business of formulaic replication. “This is America” should be regarded as a parody of itself because of how hackneyed its design is and how cacophonous it sounds and mocks its audience with lowbrow tactics of adding tinsel to trash and marketing it as the glory of tatterdemalions rather than the refinement of true cinematic achievements that have been relegated because Warhol’s Campbells-Soup-consumerism trumps true belletrist in the public view.
        Cultural watersheds punctuate our history with salient achievements in experimentation, but the formulaic profiteering of buzzword sensationalism and yellow journalism and the ostentatious glorification of promiscuous boasting and fancy cars tantalize the mice to continue playing slot machines rather than penning a novel or doing something promethean. The world scoffs at Trump but ignores the bigger institutional caveats that endanger us much more than a pragmatic albeit unconventional pontificator who is complicit in constructing a false narrative to enslave mindless people to fret about eminence rather than delight themselves in the consequential nuances of established refinement that used to serenade the world with flourish and spectacle. The world kowtows to the crusade against flavor-of-the-week enemies of the liberal-conservative syncretism because it has been conditioned to believe that synthesis is the only logical solution for the polarized worldviews of churlish people that become parvenus not on their merits but on their marketable pitfalls and their public foibles. Peccadillos are more important to people than virtues and this makes society morally bankrupt if we loiter around Astroturf causes that have been infiltrated by corporatism and venal debauchery and acquiesce as disempowered gossip hounds that hunt in packs to find jest in aberration rather than achievement in self-created narratives that defy the stupid purblind boorishness of the mainstream media and its haughty liberalism or the persnickety condemnation of priggish conservative moralities that had an expiration date 50 years ago. Who the **** cares about transgender-touting-gender-fluidity quidnuncs and the snooty obsession with lurid personal endeavors of reputable people that made minor ****** transgressions in a world policed by wide-eyed feminazis that seek to ransack men of their vital virulence to spotlight their unjustifiable oppression. Women are oppressed but the carnal nature of their calumniation and their vindictive powers of persuasion are deployed with such vehement vigilance and such distaste for the majority that the world relegates itself to quibbles of celebrities rather than substantive issues. There is a systemic feminization of society occurring that seeks to demarcate despotic uxorious pleasantries as an incarceration of vocal dissent against supercilious women and their tamed men that slavishly grovel in repudiation of anything prickly.  Men historically have oppressed women but the solution to this quandary isn’t a reverse discrimination where the minority concern is spotlighted as a majoritarian issue that overshadows the disproportionate nature of our society where nominal accreditation is afforded in a non-meritocratic way to absolve people of their carnality and demote the vigorous defense of human liberty as secondary to compromise solutions that appease more people than they offend but simultaneously result in suboptimal conditions that reward arbitrarily coachable people while jettisoning anyone witty enough to be capable of insubordination of a hedonistic epicurean world obsessed with appearance and ravaged by the decadence of formulaic profiteering at the expense of originality and true promethean art that is herculean enough to defy hackneyed tropes and siphon the best elements from a piecemeal world variegated with complexity but stifled by fomented hatred.
The solutions to these problems is to create a watchdog group of artistic critics who become eminent and ubiquitously heard enough to offer creative consultation to the artistic endeavors that we consume and the music that is curated for fastidious ears that crave euphonic originality rather than the banality of easily dovetailed bass-heavy cookie-cutter garbage and the gaudy tactics of talentless rappers whose swagger derives from  the intersection of opportunism and the divestiture of an industry that rewards gloated supercilious epicureanism and meretricious marketability. Am I the only one jaded by second-rate superhero movies that infest the cinemas that borrow from Michael Bay while thrusting pulse-pounding but narratively bankrupt movies down the throats of consumers that might prize the cinematic originality of the heyday of filmmaking? Is it always high art to invent controversy that is witless or half-witted just because it will create buzz? Shouldn’t we condemn the laziness of society in acquiescing to the penury of the modern cultural narrative which belabors the dead horses of racism and sexism ad nauseum? Shouldn’t we fight the war of against inequity through legislation rather than hibernating about scandalous eminence and testy malfeasance?
          Liberty should be championed above all else and we are turning our backs on the future unless we muster the resolve to diminish the sway of the common narrative and aim our spotlight at consequential endeavors rather than the tropes of prosaic and pedestrian bastardization of art and culture. We need to fight artistic laziness which has ravaged our culture and castigate the tactics of wannabee celebrities that use lurid tactics to attract an audience by bedizening themselves with Pyrrhic ostentations and rampant fakery to create more melodrama in a world that needs to be less histrionic. YouTube celebrities swarm us as they get high on ******* and lean-- at our expense-- and vandalize property and convincing nine-year-old’s like Lil Tay to flex her money like it is infinitely renewable in a finite world where all our attention is wasted on artless artifice of less talented people that know how to engineer a ruckus by strutting themselves beyond all decency and selling out to a corporatist nightmare of enslaved convenience. We need to be more vocal about the dissolution of artistic merit and the formulaic repetition of successful formulas that jade us and make us yawn about another retread of a previously successful idea that is milked to the point of cruelty.                                                         ­                       
       Let’s change the narrative and focus on creating true art rather than reacting to the meretricious tinsel of the vogue consensus which is so impotent in its ability to rivet audiences because it has become so notoriously lazy. Fight laziness in art, dismiss your news feeds, be resourceful, seek true happiness rather than find yourself hoodwinked and duped by the idea that Trump is the most important issue or getting caught in thought loops and brooding about sexism and inequality. Let us strive to be egalitarian but within limits that would also appease hominists rather than just the hypertrophy of the leftist narrative that seeks to cage us with the doublespeak of complaisant conformity.  Reject the unctuous charlatans that pretend priggishness when their banausic purpose is barbaric but beguiling to be a lullaby for laggards. We need to fight for the future of civilization rather than hobnob with convenience and loiter around decrying false perpetrators rather than systemic injustices that could otherwise be rectified if enough people fought for it. We can invent a future that is a great festivity serenaded by cultivated artistic refinement and forget about the trifles that divide us. United in ambition and fueled by ingenuity we can defeat artistic laziness and be resourceful with how we decide what is newsworthy. Spurred by the argosy of proactive motivation we can change the world in a substantial way by deciphering the subtext that governs the world. The subtext is everything!
JJ Hutton Jun 2010
every time we fall in love,
they call it trite,
a false fairy tale.

love is weak.
and weak ain't trending no more.

every time we speak our mind,
they tell us to shut up,
too young to have an opinion.

the youth is unreliable,
too many fresh hormones.

every time we stand up straight,
they cross us,
crucify us.

acquiescing is appropriate,
they gift certificates in frames for that.

every time we subscribe to a higher code of ethics,
they call us radical,
salivate, and spectate as we are torn asunder by lions.

love should never transcend national pride,
here it's guns, god, no homosexuals or mexicans all the time.

if i make a stand, and you make a stand,
and the dominoes begin to fall,

if i inspire a dozen, and you inspire a thousand,
the gears will grind, the tide will turn,

the lions will all be too full,
and
they surely will run out of nails,
before they've crossed every single one of us.
Copyright 2010 by Joshua J. Hutton
Robert C Howard Feb 2019
Morning Rainbow

Myriad prismatic crystals,
     refract the morning sun-streams -
painting layers of spectral arches
     across the misted horizon.

Eyes turned to the western skies,
     we suspend our meteorological selves  
acquiescing to miracles unveiled before us -
     un-beckoned and scarcely earned,
proffering thanks for the radiant epistle
     of healing, hope and promise,
artfully encoded in transfigured light.

Synthetic Refractions

A luminary ballet takes center stage
    when synthetic refractors come to play:
crystal pendants bathe our foyers
      with dazzling swaths of color.
Hazy coronas encircle streetlamps
      discovered by headlights through the fog.
A science class prism slices light rays
     into pre-ordered spectral strata.

If the sky denies us a rainbow,
     we can always fashion one of our own
and we do!



Spectral Sound

Before there was music,
     bird songs brushed our souls
and the murmur of woodland streams
     held us captive by their banks.

Soon we learned to sing and tint the air
    With prisms of wood and wire and metal
and to color soundscapes in our spirits
     With songs of wonder, joy and longing.

Before there was music,
     bird songs brushed our souls.

Robert Charles Howard, 2019
This is a rewrite and expansion of a prior poem called Morning Rainbow. The poems are design to go with an original piece for solo flute also called Prisms.
Cedric McClester Sep 2016
By: Cedric McClester

Time goes by fast
But memories that last
Are like snap-shots of the past
That we view in contrast
To the here and now
And so we make a vow
To apply the breaks
And avoid our past mistakes

Time goes by fast
And nothing ever lasts
For those who are miscast
Or the errant iconoclast

In the rear view mirror
Things become much clearer
To the standard bearer
Who see them much nearer
Than they were before
When it was easier to ignore
The intricate designs
Of the various warning signs

Time goes by fast
And nothing ever lasts
For those who are miscast
Or the errant iconoclast

Seconds minutes hours
With all it’s magical powers
We observe like blooming flowers
That time finally devours

And as slowly we retreat
To our thoughts so bitter sweet
Not acquiescing to defeat
That occasionally we meet
So we long for yesteryear
Cuz we’re far away from there
And the veil is very shear
Between there and here

Time goes by fast
And nothing ever lasts
For those who are miscast
Or the errant iconoclast

Time goes by fast
But memories that last
Are like snap-shots of the past
That we view in contrast
To the here and now
And so we make a vow
To apply the breaks
And avoid our past mistakes



Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2016.  All rights reserved.
I heard someone whisper "he's such an arrogant *****" as I entered.
Those crooked sons of ******* don't have any idea,
I'm the kind you hardly ever come across except in winters,
when all the street rats are begging for heat.
I command attention at the head of the table,
I am the head of the table,
and sever the head to **** the municipal body.
The wigs and robes and gavels I accessorize command it too.
When I sign things I do it haughtily,
I carefully etch each and every ******* letter onto writs of demand.

I stand!
A hush lingers,
I catch the eyes of Walter Weiss, he lies with every breath
and did you know he is unfaithful to his wife? I heard.
the shudders are shut, my druthers. Oh, Walter!
notarize my forms of annexation, please.
and take down this:
To whom it may concern:

You have 7 days to remove yourself from the premises
as you are aware of the edict that preexists
and preempts your residence
and your squalor misrepresents
your laziness.
Signed: The holding powers, in eminence.

Oh Walter Weiss, address it to yourself!
I pride myself on tact.
And package with the writ this evidence form
sent to my office following a secret examination
conducted by the Department of Residential Safety and Heath.

Do not bother me with demoralizations, Walter!
Due to discourse with the Act of Discontinuation,
(which of course is subject to broad generalizations)
the lien sector of the Savings and Loan Association
have concluded you are found in violation of, through reasoning by generalization,
failing to pay duties on your mortgage issued by the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation.

Oh, Walter, how distressing!
Don't falter, acquiescing
is always the way.
Just never, ever forget to pay.
Lyteweaver Oct 2014
I am just a shell.
I don't have much life inside of me.
Well maybe a little sticky mess
that resembles the form of a snail
trying to squirm my way out.
I only need one foot for that.
That's a good thing because I severed the other
foot attempting to come out of my coffin from an early burial.

What happens when a snail realizes she is just a snail?

She says, "Ok, I'm a snail.  I'll do what snails do."
Slow and steady wins the race...

So why do I feel like a red tailed hawk looking for an opening to soar through?

Acquiescing to a snail's life
is the same as having my wings clipped.


*I may be caged, jailed, grounded...but in my dreams I fly high towards the endless horizon.
Leaving that slimy shell prison in my dust.
Brent Kincaid Jan 2017
Our God is really excellent
At death and genocide.
How we love to celebrate
How many folks have died.
We always feel better about life
And the wonderful heavenly joy
When we’ve murdered some foreigner's wife.
Or when we put to death girls and boys.

It is so commendable of humans
To execute those who are different
Or if they commit the cardinal sin
Of being some kind of sick dissident
Who refuses to do what we want
Like maybe lying down and acquiescing
Or refusing to shut up and play along with
Our political posturing and window dressing.

And is is all sacred and very holy;
Every bit of it is hidden by claims
That all genocide and bigotry
Is committed in our God’s name,
Unless the genocide and prejudice
Is directed anywhere near us.
The we whip out our Bibles and cry
And make a self-righteous fuss.

The Golden Rule applies to all
Except heathens and non-Caucasians.
And then it’s a noose, SWAT team or
At least an *** for every occasion.
Because killing people is terrible;
It is simply not the proper way
To deal with all of life’s issues,
Unless we want to, then it’s okay.

And all of it is by The Good Book
If the right verses are selected.
The American Bible is written to insure
The right people are not neglected.
And everyone should worship
And join the Living God’s legions
And be exactly like he lived life:
A blond-haired, blue eyed Norwegian.
Pagan Paul Feb 2018
.
I travelled the lands out to the West,
of all the cities I am most impressed,
with Melk, by mountains and sea it rests,
ruled by the Queen, Lyenna of Cressed.

Her beauty is famed throughout the land,
with many suitors for her vacant hand,
none of whom will ever understand,
she will marry only her own hearts plan.

I met Lyenna in her Palace of Green,
and my eyes saw beauty they had never seen,
so mysterious and delicate this foreign Queen,
seductive and distant with charms unseen.

Invited to an audience within the walls,
how could I not reply to this royal call,
these affairs tend towards a chaotic squall,
a chance to meet a Queen in her Great Hall.

“Lord Pagan of Poetica, I'm pleased to meet you,
its so nice for me to personally greet you”.
Her soft voice designed just to defeat you,
her ravishing beauty on show to unseat you.

With reddened cheeks I was able to say
“Its my pleasure indeed to meet you this day,
though the ground is cold and the sky is grey,
your presence brings the warm sun my way”.

My charm raised a blush and a smile,
she was happy to tarry with me awhile,
in the gardens we must have walked a mile,
her suitors barely concealing jealousy and bile.

Then Queen Lyenna whispered a secret to me,
she was waiting for a man from across the sea,
until he came she would hold on with assurity,
to her chastity, her love and her purity.

Her confidence in me was by no means assuaged,
but her secret I keep dear like an animal caged,
as deep within a raw and primal fire still raged,
I felt this moment could not have been better staged.

Her shy request to become my lover,
gifting to me what she would give no other,
my desire and lust I could no longer cover,
my heart was hers, no longer for another.

Disillusioned with the men in her land,
refusing them all she had made her stand,
not acquiescing to what her father planned,
the smile in her eyes said “I've got my man”.


From 'Selected Works'
by Lord Pagan of Poetica


© Pagan Paul (08/02/18)
.
Tenshu Zninja Oct 2016
antagonistically I am alive

Languish is a two laned road

Misogyny be my name and my role
Pride be my form

The sins of my brothers and my sisters
they be here no more
When my blood rises from the dead
Ebonics will overcome phonics And our lives will be spared

I am done playing politics
done being your diplomat
if you want the olive branch go get it yourself

I am done acquiescing to your decisions and demands
I am prepared to throw up my hands
All I want is to be left alone with my kin
All I want is for my diction to not define who I am
All I want is for peace not to be left a dream

We as a whole are taught that dreams can become reality
That america is a country created and shaped by our thoughts
Yet our reality is becoming nothing more than a nightmare
Someone tell me who thought of this?
How can we turn our reality from the nightmare it has become into our dreams
let us be honest it was never a place for my people
But since we are here can we not claw each others throats out and get back to the problem at hand?
they've taken over the shop
they're running central command
should you be acquiescing at their feet
to you they'll stretch out a friendly hand
those who aren't in the fold
the ones on the outer
shall never be given an entry
for only the top liners
shall obtain a front door key
it's plain
it's simple
it's a management decision
who will be in
either
the inclusion
or
exclusion
departments
of
the
store
you wrap your hands
around my ever growing waistline,
yet I am beautiful,
you told me so,

or was that a lie,
and where do the truth and your lies separate or are they the same now,

do you know the honesty you lack,
and maybe i find that attractive,
do I?
how could I not know you were incapable of truth telling,
bi personality,
a hybrid disease of acquiescing all that you seem,
and I've believed you,

what does that say of me?
JR Rhine Feb 2016
Childish churning chickadees--
chastened
in the dark denim confines of the bulging pocket.

Chatting urgently only in touch,
when their bodies grind together
where two or more gather--
like prayers, like lips do like hands do--

Uncomfortable shape-shifting;
feeling tense as legs shake loose the bunched up mess--
digging into skin like silver teeth or a silver bullet
encroached within a werewolf's flesh--

Musically: creating new timbres accompanying
suddenly aggravated gaits--
Ching ka-ching ka-ching ka-ching--
Fumbling in the darkness.

Ka-ching ka-ching clawing incessantly,
as the forlorn children of burdensome currency.

Soon, their captors retire to worn couches
to engage in aggressive loafing--
growing sluggish and torpid,
legs slacken and jeans loosen--

their lips at the captor's hip bones
spilling out their shiny contents like dripping saliva--
and down, down the children go,
choking between the cracks of the worn cushions.

Bodies shift, aching for comfort,
the farther, farther down they go--
their cries drowned drowned
by pillows acquiescing to mushy bodies.

Those that survive the dreadful encounter--
clinging to their prisons--
feel once again the stifling hands of death
reaching grasping groping in their huddled fretful presence

to be tossed loosely carelessly onto bedside dressers;
for a fate unknown to themselves, nor the hands
that toss them absentmindedly.
It is rare that they are brought to the light of day again.

(It would have been better,
to have sunk acquiescently,
down into the bulbous stifling purgatory
alongside their unlucky kin.)

There is worse; for those who are left in their denim prisons
are thrown--cage and all--
into the jaws of Poseidon's mechanical canine,
who sits on its hind legs patiently and consumes ravenously.

They amass at the bottom of its belly,
until intense gurgling acids arise,
reaching higher and higher til
all are submerged.

They are tossed in voracious waters,
twisting and churning and gasping and drowning--
holding onto each other like prayers;

feeling pulled ****** into the vacuum--
cries lost in the gaping pores of the gargling volatile beast--
lost, lost, lost,
in the cries of forever longing.

Goodbyes: *Goodbye,
dear friends.
All day,
The gray clouds had
Promised rain, but when the sun
Appeared, they acquiesced. Not
A drop
Mikaila Aug 2017
I feel as though I'm always under someone's thumb
These days.
I suppose it's not that I ever didn't,
Just that I always thought it would go away
Someday.
You know?
But everywhere I go
There always seems to be a man waiting
To tell me how best to exist
To explain to me
Something I already know
To give me- in the well meaning sort of way that makes my teeth itch-
Advice
On how best to conduct my life.

I'm sure you know the feeling.
I'm sure you've felt it too
And done what I always find myself doing--

Taking criticism you wonder if you'd get
If you weren't a woman.

Nodding through patronizing explanations
Of things you learned years ago.

Smiling meekly at detailed (and unsolicited) evaluations of your character,
Of all the minute things you do and don't do
And how you should do them or not do them
Differently.

"Oh really? Thank you, I'll be sure to do better next time."
I'll be sure to
Be
Better next time.

You say it out of instinct. Out of weariness.
Because you don't really fancy a fight, do you?
Not with someone so much
Bigger and stronger than you
In every classroom
In every workplace
In every system
In life.

If a man were to take a swing at me
Literally
I'm sure I'd be more apt to swing back
And better prepared
Than if he swung with the weight of his privilege
A mean
Right hook.
It's why they so seldom (relative to the alternative, at least)
Swing in the physical world:
Usually the blow lands just fine
As a criticism
Or a joke
Or even a look-
An assertion of
Dominance.
A reminder
Of who is really
In charge here.

And you find yourself
-I find myself-
Acquiescing
Oh I'm so sorry I'm not what you wished I was,
I'll
Change
So that you can be more comfortable.
Oh yes
Right away

Sir.

Everything you don't know
Is a weapon they've got to use against you.

Everything you say and do,
Ammunition.

Places you linger too long
And places you vacate too quickly,

They are marks against your name

Proof that you could always be more
Like them

Be better
Like them

(But not too much "better", or you're
Bossy
Rude
Abrasive.
Just "better" enough to assure them that
They're still the standard.)

But the thing is,
All this surrender,
It builds up.
You don't dissolve when you swallow yourself like a pill for them
Paint a sugary smile on your face
For them
And make sure they know you just aren't smart enough
Just aren't tough enough
To live without their guidance.
When you lie to survive
Those moments STAY.
They stick in your throat as you walk away.
They come back to you
Acidic and harsh
As you try to fall asleep.

That feeling
The feeling of acquiescence
It festers inside you
And it
NEVER really stops
Does it?

I don't know...
I just thought it would stop.
I thought
It would stop
After middle school.
And I thought
It would stop
After high school.
And I thought
It would stop
After college.

And it hasn't.
Cedric McClester Apr 2016
By: Cedric McClester

Time goes by fast
But memories that last
Are like snap-shots of the past
That we view in contrast
To the here and now
And so we make a vow
To apply the breaks
And avoid our past mistakes

Time goes by fast
And nothing ever lasts
For those who are miscast
Or the errant iconoclast

In the rear view mirror
Things become much clearer
To the standard bearer
Who sees them much nearer
Than they were before
When it was easier to ignore
The intricate designs
Of the various warning signs

Time goes by fast
And nothing ever lasts
For those who are miscast
Or the errant iconoclast

Seconds minutes hours
With all it’s magical powers
We observe like blooming flowers
That time finally devours

And as slowly we retreat
To our thoughts so bitter sweet
Not acquiescing to defeat
That occasionally we meet
So we long for yesteryear
Cuz we’re far away from there
And the veil is very shear
Between there and here

Time goes by fast
And nothing ever lasts
For those who are miscast
Or the errant iconoclast

Time goes by fast
But memories that last
Are like snap-shots of the past
That we view in contrast
To the here and now
And so we make a vow
To apply the breaks
And avoid our past mistakes






Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2016.  All rights reserved.
Alex Salazar Dec 2016
This space is tender.
Every inch, a ubiquitous sense of peace.
A gift, found under a bedrock of a beautiful smile.
A gift left over by the warmth of your hands.
I'll always remember the little things.
The steady acquiescing sound of your voice rippling through my spine during a midnight conference.
The simple, but warm vibrations of your childlike laughter.
Your nervous eyes seeking cover from my gaze.
Here's a list of my demands.
Here's a list of my emotions.
Finally, sanctuary under your soft lips.
Pearson Bolt Jan 2016
the song remains the same

short
frantic
fast

thirty seconds of
aggression and
distortion and
******* punk

radio pop follows a formula
where experiment is anathema
and the flavor is bland vanilla
even lines of simple rhymes
gently fragrant cadences
for inane entertainment

unlike crooning ballads that
meander through soundscapes
pondering existential enigmas
in time with rhythm and blues
the banjo strings accompanying a
shadow on horseback riding on towards
a sunset setting the world asunder

we are all concertos
symphonies of solemn symmetry
a myriad of harmonies acquiescing
to the meaningless tunes of the universe
whipped hither and yon by the whims of
chance and happenstance in this
tumultuous hurricane of existence

some songs have not yet reached their conclusion
one began the moment the galaxies were painted
in broad-strokes across a tapestry of vacant space
still more have lost a beat they can't repeat and remain  
forever frozen in anthologies kept in some ancient
library in an extra-dimensional plane
presided over by Father Time
a blind watchmaker created by the words that
sprung forth from cracked and withered pages
containing endless evanescent anthems
This is a poem about music that isn't about music.
Mikaila Jun 2013
I like to leave my mark on my books.
I've gotten into the habit, as of late, that when my books are tangible
With pages and dog-ears and tears,
And little coffee stains and broken bindings,
That they also hold something else of me.
When I stopped writing my story,
I started scrawling responses to theirs
Everyone else's
In my books
Novels and poetry
Are scribbled with underlines and little comments,
Agreeing or acquiescing,
Rebutting or rebuking
Some author or character to whom I feel a particular connection.
I like to leave a bit of myself in my books
So that they might be no one else's
Not ever.
Compelled by feeling,
I scrawl my heart on the pages of my books
And make us the same.
Andrew Rueter Feb 2022
There is a glass dome given by father
enforcing an encephalon enclosure
citizens claw at the wall for freedom
testing the structure's durability
but they only scratch the surface
desperately covering all 360°
and the temperature only rises from there.

The citizens form an insurgency
against their flesh ruler
measuring their humanity
determining inadequacy.

The militia inside fights internally
arguing against acquiescing to aqueducts
barring bridges from being built
while legions fracture over stagnant water
until the entire nation contracts legionnaires' disease.

Bewildered beleaguerment brings bulky breathing
fogging up the inside of the glass
until the citizens can't see out of their own bubble
floating around—ready to pop.

The citizens bang on the glass
staring at their own reflection
the only way out is inside
a place they've come to despise.
niklaas Apr 2014
Fitting perfection into imperfection; ****
Destiny’s paths in a fallen world; crooked
Sticking to the original script in spite of modification; stubbornness
Purpose contrary to the films of the soul; conflict
Bogus revelations from false prophets; false rights
Subject to the interpretation of the bearer; truth

Scripts that leave with a new feeling contrary to believing; doubt
Birth of belief and place of surrender; the heart
Authority to rule and reign; ‘Kings and pawns’
Set against enemies, an army; game of chess
‘Come with me I will lead you;’ submission
‘I will lead you to the light;’ enlightenment
Do without questions; acquiescing
Ability to choose but submitting; ‘Free will’
A path of morality and virtue; noble
Journey led and guided by a sage; life
Multiple paths and closed doors; labyrinth
Noble hearts and genuine allegiance; humanity
Unfeigned confidence; tried and proven

Result of weariness and exhaustion; stumbling feet
Inability to walk along due to doubt and disagreement; separation
A journey of backwardness; digression
An act that devalues; abasement
A sentence that is unjust and from a hot judge; wrath

Crooked paths lead to broken streets
Broken streets lead the soul into debasement
Debasement leads to corruption
Corruption leads to horrors that make a freak
A freak of nature
The result of lies, lies, lies.
A broken plot
A bogus belief.

P.S; written at 5am(16/04/14)
TOO HARD FOR ME TO PRETEND...
Brent Kincaid Oct 2016
It used to be you and me
Separately, distinctively
Distinguished from others
More than sisters and brothers
More than fathers and mothers
A family of our own
Two of us alone
Facing a world ready
To tear us apart
Separate us
Denigrate us
For loving each other
Choosing one another
instead of acquiescing,
Bowing and scraping
To the rules laid out
By those with the clout
To call us names and scorn
Try to deny we were born
As the people we are.
But, it turns out, so far
We are stronger
And out love lasts longer
From when we had begun
Than those who feel none.
As our love moves along
We have become twice as strong.
Christian C Dec 2020
The boy who clicks off the light, reads on the couch, to let sleep consume me-- or who reads beside me, metal-frames dipping low
while his eyes pour over the page.

The boy who tucks me in, acquiescing the blanket softer than peach fuzz-- like the ambrosial peaches his grandmother gifted him in the winter and he shared sweet.

The boy who always makes sure to kiss me good-bye
and fills the room with jazzy notes-- because they represent me,
though he never liked jazz much at all before.

The boy who asked me to wake him if I go somewhere because he'd prefer me to remain beside him, but he understands I have things I need to do, so he cannot always wake beside me,
a weight he can handle.

It does not match the boy who told me he does not love me,
though he likes me, and I am haunted by hollow translations
that force me to delicately dance around a swear word in the
English language like "love".

It does not match the boy who said we wouldn't have much of a relationship without ***, and I am haunted by uncertainties of my convenience that force me to stumble with the hope that our
past does not define our present.

How I feel about you, through my actions, through my words, are truer than any logic, but that might not matter
because the boy does not want to hear words that have
a weight greater than he can handle.
Cedric McClester May 2019
By: Cedric McClester

Uncomfortable days
And sleepless nights
He eats their souls
In tiny bites
While promoting the
Supremacy of whites
The kind of controversy
In which he delights

They find themselves
Acquiescing
To various things
That he’s addressing
It takes a while for them
To learn their lesson
After they’ve become
One of his possessions

In good time
No one denies
Everything he touches
Eventually dies
Or becomes someone
For him to despise
With reputations tattered
Otherwise

If he’s not Satan,
Who is he then?
A corrupter
Of women and of men
Who swallows their souls
Like only he can
Which his victims
Eventually understand










Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2019.  All rights reserved.
Nature made convenient sluice,
when pool water did wend
     down the gentle *****
     describing gargantuan wetsuit vend

er steadily chugging, chiseling,
     and channeling straight away
     blindly coursing upend
ding (mankind imposed)

property boundaries demarcations tend
with futile diligence,
     asper the whimsical barenaked lady's
     propensities, viz mother nature

     made short shrift send
ding hours of surveyor labor down
into the behavioral sink also rend

ding inhabitants within the flood plain
     to vacate premises and return,
     when storm didst abate
comically shaking angry fist
     at darkening non sheltering sky -

     faux imitating to berate
meteorological processes
     many complex systems create
the downpour seemingly
     appearing (to me) rainier date

then years gone by scattershot memories,
     (which figurative, somewhat unreliable
     yardstick of boyhood) did equate
climate affecting
     Southeastern Montgomery, Pennsylvania,

     registering **** sapiens ultimate fate
burgeoning population, which impact great enough
     for this lix spittle country bumpkin to *******
(not prematurely) Hawaii hate
to reckon my environmental impact doth irritate

fragile ecosystems, and  
     holistic lifestyle aye would trade
     (hint...mebbe ya know
     of eco-centric intentional communities)
     even (yes absolutely)
     necessitating sweat of brow *****

work agreeable to this sometime joker    
renting from management Grosse and Quade,
who primarily bolster increasing monies to get paid, 
perhaps partnership incorporates hiring maid 
service for their own households,
 
     no doubt beds get properly made
     yet, this regular John Doe (dependent on
     social security disability because
     debilitating panic attacks undermined

     ability to function found (yours truly) laid
up (prior to acquiescing strong suggestions
to accept prescription medication), where grade
to cope much less steep, plus un huff frayed,

now rowing tha old skiff to destination
     for to long not fostered and delayed
(christened matthew scott harris) to feign charade
nod duh so merrily lee down the time stream.
Carlo C Gomez Sep 2020
Riding
The color
Wheel

From
Liftoff
To splashdown

Onyx
Eyelids
Heavy with rheum

Waking to
Laminated
Stick-ons

A vinyl ocean
Of unco adhesion
And snap vacuum

Jettisoned
Trinkets
Of youth

Soaring
Prophetically
Overhead

Acquiescing
As scenes
Of upended worlds

The simple playgrounds
Both remembered
And loved
Butch Decatoria Jul 2021
Moonshine full upon our seas

Evening breeze sweet beckoning

Reach below, within me deeply

Move me in movements deep tidal pools,

Acquiescing the air a kiss or two.

Inside where we’re wet with need,

Drown me in your love.
Revised, repost
Alternately titled: arm ugh gut tin 

Aye dread getting *******
   and getting washed 
   even without spectacles
   that haint no mo' six-pack ab
which nearly rock-ribbed
   mid equatorial zone shapeshifted 
   into corpuscular blubbery 
   ancillary physiognomy
   where aye wanna bab 
bull posttraumatic stressed out
   middle age battle of the bulge.

Season sponged pants squarely 
   and tightly across the equatorial adipose tissue
   requiring mister crab
to clamp down with pincers
   viz primitive liposuction 
   whence rustling scupper
   will efface this trireme 
   where three-ply
   tread fully and tirelessly dab
bull to ameliorate
   rolls of extra flesh alien 
   to what stacked
   as an athletic sculpted body.

   Now no prolong inhalation
   get with steely mettle hie trite to iron out the flab
thus this part
   and parcel of senescence, 
   yet auxiliary buttressed dermis 
   effect forming gorged girth
   giving "love handles" grab
reigniting reign of prepubescent anorexia nervosa, 
   bootstrapped now wen frankly
   zaps distorted self-image. 

   Evoked holocaust repugnant
   rolls of fat insta jab
stubborn thoughts of self-loathing
   entice me to become a lab
bore a tory guinea pig to restore 
   prime of life when five foot ten
   alignment could nab
first place in a slick couture magazine 
   from the neck down
   taut torso bearing 
   fashion model and
   teen idol where tab.

To stand stock still until Shutterfly
   would SnapChat 
   rippled tummy, could
   fill my hungry wallet with inxs of cash
now, aye haint so gorge ***,
 WhatsApp with  
   a faux pregnant protuberance,
   though thankfully 
   derriere still rather dash
ing, which palm pilot sized buttocks
   doth newt offset. 

   Lost battle of the bulge,
   where diet tribes furloughed in a flash
abandoning their respective stations, 
   gnome hatter sinusoidal
   parabolic frontispiece finds me to gnash
my toothless mouth for lack of means 
   to stave of the depredations 
   of slump pin proletariat
   allowing me a hash.

Tag with hefty weight, acquiescing 
   this Pillsbury doughboy blivet 
   to subject himself to the sharp
   stings of a cool whip lash
bearing the snap against raw skin as due process 
   and supplication for atlas shrug
ging his shoulders
   at the fountainhead naming me mash
shew Scott in regard to oblate inflation. 

   Insulation fiberglass around midsection, and
   how ma late mum 
   (an avid fan of doctor Carleton Fredericks,
   who preceded Mehmet Oz), would quash
the love she showered on this sole heir - 
   resorting to exhaustive palliatives -
   even ear rash
shun null gambits,
   and as a last-ditch effort 
   putting this offspring  
   on par with an albatross -
   vamoose get out with the trash!
Wk kortas Feb 2018
April is the cruelest month, so some poet said,
Likely vexed to the breaking point by its coquettish nature,
Alternately promising and withdrawing
Sweetness of the warm sun, rustling green blankets of leaves,
The flirtatious, intoxicating perfume
Of the violet and lily of the valley.
For all its coy fluttering of eyelids,
April may delay but never denies,
Yielding its lover’s bounty and then some
To suitors ardent and otherwise.
Its forerunner of two moons prior promises no such delights,
No flora-and-fauna maidenhood as recompense for devotion;
It is the time of purification, of the purge,
A time where light is at a premium,
Often coveted but rarely apprehended, its fleeting manifestations Matters of obfuscation as opposed to illumination,
Soon to be supplanted by fierce meteorological harpies
Short on subtlety but long on effectiveness,
Carrying away those not equipped to resist its peculiar charms
(The too-early runt calf, the aged and nearly-blind collie
Trotting to an unfamiliar field or wood lot,
The newly-solo grandparent acquiescing to the song of the abyss),
The unfortunates consigned to some crypt
Or undisturbed corner of barn or basement,
Proper farewells set aside for some indeterminate time
When it is feasible to block out the knowledge
That the springtime is promised to no man or beast,
Especially at such an interval
Where so little seems to separate one from the other.
Jeremy Ducane Nov 2016
Not for you the opening bars.
Sit back, fold hands, a little smile
At the beauty of the others' notes, familiar.

Now, you feel it coming. A caress
Of knowing fingers, lips. The flute rises
To an acquiescing nod, and
i know not how she twists her
aches into the reprise of her
heart's persistent pleadings.

   her hands touch marred walls.
   her swift glanced put to rest
   some lost vision waxing in
   weathered trellis
   which music ****** her ears
   with temperamental ballad.
   how my day slowly unravels
   itself from the cocoon
   of questions
   and answer metamorphosed,
   a fluttering butterfly.

but i know when she moves
i feel the Earth move, as in a club
of wind pursues the willingness
of each leaf leaping from their boughs.

but i know when she converses,
the quiet rests its forlorn mouth
and shudders to some acquiescing commune.

but i know when she loves when
she does not love me, when she hates so much with her furious heart when she loved me still
in imperiousness solely our own,

   there was a language only i
   know her lips mouth to soothe
   the paroxysm of consternation
   and lullaby me through
   the wakefulness of all things.
Prince Ikpesu Feb 2020
Amaju;
The pride and beauty of all days
In your innocent and unadulterated eyes
I have seen the age and immortality of the sun and the moon.

The incomparable blast of your unabated smile
Acquaints my heart with an acquiescing admiration
Indeed your beauty is priceless and devoid of sentiment.
....
Cedric McClester May 2022
By: Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2022.

What’s wrong
With the world today?
It’s really hard to say
If you’re asking me
Then I’d reply, we must have lost our way
Climate change has rearranged the seasons
And war’s declared everywhere
Without adequate reasons

What’s wrong with society
Are you really asking me?
The answer should be pain enough
For a blind man to see
And there’s only one conclusion
That I would postulate
The world as we now know it
Seems to be full of hate

What’s wrong with people
And their priorities
We appear to be acquiescing
To right wing minorities
We’ve abandoned long held principles
Held by our majorities
And we’ve made the far right
Our new authorities

What’s wrong
With the world today?
People we have
Feet of clay
And we let our vulnerabilities
Constantly get in our way
So consequently
There’s price that we’re forced to pay







Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2022.  All rights reserved.
recurrent suicidal thoughts vain
     gloriously wend
     (o'er a death cab for cutie weeknd)
     yanking zeal

becalming this crash test dummy rolling
     stone temple pilot inxs
     of maroon 5 plus decades long
perdition hellaciously slogging

     slow as adam and the ants,
     thru fifty shades of gray's
     anatomy common weal
masterly baiting this motley crue (cutting),

     beatle browed, beastie boy,
     outre gee (bee) us, grateful dead,
     mailer daemons inhabit
     cavernous fist size vastness steel

via Herbie Hancock (Hermans Hermits)  
     cheesy Munster trap doors that steal,
deep purple swiftly tailored
     culture club members squeal

hosted by mega death pack rat boston for real
venue at Tokyo hotel, via en grave invitation
     signed by Alice in Chains poison huss kiss
     sing, which will spellbind

     once contents unveiled, an instant app peal
immediately choking off air supply
     then Alice Cooper egging bad company
     to hypnotize the guess who sacrificial meal

supplanting raw primal scream from spinal tap
     acquiescing self to abandon all hope,
especially if black sabbath joins
     creed dance clearwater revival

     dark shadows would demand one
     (to take a knee) and kneel
before sacrificing oneself at the beck and call
     of evanescent nirvana

     experiencing permanent relief,
sans soul (twisted) sister riding a hansom
     off phish hull heart shaped coffin
     ample room enough for blind

     melon collie 10,000 maniacs, their heal
ling powers profusely emanating
     via m&m shaped talking heads
methinks averring obeisance

     to judas priest and ******* with coldplay feel
ling of eternal sleep, where quiet ***** riot
     joins carpenters, whose underground
     sepulchral crowded house indicative

  cynthesis iz a done dizzy Gillespie afterlife deal
and you bet your sweet bippy meme
an extra bonus for orthodox believers
     (absent myself - a skeptic),
     whose karma with long deceased will anele!
My poetic side COSMOFUNNEL
wordsmith thanks tumblr in his noggin
ofttimes triggering babbling brook
to swell after deluge
becoming stream of consciousness runnel
carving, gouging, and liquidating topography
qua zee mow toe natural formed tunnel.

Digitally remastered and revised
since original version rejected, thus
writer released,  purposely leaked,
and flooded mass media
courtesy the following
self branded watershed vaunted unabridged
sprawling questionable and deplorable
creation loosed upon unassuming readers.

Analogously linkedin with
once upon a time
one doodling dandy Yankee slender man,
whose yang upended, overshadowed,
and eclipsed mine yin,
nevertheless, now yours truly self anointed
as an elder statesman - ha
gifted with unwanted
inxs of abdominal adipose tissue
(attributed to agent provocateur of aging,

which affects my metabolism
and/or courtesy
unwanted side effect reaction
from one or more
of the eight medications
nurse practitioner
at Penn Psychiatric Center
Phoenixville, Pennsylvania location
Elizabeth Clark prescribes),
which gained weight foments tussle

a fight to the death, I can never win
and alternately titled: arm ugh gut tin
yours truly loathes to mensch shin
one alien looking pear shaped
humanoid with redskin
liposuction advised courtesy Doctor Quinn
(a fictional character and magician,
I took poetic license
created above to help eradicate body dysmorphia),
she waved her wand and ****
transformed me into a puffin.

Aye dread getting undressed
and/or getting washed
even without spectacles
thar haint no mo' six pack ab,
which nearly rock ribbed
mid equatorial zone shape shifted
into corpuscular blubbery
ancillary physiognomy
where aye wanna bab
bull posttraumatic stressed out

middle age battle of the bulge
in summer re: a waisted effort
squarely (er rather roundly) testing
the elasticity of extra large sweatpants,
when straining to hide expanding girth
definitely producing undesirable effect,
(especially when floating in briny deep,
I squarely, honestly and closely resemble
the Chinese brother
who swallowed the sea  

strongly urging, necessitating,
and exhorting mister crab
to clamp down with pincers,
viz primitive liposuction,
whence rustling scupper
will efface this fleshed out
human bloviated ruggedly handsome
man of the webbed wide world
a bit heavy around the equator
over self indulgent fleshpot

unable, uneager, unready,
and unwilling to maneuver
his portly ill proportioned body
inducing unprovoked stares,
and tears for fears
eyes tracking billowing supersize shirt
resembling trireme sails being trimmed,
where fleshly freighted sloop
displaces entire watery expanse
stranding, stinging and starving an a ray

of underwater species,
now prolonging requisite inhalation;
I seek desperate sticktoitiveness
guidance courtesy Younan Nowzaradan
with steely mettle
hie trite to iron out flab
thus tis part and parcel of senescence,
yet auxiliary buttressed dermis
effect forming gorged girth
giving "love handles" grab

reigniting reign of terror
viz prepubescent anorexia nervosa,
boot strapped now - wen
remembrance of things past frankly
zapped distorted self-image
evoked holocaust images repugnant;
buttery rolls of fat insta jab
stubborn thoughts of self-loathing
entice me to become a lab
bore a tory guinea pig/
scapegoat role to restore

prime of life build when five foot ten
obviously me no Lemuel Gulliver
alignment could now perchance nab
first place in a slick couture magazine
from the neck down,
cuz face mottled with
nine inch nails clawing skin
wrought unsightly scab
taut torso bearing
fashion model and
senior citizen idol, where
every place I go receiving
venue offers free tab.

To stand stock still until shutterfly
would SnapChat
rippled tummy, could
fill my hungry wallet with inxs of cash
now, aye haint so gorge ***,
WhatsApp with
faux pregnant protuberance,
though thankfully
derriere still rather dash
shing, which palmolive pilot sized buttocks

doth newt offset sorry to report
lost battle of the bulge,
where diet tribes furloughed in a flash
abandoning their respective stations,
gnome hatter sinusoidal
parabolic frontispiece finds me to gnash
my toothless mouth for lack of means
to stave of the depredations
of slump pin proletariat
allowing me a hash

sheesh priceline tag
with hefty weight, acquiescing
this Pillsbury doughboy blivet
to subject himself to the sharp
stings of a cool whip lash
bearing the snap against
raw skin as due process
and supplication for atlas shrug
gin his broad shoulders
at the fountainhead naming me mash
shew Scott in regard to oblate inflation
insulation fiberglass around midsection, and

how ma late mum
(an avid fan of doctor Carleton Fredericks,
who preceded Mehmet Oz), would quash
the love she showered on this sole heir -
resorting to exhaustive palliatives -
even ear rash
shun null gambits,
and as last ditch effort
putting this offspring
on par with an albatross -
vamoose get out with the trash
unless everything (pertaining to
indelible stubborn blubber
comes out at the whoosh she wash
Diet of worms.
Pain in the *** devoid of dreck
inapropos poetic material what the heck
more unbearable than crick in neck
shiver me timbers, I feel like total wreck
the (see) Edmund Fitzgerald, si?.

Spasmodic cramping imposed
automatic rhyming abbreviation
comeuppance (analogous to daggers
stabbing derriere courtesy constipation
far worse fate than death – abdication

among living with grateful dead
dogsend versus moody blue (brown)
mood whereby feeling tetchy abjection
able, ready, and willing abjuration
to forswear, muster, surrender...

in toto habeas corpus abduration
upon terrestrial realm physical ablation
futile effort this atheist to utter ablution,
hence rollout Harris tweed welcome matte
more than willing to forsake livingsocial,

cuz Whatsapp pining abnegation
to cash fish'n chips, kick
the bucket, toss in hat,...
haint nobody gonna
challenge mine abolition

chained, tethered, yoked,...
accursed abomination
straining sphincter muscle
on par birthing abortion
primal raving, moaning, grunting,...

I imagine similar more futile abreaction
women experiencing parturition,
yours truly expressed agonizing vocalization
working himself into quintessential rabid sweat
screaming, threatening, uttering,... *****

regarding failure concerning
waste product expulsion
giving proctologist serious contemplation
pooh poohing derriere cheeky
bowel over abruption

personally legislating
getting behind abrogation
replacing said *** *****
with more reliable never absolution
regarding made in ******, U.S.A, tuckus,

cuz poisonous toxins sting like scorpions
severely crimping ability to sit down absorption
radiating throughout every
cell guaranteeing abstention
against hidebound contract, no

ifs, ands, nor but tucks
whereby mood linkedin
to nihilistic abstraction
particularly as quasi pincers jabbed
like sharp serrated knives acceleration

guaranteed, where *** rapped cheekily
prospective hemorrhoids increased accentuation
pro bono (cher red) ****** stools,
this tetchy, itchy, ******,...
bard declined invitation,
nee I rejected outright asinine acceptation

within bowel running toward toilet trees
squeezing keister exhausting effort in vain
scheduled medical appointment
gave curled lipped grudging acclamation
acquiescing nod toward grim reaper

worth casting die i.e. permanent resolution,
nary one more infinitesimal fraction
of second, could bare witness re: acclimation
or spelling alternate spelling acclimatization
experiencing, idolizing, lurching...,

sought after emetic interaction
with commode preoccupation
nearly twenty four hours
'tween latter part of September eighth
and ninth laxative delivered accommodation

at long last me no longer tortured
relieved, overjoyed, belated...
rear (rare) accreditation
proffered prior to accretion
lest I forcibly axed to join acculturation
of medical anomalies, you better blivet!
Similar to scrutinizing
an abstract painting,
this author begetting
obscure words dumbfounding
readers, he eludes
(no shade tree fore rest)
clear cut discerning,
yet oft times his words

garner reviews raving
esoteric word choice,
how mind boggling
to this logophile despite
more than one reading
brow (sir) furrowed -
cognitive region scrunching,
no matter intent concentration

utter futility attempting
bedeviled comprehension, whether
literary master (me? ha...
not yet), among pantheon partying,
but nonetheless birthing
present day profoundly thought provoking,
undoubtedly tirelessly expending
mental energy eventually exhausting

effort in futility understanding,
asper mine stymied
linkedin attention getting
(then just as quickly losing)
registering resignation defeat alluding
to challenge physical prowess daunting
engagement well matched savvy sparring
partner, or possibly life

and death battling
against unwittingly aggressive brutal questing
archenemy, sans toward all living
species wretched nemesis ultimately deciding
mortality tacitly accepted proffering
transient longevity refusing
to compromise, haggle, negotiate,
et cetera casting

deadened demise of victor or villain
all thru civilization starring
as unopposable tour
de force quietly biding
end date, versus indiscriminately snatching
hero, heroine, coward,
et cetera requiring
impossible ransom while donning

mask of Melpomene
(Tragedy), or trumpeting
Thalia (Comedy), no exit stage door left
only joie de vivre
until last second ticking
unbeknownst unexpected, and uninviting
deathly hallows ringtone alarming
anonymous (oh Henry)

words worth struggling
to hash meaningfulness, viz
finite existence germinating
since birth, yet
terminal realization pressing
with greater frequency when aging,
and deafeningly ear splitting
amplitude bite the bullet clamoring

to tread welcome matt acquiescing
unavoidable phase of dying
devoid of any bargain, but requiring
unconditionally punishingly suffering
silent non binding
resolution, no exemption decrying

unfair contractual obligation, nor unionizing
worth a fig yore of
speech as cosmic arbiter
blithely doth shear - pruning,
without rhyme nor reason meeting
identical fate toward everyone
even posthumous destiny yours truly awaiting.
Michael Perry Jan 2022
Our day was the most normal of all
meeting for breakfast, we were in love
looking into each others eyes, here
at our favorite café, where we met most
days, we sat at a corner table which
was set with fresh picked flowers
we ate croissants and drank chicory
oh to be in love like this, then at one point
it happened, his mood seemed to overtake
the moment; like a cloud covering a sunny day
then he casually said to me without any
further instance of emotion, that it was over
he could not go on anymore, he had fallen
out of love with me, how could this be
we had been together for a long time, there
was no consignment or strings attached, foolishly
thinking, we could make this work, albeit
discreetly, he left me in stunned silence
then got up and removed himself from the table
as I sat alone for a moment, quickly acquiescing
to leave, making my way home where I
paid the babysitter and sat in my chair with my head
back to ponder next moves-oh yes there
would always be next moves to make

by Michael Perry

— The End —