"appall" poems
I am the entourage
Of a fantastic mirage
I am the agent
Of my mind's figment
I am a believer
Of mythical creatures
I am a builder
Of splendid architecture
I am a drunkard
Tripping on futures so absurd
I plan construction
Of my own destruction
I am the feeder
To dreams of grandeur
I am a magician
Of wild, potent concoctions
I am a tycoon
Of emotional typhoons
I am an adept
Skilled in exploiting concepts
I am a parasite
Brandishing fangs that bite
I play host
To a monstrous, hideous ghost
I am an addict
Of thoughts derelict
I am the dreamer
Incapable of anything lesser
I am a diver
Sinking deeper and deeper
I am an insatiable thief
Claiming trophies without grief
I am an emotional hermit
Hoarding my all in a bottomless pit
I am a weaver
Fabricating tales that meander
I am a Neanderthal
Adopting behaviours and habits that appall
I am an ape
Mending wounds that gape
I am but me
I'm blind, fighting to see
I am rhymesmith
I lie through my teeth
Getting hard to breathe
Heart to words, I seethe...
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 7:28 AM UTC
Let the bird of loudest lay
On the sole Arabian tree,
Herald sad and trumpet be,
To whose sound chaste wings obey.
But thou shrieking harbinger,
Foul precurrer of the fiend,
Augur of the fever’s end,
To this troop come thou not near.
From this session interdict
Every fowl of tyrant wing
Save the eagle, feather’d king:
Keep the obsequy so strict.
Let the priest in surplice white
That defunctive music can,
Be the death-divining swan,
Lest the requiem lack his right.
And thou, treble-dated crow,
That thy sable gender mak’st
With the breath thou giv’st and tak’st,
‘Mongst our mourners shalt thou go.
Here the anthem doth commence:—
Love and constancy is dead;
Phoenix and the turtle fled
In a mutual flame from hence.
So they loved, as love in twain
Had the essence but in one;
Two distincts, division none;
Number there in love was slain.
Hearts remote, yet not asunder;
Distance, and no space was seen
‘Twixt the turtle and his queen:
But in them it were a wonder.
So between them love did shine,
That the turtle saw his right
Flaming in the phoenix’ sight;
Either was the other’s mine.
Property was thus appall’d,
That the self was not the same;
Single nature’s double name
Neither two nor one was call’d.
Reason, in itself confounded,
Saw division grow together;
To themselves yet either neither;
Simple were so well compounded,
That it cried, ‘How true a twain
Seemeth this concordant one!
Love hath reason, reason none
If what parts can so remain.’
Whereupon it made this threne
To the phoenix and the dove,
Co-supremes and stars of love,
As chorus to their tragic scene.
THRENOS
Beauty, truth, and rarity,
Grace in all simplicity,
Here enclosed in cinders lie.
Death is now the phoenix’ nest;
And the turtle’s loyal breast
To eternity doth rest,
Leaving no posterity:
’Twas not their infirmity,
It was married chastity.
Truth may seem, but cannot be;
Beauty brag, but ’tis not she;
Truth and beauty buried be.
To this urn let those repair
That are either true or fair;
For these dead birds sigh a prayer.
7.1k
The engine is killing the track, the track is silver,
It stretches into the distance. It will be eaten nevertheless.
Its running is useless.
At nightfall there is the beauty of drowned fields,
Dawn gilds the farmers like pigs,
Swaying slightly in their thick suits,
White towers of Smithfield ahead,
Fat haunches and blood on their minds.
There is no mercy in the glitter of cleavers,
The butcher's guillotine that whispers: 'How's this, how's this?'
In the bowl the hare is aborted,
Its baby head out of the way, embalmed in spice,
Flayed of fur and humanity.
Let us eat it like Plato's afterbirth,
Let us eat it like Christ.
These are the people that were important ----
Their round eyes, their teeth, their grimaces
On a stick that rattles and clicks, a counterfeit snake.
Shall the hood of the cobra appall me ----
The loneliness of its eye, the eye of the mountains
Through which the sky eternally threads itself?
The world is blood-hot and personal
Dawn says, with its blood-flush.
There is no terminus, only suitcases
Out of which the same self unfolds like a suit
Bald and shiny, with pockets of wishes,
Notions and tickets, short circuits and folding mirrors.
I am mad, calls the spider, waving its many arms.
And in truth it is terrible,
Multiplied in the eyes of the flies.
They buzz like blue children
In nets of the infinite,
Roped in at the end by the one
Death with its many sticks.
6.2k
Friday- the most promising day of all.
The beginning of the weekend, but the one day that will spark appall.
Down on Mainstreet all the girls
In their fringed dresses, pouting their foxy lips and their hair waving in short messes.
The hags frown as the winged ladies pass by- displaying their carriages a little sly.
Oh, but Jane's favourite speakeasy was 'The Back Room' down on Norfolk Street: the place where the lost creatures meet.
Tin ceilings, velvet wallpaper, plush thrones and back in that dark corner, there is the sound of low moans.
'A whiskey, neat, please' as a shadow in a tuxedo walked towards her and he whispered 'Hi,' in a sensual purr.
'Who are you?' he stirred,
'Oh, I'm Miss Doe' and he lept into the stool with a swift flow.
And the jazz trumpets married the spontaneous harmonies and the saxophone created sublime melodies.
So they sat as idle as ghouls in the dim spotlights, until Jane asked Mr Buck:
'D'you fight in the war?' And he whined 'Cambrai, Amiens and Lys' - his lips seemed a little sore.
'I'm sorry - do I know you?' His face looked as familiar as Jay to Nick. A brief pause in time at that smile.
That was the final chord to the "lick".
He drove her down to Roslyn- to his replica of Versailles and Jane looked intensely shy.
'Oh, do come in,' the desperado soughed. And she walked into the gilded palace which Cupid's presence bowed.
'I have a favour to ask of you, Miss Doe. Would you be as kind to wash away my woe?'
And as they congressed under diamond chandeliers, his comrades gathered around the bed in amorphous silhouettes; watching disgustedly.
As for Mr Buck he was an alien, skin-to-skin with a haunted beauty and Miss Doe- a labourer on duty.
Jun 24, 2017
Jun 24, 2017 at 6:32 AM UTC
How far is it?
How far is it now?
The gigantic gorilla interior
Of the wheels move, they appall me ---
The terrible brains
Of Krupp, black muzzles
Revolving, the sound
Punching out Absence! Like cannon.
It is Russia I have to get across, it is some was or other.
I am dragging my body
Quietly through the straw of the boxcars.
Now is the time for bribery.
What do wheels eat, these wheels
Fixed to their arcs like gods,
The silver leash of the will ----
Inexorable. And their pride!
All the gods know destinations.
I am a letter in this slot!
I fly to a name, two eyes.
Will there be fire, will there be bread?
Here there is such mud.
It is a trainstop, the nurses
Undergoing the faucet water, its veils, veils in a nunnery,
Touching their wounded,
The men the blood still pumps forward,
Legs, arms piled outside
The tent of unending cries ----
A hospital of dolls.
And the men, what is left of the men
Pumped ahead by these pistons, this blood
Into the next mile,
The next hour ----
Dynasty of broken arrows!
How far is it?
There is mud on my feet,
Thick, red and slipping. It is Adam's side,
This earth I rise from, and I in agony.
I cannot undo myself, and the train is steaming.
Steaming and breathing, its teeth
Ready to roll, like a devil's.
There is a minute at the end of it
A minute, a dewdrop.
How far is it?
It is so small
The place I am getting to, why are there these obstacles ----
The body of this woman,
Charred skirts and deathmask
Mourned by religious figures, by garlanded children.
And now detonations ----
Thunder and guns.
The fire's between us.
Is there no place
Turning and turning in the middle air,
Untouchable and untouchable.
The train is dragging itself, it is screaming ----
An animal
Insane for the destination,
The bloodspot,
The face at the end of the flare.
I shall bury the wounded like pupas,
I shall count and bury the dead.
Let their souls writhe in like dew,
Incense in my track.
The carriages rock, they are cradles.
And I, stepping from this skin
Of old bandages, boredoms, old faces
Step up to you from the black car of Lethe,
Pure as a baby.
3.6k
It's oh in Paradise that I fain would be,
Away from earth and weariness and all beside;
Earth is too full of loss with its dividing sea,
But Paradise upbuilds the bower for the bride.
Where flowers are yet in bud while the boughs are green,
I would get quit of earth and get robed for heaven;
Putting on my raiment white within the screen,
Putting on my crown of gold whose gems are seven
Fair is the fourfold river that maketh no moan,
Fair are the trees fruit-bearing of the wood,
Fair are the gold and bdellium and the onyx stone,
And I know the gold of that land is good.
O my love, my dove, lift up your eyes
Toward the eastern gate like an opening rose;
You and I who parted will meet in Paradise,
Pass within and sing when the gates unclose.
This life is but the passage of a day,
This life is but a pang and all is over;
But in the life to come which fades not away
Every love shall abide and every lover.
He who wore out pleasure and mastered all lore,
Solomon, wrote "Vanity of vanities:"
Down to death, of all that went before
In his mighty long life, the record is this.
With loves by the hundred, wealth beyond measure,
Is this he who wrote "Vanity of vanities"?
Yea, "Vanity of vanities" he saith of pleasure,
And of all he learned set his seal to this.
Yet we love and faint not, for our love is one,
And we hope and flag not, for our hope is sure,
Although there be nothing new beneath the sun
And no help for life and for death no cure.
The road to death is life, the gate of life is death,
We who wake shall sleep, we shall wax who wane;
Let us not vex our souls for stoppage of a breath,
The fall of a river that turneth not again.
Be the road short, and be the gate near,--
Shall a short road tire, a strait gate appall?
The loves that meet in Paradise shall cast out fear,
And Paradise hath room for you and me and all.
3.5k
I found a dimpled spider, fat and white,
On a white heal-all, holding up a moth
Like a white piece of rigid satin cloth—
Assorted characters of death and blight
Mixed ready to begin the morning right,
Like the ingredients of a witches’ broth—
A snow-drop spider, a flower like a froth,
And dead wings carried like a paper kite.
What had that flower to do with being white,
The wayside blue and innocent heal-all?
What brought the kindred spider to that height,
Then steered the white moth thither in the night?
What but design of darkness to appall?—
If design govern in a thing so small.
3k
In a world of laughter
I was apart of at a time
Now glides with sadness
As the refugees shine
And there in the darkness
I can see someone's face
Wholesome with fear
In deliberate disgrace
Find the world's end
And summon the flees
Through the fires and cries
Lies this appealing disease
Of rotten flesh
And from human, to be born
Crucified, embodied, concealed
And still so adorn
Notify the states
Address them assured
To be swept with the scars
In a world unsecured
With the memories of a beast
White flesh and teeth
In written disconcert
And so, whom would I bequeath?
Of decayed discontent
In a black path of a rose filled garden
Hides the wishes of a ******
Broken by the pervading Janardhan
And where the blood may spill
I may not be for real
And in this nightmare I place myself
But where I stand my eyes congeal
Broken faces, smiles depart
So much love, ruled by lust
So much hate, driven by anger
Asphyxiate my disgust
My repel of this utter evil
Where a ****** proclaims
The absence of virtues
And the murderer of William James
For the only unseen
And the utterly disturbed
Comes a vision alive
And they're truly perturbed
Where their own flesh dilapidate
With their minds running amuck
And at everyone they will berate
And in my cage of silent betrayal
I will commence to cleanse my soul
My solid trust, broken, forever damaged
I can only hope for extol
And yet my own deceit
Will lead me to my fall
I still await this day
And truly bury my appall
Dec 11, 2011
Dec 11, 2011 at 5:19 PM UTC
i hope, i try to hope
--to believe--
believe me, i try
to trust in trust i think i feel, or think or know
there isn't any code that satisfies
though maybe there's an uber-uber-ultra-meta code beyond what even codes can mean?
meh.
i enjoy the hypothetical,
Paris in a bottle, fairness for all sentient beings, faith in nothing comprehensible,
an English teapot circles Jove from afar
or all that's uncontrollable, for some all-purpose good to decorate the brackish, ocean truth.
and uncertain science is another case,
mistrusting all, testing daring thoughts with razor sight,
to sharpen speech and challenge all
to flex the truth into a fitness ground on which to stand, objective stern
and method doubt to peer and scan the detail bare, denude minutiae
into ever smaller parts, expanse of raw and empty space attuned,
to vibrant nothingness rebound
muons, gluons, tauons, quarks and bosons --Higgs the boon for popular appeal,
to bridge or monumentalize the science-mystic gap
appall the ghosts that Galileo keeps for company
i enjoy the fantasy,
dragons in a flask, perfect love for all, dancing in the dark in joy regardless of the shutter thicken dust
Feb 26, 2013
Feb 26, 2013 at 12:39 AM UTC
We are all oblivious in our own attentive way.
A babylon of fanaticisms call, in a dark song you must pay.
We are all content in our own entangled day.
A bravado of neologisms appall, in a stark verity you have kept.
I'm removed from society, in insouciant splendor, I wept.
A creation of serendipitous intent, in a dream impending you have crept.
Apr 20, 2010
Apr 20, 2010 at 11:46 PM UTC
Metal head, tapping the barrel against my brain
Enough dark thoughts to drive men insane
Done with the feign, done with the all stress for the gain
Done with the drugs, the sensation of bliss was in vain
Death pumps through the veins, just beginning to realize it
People say I changed, I chose to deny it
Dissociated, putting up mental walls like they’re armor
Now I find myself making the same mistakes as my father
Never shaken or bothered. Never connected at all
No real relations, even my ******* self I appall
No motivation to stay, no motivation to leave
No motivation for anything, least of all me
No goals, No fears, No laughs, No tears
The face I wear’s a facade, just to blend with my peers
Honestly, I couldn’t care if it all ended tonight
Or if it didn’t, just don’t give a **** bout a life
So I sit here, contemplating thoughts of the bitter
Lit cigarette in the left, the other hand holds the trigger
Mind of a drifter, but I’ve given up on the plight
Sigh. Squeeze. Bang. I’m gone, goodnight.
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 10:12 AM UTC
Unpacking an old box I scrounged and found
a card for Mother's Day from my ex-wife,
professing love for mom that will abound
through time and space until the end of life.
Four years have passed--since first she filed divorce--
no card or letter, nor a seldom call.
A once abundant love could not be forced
to crease a smile, for it would now appall.
Why do I flinch once more and wonder how,
the love departs, which oaths swore never would?
Why they all say, "but things are different now,"
though hearts were sold as things that never could?
Amazing, how such endless loves quick end,
as flimsy tattered fabrics quickly rend.
(C)2014, Christos Rigakos
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 12:16 AM UTC
How far is it?
How far is it now?
The gigantic gorilla interior
Of the wheels move, they appall me --- The terrible brains
Of Krupp, black muzzles
Revolving, the sound
Punching out Absence! Like cannon.
It is Russia I have to get across, it is some was or other.
I am dragging my body
Quietly through the straw of the boxcars.
Now is the time for bribery.
What do wheels eat, these wheels
Fixed to their arcs like gods,
The silver leash of the will ----
Inexorable. And their pride!
All the gods know destinations.
I am a letter in this slot!
I fly to a name, two eyes.
Will there be fire, will there be bread?
Here there is such mud.
It is a trainstop, the nurses
Undergoing the faucet water, its veils, veils in a nunnery, Touching their wounded,
The men the blood still pumps forward,
Legs, arms piled outside
The tent of unending cries ----
A hospital of dolls.
And the men, what is left of the men
Pumped ahead by these pistons, this blood
Into the next mile,
The next hour ----
Dynasty of broken arrows!
How far is it?
There is mud on my feet,
Thick, red and slipping. It is Adam's side,
This earth I rise from, and I in agony.
I cannot undo myself, and the train is steaming.
Steaming and breathing, its teeth
Ready to roll, like a devil's.
There is a minute at the end of it
A minute, a dewdrop.
How far is it?
It is so small
The place I am getting to, why are there these obstacles ---- The body of this woman,
Charred skirts and deathmask
Mourned by religious figures, by garlanded children.
And now detonations ----
Thunder and guns.
The fire's between us.
Is there no place
Turning and turning in the middle air, Untouchable and untouchable.
The train is dragging itself, it is screaming ---- An animal
Insane for the destination,
The bloodspot,
The face at the end of the flare.
I shall bury the wounded like pupas,
I shall count and bury the dead.
Let their souls writhe in like dew,
Incense in my track.
The carriages rock, they are cradles.
And I, stepping from this skin
Of old bandages, boredoms, old faces
Step up to you from the black car of Lethe, Pure as a baby.
Aug 7, 2013
Aug 7, 2013 at 10:35 PM UTC
Is this a holy thing to see.
In a rich and fruitful land.
Babes reduced to misery.
Fed with cold and usurous hand?
Is that trembling cry a song?
Can it be a song of joy?
And so many children poor?
It is a land of poverty!
And their sun does never shine.
And their fields are bleak & bare.
And their ways are fill’d with thorns
It is eternal winter there.
For where-e’er the sun does shine.
And where-e’er the rain does fall:
Babe can never hunger there,
Nor poverty the mind appall.
1.4k
come let me lead you through my mind
where angels tremble in their sleep
for fear the waking makes them blind
within the darkness dank and deep
the shadows skulk and hiss and scream
and reach for me with outstretched hands
with greed they feast upon my dreams
and run amok in fallen sands
they know my name the one I keep
within a jar beside my bed
along with tears I've yet to weep
and words as yet I have not said
they'll come for me if er' I rest
and let my guard so foolish fall
but yet I have to pass the test
though mine own fear doth me appall
so walk my mind but be aware
to never stray from well worn path
for if you do your soul they'll snare
and you shall feel their pain and wrath
for broken minds ner' know no peace
no glue nor tape can ever mend
so run away my hand release
forsake me now I beg their friend.
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 9:51 PM UTC
Oh! did those eyes, instead of fire,
With bright, but mild affection shine:
Though they might kindle less desire,
Love, more than mortal, would be thine.
For thou art form’d so heavenly fair,
Howe’er those orbs may wildly beam,
We must admire, but still despair;
That fatal glance forbids esteem.
When Nature stamp’d thy beauteous birth,
So much perfection in thee shone,
She fear’d that, too divine for earth,
The skies might claim thee for their own.
Therefore, to guard her dearest work,
Lest angels might dispute the prize,
She bade a secret lightning lurk,
Within those once celestial eyes.
These might the boldest Sylph appall,
When gleaming with meridian blaze;
Thy beauty must enrapture all;
But who can dare thine ardent gaze?
’Tis said that Berenice’s hair,
In stars adorns the vault of heaven;
But they would ne’er permit thee there,
Thou wouldst so far outshine the seven.
For did those eyes as planets roll,
Thy sister-lights would scarce appear:
E’en suns, which systems now controul,
Would twinkle dimly through their sphere.
1.1k
Amazing what
Never cleansed
Dirteous skews-
Appall us
Appealing-
Glurveous revealing-
Tippled *******
Cinched
A lack
Unnerving
Loves
At you.
✊
Nov 22, 2013
Nov 22, 2013 at 3:11 AM UTC
Tick Tick Tick
The clock on the wall
Almost melodic, like
A metronome it plays
Tick Tick Tick
The time seems to crawl
But the thoughts hit me
Hard like a spike.
The voices like a frenzied craze.
Tick Tick Tick
The melody continues.
Trying to keep calm and stay cool
But the feeling continues to flow and ensue
Tick Tick Tick
The collection embues
Collecting and gathering, they pool.
I try my hardest to subdue.
Tick Tick Tick
The clock on the wall
continues to countdown
To my inevitable outburst
Tick Tick Tick
These thoughts continue to appall.
Attempting to drown
That which lies on me, this curse.
TICK
TICK
TICK
Then it chimes
It's inevitable
I'm responsible from my crimes
I should've known it was inescapable
The clock on the wall no longer ticks
-Navahopi119
Jan 28, 2018
Jan 28, 2018 at 6:21 PM UTC
My response for your care in my
reputation is
Thank you, but No Thank you.
Your way has seemed to calm the
rest of the people in the room to silence in
appall.
The criticism is too much.
My brain cannot think of anymore ways to change
on your behalf.
I understand my crazy qualities
are too intense for the age we hold according to you.
We are fourteen.
This is the age we both hold in our lives.
It is up to me to have fun while I can.
You are wasting precious time by growing up too
fast.
Seems that all you can tell me is what I did
wrong.
I see you are watching me
as if you have custody over me.
I am no child.
You are no more mature.
My heart breaks every time I see you.
I know our elders find it right but we know it is
wrong for us to be close.
I know this
by the blood flowing from my broken heart
as I walk the street from your house to mine.
There is a trail of blood that you will find
on your own since I am not permitted to say
I am hurt that you
admonished me.
You are no friend.
Control your jealousy.
I have not become the bad one
by abandoning you.
I find moving on a more effective way to admonish.
Be gone, be aware,
be no friend of mine.
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 10:09 PM UTC
it's a drone, it's a drone
a drone, a drone, a drone
it's a drone, it's a drone
a drone, a drone, a drone
it's collecting info on me and you
it's checking out everything we do
it plies a spying eye
in all directions of the sky
why oh why oh why
does it need to pry on you and I
it's a drone, it's a drone
a drone, a drone, a drone
it's a drone, it's a drone
a drone, a drone, a drone
people are freaking out
knowing that a drone could be about
they can't relax at all
the surveillance does appall
it's truly quite queer
how the government do peer
it's a drone, it's drone
a drone, a drone, a drone
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 9:42 PM UTC
To save from the ever changing tide;
to never fall. This innocent’s
tumbling, tumbling ride
quite like Alice’s twisted descent.
Is this to be the fate of all
the girls who flower harvest?
Forced to hell, meant to appall
and frighten all the rest.
Yes, the world is full of holes
But I will hide within the poppy field,
watch my step, refuse the ferrier’s tolls.
I will never, never yield.
Now, this is the vital chore,
to anchor safe upon the shore.
Nov 15, 2010
Nov 15, 2010 at 7:03 PM UTC
What happened is certainly enough to appall.
I'm in the Army and I was forced to go AWOL.
I am disgusted by what happened and it's hard to believe.
Even though my brother was dying, they wouldn't give me leave.
I wanted to see my brother one last time before he died.
I plead with my superiors to give me leave but I was denied.
When it came to my late brother, I thought the world of him.
I went AWOL to be by his side and to tell him that I love him.
Now I'm facing a Court Martial, I'm in trouble indeed.
They turned their backs on me in my hour of need.
Now they're treating me like I committed a horrible crime.
But at least I was able to tell my brother that I love him in time.
A Court Martial and time in prison are what I'll probably receive.
But my superiors were cruel and despicable for not giving me leave.
Mar 19, 2021
Mar 19, 2021 at 1:53 PM UTC
unconventional, to say the least
on Sunday, love your neighbor
peek out her drawn shades, secret belabor
not in nature, nurture's the blamed beast
preference, peculiar;
she's stuck in her ways.
cover stories will guide her days
both victim and defendant, scared for the future
together, we're stronger,
and petty we fall.
to love my black soul, but her skin appall
bizarre assumptions grow longer
to feel, to know, to look beyond
eccentricism; How will you respond?
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 3:30 PM UTC
it's a drone, it's a drone
a drone, a drone, a drone
it's a drone, it's a drone
a drone, a drone, a drone
it's collecting info on me and you
it's checking out everything we do
it plies its spying eye
in all directions of the sky
why oh why oh why
does it need to pry on you and I
it's a drone, it's a drone
a drone, a drone, a drone
it's a drone, it's a drone
a drone, a drone, a drone
people are freaking out
knowing that a drone could be about
they can't relax at all
the surveillance does appall
it's truly quite queer
how the government does peer
it's a drone, it's a drone
a drone, a drone, a drone
it's a drone, it's a drone
a drone, a drone, a drone
Nov 29, 2013
Nov 29, 2013 at 4:20 AM UTC
How long until there's change--
even as we scream in outrage?
How many innocents have gone
and yet we still just carry on
Open your eyes
overcome the lies
we are the ones to blame
for this wretched, wicked shame
The filth is in our hearts
tearing us apart
in selfishness we're blind--
have we all lost our minds?
how many fallen from villains' hand
yet we all demand
"They're the ones profane!"
to avert the rightful blame
we hoard our deadly weapons
for the sake of prideful brawn
yet children fall and still we say
"they simply went astray."
there is darkness in us all--
though the fact may appall
but perhaps without the means
we may not be death machines...
Dec 15, 2012
Dec 15, 2012 at 11:55 AM UTC