"annexed" poems
*Elemental Metamorphosis & Transcendental Milestones,
Sempiternal Origamis Of Her Temperamental Clones,
Spiraling Perpetuities & Her Sacrosanct Fortitude,
Procreating Tipsy Ruptures In Her Permeating Solitude,
Perplexed Momentum & Her Outlandish Constellations,
Nuclear Decay Of Her Masked Radiations,
Verbal Shadows & Her Tranquil Ascendance,
Encasing Her Tears In Liquefied Transcendence,
Yearning Oddities & Entropic Oceans,
Vitalizing Inexorable Emotions Into Phosphorescent Potions,
An Hourglass Existence Of Her Fabricated Virility,
Dwelling In Quantum Ascents Of Ardent Agility,
Silver Ghosts Of Her Prismatic Abyss,
Convicting Glass Houses In Her Ecstatic Bliss,
Telepathic Shades & Hollow Palisades,
Detrimental Novelists On Uncharted Crusades,
Pernicious Scars In Her Profound Gaze,
Erupting Genesis Inside Her Dimensional Maze,
Perplexed Periphery & Digital Fictions,
Annexed By Her Hourglass Depictions,
Breakdown Sanity & Her Concealed Screams,
Lifelike Dewdrops In Her Visionary Dreams,
Satellite Searchlights & Love//Less Progenic Mutation,
Paralyzed Sunlight Sparking Genetic Alteration,
Monochromatic Streams & Cinematic Realms,
Static Screams Of Her Toxic Schemes.
- 05:43 AM -*
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 11:18 PM UTC
Uninvited Guest* Annexed
We are seated on opposite sides of ottoman,
Brother and sister,
long history of knowledge tenderness contention attachment,
sharing glances psychological plotting.
The uninvited guest plops down between us
large foreign hand touches both our thighs
We look beyond to each other
The intruder senses our bond
knows where we belong
but must go separately
Far away from the other
Curled fingers tell us we are
Strangers on infinite journey
And all we know is nothing
The air turns chilly
I am fraught with fear
My sister is the braver one
She makes a move to stand
The uninvited guest breathes deeper
Weight she cannot oppose
Our eyes search frantically for each other
But it is too late
* http://oursalon.ning.com/profiles/blogs/the-uninvited-guest
Dec 7, 2012
Dec 7, 2012 at 2:17 PM UTC
The forward violet thus did I chide:
“Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that smells,
If not from my love’s breath? The purple pride
Which on thy soft check for complexion dwells
In my love’s veins thou hast too grossly dyed.”
The lily I condemnèd for thy hand,
And buds of marjoram had stol’n thy hair;
The roses fearfully on thorns did stand,
One blushing shame, another white despair;
A third, nor red, nor white, had stol’n of both,
And to his robbery had annexed thy breath,
But, for his theft, in pride of all his growth
A vengeful canker eat him up to death.
More flowers I noted, yet I none could see,
But sweet or colour it had stol’n from thee.
1.5k
At Austerlitz I two nations vanquished;
making me historically distinguished.
At Marengo I had Austria subdued;
then I was to honour undoubtedly glued.
At the Pyramids, Mamluks kissed the sands;
then like a French Pharaoh I annexed their lands.
At Jena-Auerstadt, Prussia to her knees fell,
to avoid carnage, and possibly hell.
At Borodino, Kutuzov my boots licked,
as his Russian forces had their arses kicked.
At Ligny, Blucher like a coward fled,
as his smitten forces profusely bled.
At Toulon I first distinguished myself
for a career that would exalt oneself.
Rolica, Leipzig, Waterloo like curses came,
but history will forever my triumphs reclaim.
Dec 4, 2022
Dec 4, 2022 at 7:16 AM UTC
I am socially dislocated
My heart is devastated
Annexed from humanity
My mind is iridescent
Closing off my heart
And opening up my mind
To a new time,
That you’re no longer mine
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 12:14 PM UTC
Every being that lapses before you
Is but a mere fluorescence
Illuminating your flaws
Elementary constellations
A façade of what you’ve become
Every strand of organic texture
Ejecting slivers of your identity
Every surface, every footprint
Annexed imagery
They are all reincarnations
Of past, present, and future mistakes
We are all scientists and teachers
Creators and explorers
Living within equations
Striving endlessly for solutions
When the solution lies before us
Viva La Imagism!
Apr 27, 2012
Apr 27, 2012 at 6:34 AM UTC
It’s a daily battle
Me versus the fatigue
The soul crushing emptiness that fills me
And the dark thoughts that creep in
My defenses long battered, my energy drained
Chinks in the armor shine through
And I begin to falter, gradually weakening
The darkness asserts itself, carving out a foothold
And the emptiness spreads, filling the cavities of my chest
The days drag on, leading into nights filled with despair
My head pounds, my thoughts race
Will I ever escape this hell?
Fear and sorrow consume me
Conquering reason, allowing the evil to spread
Hope is dead, love has fled
Everywhere my defenses crumble
Leaving me raw and vulnerable
The emptiness has finished tis conquest
I am hollow inside, my soul devastated
The darkness has annexed my brain, destroying my sense of self
I have but one weapon left
An ace in the hole, as it were
Though I fear it may be too late to save me
The darkness lays siege to my last hope
Gnawing away, filling me with doubt
Faith in God has kept me alive
Yet that faith is failing, His presence faltering
I feel abandoned, my light snuffed out
Smoldering coals are all that is left of me
But, before they fade to black
I rally
Calling on my inner strength, and my savior above me
Throwing of the shackles of the darkness
And beginning the fight anew
This fight is eternal
The war shall never end
But I am surviving
I shall always endure
Aug 21, 2012
Aug 21, 2012 at 9:56 PM UTC
you know why i'm not afraid
of plagiarism?
memes...
funny, isn't it,
i don't mind, or, rather,
i started to not mind plagiarism...
because the plagiarists have
been inseminated, ***** even,
i don't know whether i ever
owned a puppet,
but if i'm plagiarised i own a:
cohort...
it's nice...
you can rule by ridicule
rather than be ridiculed
as ruling,
notably the english monarchy...
it's nice to have pawns who
don't even think they aren't
pawns...
but that's the beauty
of intellectual virology -
an idea is like a virus,
and the fact intact remains
signifying:
well: go ahead with it...
i don't mind anonymous
"credit" 4 it...
you think i have
i have any complacency to mind?
rot the gnat and vermin...
i am the one to fuse
plague and language together...
man was
always endowed with a heart
and woman with a heart,
when it came to, politics...
women always, meddle...
how isn't punctuation
important in writing,
given it be necessary that
equate punctuation with rhyme
and consolidate prose with poetics...
punctuation = rhyme -
overseer? yes.
- and why do i not mind plagiarism,
pontius pilate...
the only person worth
being remembered of the new testament...
oops..
why do i not mind
plagiarism... i know they'll mutate,
morph...
but that doesn't matter...
a part of me remains,
and all the better should the plagiarism
be otherwise be defined...
but it's too late:
the innocent seed competes
with the forbidden fruit...
i have my paupers and my
puppets...
for grit and gift of word,
i have my: assembly...
you can plagiarise all you want,
all i ever gain is yet another
puppeteer's string of
limb annexed.
i love the idea of memes & plagiarism...
it means the utmost anonymous
influence being exerted:
how far is the puppeteer away
from the necrophiliac, may i ask?
thank you for a chance to
not prioritise a demand for
a gene chronology on the altar of Cronus,
allowing me, to,
********** my meme,
rather than consecrating my gene
in the ******* of fake white
and...
the agony of what would be to come...
ever wonder the mystery
of autumn, when a southern wind
blows?
Nov 21, 2017
Nov 21, 2017 at 8:26 PM UTC
i never understood why people decided to couple such symbols into images esp. in fictional narratives rather than see the sound in lipstick smooched for symphony; how hard you try, the a to z will not provide you with a mental cinema image of a giraffe; more like a gaff, and what's a gaff in photo? leopard on giraffe or a giraffe on a leopard, because it's all very fine telling the narrative of traffic coordination evolution coming back from africa with the zebra to suit pitchfork stoppages in hay on the redneck lazed walk. the sole reason why it's understood: fiction is the use of lettering for the creation of images, poetry is the use of lettering a bit like a waterfall for a bored emperor apprehensive of the sound of thinking; and philosophy is the reverse of all that, strike two flints together, and enter the realm of ideas with the onomatopoeia of the image - given that onomatopoeias act like surgical scalpels, or a miscarriage of ideas bundled up for something else by kandinsky; actually, saying that, onomatopoeias are images in motion, prior to the movies, when all you had was a painting embraced by a fancy rim - still life of decay of the royal flotilla on the thames with a mouth moving: chatty chatty boor of a bloke who talked.
i see the dead sea when i cry,
and i wager
a salmon with other sea fish cropping up flying
into a butterfly net:
before the assemblage of bacon
into the mouth watering eye.
i see the dead sea when i cry,
and i wager
to have seen a thousand flamingos
strut invoking tide -
on a boneless march into marsh of
a bubbled gill of fish popped for whatever name alive,
or dead in the disco crescendo for a nixon:
tears of a robot had always the glory of man laughing akin;
since annexed was the dualistic ambiguity
of the theatrically mistaken two masked.
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 8:27 PM UTC
There it is, a wind from the East
A motion of warmth returns home
It moves, and something flutters
It moves, and I elate
Vacillant being, do not delay
With trite footings and teased notions
Here is the eclipse
A pinpoint light on you
Annexed streams, flow with the ghost
Who swells up our fervor
Who holds premonition
As we study the other
With the mood of the currents
Trees concave and vex
Leaves are fickle things
When the wind is cold
Dearest wind, whisper then laugh
Froth the waters, dismiss the clouds
Curl into these sails
Curl into me, do not delay
Dec 24, 2011
Dec 24, 2011 at 10:01 PM UTC
Petal to petal;
Withheld, so brittle.
Unstable yet settled,
Undermine, unleveled.
Spoiled with shadows
Coiled in soil.
Divulge subtle flashes
Of a violet so royal
As within so complex,
Though without context.
You’ll find the subtext
Once this flower is annexed.
Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 5:39 PM UTC
I used to live downwind of the slaughterhouse,
the one below the high bluff where the state pen towers,
commanding the best view of the marsh lands
and the stink ponds making lime outta ****
for the crops not meant for human consumption;
by the dry grass parks with the broken backboards
and the netless hoops that never slow a ball down.
I used to live downwind of the rendering plant
where the bubbling lard becomes aerosol
and the air reeks of freezerburn bacon and feces,
below the high bluff where the trustees cut grass
in the clean air not meant for the locals
mixing with the immigrants and loser folk
who have knots in their shoelaces that
press against bone when chasing a loose ball.
This town never grew up. Doesn't need to.
There's plenty of ground for the taking.
Plenty of farmers selling out to the downtown club
who cobble the streets in past time fashion,
netting big gains from the professional set
lining the smooth roads annexed to the east.
I used to live downwind of the closing in stink
of renewal, where the cheap rentals and struggle
stores with the marked-up Walmart brands
lining the shelves - expired but still edible -
bide their short time compressed and diced
up like leftovers for dogs.
But this is America. I don't live there anymore.
I got myself a cush gig with a padded ladder
to the top. Did everything I needed to do
for that sure climb out into a cleaner air,
only to find myself bruise-faced and reeling
when the profits didn't match the dream
and the ladders were sold for scrap.
Aug 4, 2019
Aug 4, 2019 at 4:27 PM UTC
woken by the cloaked coalition in the early mornings of spring
previous energy diminished on succeeding in infinite failure
that i can't complain or repair, how long is the string
that holds the superseded means of success to your
self annexed left to mature in a golden process
indifference fulfilling best dressed veneer polished
frightened conversationalist demolished hopeless hope-less
view on your own facetious breath of galactic knowledge
Mar 16, 2014
Mar 16, 2014 at 3:05 PM UTC
You stole my last cigarette and coughed red all over the ashtray. Fountain like it overflowed with our combined wants. Your limbs seemed annexed from your mind and flew all over the place, like across my shoulders, and I had to wriggle out. You drew sticky lines in ash and spit, into a ***** table.
Your mindlessness serves you well, in times like these.
All I could do was collect the half smoked butts and construct them into something not new but at least poisonous. I keep it far from you, though you’re paying as much attention to this as the last bi-election.
Your mindlessness serves you well, in any time.
My smoke creates a protective screen between us, unhappily easily broken by a waving hand or a breath exhaled forcefully. But it’s all we have, so we sit quiet and in our own worlds. You’ve got bats and old songs in your head while I have ****** in mine. Every second of silence is a plot to **** you, every puff, a breath, a gift, a warning. I’d give you anything you want because soon you will be gone and I will take it back.
Everything. The gifts, lies, memories. So your mindlessness won’t serve you so well.
The only thing you get to keep will be a coffin and a lonely name. Keep philosophising into your glass. You want a tin foil hat? Is that your last request? Let me laugh as I dig the hole, I won’t trust anyone else with your death. It belongs to me and I’ll take you and what’s due with utter carelessness.
I close my eyes as you open your mouth and I dream up a better world. It is better because you are not in it. It is better because you are in a grave I had commissioned and then forgotten about and your name is spelt wrong and I had done that and the headstone had been kicked over and maybe I did that or maybe it was some other random marauder with more beer in their veins than blood and an arbitrary rage to exhale.
I woke up into a smoky haze when you touched my arm, asked me for a light. You'd bought a new pack of smokes and two pints. Maybe I can deal with you now. You touched my arm and I started and punched you in the temple.
You don’t mind.
In fact, you laugh and snuggle up to me, take a sip of my beer and steal my cigarette and when I say I can’t wait to **** you, you laugh as if there is no consequence.
We forget about each other as we drink ourselves senseless.
Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 at 12:07 AM UTC
If your heart is full, it must be October again
annexed in California land
every whistle and bell silenced
by Indian summer contraband
Coffee from Zimbabwe
Crimson petals on the sheets
smile in the sunlight, dance to Billie Holiday and repeat.
Oct 27, 2017
Oct 27, 2017 at 1:23 PM UTC
Perplexed, perplexed!
Bewildered by ***
My souls dazed; my hearts annexed.
Digress, Digress.
Alluding to brooding.
My thoughts eluding, the devils colluding
Oh tonto, oh tonto!
Amou ha huido, Oscuridad se ha apoderado.
Yo soy el fuego, infierno es mi paraiso.
Nov 11, 2020
Nov 11, 2020 at 8:24 PM UTC
Alexander
Crooked and darkened by the plague of modern intelligence, Alexander wanders down the familiar streets of their town with a compelling yet distant look nested upon his brow. Disillusionment had radicalized him long ago and reduced most of his friends to acquaintances, and family to strangers. Little did he realize that he had annexed himself from happiness when he spent every moment thinking of love and success. So much so, that he had created standard by which these experiences could be logically sound, stable, and reliable. If any of the key factors were missing, he dismissed his emotions as if they were late to class and continued about the mania of loneliness.
@A.Zahorcak2014
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 1:57 PM UTC
She helps him as he struggles, awakes of the cabbie’s pitiful stare,
Her man, her prince, again too drunk to care,
Leans for support, to stagger to the door,
He’s had too much, hanging out, aching to his core.
She doesn’t speak, just implores, ‘can you make it to the gate?’
Her eyes gaze on, as she wonders, how did it get this late?
Chris, Dave, Jack, Sam; he’s seen it all before,
One and the same, with the same poor girl, never wanting more.
He sees the care go all one way, until it’s thrown back in her face,
The words change up, a variable phrase, but always a bitter taste.
He bites his tongue, watches on, and sees the scene unfold again
Pretty dresses, different colours, where each hand leaves a sweaty stain.
‘He’s lovely, so sweet’ she says to her friends, ‘just some growing up to do’
Whilst inwardly wondering ‘is this it? Now the gilt’s worn off the new?’
Then one day she waits, he comes around, nothing to suggest what’s coming next,
‘I think we should break up’ he says. She stops, her feelings annexed.
Not a word, not a sign, he leaves without saying goodbye
Controlled, she waits until the door clicks shut, before breaking down and begging ‘why?’
This empty room holds no answers, chest hurts, eyes bleed, heart breaks.
Hoping and praying he’ll come back, that it’s all been a big mistake
Those final words, with no explanation, leaves her with ‘what about me wasn’t right?’
The hours pass, the tears subside, but that final question drags her into the night.
Next the phone call, the ‘I’m sorry, I miss us, all I can think of is you’
He begs, he cries, that final question, what do you want me to do?
She tells him she doesn’t know, but that he can fix it, he just has to work out how.
He doesn’t know, comes up with promises he’ll break and then one final vow:
‘I’ll call you tomorrow, when I’ve sobered up, and we’ll sort all this out’
With that she sleeps, content in the knowledge that he does care, after all.
Next day time passes, as the sun goes down her happiness dissipates
Until at last she accepts it, with that final question, ‘how did it get this late?’
Aug 17, 2014
Aug 17, 2014 at 9:01 AM UTC
Adventure Days
They say a cornered man will fight till the end
For simply has nothing to lose
Except his life when the cards are revealed
The dice is rolled ***** to the wall kaput
You know what I mean no more examples
Need to be said but one final example
That of Ukraine in February 2022
Since late 2021 the nation has been
Threatened by Neo Soviet Russia
Surrounded on 3 sides by hostile land
The 4th side is water which they can own
NATO flew in Javelin and Stinger missiles
To **** tanks choppers and jets
The Ukrainians have enough bullets
Most made in Russia or the Soviet Union
To **** their fellow brothers who turned
On them in the worst case of cabin fever
That Europe has seen since Yugoslavia
And Marshall Tito's precious union died
This will be far worse than that
Could **** millions ruin Europe the world
Trigger World War 3 like a Tom Clancy book
Or a video game or heavy metal song or film
But this little escapade by Putin is real
He re-armed Russia and wants his empire back
He's part way there but millions will refuse
To be ruled from Moscow and be proxies again
Those days are gone except in his rabid mind
Soon his army must be used or go home
It is tiring and costs millions to be ready
The 200,000 Russian Red Army at readiness
Waiting for the order to invade their kin
Over the border brothers and sisters
Many with dual nationality and identity
But Ukraine is a sovereign nation
And will fight back as they've done since 14
When Putin the Dog annexed Crimea
And took East Ukraine which he still holds now
He wants the rest and for them to be his
Never ever join NATO and be European pals
Plus allied to the Yankees his worst nightmare
Ruining his dream the world their lives WHY???
Mar 4, 2022
Mar 4, 2022 at 8:30 PM UTC
There's the one who back stabbed
To get who she wanted
There's the one who annexed herself
For a boy
There's the one who settled
Because she was lonely
There's the one who stayed alone
Because the right one hasn't found her
...
Or is it she's too picky?
...
Or she's undesirable?
...
To be honest I don't really know
I mean she won't back stab, be annexed or settle
She doesn't have the heart
Or lack there of
The rest seem happy with who they're with
No matter the way they got them
She seems happy will being alone
But sad only in the face of their happiness
She remains unsure
Mirror mirror on the wall
Who's the worst of them all?
The one who back stabbed
The one who was annexed
The one who settled
The one who is unsure
Jun 21, 2016
Jun 21, 2016 at 3:09 PM UTC
“How it is noted that metals can tell time,
Seagulls sparkle as they soar up above,
God’s creatures soar and ride the crests of waves,
People have a wind that eviscerates their souls,
Seagulls have leaded many to their sea of destiny,
In fields of dried wheat and soaring clouds,
Many born with lack of visioning stars above,
Could those be the souls that are lost at sea?
Moonlight shining on her skin like lemon flowers,
Inebriated with fragrance of sweet lemon plants,
Lives on in a lemon light of the moon cling to brine,
In their subtle matter a bouquet scent of age,
Love is a journey through waters and stars,
Love is such a war of thunder and wavy brines,
Two bodies annexed by a single sweet aged odor,
Entwine fruitage lovers lilliputian forged as one,
Topace riding the droplet shrines of aromatic guise”
By Andrew Guzaldo © 09/07/2018
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 9:21 PM UTC