"advents" poems
with your little moral superiority complex
and your unfathomable left-wing british politics
as the road to take,
let's just say i wouldn't be here,
and i wouldn't complain as i do:
i'd rather have a communist life with wife
and kids rather than iron maiden and commercial
bliss - maybe then i'd be talking
serious medical conditions and not allowing
amateurs to preach me psychology
instead of reading philosophy like some
secular evangelists should, because that's what atheism spawned:
psychological Evangalist advents:
no god = no soul, highest prime invoking thought,
even though ****** traffic accidents
to convene with what thought excites: a serenity
that's contradictory when tested.
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 7:13 PM UTC
Joyous angels an entire night spent,
singing with flutes they ceased to relent.
Shepherds lowly pitch their dusty tent.
A story indeed reminiscent
of ageless advents when we all went
to sing in churches in wintry Kent.
In fright we gazed at Santa's beard length,
in a speed sleigh drawn by the Elks' strength.
We sought more fun for an extra cent.
But after pleasure we did repent,
speaking solemn words of a good gent:
'Oh, what a pleasant time in advent,
to usher in the infant God sent.'
May 10, 2021
May 10, 2021 at 3:15 PM UTC
Tacked onto cosmos,
Soft light,
Eradicating an opposite,
Dreaming life into fruition,
Kibble,
Bring lips
Down, among trenches & arcane
Never rest
Context, infinitesimal in journey,
Nexus at best
A hammer through your letterbox,
Covered in spit,
Listened to through callous hands
Knocking on the complex,
Chamber of advents
And unleashing the deepest, unknown secret
Flattened, stretched Ambrosia,
Content enabled metropolis,
Slowing the progress of atrocity
Into dawning backward birth
Orders in place,
Genus
Chronicled in ordnance,
By gated communities,
Escalating the calamity by force
Embargo transcend,
Glitter on abound, endless
Pardon the boredom
Lapped, lipped, tapped, trusted
Trying to find balance
In amongst leaves,
Leaving Earth
In a ship fueled by discontent
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 10:05 PM UTC
The air matches the forest deep.
Its Auburn glow weaves congestion into thick dimensions.
The grass, and leaves, and trees coexist in this moment of surreality.
A sepia trim around a coordinated portrait -
The eye cannot adjust to a moment irreplaceable.
A melting slathered teardrop falls slowly.
The tree's push this far into the sky -
Not pushing, but holding, rather.
As a weeping mother catches her child and slowly descends them.
She cannot hold forever,
and the red of scars, disaster, and reflection advents.
She let’s the child wander;
Developing.
Enveloping.
And black does become the night.
Delicate, and sluggish, this darkness falls.
Her arms can bear no more,
as the sunset-soul consumes an arcane definite.
Droning below the lake,
of which no hills sit near.
Charcoal weighing down the once prepossessing light -
of nature’s *****
A soft whisper,
And death.
Dreams…
And guilt.
"Free us of his torment!”
Cried the leaves: post-wilted.
"He’ll devour us by his own light!”
Shrieked the trees: un-guilted.
"Why entwine such sedulous melancholia?”
Squealed the breeze: pre-juilted.
Oh! Do despair in blessedness!
Oh! Does the flora mourn for her exaltation!
But…
Oh,
Does his darkness revile the ***** soul -
In impassioned ecstasy.
May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 9:26 PM UTC
One more swell now motionless,
Realness from afar,
Drifting pointlessly,
Into a world of dubiety and falling stars.
The apprehension of letting go,
A fount of cognizance and angst,
With advents of dawn,
Seeing through the night, to no more be recast,
A future, said to reflect the age,
Alight, yet dimming anew,
Abaft the scud of clouds,
Burning itself out – the sun that never quite withdrew.
May 24, 2025
May 24, 2025 at 6:35 PM UTC
We say black lives matter
But we **** our own people so
Do black lives matter?
We say we support our own people
But we put them down as if we don’t
So do black lives matter?
Black lives matter only to a certain extent
We all need to come together like we do at certain advents
Come together as people all lives matter not black lives not white lives nor mixed lives all lives matter.
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 6:56 PM UTC
Wind, don't speak my name,
no squash blossom thunder,
no snap bottom rain.
I ask but a breath on dry tinder,
if just for a moment,
tender as velveteen fumes
between whispers, before a kiss
and her slow setting eyes,
while I, remiss in attending to time
and teeth, look back to the fall of things,
to the flint and the steel of things,
into the dull spark of advents
birthed into this chair,
this cigarette, this coffee,
this rolling silence,
to know that I,
if only for a moment,
have lived up
to all that I've burned.
Sep 14, 2019
Sep 14, 2019 at 1:27 PM UTC