"antagonism" poems
Now I ask you to join me
Now you celebrate
Not being me. Not being you
Only Us for the great
UN
load!
DIS
arm!
EN
large!
OUT
side!
Some steps I will take
Be my guest
Pull your anchor
Out of the lake
We're
In the room
In the building
In the crowded city
In the country with thousands of cities
The country shares the continent with an enemy nation
The two rivals are carried round and round by the Earth's endless rotation
The Earth obeys the master’s magnetic line, burning since uncountable clock time
The sun is blind to his insignificance too, ignoring billions of other star mates, it can’t see through
Immeasurable it seems, magnifying! All of them such tiny little parts in one of Miss Milky’s arms
Some light years away there they are: Pinwheel, Cartwheel, Black Eye, Andromeda and Cigar
Unmeasurable it seems, humongous! All of them such a fading little part of the cosmos
There you are
Floating from a distance
Feel the empty ground
Drink from the fountain of existence
Still blind to insignificance?
Still convinced about the rightness of imposed beliefs?
Still judging others’ defects according to our pretentious and vain mind?
Still punching away the different, protecting the mold?
Still reinforcing illusory antagonism and insignia?
Still seeing only two sides?
Still holding to the pride?
Still
In the ******* room
Am I? Are you?
Let's try it again
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 5:21 PM UTC
abolitionism
absenteeism
absolutism
abstractionism
absurdism
academicism
academism
achromatism
acrotism
actinism
activism
adoptianism
adoptionism
adventurism
aeroembolism
aestheticism
ageism
agism
agnosticism
agrarianism
alarmism
albinism
alcoholism
aldosteronism
algorism
alienism
allelism
allelomorphism
allomorphism
alpinism
altruism
amateurism
amoralism
anabaptism
anabolism
anachronism
analphabetism
anarchism
anecdotalism
aneurism
anglicism
animalism
animism
anisotropism
antagonism
anthropocentrism
anthropomorphism
anthropopathism
antialcoholism
antiauthoritarianism
antiblackism
anticapitalism
anticlericalism
anticolonialism
anticommercialism
anticommunism
antielitism
antievolutionism
antifascism
antifeminism
antiferromagnetism
antihumanism
antiliberalism
antimaterialism
antimilitarism
antinepotism
antinomianism
antiquarianism
antiracism
antiradicalism
antirationalism
antirealism
antireductionism
antiritualism
antiromanticism
antiterrorism
aphorism
apocalypticism
apocalyptism
archaism
asceticism
assimilationism
associationism
asterism
astigmatism
asynchronism
atavism
atheism
athleticism
atomism
atonalism
atropism
atticism
autecism
authoritarianism
autism
autoecism
autoeroticism
autoerotism
automatism
automorphism
baalism
baptism
barbarianism
barbarism
behaviorism
biblicism
bibliophilism
bicameralism
biculturalism
bidialectalism
bilateralism
bilingualism
bimetallism
biologism
bioregionalism
bipartisanism
bipedalism
biracialism
blackguardism
bogyism
bohemianism
bolshevism
boosterism
bossism
botulism
bourbonism
boyarism
bromism
brutism
bruxism
bureaucratism
cabalism
caciquism
cambism
cannibalism
capitalism
careerism
casteism
catabolism
catastrophism
catechism
cavalierism
centralism
centrism
ceremonialism
charism
charlatanism
chauvinism
chemism
chemotropism
chimaerism
chimerism
chrism
chromaticism
cicisbeism
cinchonism
civicism
civism
classicism
classism
clericalism
clonism
cockneyism
collaborationism
collectivism
colloquialism
colonialism
colorism
commensalism
commercialism
communalism
communism
communitarianism
conceptualism
concretism
confessionalism
conformism
congregationalism
connubialism
conservatism
constitutionalism
constructivism
consumerism
controversialism
conventionalism
corporatism
corporativism
cosmism
cosmopolitanism
cosmopolitism
countercriticism
counterculturalism
counterterrorism
creationism
credentialism
cretinism
criticism
cronyism
cryptorchidism
cryptorchism
cubism
cultism
cynicism
czarism
dadaism
dandyism
defeatism
deism
demonism
denominationalism
despotism
determinism
deviationism
diabolism
diamagnetism
May 12, 2017
May 12, 2017 at 12:16 PM UTC
but finality in all series of things
seriousness, or was it
lackadaisical thought offspring
blooms walls of drooping eye?
air-tight space, its coalition
with inward breaking penumbra
of shadow,
i write a poem so as not a poem
but an antagonism of sorts
to the end that does not smell of sandalwood but
the fixation of the word
as scent plays with memory,
a fragrance of spring in all that is winter
casting
a shadow upon me, you,
if not all.
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 4:01 AM UTC
oh sure, forgiveness of sin... or perhaps crimes... or just fetishes? like John Paul II forgiving sin, once polite society answered and John Paul staged the forgiveness session in a prison cell... forgiveness alright, acted out, with all the preliminary provisions readied - ode to Mehmet Ali Ağca, forgiveness always played out great for photography when all the Chinese laws were passed - Siberia welcomes all keen joggers; but you know one thing? raised in a canine environment as a child i learned to attach a different perspective with felines:
like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse - you keep teasing - you keep teasing - you keep teasing - you just wait... crocodile or boa insomniac - and when the opposite party has banked enough to cry about having lost it... you spit at your enemy's mother's face while ****** her; **** me! you get to prove god along the way! how's that for a Camden Market daytrip? and if you don't? well, it was a nice thought - feels like being a woman with a foetus craving doughnuts and pickles.
Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 10:11 PM UTC
i care, i really do...
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha...
no, i do...
i'm trying...
ha ha...
i'm just imagining what
that one word
looks like in Hebrew...
the...
ha-shem...
i.e.
the-name....
laughing, but at the same time
saying the definite article
over, and over, and over again...
the the the the... v'eh v'eh v'eh...
"point"?!
what point?!
calling a cactus a *******
cactus?
or calling it
an semiticl headscarf?
which is which?
a skirt just covering
the knee?!
better ask your women
to wear gloves...
i seem to enjoy the fact
that the most ****** part of
a woman, are her hands...
geisha hands...
and wrists i could look
at like i might an enjoy an hour
with a bottle of wine...
aha!
tell me...
what's the difference between
a didgeridoo...
and a modern, nordic shamanic chant
akin to to the berserker warcry
in one of
heilung's song,
notably
alfadhirhaiti
where the audience go mad
with fervor & fury...
because didn't you know,
they say:
don't take to d.n.a. ancestor testing,
watch what you absorb culturally...
from what i heard...
the ugly vikings founded
the city of Kiev,
so they must have passed past my parts...
hidden Baltic -
grazing mother of soured milk
that intermediates
a stasis prior to yogurt -
no wolves in england...
i'll pet a a fox therefore...
scoop and swoon -
the baronical patience of
a shadow admirer.;
even if the Jews have abandoned
Europe...
what the left?
is beside the origin of what
the crucifix constitutes...
even if the Jews abandoned
Europe, what they pressed was
the antagonism of Greece -
they pursued ancient Greece -
until the world, and all matters Latin -
stood to understand -
the Jews left Europe,
abandoning the pursuit of Greek -
penitent people, noble people...
until the library of Nag Hammadi
emerged from
the sands of both time,
and Egypt...
noble people... penitent people...
these Israelites -
these Jobs of disgruntled time -
Hiob, Yob, Hiob, Job...
i am barren in wanting to "forgive"
the Jews...
how they pursued ancient Greek
to avenge the emergence of
the Second Troy in Rome...
with Rome...
no Greek will stand on these words
with an Achilles heel...
the Jews pursued the Greek
revisionism of their testament
long enough...
as what Nero found hilarious...
i take to wind and soul with
a drunk mind,
but a sober heart.
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 8:38 PM UTC
Antagonism
burgeons back bad blood.
Compatriots, courtesy can cool contentions:
doubly, disrespect demands decisive
execution. Early efforts evolved
fatuously, force facilitated farcical fighting.
Gambling gents gleefully gored
hedonistic harlots. Harassing
ignorantly, igniting
jealously,
killings
listlessly- liars lament
momentarily. Meanwhile, monetary
nuances
of opulence obscure
prime problems.
Quarries quake
running red. Remembering
solitarily- stoic steeds stand silent, sending
thoughts,
unbidden, unbeknownst.
Violence:
we were
xanthic,
yellow years yaw…
Zymotic.
Jun 22, 2013
Jun 22, 2013 at 11:57 PM UTC
I fell
[through hugs and kisses,
arguments,
Italian takeout,
suits and dresses,
texts at 2 am,
summer karaoke nights,
missed curfews,
coffee,
****** movies,
classic '70s songs,
stairs,
health food and vegetables,
fights,
antagonism,
test scores,
spaceships,
and happiness]
in love.
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 6:58 PM UTC
I am a battlefield...
Between love and dislike, not hate
Between a handshake and a fist fight, when love is late...
To the party
When it is being tardy
Between taste and distaste
Slouchiness and haste
Ignorance and awareness...to be a thought conoisseur
To get my mind out of the gutter...or to leave it with the trash for sure
A battlefield I am...between 'cheeky boy' and 'serious man'
Seriously...I am
A battlefield
Between 'stand and fight' and 'kneel and yield'
Commit to her...or...play the field
To feel, or not to feel
Tears of joy, or smile in pain
To shiver, cold...or dance in rain
This battlefield
Between conflict and resolve
Status quo and evolution
Antagonism and conflict resolution
I am human
Problem solved.
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 7:49 AM UTC
I almost made it to the finish line
but somewhere along I took a wrong turn
segregation’s aftermath still lingering
self inflicted prejudice over one’s skin abstained
self antagonism over one’s curl pattern deeply rooted
self oppugnancy over one’s own race persistent
I know I’m not on the right course
yet blindly I continue
shackling the dependent to me
as i spiral down this cascade
too intimidated to speak out
too worried about social acceptance
too cowardly to admit it
taught that color coding is inferior
but favoritism to a specific color is acceptable
I see police brutality to a specific race
whereas other countries see
Americans killing other Americans
Republicans and Democrats both preach unity
Yet stand divided in one house
but I’m in constant denial
because I was raised as a hypocrite
I want change
but only half of me is willing to fish for that change
it wasn't always the way
minorities didn’t have a voice
so they fought for one
generations later they hoard that voice
locked in a shed
collecting dust
My people have the tools
therefore
don't be fooled
because it’s only a matter of time
before they put them to use
and mold a beautiful sculpture
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 12:35 PM UTC
The demons are bleeding from the walls
Pouring thick like screeching molasses
Grabbing me by my eye sockets
With twelve inch ripping talons
Pulling and tearing my flesh taut
Like some morose antagonism of obesity
Dragging me thru the hardwood floorboards
Thru a river flowing with moaning, groaning souls
Cast into a stygian darkness that blinds the eyes
The magnitude of grotesque revulsion
That unveils itself before me
In monstrous catastrophe
Ignites my dejected soul
To wisps of smoke and smoldering ashes
Set to a contour of unremitting denunciation
Scorching pits of fire, brimstone, and sulfur
The suffocated withering of my intentions
The agony of ennui
And the simplicity of sin
Oct 26, 2011
Oct 26, 2011 at 10:50 AM UTC
Every morning ,throughout the year
I hear demons in my head shouting loud around my ear
Lacing me with antagonism
drowning me into deep rooted negativism
I feel trapped in their grip
as they keep Pushing me to darkest corners like an adandoned ship
I lie on my bed unwanted and unheard
My mind is half asleep and my eyes are blurred
They made way through me for reasons unknown
It seemed easy to make them one of my own
Eyes half asleep ,I see a gleam of light
All I know is to fight with all my might
Exhausted as I manage to Chain the monster within me
Not afraid of the roars, I'll make them bend down their knees
This fight was mine , though the Battle is to be won
Dec 7, 2017
Dec 7, 2017 at 2:20 AM UTC
desperate word duelling
a fight without aggression
desperation pervades
antagonism delayed
so beaten
beaten down
so beaten
only frown
ferocity tucked away
yet the beastly come to play
a beating reckoned
the pain provisioned
so beaten
beaten down
so beaten
beaten
beaten down
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 3:40 PM UTC
This art alone will not quench my thirst
So, I pushed to the street in a disorderly burst
Not as myself but as the lacerating beast
He erased my fish-like stare and began his feast
His fangs pierced deep and would not let go
Implanting them shrewdly as a seed would be sown
Stared through my mind but he saw only me
A cowardly corpse of the filthiest degree
Dragging me further by the arduous lights
That shun on my skin and reflected mere blight
Forcing me to confront the dwelling of lies
As I loitered the entrance I screeched my despise!
The masochist's dream is really quite lame
Like smothering an ash from becoming a flame
To bright forth the end is such a shame
What a waste of time to miss out on pain..
Do what thou wilt is the whole of our law
Next to that indulge in your flaws
Be who you are and love under will
But remember again do what thou wilt!
The demon left me and I felt swift again
Why should I leave and not take a friend?
Might as well reveal that not much is real
and bring forth the extent of misery I can feel
The scent of death was close and would surely come
And to my surprise I knew where it was from
The pits of lust and her treacherous Gaze
Leading me through the most grotesque haze
Upon my arrival I was ceased to a sudden halt
for what lay before me was preparing its assault
Three seeds of evil from the lowest circle of hell
but these had faces that I could remember so well
The first was my love but she had no eyes
They had been gouged and now hang at her thighs
"I can't believe you're content with stupidity!"
She screamed at me with the utmost sense of pity
That sight alone was a dream come true
A boundless arousal that was sincerely due
The bliss I betrayed was evoked once more
Into the depths of my stomach my innards it tore
Glanced upon her flesh again and it began to rot
At least seemingly so or obviously not
I'd finally met god and I knew he'd been watching
My sorrows to date and the guilt I was flaunting
He mocked my existence and showed me his fame
From that moment forward I knew who to blame
This deity was consciousness and I hated him so
I needed to run but where could I go?
May 27, 2013
May 27, 2013 at 9:55 PM UTC
So, I flipped curiously through every page
Of the infamous grimoire by the golden mage
Once I had finished I knew the lonely road;
The dance of the bones and the hermits code!
The depths of the wood were surrounded by light
Not from a star but from a moon so bright
It was the day of the harvest and it was mine
Searching for my tool to reach the divine
Where was the beast of grit and slime?
Down by the stream where he spent all his time
So, I marched to the creek with a hasteful stride
To locate the toad to make my sorrows subside
The reflection of my spherical guide
Gleamed brightly off the waters own hide
A night so fine that it would surely evoke
The call of the creature; it's cowardly croak
A sound rang out from the side of the creek
there lay a frog hopping through the leeks
Aha! I said. I have found you at last!
I can finally devour the evils from my past
I took him in hand to find the perfect tree
One with deadly thorns to set his soul free
I found the faultless plant with spikes so great
The night was high and it was time to penetrate
As I skewered the beast i felt no remorse
Such is the way to make a toad-corpse
His movement now faded he was no longer beast
I knelt to an anthill to give them a feast
After the insect army had consumed all his flesh
I placed his bones in my pack made of mesh
Turned to the north to head back to the river
To the shallow depths the bones I must deliver
Dropped them in the current to see which remain
If none of which stayed my attempt would be vain
I stood there and stared to see how i'd fair
and to my approval only one lay there!
Reached through the liquid to grasp my magic tool
Raised my hand of power to summon the ghoul
Oh, Sacred waters of the moon!
Bring me Sabatraxas to whom I might swoon!
The wind began to howl its childish laughter
The spirit I had summoned would come soon after
To grant me with a blessing or so the lore said
or Was I just a fool evoking my death bed?
Surely enough he ascended from below
I will teach you everything you need to know;
and destroy the ailments that butcher as you sleep
For only in rest shall you find the need to reap!
May 27, 2013
May 27, 2013 at 10:10 PM UTC
History has dreamed of me
And as such in its’ imaginings
Feels the painful days and tragedy
Of my great lament
Scorching the jagged edges of the world
It is a history that possesses
A capricious and intense sensitivity
A receptivity to suggestions of the imaginary
It bestows instability to the great vital rhythms of my life
And the misty memories of that present,
That present past, provide a misery of mood
Fills my veins with an inconsistency of feelings
Creating an all engulfing anxiety
Of fear and contempt for myself
Where amidst this great disorder
I fear that all hope has fled
Vanquished toward a black and purple sky
This causes all the great human dilemmas
To take up unwelcome residence in my mind
Which is tortured by a pervasiveness of antagonism
Antipathy and disturbance
You see I can no more escape from these
Obsessing reflections in my consciousness
Than I can from my own reflection in a mirror
Sep 22, 2012
Sep 22, 2012 at 7:32 PM UTC
In my youth, I came across an intoxicating friend
As quick as tiger, my friend emerged to my best
Never one without the other, permanently in my hand
My best friend guided me through life, momentarily erased the problems I had
My best friend unlocked my happiness, then allured it in a jar
Only to be released in vehemence, which mutated into truth
The truth haunted my family’s soul, I moaned secrets of antagonism never to be told
My mind went to war, my friend was getting old
but I was in too deep and couldn’t let go
I craved it’s company, the feeling it gave
But it lead me to destruction, depression and hate.
The people that cared, begged me to release
But it was out of grasp, out of my reach
Soon they let go, something I was ******* to
Now I was the one, shadowed by the truth.
As I tumbled down the lane, with a bottle in my hand
I was immune to pain, felt no blood in my veins.
Goose bumps replaced the ragged clothes that barely covered my skin
A ghost blurred my vision, but opened my eyes to sin
I only saw a jigsaw of contention, a forest of grief
Then I blacked out, my once best friend killed me.
I awoke in a daze, but new life set ablaze in my heart
The ghost floated away, and at last I saw the light
The shadows dropped and a refreshed beginning was in sight
The alcohol was no friend of mine, it stole my time to realize
I gazed at my friend, and softly smiled
This newfound enemy was condemned to die
With a smash of a bottle, a break of a heart
A splash of disease, a pool of blood
A life soon to be forgotten and a new life soon to be remembered.
May 26, 2016
May 26, 2016 at 10:03 AM UTC
Where do I go from here
Here being the limbos of choice
The frontal antagonism of option
Where each road looks similar spelling out the death of my heart
Stunting my passions and printing a mundane existence
Where I am burdened by a debt of responsibility
Bare scrapping change up off the pavement
Not filling willing minds with enlightenment joy and inner peace as I wish to be
My dreams as grand as the shining gold pillars of some ancient city
And wit as sharp as the Chinese whom discovered atomic theory much earlier than western thought had hoped
Where do I go from here
Do I take up refuge in some major that over times takes my mind into the spinning spiral of numbers
Crunching them down to bite sized bits so I don't choke on their rational?
How do i know what is right
When I've found it and it has been deemed unworthy
How do I deny the self?
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 1:36 PM UTC
*The roses had wilt
The bridges we built
Shattered with blood and tears
Of antagonism and of our fears
Yet at midnight I caught myself
Half-awake collecting the ashes
Driven away by melancholy,
Shadows of your light abruptly vanishes
You, you are still on my memory
Vivid and colorful, I discern the hue
Of the all the photographs we never took
And the empty frames hanging by a hook*
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 11:29 AM UTC
Poetree Inn
A WOMAN'S REVOLT II By; Esther Esuga
I am the one with the sonorous rendition
My words transports wise counsel to the minds of the young maidens
I am the feminine face to humanity
Man also but with womb
I am no weakling
I know my worth
My virtues are golden, pure and unique
I am bold, beautiful and desiring
I am the beautiful lilies that can not be crushed by antagonism and suppression
I KNOW how to put my home in order at the same time be relevant and sit on the front liner of my sphere
I am intelligent, bright and not doomed
I am the eagle that can soar high with her eaglets guiding them to the path of success
I AM THE SWEET VOICE
Pleasant, loud and clear
I am the one with the sonorous rendition
WRITTEN BY; ESTHER ESUGA.
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 5:28 PM UTC
I stare at the Kettle:
Reflection of your vile face.
Has left me in aghast!
Oh, how I wish to erase
Flashback of grotesque past.
Heart seared by the venom
Of disturbing memories
Caused by antagonism.
This rage can’t be appease
Mind becomes murderous.
The Kettle begins to hiss:
The soul simmers with wrath-
Insanely dangerous,
Hungry for a blood bath!
Oh, I wish for a knife
And stab you many times
As you left me in strife
From your abusive crimes.
Wounded me as a child
And left me powerless.
Boiling Kettle rattles:
My madness is wild
Have I lost my saneness?
Many years I’ve been irate-
Tolerating in silence-
Blood boils with sinful hate!
My spirit seeks the thrill
For an eye for an eye-
As it lust for your ****
And to see you die!
Gas sparks, Kitchen ignites:
Body burnt into ashes-
Soul seethes in resentment.
Revenge sweetly slashes
You to my contentment.
Hands stained with red blood
Like trenches of war mud.
Eyes consumed and blind -
Peace of heart now confined
By rapacious rage.
Mind is a Murderer!
Am I a Murderer!
Will I ever surrender?
Will I ever surrender
And taste tranquility?
Or is my spirit cursed?
Or is my spirit cursed
To be trapped by the thirst
Of the boiling kettle
That will never settle
Until vengeance scorches!
(c)Jo Swan 2018
Nov 1, 2018
Nov 1, 2018 at 9:20 AM UTC
drinks like this cold numb the fingers; many a times i leave the house
wishing for a poem like this one, culprit terse
and all me in the night on the greenbelt fearless
concerning death without seeking the sky;
i mean i love terse poems like these
with caterpillar sludge of the path
erected to teach mathematics like so:
god give me the shrubbery above
and nothing but worm below...
i want to be the imaginary blur of antagonism
where life dictates all life with me
being the continued tear jerker jack to abide
by bullying; no!
i want to etch twilights in
the hallucinations of the night,
dwarfing then expanding
the nightly roulette of routes
flamboyant with the shadow sharpening lost:
first the fox eager to tell the route as scout,
then i hooded with beer in hand
not asking for directions asking for the dry wooing
of his call.
there i stood in a field in a foreign land
and watched east darker than the west with the lighthouse
rotondo - i prefer to roundabout i have me say;
then sat on a pile of stone worth the blair witch project
with cinematic heart attacks, and sipped a quiet breath
to include carbon monoxide and the scenery of the blinking stiletto erections
for the trail of tailing off elephants into the night;
sooner the drunkard but sooner the pacific boa around the neck
or the black sea boa and the man drowning;
gays' gauge foremost loss of the piston in woman's favour
to trip up **** in hetero pleasures asking direction from athens to tripoli.
i was there, hoodless and armed with bare skin tattoos
invisible but seen by polaroid goosebumps exposing,
there, waiting to etch the bubbling
freshness of a secondary twitch into flex but not circumflex of prayer
or movement without motive other than prayer and abiding
by ***** and priest talk.
i took to the soil, i took to the grain,
i took to the tomb, i took to the skeletal vain!
i took to the soil, i took to the grain,
i took to the tomb, i took to the ceremony of
perfumed parting with a sneeze to make death laugh.
and by god i laughed, mortally into the eternal!
i bulged all life into the marrow
and called it an artefact to be worth a **** instead of a whistle
on that bony flute, with my breath believably less
accommodating turning the haemoglobin dolphin
into a champagne siren.
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 6:57 PM UTC
Twenty ticks and eleven tocks into a man’s day, the sixth of seven days for him to stare into the abyss of abandoned memories. Seeing her eyes staring back at him stirring the pain in his soul. Spirits of the past ascend from the void singing songs of antagonism. Recalling the moments that provoke his anger and summon his anguish.
He decides to satisfy the spirits of torment. A sacrifice. Reaching within the thorns of his body he removes his pride and lays it upon an altar of forgiveness. Letting go of all that he was and silencing his demons.
The sixth of seven days is now complete.
Dec 13, 2011
Dec 13, 2011 at 3:20 PM UTC
.i've had enough... i'm hijacking this linguistic shit-show, formerly identified as the English-language.
don't talk to a drunk
in an attempt of
sobering his opinions,
without first engaging
in his dialectic.
god knows...
he might start
*spreschen
deutsche,
bis sie*.
and whatever antagonism
exists for the English,
you can only counter
it with a Zeppelin...
covert for:
saying something
in German;
i see no other way
to manage this country...
thank god and the almighty
that i didn't bed
even one of their women /
lawsuits...
thank god, and the almighty...
given...
why would a god bore himself
with an omni-
prefix in all the existing realms...
when...
his creation is grounded
upon luck, or chance,
i.e. gambling?
what a waste in terms of
making an observation,
being summoned
qua omni: as being all,
powerful, cited,
etc etc.
more like the ******** tickle of
qua et cetera...
*ein, oder zwei
wörter im deutsche...
das ist, alle;
jetzt,
das ist von etwas nutzen*.
Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 9:00 AM UTC
The soft scent of Shea butter creates
new homes for comfort as I
relax into your oversized clothing.
Solace is reinforced by your hands so vast
that I could fall asleep in your palms forever.
They fortify around my cheeks against
incoming attacks of antagonism.
The contrast is subtle;
you laugh so much but smile too little.
It's striking, your smile.
White teeth against skin so dark
that I half expect to see
the stars emerge,
the same constellations that are
reflected into my eyes when you call me beautiful.
It upsets you when you can't find the words
to bring me relief,
yet it is brought unto me by your touch,
your company, your smile, your scent.
Your ability to **** out the poison
left by venomous attacks
that hindered me nights full of desire
as though you were simply ******* on my
skin in scattered patterns during playful blunders.
You are comfort when comfort is needed.
Sep 29, 2015
Sep 29, 2015 at 10:46 PM UTC
*once the target of advertisement, now the targeting advert machine that pausing live t.v. created, with the internet... once ready for being branded, now asked to brand, to be the grey matter and ***** work pamphleteer, as if for the solidarity movement... no, the advert's inverted device, ushered on by the hope for endorsements giving Libra the universal answer to the antagonism of imperial and metric measurements having found a twin-usage solution akin to Israel and Palestine.*
https://goo.gl/TNDAab,
some want this, some want that...
and some want to commit to suicide,
only because you wrote poetry
and left desperation for most of us
having the sole consolidation
evacuating us from practice -
the art part-time, art in your spare-time,
art on the sly, art that's no art,
no expansion of vocabulary -
some want this, some want that,
and some want to commit suicide
only because you engaged with poetry
and discovered poetry was the use
of rhyme as painting would be
should the colour blue be used -
what a shame.
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 10:42 PM UTC