"acrimony" poems
In 1963
Mahalia prodded
the good reverend...
“tell them
about the dream
Martin”
transfixed on
a yonder time
he recounted
prophecies of
a near future
from a mountaintop
he foretold a
history of a people
returned again to
gardens of paradise
thriving in friendly
democratic soils
overflowing with a
colorful biodiversity
governed and
nurtured with a
vibrant sunshine
of divine justice
welcoming all
weary sojourners...
from the
pinnacle of
a Birmingham
jail cell
Martin burst
the bars with
the clarion peel
of a golden trumpet
proclaiming the gospel
of liberation to
the wardens of
unholy gulags
“free yourselves”
the horn emblazoned
in streaking lightning
across the sky
cowed by
prophetic truths
of righteousness,
shamed by
lies the pride
of arrogance
bespeaks to
placate the
intransigence
of dominion,
we prayed the
the walls of racism,
bigotry, prejudice
would tumble down as
Martin lit the Battle
of Jericho
today our country’s
profit driven gulags
overflow with people
of color as justice
lingers on death row
begging for a plea bargain
of a life sentence in
solitary confinement...
from the
****** Sunday Bridge
in Selma, Martin
offered a prayer for
peace, rebuking
the dogs of war
admonishing
the tenders of
blood thirsty
machines to
beat the gears
of war into
pruning hooks
and plowshares
advocates of peace
hope to steer
the plow across
the battlefields of
acrimony to sow
rich seeds of
reconciliation, planting
new gardens where
the rich yields of peace
will be consumed
by all God's children
yet these gardens
remain unplanted,
untended and defiled
by the machinery
of war that churns
churns, churns...
Martin last
dream occurred
on a balcony
in Memphis
witnessing
to the divinity
of those considered
untouchable after
a hard days work
collecting a city’s
refuse
he insisted all labor
was worthy of dignity
and the economic
justice of a fair wage
Martin looked squarely
into the eye of the gun sights
of those who thought differently
he never blinked, he dreamed
Martin formed his last
testament to an angry nation
yearning for the reconciliation
of stability and peace,
unmoved that it’s violence,
exploitation and bigotry only
stoke bonfires of acrimony
and division, condemning
the reprobate principality
to the bleakness of a
smoldering discontent and
continued generations
of recurring nightmares…
Martin's dream continues
in awakened hearts
sojourning on
Music Selection:
Mahalia Jackson
Joshua Fit the Battle of Jericho
MLK Day
2014
Oakland
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 3:38 PM UTC
There is something painfully wrong about
a mother’s cry.
In those seizing moments,
while her nose twitches
and her eyes bleed red
and she lets tears smear
jaggedly about her face-
there is something so unsettling,
so
out of place.
You perceived her once invulnerable,
but now you find
that behind her divinity are familiar fears
that overwhelm her omniscient mind.
When your own Goddess
can’t be free from corruption,
that even the holy
have weak heels and poisoned matrimonies;
that is
agonizing acrimony.
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 3:55 PM UTC
the curling smoke
from warming fires
rise into the slate
gray sky of the
Beqaa Valley
sheaves of
rising prayers
expire in twisted plumes
dissipating into the
gloom of an ever
looming winter
overcast
refugees from
the Arab Spring's
uncivil wars
gather for warmth
around waning embers,
smoldering in the underbelly
of the lowliest bottom of rusted
steel drums, tended
with scavenged debris
some thought better
suited to fortify the
faltering hovels of
last resort
the fires
join us in
communal rings
straining the
tenuous links of
brotherhood, the
politics of men
assiduously tear
asunder
we count ourselves
among the fortunate,
blessed exiles recused
from the acrimony
of desecrated cities,
welcoming the
residencies of
bewailing lullabies
of colic infants, the
searing hunger of
stunted children and the
incomprehensible babble
the elderly eloquently
speak in tongues
of a desperate
exasperation
our nagging impotence
swaddle us in ambivalent
inabilities to master circumstances
profanely denigrating our humanity
privation is
our daily bread
the bitter manna
feasting on the
animosity the banquet
of rancor generously
prepares for
peace starved
pilgrims
in these
refugee camps
the cold cuts deeper
hunger pangs
grow sharper
our blighted dignity,
vanished livelihoods,
and the presence of
recently interred
loved ones trudge
through our mean
encampment as
fully enfranchised
citizens in our
distressed
kingdom
what was lost can
never be recovered
our homeland leveled
yet doors still stand open
silently pleading all
to cross a new
threshold
the full restoration
of our hope,
the reconstitution
of our flagging
humanity, the
spark of the
holy spirit
willfully uniting us
in the salvation
of reconciliation
is nigh
we are
the divine children
stoking the embers
tending the fire
that light pathways
through the cold
darkness of a
broken world
Oh come
Emmanuel,
dwell among us
Oh come
Emmanuel
ransom once
again the
poor captives
of Israel….
Selah
Music Selection:
L'Accorche-Choeur, Ensemble vocal Fribourg
Veni Veni Emmanuel
Everywhere
Christmas
2013
jbm
Dec 24, 2013
Dec 24, 2013 at 10:48 AM UTC
It has been seventeen years
Since that dreadful morning
Thousands lost their lives unexpectedly
Hearts are still grieving
The events that took place on that day
Sadly presented turmoil and corruption
The entire universe shook badly
As we all witnessed the confusion and frustration
As planes crashed
And buildings started to fall
Everyone watched in horror
As our backs were against the wall
A sullen mood sadly appeared
Many people cried lots of tears
Such acrimony and melancholy still lingers
After all of these years
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 11:53 PM UTC
My anomalous trip thus far has been dichotomous.
Harbingers motivate my advent: a chorus.
Acceptance of frolic ventures sent: a quest.
My sneakers meet familiar soil at last.
Designed to be a panacea, yet I fall ill.
Sleets of rain impact my soul: a slight chill.
Hazed trance, awashed clean of all acrimony.
A lurid stroll, downhill, parallel, perfunctory.
I, a stoic mercenary, avenging my ties tonight.
Arcane magic flow through my veins, my sight.
Moisture sparkle, glistens through my mental maze.
Resistance, control: I attempt to regain ablaze.
Synaptics fuse, burn, misfire, discombobulate.
Higher functions remain: calculus, formulate.
Veritas! Visual focus be on 2D layer sharp.
Disintegrated data sung with melodious harp.
Laissez-faire slayed by Communist meritocracy.
Mental hierarchy arise from wayward sorcery.
My affection for her nets only melancholia.
The amity cease... yet reborn by spying cornea.
Upon a hill from sea to sea brings forth diplomacy.
Lively lads, enshrouded in black; they be prodigies.
Persons of worth: one stranger joins their ranks.
If my creed offend, beg you pardon pranks.
Silent drizzle softly sings of night and majesty.
Lament under moonlight, behold gray sanctity.
Ne'er shall dreadful turmoil befall our facilities.
Literature conceals such divine secrecy.
Aug 28, 2010
Aug 28, 2010 at 5:15 AM UTC
Disdain and enmity,
for which there is no remedy,
gives acrimony inside of me,
for which I have no doubt,
The only way that I can see
an end to animosity,
is a clear and simple breaking free
from shackles which hold me down.
Without your burden, I can be
free to surreptitiously,
achieve a sense of normalcy
to what was once before.
Before the orders conferred to me,
carried out, sans questioning,
I had a life; a dream you see.
But no not anymore.
I used to live quite happily,
free from thinking cynically
of my peers along with me;
Our intentions leave some doubt
To what is just morally,
defensible with sanity.
A torn asunder effigy,
of who we used to be.
My name will fade from memory,
a number chalked in history,
regarded with incredulity
that I was here at all.
Aug 19, 2015
Aug 19, 2015 at 6:21 PM UTC
I awoke in a dream
Surrounded by a bilious familiarity
Angry shades of the drying blood of hope
Caked over venomous fangs of discontent
Stagnant shadows of effluvium
Emanate from the molten flesh
Of this creature I seem to know
But how, how do i know this putrid soul
This being, born of irascible acrimony
Seething breaths sear my senses
As I feel the pounding heart
Scream within it's chest
Aflame with the atrocities it has incited
Yet, in it's gentle eyes there is no malice
There is only the reflection of an angel
Gossamer vestments blow in the stillness
So effulgent in the darkness
Again, familiar and uncomfortable
It's eyes bore into mine that reflection of heaven
I could not see myself in those eyes
That gaze seemed to hypnotize in its polarity
As I floated unseen, I looked at this being
Seething miasmata while reflecting a seraph
Acidic tears of truth fell from within my poisoned soul
As the creature and the reflection merged in the bluest flame
And transformed my spirit into flesh
I am both the reflection and the being
Living the anguish of the truth of what I am
Fighting every moment to be less than and more than
Pretending that I do not embody the dichotomy of bile and bliss
Seraph and succubus
The truth and the lie
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 1:29 PM UTC
I do not live: I burn. In acrimony raging
Two souls are dueling within my breast:
The soul of a devil, the soul of an angel.
Their breathing is flame and it gives me no rest.
Not one flame bursts but two - whatever I am touching,
And in each stone two heartbeats I hear clash…
Wherever I go there is an odious doubling
Of two warring faces, which vanish in ash.
And everywhere the wind that follows me is spreading
The ashes: all my footprints are effaced.
For I am not living - I burn! - and am shedding
A trail of grey ashes across a dim waste.
Jun 7, 2019
Jun 7, 2019 at 8:48 AM UTC
If misery was a gift
she had Christmas every day.
Her clouds had clouds
and she traded the silver linings
for an overstock of black mold.
She once had been happy,
but peace never challenged her
the way chaos did.
Now, the only thing she loves
is tending her garden of discontent
with **** rakes and spades
for 50 shades of defeat.
If she achieved every goal on her checklist
she kept Einstein’s,
Hawking’s,
and Jesus Christ’s in her pocket
to remind her of the insufficiencies.
She complains that she has no friends
and assures it
with a magnifying glass of faults.
The profile for her perfect man
is rigid. So rigid
that even God didn’t qualify.
If she found a glass half-full
she’d grumble that it wasn’t Cognac Champagne.
She has long since forgotten
the important thing -
the power of light.
For light heals
light brings hope
light always dispels darkness
unless YOU become an eclipse
between it and the world.
[VERSION 2.0]
SHE FORGOT
If misery was a gift
she had Christmas every day.
Paper and bows
she’d wrapped herself,
hand signed cards
To: Me, From: Me
every box opened
then rewrapped
and opened again
with tattered Scotch-tape scars
unsalvageable
like the excitement of a child
who found her hidden presents
in the closet 10 days
before Santa would come.
And clouds! How did you know!?
Gray, snowless,
pointless holidays
hopelessdays
all her days.
Her clouds had clouds
and she had traded the silver linings
for black mold.
They always fit her just right.
She once had been happy
but peace never challenged her
the way chaos did.
So she labors passionately in
a garden of discontent
nurtured year-‘round
but always growing winter
watering resentment and acrimony
with bitterness,
drawn from a barrel full
of moldy cloud rain.
Regardless of what she might achieve
she reminds herself
of others doing more
comparing checklists with Jesus Christ’s.
If she had fed the 5000,
she would still be
lacking the crucifixion.
You see, nothing grows
by accident in a well-kept
garden
including withered friends whom
she weeds, though beautiful
assuring they will never be more.
Those she doesn't pluck, she bakes
under her magnifying glass of faults.
She knows nothing of content
whether love, or God,
or a half-goblet of possibility.
If she found a glass half-full
she’d grumble that it wasn’t Cognac Champagne.
She has long since forgotten
the important thing –
the power of light.
How it heals and grows
hopeful sprouts, green
through struggling soil.
Light always dispels darkness
unless YOU become an eclipse
between it and the world.
When you cast your own
shadow
it’s easy to forget
the way flowers
grow back on their own
every spring
the way the clouds
sometimes break
unexpectedly.
Apr 6, 2017
Apr 6, 2017 at 1:37 AM UTC
I'm tired.
I'm tired of hearing
words of acrimony
and disparagement.
I'm tired.
Peoples' lives
are at stake every
single day and I feel
we aren't doing enough.
Enough.
Enough with the unwillingness,
the idleness,
the dullness.
Get up.
Change the world
because you only have
so much time.
Others aren't acting,
so be the one to do.
Believe;
get rid of the skeptics.
Fight for your rights
and make sense
of the things
you could not once
understand.
Let bravery take you by the hand
This time and chase after it
Without hesitating.
Take the risk
And know that you can make
Change for the
Better.
Don't be the one to follow
the crowd or get trapped in the debris
of those who
did
not
try.
Act now.
Aid and love and cherish.
Appreciate the time given to you
and your loved ones.
Don't give up on love.
It's the one element
running through your veins
that's keeping that hole in your
heart covered.
It's taking away the emptiness.
It's keeping the world on its
feet but there is so much more
needed.
There are people without families,
food, or water.
People without hope,
faith, or will.
Who told you
that love was a waste?
Was it the one who
could not conquer it?
Because, after all,
love is man's toughest battle.
Love and care
And thought and feeling
Are the seed of
What can bloom.
Do.
Act.
Accomplish.
Never settle for less.
Because today
you are
the world's
greatest
hero.
Show us
what you can do.
Dec 29, 2012
Dec 29, 2012 at 3:41 PM UTC
she shuffled aboard
on the tail of rush-hour,
at bowling green,
brooklyn-bound,
70 unwashed scents in tow,
and a purple bergdorf-goodman shopping bag
stuffed with stains and soiled rags,
a crumpled ny post
and a white plastic bag,
the focus of her bare hands
as she sat down;
hands wrinkled and worn
but tough
like a boxer's;
silver strands of knotted hair,
fell over her face
etched in age and acrimony,
as she rummaged through the bag;
right eye closed,
feigning sleep,
I peaked over the aisle
through the left;
she untied the white plastic bag
unveiling dinner
in a styrofoam take-out container:
rice, beans and chunks of meat
smothered in red gravy;
a 5-dollar special no doubt,
stuffed into her mouth
with a black plastic spoon;
slurp....slurp....slurp
burp....lick..burp
she looked up,
flaunting a toothless smile of extreme delight
"SAY YOU LOVE ME!
SAY YOU LOVE ME!"
she screamed
to no one,
and everyone...
then barged through the door
at franklin,
scents, stains, rags et al,
tossing spoon and styrofoam
onto the
floor...
but for a few shaking heads
and wry smiles,
most were unmoved,
and glued to digital magnets;
she was just another
nut-of-the-day
on the ny subway...
~ Pablo (#fcbb)
10/21/2013
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 8:38 AM UTC
When my mind is at rest I think of peace and blissful things
I see the unfettered and innocent smile of a new babe in arms
Or the Omnipotence gilded arms outstretch showering blessings
The shores of a pristine beach with blue waves marking times
Silver sunset sprinkling magic across quiet waters with no stressing
Or me sat at my fathers feet as he reads engrossed in his charmes
My mind rests easy in places of warmth and enriching lovings
My mind has no space to linger in the murkiness of failings
I do not plunge dark dept to court the uninspiring s in terms
To share company with wretches with wasted mental ecthings
Eyes that see dew in darkness and acrimony in fruitless farms
Voices made for howling dirges and apostles of negative cravings
Demented downers who drink from the fountains of fallen vamps
Satiated miserably they seek to retch their stench on followings
My mind finds the luminous stars and praise their spark-lings
It atunes to the silent melodies of sages who now sleep uncramp
It relishes the delights of the million trillion wonders tinklings
Its marvels the joys of the thousand mothers holding new champs
Can share the lifting dreams of hopes for happy new beginnings
Living is never about waste for the Creator avails no dumps
For a mind that lives and grows in the Light is forever inspired and inspiring
Copyright LaurencA.1stAugust2018.All rights reserved
Aug 1, 2018
Aug 1, 2018 at 7:54 PM UTC
It's difficult being a godess,
From what she says,
Listening closely to the cries of those afflicted,
Surrounded by pleas and self-acrimony,
And the Ill-nature of things,
Her soul abounds with sympathy,
Her will strikes down her empathy,
Suffering begets compassion,
Be it beast or human fashion,
In the mind of mortals,
It is through these portals,
Redemption is often found.
Mar 29, 2013
Mar 29, 2013 at 5:57 AM UTC
For twenty years
they loved and bickered
She was smarter,
he was quicker.
They then divorced
In acrimony
He got freedom
She got alimony.
For ten years then
They lived apart.
But hunger grew
within each heart.
So they remarried
Made a new start
And this time only
Death did part.
What did he tell friends?
What was his take?
“We got divorced
But it was a mistake.”
May 4, 2013
May 4, 2013 at 11:15 AM UTC
Hurtling to make money
Brawling for the seats
Competing for the fame
Shrieking out loud for religious violence
Selfish and greedy humans
Killing brotherhood using
Vengeance and acrimony
Sharper than the weapons
Earth floating like a paper boat
In the pool of human blood
What do they take with them
To the graveyard ?
Bonehead people not knowing
Nothing but a dead body are they
Leaving alone with no money,
No fame, no seats, no religion
Not even their own body !
Jun 21, 2016
Jun 21, 2016 at 4:31 AM UTC
They fought with swords and shields in sorted fields
of acrimony, declared life and limb to a barren kingdom,
bowed to the royal crown and wooed its fairest daughter.
They won her heart, graced her walls, and worked within them to produce an offspring
—a love child forged with the will of iron and a random, but possessive eye chart.
It nearly took the death of an empire to bring this passion to birth,
and here it so rests upon her breast, pleading an allegiance to her tattered flag.
Why even a thousand years of war demurred to her letting down her hair.
But whose army crossed that wanton bridge and stroked her into carnal submission?
Who kept watch at the crossroads?
History tells us c'est la vie was the culprit, and détente the better angel.
Sometimes it's useless to be useful...
Nov 11, 2020
Nov 11, 2020 at 10:57 AM UTC
"Sweetheart, You lose so much weight"
"I'm fine mom, I've already ate"
Sedative words that can't extricate
Food, Is what I begun to hate.
Thin, Thin, Very Thin
Left with bones and waxen skin.
I'm famished but anxious of the kilos
Furtively eating with my eyes, Day by day this is how it goes.
Mirror, Mirror on the wall, can't you see?
What you show is demising me.
Every calorie is a conflagration
Stepping into the scale a redundant vexation.
Stand upon my reflection again
A fat *** is what I see, vociferating of my brain
makes me regurgitate in so much pain.
Drops of anesthetic mainlining my soul
numbers in the scale are reigning without control.
Flesh into ebbing, turning acrimony into cuts
throwing meals, when everyone shuts
All is left is my aweary bones
Still it whispers
"Not thin enough"
Apr 26, 2018
Apr 26, 2018 at 1:11 AM UTC
This moment,
Now,
I hear your soft voice.
The one you use only for me.
I feel my arms around your hips
as you stand **** before me.
I smell you.
My god, your smells!
I am listening to the London Symphony Orchestra
perform Carmina Burana.
One of your many favorites.
Tough morning. Enough said there.
The air is cool and a slight breeze is coming through my windows.
I hear the incessant traffic on cuming street,
the fans I have in my bedroom and living room,
the music of Carl's primo vere,
and your voice.
It whispers to me across centuries,
softly, sweetly.
No trace of sarcasm
or acrimony.
It speaks to me of mountaintop cabins,
of quiet moonlit ponds,
of autumns last victim slowly falling to the ground
to join it's cousins.
It speaks to me of music,
timeless and universal.
It does not harangue, or plead or spout.
Instead it soothes me, caresses my body
with an undeniable comfort.
This moment,
Now,
I feel you deep within my core.
You are safe there.
Mar 11, 2012
Mar 11, 2012 at 2:58 PM UTC
I am here
I was there
when you died
a handful of yards
from where I stood
on the most perfect of days
I now stand
on a seaside boardwalk
reciting your names
reading thumbnail bios
you liked the sun,
sea, surf and shore
you deeply loved
your family and
carried this place
within you as a
sacred sanctuary
But for that awful day
I would not know you
The day that bowed
Trinity’s holy spires
the clattering commotion
the destructive noise
tumbling, collapsing, splintering
our civic civility
consuming you
dashing many
seashore dreams
Yet your love
was not consumed
in the flames of acrimony
Your names
forged in bronze
etched on boards
written in sand
nursed
in wounded hearts
of those you loved
and blithely spoken
by a lifting chorus
of ever present waves
Music:
Righteous Brothers,
Ebb Tide
(double click image to read the names)
Lavallette
Holy Saturday 2017
jbm
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 5:36 PM UTC
Defrauding the public isn't hard
When you're one of the Trumps.
The president is especially good
At duping his loyal chumps.
So, after Trump fired James Comey,
He fired AG Sessions.
Those two firings were just a part
Of the president's indiscretions.
Next came Matthew Whitaker--
A Donald Trump lackey--
As acting AG, and whose background
Was--let's say--a bit tacky.
Now AG Barr is there
To willingly play his part
And show how he and Trump are both
Connected heart to heart.
Barr's recent appointment has
Very clearly shown
That the president has managed
To get his Roy Cohn.
Keeping Congress from seeing the full
Mueller report, Barr
Acts LESS like a fair AG
And MORE like a czar.
Flouting the rule of law, Trump
And Barr, political hacks,
Can end up doing a lot of damage
Behind Americans' backs.
Now Barr has mentioned the word
"Spying." It never fails
That Trump's appointees tend to go
Completely off the rails.
Making Trump a victim only
Satisfies his base.
Trump and Barr don't care whether
Their actions are a disgrace.
Now the tinfoil-hat group can say
"All the acrimony
Toward Trump is a nasty plot."
What a bunch of baloney!
Our leadership has never been
So chaotic. Never!
Elections, they say, have consequences.
Boy do they ever!
-by Bob B (4-11-19)
Apr 11, 2019
Apr 11, 2019 at 1:49 PM UTC
You're the one who walked by that homeless guy who once needed change,
You shrugged it off saying it wasn't any of your business nor any of your problem,
Never say your twisted tongue has never said something mean,
Nor ignored someone while you roll your eyes taunting,
Don't act like a smooth criminal because I see its your alter-ego,
You live each day so cold-blooded only to care for yourself,
You only obtain thick-skin when your are given authority,
Yet your a wimp amongst the majority,
You think not to stand beside that 'African-American',
You say it's because he is black he will steal your wallet,
******* racism that's what it is,
Your foolish stereotypical brain-washed mind,
Clear out your narrow minded thoughts,
He is from Nigeria worked hard and immigrated here,
But you wouldn't care to ask nor care to think otherwise,
Your ****** thought patterns will never change,
We are people and of all different colours,
From all the same ancestors,
Let us live together in once was peace and harmony,
Not commit acrimony.
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 12:33 PM UTC
As the mountain wind blows
with an ominous boom,
the mandarin ducks
in migration quack, aloud-
and spread gloom,
the water once I swam
had a stench that kills lilies inch by inch,
I feel a pall of gloom
spreads around, a numbing grey shroud.
I wait here alone, at the end of my tether,
my heart being eaten by moths with long fangs,
soft voices die, acrimony reigns,
things need to be done, can't wait any more,
please listen, my heart's only hope.
I can't share the pains with none, but you,
I waited , staring at the path's end,
harsh light made my eyes sore, tearful.
I feel, now the dark alone will take over my soul.
I listened, the bell ringing at your end,
but you didn't pick up the phone,
did you in thin air vanish altogether?
you don't understand, but time
runs out, like a sudden dam burst,
*the world we believed in, is crumbling, with a sound,
this deluge will pull everything, down
Please do something. This is the last call.*
Oct 9, 2012
Oct 9, 2012 at 2:05 PM UTC