"acquit" poems
I can't help but notice
How much harder
The rain hits my face
After I've sinned.
And if there's a God,
He hates me.
No prayer can acquit this hatred.
There's no hymn to heal my wounds.
I'm surprised I haven't burst
Into flames yet.
They'd probably dump water on me
And call it a baptism.
Reborn, renewed, refreshed, my child.
Who made that water so pure?
Who died and put you in charge?
Go ahead,
Recite your verses and preach your sermons,
But the "Body of Christ"
Is just a piece of bread.
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 12:15 AM UTC
Have love ever been easy to deal with sympathy?
Just so, Her iron lung breathing calamity of apathy
Beyond eyes and words ,her beauty spoke
Kindle once vital, now perish slow with smoke
Suffocation cannot feel this good, can it?
a crime of love shall never see acquit
A poetess sung for me a poem of love
Soft words - with stings of venomous dove
Being so deluded by some natural artsy
Dreams woven on silent obscure spree
Cold touch of her once warm soul
Shattering pieces now never be whole
Poignant themes of once happy souvenir
Whispering breeze of lonely December
Brings me smile then tears falls down
a deep breath sigh and again I avow
holding onto the keepsake- my folded hands try
Squeezed by broken dreams- once more I cry!
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 11:45 PM UTC
When I utter commit, I mean to dedicate
First to Him, that gave my full birthright
And two to myself, the reason to create,
My commitment is my responsibility
I choose to commit, perhaps you may not admit
I want to melt my fears, thyself to acquit
Realize my valour, to knit again my grit
My commitment is my responsibility
I commit to trust my inner instinct,
Lest I stumble and be called extinct
I will teach me to always be prinked
My commitment is my responsibility
I commit my business to what is real
Perhaps people will get dull
Maybe I will find my answers in the baffle
And get busy making my now life blissful
For my commitment is my responsibility
Apr 3, 2021
Apr 3, 2021 at 2:44 PM UTC
My mind is under the glacier
Waiting for it to combust
As I try to gain sanity
I get propelled into madness
Every time I try yo understand
I only accept less
Every time I confess
My darkest sins
Everyone else comes from within
To admit their faults
So I'm kicking my issues to the vault
Accept that my mistakes are my fault
And realize that I should never quit
But I'm a defendant tryo g to acquit
Please God give me strength
So I don't channel my anger
In the wrong way
I'm trying to be good today
But tomorrow is a different story
Renounce my glory
Only when I deserve it
So far I'm not sure I have
But then yet, I can be too skeptical
This a search to be happy
And I can't find much
For now
But I know I have to wait
And for the impatient part of me
That's too difficult to work
But I do know
That I have to conspire against my most loathed tasks
And paint it with the pathway to what I love
That's the only way I'll make it
I'll survive, just give me time to work the kinks out
So far I'm in prototype
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 9:11 PM UTC
I’m filled with love, but nothing to do with it.
So much energy but nowhere to go.
You, a prisoner that I must acquit.
I love you more than you could ever know.
Hateful love, kindly fighting, furious peace.
I feel more loved when I am filled with hate.
All these describe how I feel; Bitter Sweet.
I can’t stand this; I’ve got a lot on my plate.
Little did I know, you are always there.
I can be myself when I’m around you.
You’ve come to rescue me from my nightmare.
I hope you see that my love is pure and true.
And no longer do I feel bittersweet.
Doubtless you’re the girl I have longed to meet.
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 11:21 PM UTC
He was a man
A lizard
The one that crawls out of its skin
Camouflaging ‘till it’s sweating the rocks
Keen on what it wants, what it feels
That very moment
Is all that matters, all that fills
Him
His fibs
were a well-tailored fit
But he bit his own head off too often
and stood empty
Like a wishing well
or an abyss,
The pit in which I threw my dreams in
But he couldn’t fit the sentiment
Wishes were demands that bared the skeleton
Their little mouths crunching
and talking to him
He calcified his judgement to acquit the fugitive
And he blowtorched my size, my wit
Until he could no longer
speak of it
or enjoy it
I had been burning for days
Up until the day he palpated the shame
Of the impulse, of the way
a man could perfect his death
Behind the mountain of skin, undressed
the tongue was hissing in his pit
I sat him on the chair, roped to one question
Why did you do it
And if guilt is the sharpest
tool to deface him,
the man
couldn’t look at me
A mallard too limp to admit
his interests were monotypic,
only equipped
to fit his own ****
I should have de-plucked it
Drained and throat-hung it
For the many nights
I made love to a liar
But, I let him keep all of his fingers
so the man
may continue
******* himself
Apr 26, 2017
Apr 26, 2017 at 11:10 PM UTC
Enslaved by the Mind
slaves of its cravings
Likes and Dislikes
chained with tangled strings
~
Enslaved to the world
Repeating circles endlessly
Networking and Socialising
What are we trying to sustain?
~
Enslaved to our misery
Nature's calling in evolution
Selection and Elimination
A thousand folders to maintain
~
Let's think about something else
Something made of love and light
Pause and Rethink
God's most precious gift is- free will
~
Let's embrace the random
A blessing in disguise
Willingly take a step towards freedom
Know what it's like being
A Free Being
~
Let's acquit ourselves of the guilt
Annihilation of all that carried since
that's not truly you
All it takes is a moment's will
A decision to break on through
~
Let's think about something else
something made of light and dark
know that dark too has its part
embrace them both alike
~
Let's familiarise with ourselves
in our aloneness
the Unclouded being
that's not static but shall forever flow
for if it wasn't for the Sun and Moon
we wouldn't know
Equanimity
Know what it is being
A Free-Being
~~
Dec 11, 2015
Dec 11, 2015 at 10:37 AM UTC
She stood in the dock,
a ruddy gibbering wreck,
very flushed and very frightened,
The stern judge was a vulture,
dreams of chewing her flesh,
Counsel for the prosecution,
was a rather noisy crow,
In her defence,
an eagle stood,
Clutching close her feathered brood.
the courtroom clerk a budgerigar,
with yellow breast,
and mottled feathers,
chatting and typing litotes,
although not really listening.
The defendant for the trial today,
was a bright pink flamingo,
with googly legs and googly eyes,
that poured out such pink tears,
the way the case was going on,
well,
she could be locked away for years,
the jury consisted of mockingbirds,
who laughed at everything they heard,
the evidence was null and void,
not really heard above the noise.
Having heard what he could of the evidence,
the vulture judge got rather cross,
he called upon a dove,
"members of the jury,
we have to acquit this pretty flamingo,
because I believe that I'm in love".
(c)Livvi
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 4:33 PM UTC
Stop badgering the witness!
Love is a mysterious thing poker face
Even though we tend to think of soul mates
as a symbiotic union, we have to be open-minded
Marriage is a business transaction
*We've all had nights we can't remember...
or wish we could forget*
as we all recalled it was the mindset
that triggered strong emotion into an explosion
that separate the thing called love.
It’s have been more than twenty odd years since
the Weeper's victims left over tears, that never faded.
the dead never felt neither pain nor anger
The jury is still deliberating long and hard with miles
to go on the public views, so once again
if the gloves don't fit you must acquit
Stop badgering the remaining witnesses America
Love is a mysterious thing, poker face
Aug 5, 2015
Aug 5, 2015 at 8:16 AM UTC
My anger is a gift.
My anger is a gift
And for, that you will not acquit me.
So judge me.
I get it,
You wanna stick up for the little man
But what are the terms and conditions
you got written on your hand?
Is that freedom?
Determined to rid the vermin
Hatreds poisonous venom
Annihilation of oppression
By concreting a standard that fits your balance?
Fascism
Disguised by liberal ways.
Cause the left won the culture war
And we must fulfill the agenda to save the day.
Or is it about the money?
With a buck in my right hand
And my left fist full of pills grasping in half prayer for rehab
They say I need help.
My mental status is high on bad health
I'm caged in my brain,
All 9 circles of hell
With no guiding light,
I'm always told to tread light
My heart beats questions,
my words start fights.
I am the snow storm of Capricorn
Loose chains around my neck
Pentacles
Cups
Wands
Swords
Astro-Tarot cross burns with no exhaust
At the bottom of the gate,
You can see my bones in Lucifer's mouth.
So why do I feel angelic?
My anger is prolific
Biblical scriptures leave me destined for heathen obsessions.
I am the division
No balance without permission
My air fuels fires and creates unison.
I am destruction
But rebirth in the same phase.
Cycling the celestial waives
Swearing in God's name.
I can't be the only one
Who feels that condescending thumb
We must create a stage to fit the population
who wants to express their pain to his son.
But its crowded,
About to cave.
The weight of the world will be best defined in mass graves.
And here comes my gift.
My anger is my bliss.
I can't come to grips on why the world is the way it is.
I respect this age for hands raised in rage.
But I will be quick to slap down others who think they are center stage.
I'll break anyone's four walls and follow Shakespeare in a Socratic annoyance.
This is a moment of clairvoyance
Repeat these words with me and find a voice;
Solve
Coagula
Solve
Coagula
Dissolve the paradigm
To form a new life
Solve
Coagula
Solve
Coagula
My gift to the world
Is written on my arms.
Mar 14, 2018
Mar 14, 2018 at 12:56 PM UTC
It is a hunger
Desire to love and grow further
Acquit to encumber
Greek fire abreast of precursor
Let me feel that love yet unheard of to me
In this old world
Debris barren of written word at sea
Deep kiss unfurl
Until then, memories keep coming
Beauty, which yet not be wrong
Living will, remedies forthcoming
Off duty all along
If the sky would fall
Die nor, would we all
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 7:07 PM UTC
Invisible water is filling up a lung,
constantly drowning in an everyday world.
No words to every song that has ever been sung,
we are born and we die the same; body curled.
Trees grow but leafs fall, a barren way left to display,
Seas and breeze call, it's said that night is the one true love to day.
We try to be our best, but our best is rarely enough.
With the beat that's in our chest, we're fooled to think that we are tough.
Language was made to communicate, but we quarrel in pettiness.
Still we can all relate to an elegy of emptiness.
There's a dark room in every home,
and each closet holds atleast a single skeleton.
Our feet recognize the path we roam,
and you're not surprised that you fell again.
Puddles gather for us to splash, separating each drop from kin,
I know I'd rather just ask for the water to let me come in.
We try to be our best, but our best is rarely enough.
We all need to take a rest, our strength is now merely a bluff.
Distance is here for us to jump, but not many know readiness,
everyone has some sort of slump with an elegy of emptiness.
Lives travel on, and many paths become split,
and we all prattle on, only our feelings do we acquit.
Life doesn't stop for any one person, no matter the benefit.
But you listen to a different version, that much you have to admit.
We try to be our best, but our best is rarely enough.
Each day now is just a test, truth mixed in with the fluff.
Souls were made to connect, but most care only for prettiness,
not realizing the effect and then the elegy of emptiness.
May 26, 2017
May 26, 2017 at 7:59 PM UTC
I was restless this evening past,
tossed and turned until shadows cast,
disheveled hair, and eyes mad,
I procured a parchment and quill to acquit my mental fast
.
I was restless this evening past,
tossed and turned until shadows cast,
disheveled hair, and eyes mad,
I procured a parchment and quill to acquit my mental fast
.
I was restless this evening past,
tossed and turned until shadows cast,
disheveled hair, and eyes mad,
I procured a parchment and quill to acquit my mental fast
Mar 26, 2021
Mar 26, 2021 at 2:19 PM UTC
Artificial, yet an artisan,
Pontifically partisan,
She raised her eyes to heaven high
And chiseled my heart with steady hands
She carved her own intricate façade,
And painted her mask to earn applaud,
Beneath her father’s right-wing feathers
Brought up to pray to his decreed god
He crowned her with his finest gems
To show her off to all his friends;
Helped her gild herself with gold
An aristocratic wright in the truest sense
“But I specialize in counterfeit,”
She said, as I saw under the definite
And skillful strokes, the expert notches,
A messy sketch yearning to freely acquit
“Then be free,” I said, as she let me in
Her atelier. So I scraped from her skin
The china-doll gloss and regal glitter,
And drained her blue blood of cyan tint
She smiled—the laughter lines made cracks
Through lips of plaster and cheeks of wax
I took the gleaming jewels from her eyes,
And saw new life glimmer in rolling tear tracks
She was a tempest of color, splattered and spilled
A muse incarnate that could not be stilled,
Chaos unveiled, but beautifully alive
With soul redeemed and freedom fulfilled
Mar 26, 2016
Mar 26, 2016 at 1:42 AM UTC
Poetry give a voice to a prison inmate
he show emotions
Poetry is evolution of man capabilities
to see beyond the clouds
Poetry is art with kaleidoscope images
With the eyes
of an double-edge sword
That dug deeper into ones soul
Poetry is a purge for a dark soul
That clog ones’ artery
Poetry is fighting words against
An ill manner society
Poetry is an untimely wave
It never ceases to amaze us
Poetry is a stage plays: plays out
and became a big part in the court room drama
While the defense lawyers demonstrated
Their incompetence in many ways
If the gloves don't fit,
you must acquit.
Poetry is the flags we wave during
An uprising, as we protest again Apartheid
Poetry is the language that every poet
Want to translate into categories
Poetry is a threat to the man in higher power
As he sit upon his thrones
Poetry is the pacifier to a baby
As the lullabies and nursery rhyme soothe him to sleep
Poetry is the key to a romance
as the relationship loses its flavor
Poetry is an sale pitch
Its sell itself throughout history
Poetry is an eye opener it can break you
Or make you repeat tongue twisting words
Poetry is proverbs, Psalms and Eulogies
As it release ones souls into the unknown
Poetry is the key that bring us together
As we fall apart
Poetry is what held the slaves together
Through a time of injustice
Poetry is looking at the sun, the moon
And the stars, as we say silly words
“How lovely the moon looks tonight”
If only I could touch the stars, I would place one
In your lovely hair as we gaze into each other eyes.
Poetry is the recall of a poet bad romance
That gone sour
Poetry is the seasons of poems as it rolls with
The elements of the weather
Poetry is the voice of a mute poet
Who perform in silence while the
audience read his mind
The Poem was inspired by Emilio Villa
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 2:15 PM UTC
Ma muse, j'ai un tout petit dilemne.
Il est écrit qu'il y a en tout et pour tout neuf muses
Qui ont pour nom par ordre alphabétique
Calliope, Clio, Erato, Euterpe
Melpomène, Polymnie, Terspichore, Thalia et Uranie
Nulle trace d'Aura.
Es-tu vraiment celle que tu prétends être ?
Aimes-tu vraiment le chant de deux voix qui s'alternent ?
Et dans le cas où tu serais bien l'une des neuf
Pourquoi m'as-tu dit que tu étais le huit ?
Si je te pose la question
C'est que j'avais accès à ton site sur muses.com/aura
et j'ai égaré mon mot de passe.
Tu sais, ce mot de passe sécurisé
Qui nous permettait de nous exhiber tranquillement
A l'abri des regards indiscrets.
Je ne me souviens pas s'il y avait douze, quatorze ou vingt caractères.
mais il y en avait plus que huit
Il était fort et aléatoire
Entre majuscules, minuscules, symboles et chiffres
Impossible à craquer
C'était mieux que Fort Knox
Dedans tu avais mis ton âge, ton poids, ta taille, ta pointure
Et les lettres, arbmu et umz
Et un symbole étrange un t avec une virgule souscrite.
J'ai appelé à gauche et à droite les Muses pour retrouver ta trace,
Je t'ai googlisé. En vain.
Es tu vraiment ma Muse ou Furie ?
Par acquit de conscience j 'ai vérifié les noms des Furies
Tisiphone, Mégère et Alecton.
Et j'en reviens à la seule et unique question :
Qui es-tu ? Mon ombre, certes, mais encore ?
J'ai rêvé que tu étais astronaute et moi Martien.
Tu m'avais réduit de la taille d'un minuscule atome
Que tu gardais bien au chaud dans son berceau
Au fond de la planète Utérus.
Et tu m'allaitais d'eau de vie de mirabelle et me berçais
De câlins sucrés. Et je gazouillais
En regardant tes yeux, Aura,
A l'époque rouges jaunes orange bleus
Puis un jour tes yeux sont passé au vert
Et tu m'as sevré sans un mot, sans une parole.
Tu m'as mis hors du miroir
Et tu m'as dit d'aller caresser l'oiseau.
Et depuis j'erre comme un bateau ivre
Mais revenons à nos orphies :
Le mot de passe !!!
Pour simplifier je te propose
Qu'on efface tout ça et qu'on mette à la place
Juste une phrase comme :
Amant alterna camenae (Virg. egl III,59)
Aug 21, 2019
Aug 21, 2019 at 11:41 AM UTC
If we all tried and did something good each day
we would then help to keep so much evil at bay.
And in the world there would be a lot less crime
and so people would not have to do penalty time.
The same can be said about the telling of lies
that are deceptive which most people despise.
Because no one really likes to know they've been deceived
especially after being told something false that is believed.
This raises those related issues of virtue and vice
or conduct of what is or isn't regarded to be nice.
The laws of the state are to be followed as a guide
by all the people who are by them otherwise tried.
If found to have transgressed in a particular way
that did not conform to a specific law of the day.
There's usually someone about who sounds the alarm
when a member of society is suspected of doing harm.
And when the offender is apprehended and brought to trial
they have to plead their case before a judge without a smile.
If the evidence against them is too strong to acquit them of the charge
they'll have to pay the penalty imposed or forfeit their freedom at large.
This may be a fine to be paid or period spent confined behind bars
where the person convicted is placed and from society kept afar.
But if they're acquitted of the charge in court and allowed to go free
they'll be satisfied with the justice system which tried and let them be.
This is sometimes the situation regardless of the suspect being really guilty or innocent
and doesn't praise or say much of the law when the verdict handed down is too lenient.
That is why when worldly human justice falls short or doesn’t rightly prevail
what's known as Divine justice will eventually step in and recompense entail.
___________________________________
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 3:42 PM UTC
She didn't like the flowers, she threw them in my face
She kicked me in the shin, and put me in my place
She picked up the kitchen knife, I hobbled to the door
She rounded the table, she'd never been that quick before
She really was excited, her face was bright blood red
She began to rant and rave, and I knew that I was dead
She was poised to pounce, and end my worthless life
She merely paused as I said, "But Honey...you're my wife!"
She couldn't be convicted, they had no choice but to acquit
She's not the one accountable, that's all there is to it
And as I turn within my grave, and wonder my remiss
Blame it on my wife, and mistress, both, with ***
Dec 13, 2016
Dec 13, 2016 at 9:22 AM UTC
How they acquit themselves.
spit and ******** wrapped in dung
and flung out to the waiting press.
It's a flaming mess
make no mistake
we cannot take
what is not ours.
More flowers of our Nations youth
one more unsubstantiated truth
and we all fall down.
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 5:45 PM UTC
And that's the tragedy,
Playing the might have beens,
Along with the what could be,
In my mind, all the fantasy,
Everything we might have said, that could'v'e happened in a script
I'll never write.
Were you right to end it all before I got my hands on the copy,
You were right to stop me.
Feverish and drunk, I get lost,
I know the words we might've said, all the lives we might have led,
And it kills me
It kills me up in my head, to replay them like an overture still in review
What am I now I've finally lost you, and admit it
I can't acquit it.
This must do.
All the things I cannot write have to do with you, inside my darker lusts the poetic throes of fantasy,
Are only fantasy,
Without a muse
There's nothing they can come to.
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 6:13 AM UTC
Life isn't perfect and neither are you
Don't worry about what I'm going through
I'll be fine while your still wondering
Too intimidated to speak to me so your left pondering
Making statements and assuming
It's your life that needs grooming
I'm already ahead of you within my mind state
Just because our problems are different doesn't mean we can't relate
Everybody judges everyone it's an inevitable defeat
If you don't work you don't eat
Even if you have to walk with your own feet
It's levels to this ****
Too legit to quit
If the status don't fit you must acquit a suffering culture whose lost morals and gained vultures of dishonesty selfie roller coasters the world is falling over cliches about beauty and how it's made if you want call a doctor to make a change parts of you rearranged cause of your inner pain something has to change.
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 7:26 PM UTC
I acquit the rest
At my request
Only I, attest,
That my betrothed,
no longer within
My influence; behest
As I scout for a safe, I arrest
The ideas that keep floating
That I detest
Once the best
And never the best
Once best goes
You're part of the rest
There is nothing left
I thought I'd know
That once fire blows
You're as good as snow
Go, go.
You'd rather poke
Me with needles
Than garnish a sew
Jun 5, 2017
Jun 5, 2017 at 2:21 AM UTC
Would you like a leisurely stroll?
And while you're at it,
May I take your soul?
Just to acquit?
Start off through a forest:
Jaded leaves and sapphired seas
Paradise at it's best?
Oh just you wait for the breeze.
Now how about a valley?
Small, quaint and serene
Also free of anarchy.
But then again, what stops it from being obscene?
Onwards now, to an oasis
Shall you now quench your thirst?
Oh sweet bliss?
But did I mention, it's cursed?
Oh you lowly fool
You've made a deal with a ghoul
Someone who'll use you as a tool
No matter how cruel
So you say you want out?
All right then
But I'm sure you lout
That you'll come back again and again
So you didn't like that stroll?
So while I'm at it,
Why don't I give back your soul.
At least while you quit
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 7:11 AM UTC
The midwest tundra
swallows super-bowl trophies
and
replaces them
with
black-bottomed **** bubbles.
It dares most of us to do better,
while laughing in our faces,
forcing us to watch
as the kid we’re cheering for
cashes checks
for more money
than we’ll likely ever see,
but we cheer anyway,
as the offensive line crumbles,
the ground game is static,
and the receivers have fingers
glazed with margarine.
Like the zebras,
we throw the flag,
assess and accept the penalties,
and
acquit the insurrectionists
regardless of their guilt or innocence.
The previous commander-in-chief
wrote all those ********
a bison-horned,
organic jailhouse chow-hall
type hall pass,
so why the hell shouldn’t we riot
in the ********* streets,
or the halls of the executive branch
of the local,
state,
and
federal, feral governments
of the ungovernable?
Leave well enough alone
and
Elon Musk,
Jeff Bezos,
and
Bill “Microchip Vaccine” Gates
will figure it all out for us anyway.
Whatever happens,
************ Mark “Lieutenant Data” Zuckerberg
will keep us
all placated and engaged online
while the drone-strikes commence.
Social media keeps us
unaware of our socio-political/socio-economic saboteurs.
Who cares?
Aren’t there some cat-vids
on
Tic-Tacky
or whatever it’s called?
How much longer
do you think it’ll be
before we can live-stream
a state-sanctioned execution?
Phillip K. **** called
and
left a message for George Orwell.
He said something about
wanting his electric sheep returned
before Big Brother and The Holding Company
found out it’d gone missing.
Neither the electric sheep itself
nor
Janis Joplin were available for comment,
or hadn’t you herd?
Diplomatic Immunity?
Mutiny?
Mutations?
Economic,
ergonomic,
erogenous stimulation package?
Where do I sign up?
***
-JBClaywell
©P&ZPublications 2021
Feb 14, 2021
Feb 14, 2021 at 8:48 PM UTC