"agitate" poems
Oh beautiful for specious lies
where Christless values reign;
for superficial battle cries
above the muted strain:
Diversity, diversity
God hides His face from thee—
and frown he should, while planethood
distracts humanity.
How sad it is when victim groups
monopolize the floor;
enabling the marginals
to agitate for more.
Diversity, diversity,
Your queer agenda rules—
with Balkanizing tendencies
imposed on witless tools.
Degenerate in decadence
the ailing eagle flies;
in spirals of irrelevance
through clouded toxic skies…
Diversity, diversity
the Left defines your terms;
the weakened body politic
grows sicker as it squirms.
Oh Lord we need a miracle
before the patient fails;
celestial intervention please
to purge us of what ails.
Diversity, diversity
We shall not overcome—
Unless the Lord reveal His word
twixt here and Kingdom Come…
Sep 17, 2015
Sep 17, 2015 at 8:41 PM UTC
I will contemplate my boredom today, it's terrible,
I must dedicate my actions to something ethical,
So I'll go agitate all the photo chemicals,
It won't automate, it's not a technical miracle,
I will be the chaser of an adventure to set out,
To steal a stack of photo paper someone had left out,
Took it from "The Enticing Taylor", stole his photo clout,
I'm no hater but you better remember to take out,
Your **** when you are done in the dark room...
Nov 28, 2018
Nov 28, 2018 at 11:27 AM UTC
Pretty Pictures; as you are embracing me
Lost in an earthly mood of tranquility
Evident than the shadows fusing my feet
Obscure like pretty lies melodically
Pretty Pictures; sailing, forever will be
Rhapsodize; vividly crossing in my mind
A face of cherubim winged up the sky
Cascading through visions abrupt
A star shoots afar than any distant eye
Longing endless of her passionate touch
We are novels, with so much stories to tell
Red laces, stamps of gold, a lush lullaby
I was the house you painted white
Agitate the deepest hues, then we'd fly
Midnight kisses, Dawn then traded goodbyes
Blithe; for we need nothing to pretend
The clearest blue water, a heaven's scent
To the grass wading courteously
Cloud nine's hanging then lifts my feet
Showering up above washing all anxieties
Pretty pictures; like ribbons untangled
A touch of silk as my heart would lilt
Inner feelings frolic then they'd tremble
For in you the excitement is always a thrill
From the simplest to a goddess divine
Pretty Pictures; moments as you were mine
Oct 8, 2017
Oct 8, 2017 at 1:08 AM UTC
for Ruth Fainlight
I know the bottom, she says. I know it with my great tap root;
It is what you fear.
I do not fear it: I have been there.
Is it the sea you hear in me,
Its dissatisfactions?
Or the voice of nothing, that was you madness?
Love is a shadow.
How you lie and cry after it.
Listen: these are its hooves: it has gone off, like a horse.
All night I shall gallup thus, impetuously,
Till your head is a stone, your pillow a little turf,
Echoing, echoing.
Or shall I bring you the sound of poisons?
This is rain now, the big hush.
And this is the fruit of it: tin white, like arsenic.
I have suffered the atrocity of sunsets.
Scorched to the root
My red filaments burn and stand,a hand of wires.
Now I break up in pieces that fly about like clubs.
A wind of such violence
Will tolerate no bystanding: I must shriek.
The moon, also, is merciless: she would drag me
Cruelly, being barren.
Her radiance scathes me. Or perhaps I have caught her.
I let her go. I let her go
Diminished and flat, as after radical surgery.
How your bad dreams possess and endow me.
I am inhabited by a cry.
Nightly it ***** out
Looking, with its hooks, for something to love.
I am terrified by this dark thing
That sleeps in me;
All day I feel its soft, feathery turnings, its malignity.
Clouds pass and disperse.
Are those the faces of love, those pale irretrievables?
Is it for such I agitate my heart?
I am incapable of more knowledge.
What is this, this face
So murderous in its strangle of branches? ----
Its snaky acids kiss.
It petrifies the will. These are the isolate, slow faults
That **** that **** that ****
4.2k
.simone biles (the gymnast)...
miles davis (the trumpet guy)...
must be black privilege;
wasn't there a movie...
starring
woody harrelson
and wesley snipes?
you sure?
i thought it was
called: white men can't jump...
sure as **** ****** can
sing church gospel!
how's that for
privilege?
if you're going to
culturally box, and repeatedly
punch below the belt...
you're quiet likely going
to get a reaction...
i have an acne wart growing
on my *** the size
of a cauliflower,
it's itchy my brain,
it's differentiating between
agitate and: lying back...
i guess the excess of...
look... you may have
the excess melanin...
i have lactose tolerance...
we're even?!
no?
so how come some smurf,
some European hobbit
shackle your N.B.A.
Goliath(s)?!
explain that one to me...
if these people were so
cock-unsure...
how they **** did they
tame the Zulu Apache Goliath
bodybuilders?!
what the ****
i already said, and it was proven...
IQ...
i don't like it...
but i'm pretty sure that
the whites **** more people
in terrorist attacks than...
camel-jockeys...
it took 3 or over three...
to perform the Bataclan Massacre...
three... the third of the IQ
that required a Breivik...
130 in France...
dissociated among 3 attackers
that gorged on testicles after the spree...
fun, fun fun fun...
like: you're trying to say that without
irony...
and how many in Norway?
77...
i only look at the IQ of killers...
so... what's the ratio?
77 / 1
130 / 3 = 43...
like i said... low IQ...
you really want your little
racial insurrection?
you'll have it, don't worry..
i'll just the narrative...
must be black privy...
if you can mash up a jazz compos.,
right?
crackers read from
a prepared script...
you ******* just, "improvise"...
rapping contra talking...
**** come to think of it...
******* boys took it too far from
your Oreos...
like... too much drums...
not enough wind, or strings...
too much drumming...
pulverizing the ears
with drum & bass and what not...
if i wasn't deaf prior,
i'm deaf by now;
******* boy to Oreo woo-oo-oops
boy;
same **** different cover.
Nov 2, 2018
Nov 2, 2018 at 9:42 PM UTC
Right now, my mind...
Is the proverbial popcorn machine.
Every little thing that bothers me is
likened to a kernel.
And to make popcorn, you need lots...
Bucketloads of kernels.
Dump them all in the machine.
Let them whirl.
They sit layered on top of each other
undisturbed,
on the hot bed until...
The spindly metal arms begin to rotate...
Whose sole purpose is to agitate.
Buttered with debilitating insecurities.
Sprinkled with irrational fears.
Heated with erratic temperament.
And here come the arms again.
Rotating,
churning,
inciting.
No one knows when the kernels
are going to cave and rupture.
Then...
"Pop!" would go one.
Then another...
And another...
Soon they would all start to explode.
When that happens,
I do too.
••••••••••••••••••••••
Addendum
••••••••••••••••••••••
I love popcorn.
And I don't like to share.
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 11:22 AM UTC
You agitate, I soothe
I laugh, you cry
You procrastinate, I plan
I toil, you sleep
You mingle, I retreat
I reach, you blench
You deceive, I release
I purify, you violate
You mystify, I enlighten
I grow, You shrink
You ignore, I explore
I create, you destroy
You devour, I nibble
I give, you take
You walk, I run
I defend, you assault
You subtract, I add
I love, you hate
Jun 17, 2016
Jun 17, 2016 at 11:18 AM UTC
To her, silence was comforting, alcohol was numbing and loneliness was all consuming
She often times scared away her nightly slumber
Her thoughts grew louder and more chaotic with every tick of the clock
She let her past mistakes consume her
Rummaged internally for answers to her actions that led her here
Lying on a mattress which sat on the carpet of a rundown apartment
Alone
To her, silence was comforting, alcohol was numbing and loneliness was all consuming
She kept eyes open all night looking and thinking and drinking
A lot of drinking to seize the thoughts that drowned her
She traveled back in her dormant state to find events she wished had happened differently Dreamt up memories where she never walked away
Or where she refrained from saying something in an outburst of anger
She was haunted by
Everything
To her, silence was comforting, alcohol was numbing and loneliness was all consuming
Her thoughts had begun to agitate her being Transforming her mind into a whirlwind of anger and helplessness
She sat up at the edge of her mattress with the palms pressed tightly against her eyes, shaking her head in a frenzy
Her hands migrated to her hair, gathering a hand full and pulling
Eyes stung with the tears that began to surface She took hasty steps toward her counter in search of a bottle to console her for the night
The only thing that put an end to the chaos was
Alcohol
To her, silence was comforting, alcohol was numbing and loneliness was all consuming
Dec 22, 2015
Dec 22, 2015 at 6:03 PM UTC
Let's face it
its more ******** warfare
culturally they are used to faking it
as thimbles and chipolatas in ninety seconds
do not reach first base much less seeing stars on cloud nine
hence they woke and fake the reality they chose be it feel or fright
in woke solidarity against frustrations they cloned their made-up foe
what better than sturdy shining Mandingo loaded and tied up
there for the having to your heart's content
presented to you the untamed beast
the wild moor tooled hot and ready
raw animalistic unfettered passion
rock hard we can name him Rocky
that goer that delivers every time
the one that is all your men aren't
and can never be cause he's gifted
sleek like dolphin in rhythmic glide
tasty like fresh clean mushroom
Arabian stallion if ever there's one
with absolute pedigree and class
take a break from the mediocre
from the wham bangs no can dos
from the floppy quick-draws saps
imagine the dark horse with the most
in smooth soft pink leathery velvet
tis your secret your guilty pleasure
tis the obsession you made into a war
the fantasy that plays in your heads
tis behind fervours that haunts you
that you so well disguise in hatred
telling metaphors slip out Freud
hold him down, grind him hard
wear him out, let's wreck him so
the sado masochistic 'punishing him'
give him a hard time, it all says a lot
you twist innocent sentences into
****** innuendos and innocent actions
are falsely given ****** meanings
as morn noon and night you toil
you troll and agitate for attention
yes you twist turn bite and nibble
in Freudian throes you talk love
you glaze unrequited love relentlessly
you close your eyes and dream sweet pain
yeah! get real, its no psyche warfare
its a flutters obsession, it's the classic '
"The lady doth protest too much, methinks."
its how you float your boats and and get yer thrills
you better face it you're all addicted
It's an ******** War-fare and you all know so.....
Jun 22, 2021
Jun 22, 2021 at 7:11 AM UTC
Have ever you heard
The crows sing sweetly?
A singing bird,
They sing discreetly.
They caw to scoff
And to berate you,—
To **** you off
And agitate you.
O.O
Aug 27, 2015
Aug 27, 2015 at 9:32 PM UTC
when shall i learn that a line must be drawn
for the sake of my sanity
how can i accept my own demise due to my service of others?
i must wash my hands clean of the guilt i possess
for i harm no one as greatly as myself
i swim in oceans of my misery and drown in pools of my sorrow
terror fills my lungs and breaks away at the tissue in them
¨careful!¨ i scream
i cannot allow myself to fall victim to my own mind
the racing and pumping of my thoughts breaking down the barriers i have built
there is nothing left to protect my self-esteem
no armed guards to stop the negativity in its tracks
no brick wall to block the sadness from reaching me
dangerous. is the only world i can use to describe my thoughts
a battlefield of mines bursting with anger
sticks of dynamite, disguised as flowers to lure and destroy
the question is, who are they meant to hurt?
are they meant to agitate me further to turn my back on myself?
refusing the possibility that happiness can be found?
or are they meant to bring pain to others?
to keep me in control of the opinions and decisions of my peers?
does she aim to help or control?
perhaps, my mind is losing track of what i was thinking
allowing me room to doubt myself
is my mind trying to convince me that i am the parasite in the lives of others,
feeding off of their souls
i believe she is right
to tell me that i do things in order to gain
she tells me, that i do not wish to help, only to hurt
i understand now that i am up against myself
left up to my own devices
no one is under obligation to assist me in battling my demons
i will struggle and fight, until my last breath
to let my own mind defeat me, is to allow defeat inside of my own fortress
i will never be unarmed again
Jan 27, 2019
Jan 27, 2019 at 11:25 PM UTC
Never stand still.
Move in a direction.
Even if you crash or fall.
Take an exit and get lost.
There is something happening
Inside your veins.
Adrenaline, blood, and
Metabolic energy
Fight or flight
Response toward
Gravity…
Spin against
The earth
Become your
Own rotation
Agitate and race.
Be anything but stable.
© Ben Ditmars 2014
Jun 29, 2014
Jun 29, 2014 at 10:14 PM UTC
Procrastinate to irritate
Aggravate to agitate
Treading on thin ice
Are these malingering time wasters of life
Festering in ignorance
Frolicking in abstinence
Wading in their excrement are these malingering time wasters of life.
Arrogance in abundance
Subtlety null and void
Unwittingly self confident are these malingering time wasters of life
Belligerent in the face of peace
Weary to face their fears
Blasé about things that matter are these malingering time wasters of life
Malingering becomes
Mal'ignorance
Mal'ignorance becomes M'alone
Therefore the malingering time wasters shall forever this earth roam.
Feb 22, 2013
Feb 22, 2013 at 9:11 AM UTC
whispering rain tapping on the window
flooding my ears with sound, fluorescent
light screaming inside my brain, lift
your hands towards me again, you
won’t see me de nuevo. Wilt
beneath the demanding life you’ve beaten,
and maybe your fear will agitate
you, into a comatose state you
had put me in.,and hidden
me away from the world, mauling
innocence out of me with incremental,
unwanted touches that cannot be undone.
from handcuffs on wooden poles, foaming
mouths pouncing on my skin, melting
within myself as you drowned wearisome
unhinged fantasies onto me, and use
children for your pleasure to continue
terrorizing freely while we all trickle.
Oct 18, 2018
Oct 18, 2018 at 1:49 PM UTC
rocking the metal pan
side to side, agitate
the sand so swirling
water
lets gravity push the
worthless sediment
over the edges into the
pool
gravel-dust gathers
momentum
swarming in a circular current
allowing the golden
nuggets to sink to the
base
fingers as feet through
quicksand
explore the grey salt-swamp
cold makes them slow and dumb
soft skin complains as grains
scratch skin a thousand times
toy fingernails clawing
catch a lump, hold it
between
thumb and finger, bulge with
fulfilment as your gobbet
glints beneath its caked mud
set the pan upon rocks
clasping tightly, pull the
stone through the pool,
freeing
it from the clinging dust
release it from the depths
of the crocodile water
and the ugly mound of
chalky mud submerged will
be caterpillar to
butterfly, a solid
gold nugget lying fat
on the face of your
soggy outstretched palm.
Mar 19, 2012
Mar 19, 2012 at 9:29 AM UTC
bloated with liquefied verb
numb feeling for the thinking muscle
sweet sound will sometimes swerve
little-lest things are going in a hustle
pressing keys, i'm not dazzled
emptiness will occupy the rounded roots
stop, stare, tap the snare
imagination pops, voala! colorful fruits
shop, share, college hair
someones asking me, are you there?
words are needed to communicate
we are all cursed to integrate
initiate, advocate , innovate
crowd as they were, they agitate
so i swim on this letter not aware, im saturate
Oct 6, 2010
Oct 6, 2010 at 4:33 AM UTC
.
The Virginal one is a Maiden fair,
a girl adorned with long blonde hair.
Bold and brash, yet cautious and shy,
her dreams lift up and start to fly.
Raven hair falls in delicate tresses,
on the Mother of children Nature blesses.
Calm and firm, yet open and sure,
her dreams fulfilled are played out pure.
Cold and damp attack the bones,
trying to agitate the black haired Crone.
Old and steady, yet clever and wise,
her dreams forever light up the skies.
Walking through woods, warm and shady,
barefoot, confident, the Forest Lady.
She has her dreams and always will,
until the day her heart stands still.
© Pagan Paul (01/02/17)
Feb 3, 2017
Feb 3, 2017 at 10:29 AM UTC
She broke his arms, his ribs, his legs, his heart.
He was a man who loved with all he was.
She ripped a very loving man apart.
He gave her money, pushed her shopping cart,
he bought her heart's desires, and without pause,
she broke his arms, his ribs, his legs, his heart.
His crime was having loved her from the start,
and far beyond her limits without cause.
She ripped a very loving man apart,
and though she was a very sour ****
he loved her still with everything he was.
She broke his arms, his ribs, his legs, his heart,
hock-spat at him, and in his face did ****
to agitate that love wrapped tight in gauze.
She ripped a very loving man apart,
and stomped him in his sleep, stiletto darts
pierced flesh and pocked him, loving as he was.
She broke his arms, his ribs, his legs, his heart.
She ripped a very loving man apart.
(C)2008, Christos Rigakos
Oct 16, 2012
Oct 16, 2012 at 10:20 AM UTC
6 sides
Latent enabler
Counterpoint to truth, amorphic
Dada to life
Callous Birth
Islands dripped in collagen
Mystic, effortless life
Tempests laden iota in tune
Riven
Licked flat, obtuse
Crescent stench
Pagan cells
Hazard the thought
Pick the Atlantic cherry
Reach further than comfort
Pushed & consumed
Spirited paste
Jesuit told in spheres
Lament interest, matted quill
Totem, Saxon tribe
Inflections of hearsay
And Swastikas on parade
Guilt of the blacksmith, undecided
The arms of tablets
Ashtrays & tropospheric light
Another page turned
Capsules filled with perfume
Loose skin lost in relics
Temporal lobe
Cautioned indignant
Pardon the prose
Sonnets dissolved in ethanol
Caricatures of the fleeting
Of our cities last broadcast
Absorbed by times gone
Glittered pestilence
Canceling subordinates, powdered Semtex
Soup of the sewer
Lift the butcher above your head
Nazca lines
Suborbital
Silk screen with *****
Horizontal qualm toward revulsion
Incursion
Calm, cued and cubed
Lab coats coated in pharmaceuticals
Base compound, ionic bond
Covalent CNS
Sympathetic vibration
Default to nature
To theorise movement
Agitate intolerance, turbulence
Beautiful thought
Calculate causality
Passenger of licked lips
Token to latex
Croft in ear, to taste
Unlaced tips, rings of halothane
Bliss
Intrigued with obscurity
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 1:33 PM UTC
What I feel is so confusing and so resentful,
resting like gritty stones in my stomach
Like a force-fed fowl fighting to smile
I swallowed down too much, too whole
Trying too hard to have a great time
Trying too hard to not agitate
Teeth clenched,
eyes not seeing the sights we flew around the world to see
I'm dragging you around
You're dragging me down
You want to relax
I want to explore
You just wanna go home
I never want to see that door
ever again.
I'm making myself miserable
Growing numb from the ache
I'm fighting so hard
because our lives are at stake
like a witch hunt in Salem
I feel the fires all around
But this burning doesn't feel like it used to
when we wrote so romantically to each other so long ago.
022015 ~ 12.42p
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 3:42 PM UTC
Now! the damson crush of swallow wing
to foal the brays of uwound April,
in chattered sleeks of broom gleam hail
that agitate these pagan grains.
Where bud-nip rusts of Bullfinch creak
the gates of prickled secrecy,
the platted creed of wren-song
yolks the whiting peeks of May.
Where an absinthe canter quills a yarn
of nether-world calligraphy
with missives of anemone to
prose the woke terrain,
so a gattling shack of magpies prat
along the miscreants of bine
that heckle servile atrophy in
lung sweet roots of anchored sage
Apr 13, 2017
Apr 13, 2017 at 12:06 PM UTC
There have been orientations
I've attended
that hit home, hard.
Ones that were held in auditoriums,
which brought outstanding projections.
Of voice and talent,
speaking to talentless voices that seek
increments of the number ten.
Tens of hundreds, speaking excrement.
Cause **** even a ten is divisible by the number two.
There have been orientations
I've attended
that hit home, hard.
Ones that were held in back rooms,
with walls plastered with common sense.
Of apologies and service,
speaking to employees that service apologies
to miserable men waiting for change.
Tens and hundreds, purchasing excrement.
Cause **** even the box that holds an engagement
can be discarded.
Orientations are set up.
They're made to entice and integrate,
but in all actuality they're erroneous and agitate.
They speak fate,
but hinder the great.
They mark you.
Like I've previously stated:
Orientations are set up.
They're not a debate.
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 6:05 AM UTC
In this morning's waiting room
And then the café, breaking bread -
I might have read,
Engaged in reverie
Lost myself in thoughts,
Or meditative memory.
But someone overruled
To agitate the air
With an imbroglio
With the inane, vain,
Smug banter of local radio.
It claimed the arena,
And turned our space
From haven into mayhem,
Compulsively silting up
My poor, empty ears
With an unhealthy sound.
Like painting out the view
Behind Beata Beatrix
With a filthy fairground.
Just what we need!
This constant aural cattle-feed.
So: every tree in my opinion
- (I'm speaking as a lowly minion)
Should be hung with massive speakers
Huge loudspeakers, woofers, tweeters,
To entertain us in every place
With never-ending drum and bass,
Then verbose youths, with wit so clever
Can pump us full of **** forever.
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 6:39 AM UTC
.
There is a presence here,
can't you feel it crackling
through the evening air?
Creeping into the mind
as an invasion by consent.
A candle flame flickers
as an errant string thrums,
a note of announcement
and precedent to an army
set to join the invasion.
There is a presence here,
can't you feel it cloying
at open waiting ears,
seeping over the babble
as an intrusion most welcome.
A chord breaks silence
as a voice slow gently hums
a prelude to old new songs,
an accompaniment to a jangle
as the errant string conforms.
There is a presence here,
can't you hear it calling
to the blood in your veins,
freezing the moments solid,
speaking at corpuscular levels.
An excitement of particles
agitate an expectant atmosphere,
curved air starts to resonate
an apocryphal truism that
there is a Presence … here.
© Pagan Paul (15/01/20)
Jan 23, 2020
Jan 23, 2020 at 5:38 AM UTC
What I don't seem to understand is...
before you become a man and
everyone cradles you,
holds you by the hand and
fills your thoughts with these dreams and aspirations,
(no exaggerations...just genuine life expectations)
but nothing is impossible,
you are fresh.
Not to death, but from birth.
A brand new mind that has yet to be tarnished.----
Through adolescence,
you start to learn adult lessons.
Cowboys are no longer real...
President's have to wear a tie!
And if I become a stuntman...
then I'll probably die.
I can't be a wrestler on TV if I actually fought?
I need...what!?...on my SAT's to become an astronaut?
Reality, Gets In.
Our Ways, Set In.
Goodbye Dreams,
Goodbye Imagination.--
*"Today you are eighteen years old,
you are an adult."*
God, do I hate the way they say that.
An elongated "u" as if emphasizing the key component that I am an, "adddduuuult"
Then to agitate my irate sense of frustration they ask my for my declaration:
"Now, just what you want to do for the rest of your life???--
You don't have time to think.
This is it, hurry.
Choose.
Now!
Did you figure it out? No...?
Now you're already behind!
Wasting mine and your own time.--"
Time...the only thing that remains omniscient.
Time...the real gift to represent the present.
Time's up.
School's over.
Time to get a job, a good ole' nine to five.
But, I can't listen to that:
For I know that it's lies.
I know sitting in an cubical in an office drinking water from a cooler pretending to be cooler
will be my own personal demise.
I believe everybody has hopes and dreams.
From the oldest person alive to addicted drug-phenes.
Never write a person off by social means.
Never let the American Dream become the American Scheme.
All of us have our own devine-mind.
Life's a playground, don't *** on the slide.
Re-capture that child-like spirit.
If they tell you: You Can't.--
Don't Hear It.
Jump out of the line!
As the rest watch from behind.
No more: Stress.
No more: Fear.
Disregard all: Turmoil.
"You must be the change you wish to see in the world."
.Peace.
Mar 28, 2013
Mar 28, 2013 at 4:13 PM UTC