"admonitions" poems
Watch out for power,
for its avalanche can bury you,
snow, snow, snow, smothering your mountain.
Watch out for hate,
it can open its mouth and you'll fling yourself out
to eat off your leg, an instant *****
Watch out for friends,
because when you betray them,
as you will,
they will bury their heads in the toilet
and flush themselves away.
Watch out for intellect,
because it knows so much it knows nothing
and leaves you hanging upside down,
mouthing knowledge as your heart
falls out of your mouth.
Watch out for games, the actor's part,
the speech planned, known, given,
for they will give you away
and you will stand like a naked little boy,
******* on your own child-bed.
Watch out for love
(unless it is true,
and every part of you says yes including the toes),
it will wrap you up like a mummy,
and your scream won't be heard
and none of your running will end.
Love? Be it man. Be it woman.
It must be a wave you want to glide in on,
give your body to it, give your laugh to it,
give, when the gravelly sand takes you,
your tears to the land. To love another is something
like prayer and can't be planned, you just fall
into its arms because your belief undoes your disbelief.
Special person,
if I were you I'd pay no attention
to admonitions from me,
made somewhat out of your words
and somewhat out of mine.
A collaboration.
I do not believe a word I have said,
except some, except I think of you like a young tree
with pasted-on leaves and know you'll root
and the real green thing will come.
Let go. Let go.
Oh special person,
possible leaves,
this typewriter likes you on the way to them,
but wants to break crystal glasses
in celebration,
for you,
when the dark crust is thrown off
and you float all around
like a happened balloon.
11.7k
what is this love
for I have beheld it
cast in metamorphosis
a love that makes
transformations on the mind
permissible transformations
improvisations of the self
in ****** intensity
which emphasises the drama
of sometimes, dark, violent
and repressive potentials
vicious energies of hate and ambition
that propel the enactment
of intense and exhausting experience
of vigorous vertiginous chaos
indomitable in its desires
what is this love
is it a registered predicament
made memorable by vivid language
that would butcher in ritual
gratuitous memories and testify
to an urgency of unwisely relinquished emotion
what is this love
does it flourish in flawed
and unreasonable understandings
accumulated upon the mind
in vicarious thrill of sympathy
where traits are highly exaggerated
and eagerly anticipates
the oppressive weight of the past
that functions upon a common collapse
of distinctions
or does it manufacture artificial precepts
pretending in attractive collaboration
to associate fiction rather than fact
what is this love
is it that by treaty or inheritance
with loving ferocity would embalm all tears
and hide all those collaborations
in flared conflagrations of the heart
and yes create a turmoil in the mind
hotter than a thousand summers
and vividly stamp upon a twisted body
a moral viciousness of fathomless malice
that wouldst close its ears
to the admonitions of conscious
and thus through an improbable
incantatory verbal rite
touch the hidden order of all things
in disassembling nature
what is this love
if only it was known
Aug 17, 2013
Aug 17, 2013 at 5:26 PM UTC
Poor kitty cat, crazy dazed cheshire cat
Thinks by offing the parents
The offspring offed will be
So scratches both the top and roots
Of this family tree
This disillusioned kitty cat
Can't seem to understand
That by scratching a leg
You do not bite a hand
This addled backwards kitty
Has much to learn these days
And harsh admonitions
This ***** do not faze
Nov 9, 2012
Nov 9, 2012 at 11:52 PM UTC
Who is this man of which you speak
A hallow man, with a set of theatrical masks
That project grotesque shadows upon the world
A monster of evil, a creature ,yes a creature
Whose moral viciousness is vividly stamped
On his twisted body who believes
He has been cruelly cheated by dissembling nature
Yet has with skill a fathomless malice fashioned
Aye and calls for the closing of ears
To the admonitions of conscience
And to vicious energies of hate and ambition
Yes and gives to the eyes coordinates locating an illusion
Whilst he would still the lips with distance
That evaporates in a poignant lament
Of shrouds and gaping graves
Of deformed and emaciated children
Forced to hide in the darkness
The darkness that shadows his words and actions
Gives to us the unbearable fear of abandonment
That would mutate and change places
With the frequent futility of human endeavor
Who is the man of which you speak
It is a man who tosses pebbles
Nov 5, 2012
Nov 5, 2012 at 4:41 PM UTC
We ventured in to the garden of night's Eden
two intrepid adventures seeking a fruit forbidden.
Night delights in it's prospects of dangers kept hidden
in the darkest part eyes go blind is laid out it's biggest plan,
in frozen silence of deeper layers, lie in wait the predators
they told us, but we were deaf to the admonitions then.
Her hot breath on my naked chest, where sweat poured like rain
felt not ticklish, as earlier, this, is a secret tap of the finger of fear ,
we didn't flash the light, not to alarm the beasts, held the breath.
In the percolating drops of wet green light,of fluorescent moon
she points up to a tree branch, close by and I view in disbelief:
A python, its speckled noose ready, keeps vigil, darkly dreaming,
intently listening to the ascending aria of a nightingale's song.
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 6:02 AM UTC
Among the brainwashed, cooing roasted pigeons, in the silence condemned to silence, I will rather be a walking Jonah, who lives comfortably in the stomach of a giant whale, since Socrates' admonitions seem to have been wasted long ago these days, because the whims of great, unknown scales of burdens must not only be borne, but also known to be carried. Because the vulnerable human soul is both a low point and the bottom of the sea! Let anyone say anything.
In the mud of the sea, it would often be better to wallow vilely like a pig, perhaps even to humble myself a little, that they did not shut up my sharp mouth, with which I complained not only to knowledge, but also to reason - but what use is it to the **** of human wrecks, who constantly damage, break, crush, or make their own by plundering.
Sooner or later, I will make a soul-break in my inner Self, where no one can follow me faithfully; because it would have been good to hide a little in a cowardly way back into my snail shell, where no one disturbs me, and from there, hiding, to observe and contemplate the wretched state of our affairs. Perhaps no one has yet thought about what a real thing it is when spiral circles close for good above a person's busy head, and not a single, orphaned loophole can remain, which would show new paths with its compass, I am preparing to languish in the depths of my vulnerable cells for another thousand years. I will keep the personal experience of "thinking more" to myself.
Sep 17, 2025
Sep 17, 2025 at 12:24 AM UTC
As firm as a rock I would be set
Against the world and its lewd contentions
More steady proving clearest virtue, stressed
With brilliant facets of the light, resolving factions.
A hope amidst the strife, this worth bestows
To character, ruling every passions’ season
For perfect care, great purposes to show
In blooms of time or timeless, sacred reasons!
Converging and uniting, such care met
Life's waking might, more near in sight to shine
With pure intent, whose knowing best reflects
All states, here cast in figures of design.
O dawning vision, pierce the awful night
And horns of plenty pour, true love requite!
When I was young I thought humanity
To be my nurse, my comfort and sure strength;
An eager hope, in every hour to length
Fleet days of wonder, all of life to see.
I cherished kindness, lain upon the breast
Of upright admonitions and good will;
A care of grace, in love, a founding rest
And honor for my vision’s windowsill.
How yet, too soon, cruel condemnations frowned
On ways I blessed in youth, now grown insane
With outward forms, the worldly pride bestows
And falsehood, waking my dread infamy.
Alas, my wasting sorrow and the shame
That groans with silent tears of faith betrayed!
Long hours, cruel hours that vex my wearied soul
With thoughts of contradiction; fawning days
Of youth are closed, in stock of lies arraigned
For inquisition and condemning powers.
What tyrannous and brutal, ruthless ways
That slam this sanctioned slavery overhead;
While bravery endures an awful crime
In contemplate of shame, too stark with dread.
So mock, O State, the way of noble ends
More false, discharge your rotten judgments’ fate;
A greater cause, at last, where first you rend
The back and front of self... my selves berate!
Dare now upon life’s brow your six-thrice brand
And testify! All stripes shall truth withstand.
Apr 14, 2012
Apr 14, 2012 at 10:59 AM UTC
let us perceive the world anew
and call to account that which
produces intolerable wrongs
of devious motivations
and let us give vindication
to a universal imperative
more powerful than
the pious injunctions of any belief system
whose lies cause such struggle of speech
to produce weird tormented admonitions
in hallucination
that pollutes with a tenacious
intractable meaningless vitality
Nov 18, 2012
Nov 18, 2012 at 6:19 PM UTC
She's watching me
but she's never said a word
I know not her face
her touch
her aroma
I've only seen her eyes,
in the stars
for years
and I'll never know why,
her beauty claims the heavens
why,
her light cures the blind
and robs sight from the foolish
indeed,
I've stared too long
transfixed and fiendish, for just a taste
I would make love to her even if she has no body
I would kiss her splendor with my words
caress her aches with fragrant whispers
charm the bones of her imagination with tender glances
and consummate our bonding with admonitions of love.
I need no more than words
to know she loves me,
if she would but speak
yet she only stares...
Her smile is the constellations, I know
and her breath is the sigh of the sun
her arms are the rings of Saturn
and her ******* the moons of Jupiter
yet, I am but a man
I cannot make love to these things
so I pen this yearning,
bold
true...
Sitting under her, the Cosmos,
with passion, I enjoy the view.
Nov 28, 2017
Nov 28, 2017 at 9:13 PM UTC
When I was young, my grandmother would tell me stories
about her grandparents.
There were stories about the origins of the universe.
Legends that connected me to my world.
Embedded in the stories were admonitions to live a worthy life.
Sometimes, when I walk out with my daughter to pick berries,
I think about those lessons . . .
Mama, we have to pick all the blackberries so the bugs don't get any . . .
There's plenty of berries for you, me, and the beetles, baby girl.
I don't like the beetles. See that one?
Where? Oh, look how beautiful and shiny his wings are. . . the beetle respects us. We should respect the beetle.
What about the birds? Do we have to share with them?
Plenty of berries for them, too.
But, why, mama?
Because we are supposed to share with others. Don't eat so many, there won't be any left in the bucket.
I only eat the ones I pick . . .
Alright, girl.
Mama. . . ?
Yes?
Do you want to pick blackberries by yourself now?
Are you wanting to go and play? Go on, then, baby girl.
Dec 26, 2015
Dec 26, 2015 at 5:10 AM UTC
<>
“Stop this day and night with me
and you shall possess the origin of all poems,
You shall possess the good of the earth and sun,
(there are millions of suns left,)
You shall no longer take things
at second or third hand,
nor look through the eyes of the dead,
nor feed on the spectres in books,
You shall not look through my eyes either,
nor take things from me,
You shall listen to all sides
and filter them from your self.”
Song of Myself (1892 version) by WALT WHITMAN
§§§
*These admonitions are the ten conditionals
commandments of straight talk,
boy,
you’ve spent a life lessening and lesson-learning
and all laid before you for taking, gaining,
but for what? for naught?
Start this day, having spent my night with you,
possessing less than what is my now
completed,
this,
my unfinished commencement,
provisioned, a simultaneous beginning and finishing,
emptying a void of
fulfilling questioning.
What does this life desire of me,
that it granted and then removed,
the knowledge of perfection?
leaving me striving, writhing,
shivering unceasingly,
in my saddened, bursting, hacking
and hackneyed chest.
I walk the same cobblestone streets,
observing the descendants of your ancestral tugs
portaging, paying homage to East River tides,
carrying those goods,
the origins of all poems,
from where? to where?
unknown,
but always past our conjoined eyes.
And yet do I look, with our merged eyes,
filtered by a century’s discoloration,
forgive me Walt, for now recalling sights
that you first observed,
that I witness first hand,
100 and fifty years later,
sharing a stolen wisdom with you.
Todays new millionth sunrise bids me stand,
observe the river traffic from my kitchen window,
accept that my takings are debts,
a few, even paid back,
yet, most still owed,
for the origins of all my poems,
are oddly and oddity old,
unoriginal, second, third handed
as I look through the eyes of the dead,
and yours too,
this my unoriginal,
original sin....
(pretending I am a poet)
§§§§§
6:24AM
Manhattan Island,
By the East River
Thu. May 14, 2020
May 14, 2020
May 14, 2020 at 8:33 AM UTC
And a vision appeared to the Poet in the night
The vision of The Holy Spirit in the wild wood:
‘By one thing only
By nuclear weapon alone
Sin enters the world
And death by sin
Who shall deliver us from this death?
Lord raised up Savior from the dead
You too won’t die
As His Spirit dwells in you.
Beware of the nightmare leading nowhere
And bigot’s extremism claws:
O what delight, as consecrated rose worships the altar,
Inner chapel and sanctuary:
Angels and heaven smile.
This Ultimate Reality
(Symbol of the greatest and noblest,
Mankind has striven for
Generation after generation)
Reborn as Christ
Reveals His creative fecundity
Infinite manifestations.
Our perfection
Our ripe blooming
Our sunlight and singing
Our reconciling dry philosophy
With light of Love
And this alone is our true sovereign.
By this knowledge alone
The timeless is united with time:
Liberation from the human wheel
Otherwise our disaster is irremediable:
Satanic spell will work
New weapons develop
New violence within States.
The only battle worth fighting is Peace
The spirit will defeat the canonshots
This is the reverend aisle of a true temple
Never forget the admonitions
I insist
Self-sacrifice is regeneration
And the moment of birth_
Living among charlatans, poseurs, terrorists
Doing acts of love and charity
Sorting out diamonds among the dross.”
Jun 3, 2010
Jun 3, 2010 at 5:16 AM UTC
And a vision appeared to the Poet in the night
The vision of The Holy Spirit in the wild wood:
‘By one thing only
By nuclear weapon alone
Sin enters the world
And death by sin
Who shall deliver us from this death?
Lord raised up Savior from the dead
You too won’t die
As His Spirit dwells in you.
Beware of the nightmare leading nowhere
And bigot’s extremism claws:
O what delight, as consecrated rose worships the altar,
Inner chapel and sanctuary:
Angels and heaven smile.
This Ultimate Reality
(Symbol of the greatest and noblest,
Mankind has striven for
Generation after generation)
Reborn as Christ
Reveals His creative fecundity
Infinite manifestations.
Our perfection
Our ripe blooming
Our sunlight and singing
Our reconciling dry philosophy
With light of Love
And this alone is our true sovereign.
By this knowledge alone
The timeless is united with time:
Liberation from the human wheel
Otherwise our disaster is irremediable:
Satanic spell will work
New weapons develop
New violence within States.
The only battle worth fighting is Peace
The spirit will defeat the canonshots
This is the reverend aisle of a true temple
Never forget the admonitions
I insist
Self-sacrifice is regeneration
And the moment of birth_
Living among charlatans, poseurs, terrorists
Doing acts of love and charity
Sorting out diamonds among the dross.”
Jun 3, 2010
Jun 3, 2010 at 5:16 AM UTC
And a vision appeared to the Poet in the night
The vision of The Holy Spirit in the wild wood:
‘By one thing only
By nuclear weapon alone
Sin enters the world
And death by sin
Who shall deliver us from this death?
Lord raised up Savior from the dead
You too won’t die
As His Spirit dwells in you.
Beware of the nightmare leading nowhere
And bigot’s extremism claws:
O what delight, as consecrated rose worships the altar,
Inner chapel and sanctuary:
Angels and heaven smile.
This Ultimate Reality
(Symbol of the greatest and noblest,
Mankind has striven for
Generation after generation)
Reborn as Christ
Reveals His creative fecundity
Infinite manifestations.
Our perfection
Our ripe blooming
Our sunlight and singing
Our reconciling dry philosophy
With light of Love
And this alone is our true sovereign.
By this knowledge alone
The timeless is united with time:
Liberation from the human wheel
Otherwise our disaster is irremediable:
Satanic spell will work
New weapons develop
New violence within States.
The only battle worth fighting is Peace
The spirit will defeat the canonshots
This is the reverend aisle of a true temple
Never forget the admonitions
I insist
Self-sacrifice is regeneration
And the moment of birth_
Living among charlatans, poseurs, terrorists
Doing acts of love and charity
Sorting out diamonds among the dross.”
Jun 3, 2010
Jun 3, 2010 at 5:04 AM UTC
my old street,
a perfect bicycle drag strip,
needed no gutters--all rains drained
into the bay
but today,
the lane where
I learned to drive, is a place gulls dance
and killdeer prance
this river
is a dozen inches deep
at street’s end, but a yard and growing at the bay
where the hot dog stand once steamed
the melting monsters
were a million miles from us, you know;
a threat to a Titanic, though surely inconsequential
to the Atlantic, or so it seemed
all the hype about heat, carbon emissions,
ozone’s demise, and other gassy notions, we thought
belonged in tomorrow’s world of worry
but tomorrow became today,
and now it’s commonplace to say,
"the shoreline receded--that neighborhood’s gone."
a continent constricted,
a lowly inch a year, by greed or divine design?
retribution from an earth that never forgets?
or a fickle force we cannot fathom?
I am ancient now, though I recall those admonitions,
ambiguities that fueled futile debate, until it was too late
and here I be, watching waters at low tide, lapping
against my feet on a once dry and driven street
Apr 22, 2017
Apr 22, 2017 at 4:32 PM UTC
she was blonde but now brunette,
her guy in the States dumped her
with force with a divorce,
he hopes to become a citizen of the USA,
being married to a Canadian girl got in the way
what an inconvenient truth and full of dismay,
something about a Presidential Pardon, for those
from a certain central america country,
the tears were real as she reeled in the wake
of his void promises to appear here,
you know love is just another word,
until you prove yourself worthy of her affections,
not a set of misdirection of your affectations,
that tells all,
with out a touch,
and at first blush,
your love was an
illusion, it was all a
trick, you
...
there was no
promise from
the land of liberty,
no love without
conditions, only admonitions
that it has to be about
you, and will you call
her back when it does
not go through?
With her age and her beauty,
I hope she grabs dignity and
feigns a hearing disorder,
and if you ever try to cross
the border...make sure your
headed south.
©DWE102013
Oct 26, 2013
Oct 26, 2013 at 12:11 AM UTC
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Nov 1, 2018
Nov 1, 2018 at 3:12 PM UTC
It's hard not to get angry
At the cricket in the closet
During repeated ratatats
Of the rain on the roof.
Relying on the radiator
Ramboing the reluctance
Resident in the rafters.
Warm winter wishes
For a will of the wisp winter
Waken to wisdom
Rather than rash reminiscence
And rootless resentment.
Bountiful blankets build
A buffer and bulwark
Against my acrimonious
Admonitions assailing
The ghastly gods of nature,
That get together and muster
A team of terrifying titans
That have twisted spring
Into a frozen thing
To, like last year, once again
Punish the thin-skinned.
I won’t leave my toes out,
My piggy toes or my snout
Where a breeze can tease
Or threaten to freeze
From nails to knees.
Oh, please. This one night
Do it right, heed my plight;
Some unspoken vow to keep,
To let a chilly soul sleep
Else I shall weep
In a winter this deep.
Jan 5, 2017
Jan 5, 2017 at 6:05 AM UTC
Poets, one and all,
Make your words sing,
Never fall, like a tower
Which babbles as it breaks,
Never loose vane admonitions,
Nor tear a tale of fancy, rather seek
A song of remembrances and revelry
So that others may share in such
Gifts as Gods are wont to make.
Aug 6, 2012
Aug 6, 2012 at 3:36 AM UTC
"If it rains
While the sun shines,
It'll rain again tomorrow,"
Dad said,
Toting a post driver
And a steel post on his strong shoulders,
"Might as well finish this job."
I groaned under his tirelessness,
Grudgingly admired his grit,
Unwillingly followed,
Lugging posts and wire
Down gravel cactus slopes
Into green poison ivy ravines.
June sweat replaced the summer shower,
And black flies plagued us.
I can still hear him sputtering, "Jupiter!"
Can see him under the sun, leather gloves flailing
Clouds of gnats or mosquitoes,
His brown skin glistening.
I would have given nearly anything
To have been away from there,
Roaring down a gravel trail,
Motorcycle spewing clouds,
Carrying me away from chores,
From Dad's incessant stories,
His impromptu songs,
His admonitions about money,
About weather, about cows,
About anything but fun.
"If it rains while the sun shines,"
And all I could do was look for excuses
To be away,
To run away,
To hie myself away....
All those years are gone,
The work in the rain and the sun,
The exhaustion of following a man
Who never seemed to tire,
Wishing I were away.
He's not here or there or anywhere.
His ashes lie a couple of feet down
In a prairie grave marked by granite,
Set in concrete my brother and I hand mixed
Beneath a hot June sun,
No rain in sight,
Nothing but high clouds and a steady wind,
Ready to blow me back East,
Away from these gravel hills,
And I am reluctant to leave.
Oct 2, 2017
Oct 2, 2017 at 10:00 PM UTC
The FBI has a faction
That's bordering on insurrection
As it tries hard to influence
The current presidential election.
One member even reported,
"This is Trumpland." Not very smart.
There clearly are some scoundrels here
Trying to upset the applecart.
Basing their findings on a sham book,
They're leaking "secret" information.
Politics shouldn't eclipse their main
Task, which is investigation.
Members of the FBI
Can vote for anybody they please.
However, they have to be very careful
Not to misuse their expertise.
I guess in any organization
You'll find some who abuse their positions.
An independent agency,
The FBI must heed admonitions.
(11-4-16) By Bob B
Nov 4, 2016
Nov 4, 2016 at 8:45 AM UTC
Since time is taken universally,
to be measured in portions to each
thing a time and seasons, within that time,
to use the will to live, and let seem living
all - what, curiously wrought musings,
wordless, falling for the lure, seems living
moving itself aright, as often wines may do,
inviting titles do to musers unbemused,
but no child knows the meaning of things
such as admonitions not to look upon
the wine red, swirling beauty, see
books judged by covers oft stink of
deceitful meats, imagine the ruler's
condescension, partake in silence,
answering freely all who question why,
breathe-ing and eating,
I am but a temporary mover of matter,
from one state to another, as I pass along
this trail that speaks of long disuse,
where it leads, at this junction,
I lack a will to lie and say I know, but
I know, I am willing to believe, where
I would be if I turned around, here
from there, relatively no time at all,
nonsensed wish to be known,
for having been a survivor,
sensed as something natural, self
set up to become this old, enough
to know, no greater need than peace
with purpose, a faith that your duty
is to learn and make do-good things
from things not being used at all.
We on Earth, honestly,
we have no where to go and be,
we do know what must be done,
we leave undone all we have no
will, or means, no way, to do right,
no way to do at all, wrong or right,
yet, with a will used to prove, right
my will, a will used to wait, to see
after many days, few change life's initial
gravitational course.
Aug 29, 2024
Aug 29, 2024 at 3:48 PM UTC
Poets, one and all,
Make your words sing,
Never fall, like a tower
Which babbles as it breaks,
Never loose vane admonitions,
Nor tear a tale of fancy, rather seek
A song of remembrances and revelry
So that others may share in such
Gifts as Gods are wont to make.
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 1:59 PM UTC
I have made it for my self, made it through, or if I am mistaken, it is a relative coincidence within the constructs of my personal tenet. Is this air, the symbolism of breath, is this the fire that I happen to touch in your body, is this sorrow that a willow leans on the ground to see her reflection in the river, is this what it means to live, to sink into deep and shallow waters, to tally its admonitions, or it happens to be there already and I am not understanding the language, the proverbial sum of love and loss, my longings, my mysteries and incisive idealism?
Oct 6, 2020
Oct 6, 2020 at 9:10 AM UTC