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Julian Jun 2018
The ******* of embezzled glory staunchly defend their counterfeit stature by defalcating the public trust of industrious societies governed internally by compunction and sabotaged externally by the tempests of acerbic fate met with inclement aleatory convergence. To supply a society with ingenuity without being complaisant or officious with unctuous pleas to the overlords we must fashion a new vogue that taps the bustle of giants and aggrandizes the margins to oversee their own creative destinies with scaffolded arrangements of titanic promise and justifiable fluidity to conquer the blinkered dogmatism of a dissolute chastity to inveterate apocryphal tenets of factitious but unmerited perspectives. Democracy crumbles when the convenience of sensationalism supplants the resolve of those that fossick hidden wealth and promulgate validity instead of undergirding pomp with precarious prevarications of duplicitous omission guarded gingerly by the gatekeepers of a ****** sanity that whitewashes the discussion with invented hobgoblins and purblind catharsis. To defeat simplicity and enshrine byzantine elegance as the paragon for voguish commentary rather than abide by a bowdlerized decorum for appeasing simpletons with divisive balkanization through identity politics we can overcome the impediments to human progress that are engineered to persist because of the inertia of the listless and the stubbornness of doctrinaire politicization and invent vivacity and festivity anew. We need to divorce ourselves from pedestrian quibbles of hero-worship that endanger the vitality of the common discourse because of fastidious pedantic disempowerment that ravages us with debased dreams by underscoring nuisances and tolerable nightmares that emasculate the virulence of the liberated individual and subvert his ambitions to contend with a picaresque world of limitless promise and self-motivated internal wealth.
      The bane of modernity is how chary the world becomes because of fractured histories intersecting with controversial destinies and the antidote to that poisonous self-defeating self-censorship is the audacity of brazen challenges to expurgation through assiduous resourcefulness and delicate diplomacy in wrangling controversies with outspoken courage rather than whispered resentment. Temerity waged in inclement circumstance is justified and curiosity stoked by lambent flames of fulgurant individualism should be fortified to the extent necessary to conquer the feckless spoilsports of unctuous puritanism and institutional obedience. The quacksalvers that blather about inconsequence strand the imagination in a desiccated desert that is ostracized from the palettes of the artistic whim to wield efflorescence rather than squander life in pursuit of perfunctory lucre or tenuous solidarity around banal idealism promised by social justice warriors that forget the biggest war being waged on humanity is on the ingenuity of the common discourse and the liberty to opine about real issues rather than saccharine conventions of emasculation through linguistic imprisonment and epicurean slavery to fashimites who relish the buzzword but never the enlightened audience that scoffs at feeble attempts at cultural commentary like Childish Gambino’s “This is America” music video. This particular artifact is a demonstration of how childishly fickle the plebeian mentality really is, stitching together a bricolage of violence to engineer controversy and serenading it with the most banal music imaginable and exhorting people to herald it as a high artform while inundating the world with unimaginative comic book movies and Star Wars rip-offs because of the lucrative business of formulaic replication. “This is America” should be regarded as a parody of itself because of how hackneyed its design is and how cacophonous it sounds and mocks its audience with lowbrow tactics of adding tinsel to trash and marketing it as the glory of tatterdemalions rather than the refinement of true cinematic achievements that have been relegated because Warhol’s Campbells-Soup-consumerism trumps true belletrist in the public view.
        Cultural watersheds punctuate our history with salient achievements in experimentation, but the formulaic profiteering of buzzword sensationalism and yellow journalism and the ostentatious glorification of promiscuous boasting and fancy cars tantalize the mice to continue playing slot machines rather than penning a novel or doing something promethean. The world scoffs at Trump but ignores the bigger institutional caveats that endanger us much more than a pragmatic albeit unconventional pontificator who is complicit in constructing a false narrative to enslave mindless people to fret about eminence rather than delight themselves in the consequential nuances of established refinement that used to serenade the world with flourish and spectacle. The world kowtows to the crusade against flavor-of-the-week enemies of the liberal-conservative syncretism because it has been conditioned to believe that synthesis is the only logical solution for the polarized worldviews of churlish people that become parvenus not on their merits but on their marketable pitfalls and their public foibles. Peccadillos are more important to people than virtues and this makes society morally bankrupt if we loiter around Astroturf causes that have been infiltrated by corporatism and venal debauchery and acquiesce as disempowered gossip hounds that hunt in packs to find jest in aberration rather than achievement in self-created narratives that defy the stupid purblind boorishness of the mainstream media and its haughty liberalism or the persnickety condemnation of priggish conservative moralities that had an expiration date 50 years ago. Who the **** cares about transgender-touting-gender-fluidity quidnuncs and the snooty obsession with lurid personal endeavors of reputable people that made minor ****** transgressions in a world policed by wide-eyed feminazis that seek to ransack men of their vital virulence to spotlight their unjustifiable oppression. Women are oppressed but the carnal nature of their calumniation and their vindictive powers of persuasion are deployed with such vehement vigilance and such distaste for the majority that the world relegates itself to quibbles of celebrities rather than substantive issues. There is a systemic feminization of society occurring that seeks to demarcate despotic uxorious pleasantries as an incarceration of vocal dissent against supercilious women and their tamed men that slavishly grovel in repudiation of anything prickly.  Men historically have oppressed women but the solution to this quandary isn’t a reverse discrimination where the minority concern is spotlighted as a majoritarian issue that overshadows the disproportionate nature of our society where nominal accreditation is afforded in a non-meritocratic way to absolve people of their carnality and demote the vigorous defense of human liberty as secondary to compromise solutions that appease more people than they offend but simultaneously result in suboptimal conditions that reward arbitrarily coachable people while jettisoning anyone witty enough to be capable of insubordination of a hedonistic epicurean world obsessed with appearance and ravaged by the decadence of formulaic profiteering at the expense of originality and true promethean art that is herculean enough to defy hackneyed tropes and siphon the best elements from a piecemeal world variegated with complexity but stifled by fomented hatred.
The solutions to these problems is to create a watchdog group of artistic critics who become eminent and ubiquitously heard enough to offer creative consultation to the artistic endeavors that we consume and the music that is curated for fastidious ears that crave euphonic originality rather than the banality of easily dovetailed bass-heavy cookie-cutter garbage and the gaudy tactics of talentless rappers whose swagger derives from  the intersection of opportunism and the divestiture of an industry that rewards gloated supercilious epicureanism and meretricious marketability. Am I the only one jaded by second-rate superhero movies that infest the cinemas that borrow from Michael Bay while thrusting pulse-pounding but narratively bankrupt movies down the throats of consumers that might prize the cinematic originality of the heyday of filmmaking? Is it always high art to invent controversy that is witless or half-witted just because it will create buzz? Shouldn’t we condemn the laziness of society in acquiescing to the penury of the modern cultural narrative which belabors the dead horses of racism and sexism ad nauseum? Shouldn’t we fight the war of against inequity through legislation rather than hibernating about scandalous eminence and testy malfeasance?
          Liberty should be championed above all else and we are turning our backs on the future unless we muster the resolve to diminish the sway of the common narrative and aim our spotlight at consequential endeavors rather than the tropes of prosaic and pedestrian bastardization of art and culture. We need to fight artistic laziness which has ravaged our culture and castigate the tactics of wannabee celebrities that use lurid tactics to attract an audience by bedizening themselves with Pyrrhic ostentations and rampant fakery to create more melodrama in a world that needs to be less histrionic. YouTube celebrities swarm us as they get high on ******* and lean-- at our expense-- and vandalize property and convincing nine-year-old’s like Lil Tay to flex her money like it is infinitely renewable in a finite world where all our attention is wasted on artless artifice of less talented people that know how to engineer a ruckus by strutting themselves beyond all decency and selling out to a corporatist nightmare of enslaved convenience. We need to be more vocal about the dissolution of artistic merit and the formulaic repetition of successful formulas that jade us and make us yawn about another retread of a previously successful idea that is milked to the point of cruelty.                                                         ­                       
       Let’s change the narrative and focus on creating true art rather than reacting to the meretricious tinsel of the vogue consensus which is so impotent in its ability to rivet audiences because it has become so notoriously lazy. Fight laziness in art, dismiss your news feeds, be resourceful, seek true happiness rather than find yourself hoodwinked and duped by the idea that Trump is the most important issue or getting caught in thought loops and brooding about sexism and inequality. Let us strive to be egalitarian but within limits that would also appease hominists rather than just the hypertrophy of the leftist narrative that seeks to cage us with the doublespeak of complaisant conformity.  Reject the unctuous charlatans that pretend priggishness when their banausic purpose is barbaric but beguiling to be a lullaby for laggards. We need to fight for the future of civilization rather than hobnob with convenience and loiter around decrying false perpetrators rather than systemic injustices that could otherwise be rectified if enough people fought for it. We can invent a future that is a great festivity serenaded by cultivated artistic refinement and forget about the trifles that divide us. United in ambition and fueled by ingenuity we can defeat artistic laziness and be resourceful with how we decide what is newsworthy. Spurred by the argosy of proactive motivation we can change the world in a substantial way by deciphering the subtext that governs the world. The subtext is everything!
I

Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future,
And time future contained in time past.
If all time is eternally present
All time is unredeemable.
What might have been is an abstraction
Remaining a perpetual possibility
Only in a world of speculation.
What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present.
Footfalls echo in the memory
Down the passage which we did not take
Towards the door we never opened
Into the rose-garden. My words echo
Thus, in your mind.
                              But to what purpose
Disturbing the dust on a bowl of rose-leaves
I do not know.
                        Other echoes
Inhabit the garden. Shall we follow?
Quick, said the bird, find them, find them,
Round the corner. Through the first gate,
Into our first world, shall we follow
The deception of the thrush? Into our first world.
There they were, dignified, invisible,
Moving without pressure, over the dead leaves,
In the autumn heat, through the vibrant air,
And the bird called, in response to
The unheard music hidden in the shrubbery,
And the unseen eyebeam crossed, for the roses
Had the look of flowers that are looked at.
There they were as our guests, accepted and accepting.
So we moved, and they, in a formal pattern,
Along the empty alley, into the box circle,
To look down into the drained pool.
Dry the pool, dry concrete, brown edged,
And the pool was filled with water out of sunlight,
And the lotos rose, quietly, quietly,
The surface glittered out of heart of light,
And they were behind us, reflected in the pool.
Then a cloud passed, and the pool was empty.
Go, said the bird, for the leaves were full of children,
Hidden excitedly, containing laughter.
Go, go, go, said the bird: human kind
Cannot bear very much reality.
Time past and time future
What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present.

II

Garlic and sapphires in the mud
Clot the bedded axle-tree.
The trilling wire in the blood
Sings below inveterate scars
Appeasing long forgotten wars.
The dance along the artery
The circulation of the lymph
Are figured in the drift of stars
Ascend to summer in the tree
We move above the moving tree
In light upon the figured leaf
And hear upon the sodden floor
Below, the boarhound and the boar
Pursue their pattern as before
But reconciled among the stars.

At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless;
Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is,
But neither arrest nor movement. And do not call it fixity,
Where past and future are gathered. Neither movement from nor towards,
Neither ascent nor decline. Except for the point, the still point,
There would be no dance, and there is only the dance.
I can only say, there we have been: but I cannot say where.
And I cannot say, how long, for that is to place it in time.
The inner freedom from the practical desire,
The release from action and suffering, release from the inner
And the outer compulsion, yet surrounded
By a grace of sense, a white light still and moving,
Erhebung without motion, concentration
Without elimination, both a new world
And the old made explicit, understood
In the completion of its partial ecstasy,
The resolution of its partial horror.
Yet the enchainment of past and future
Woven in the weakness of the changing body,
Protects mankind from heaven and damnation
Which flesh cannot endure.
                                          Time past and time future
Allow but a little consciousness.
To be conscious is not to be in time
But only in time can the moment in the rose-garden,
The moment in the arbour where the rain beat,
The moment in the draughty church at smokefall
Be remembered; involved with past and future.
Only through time time is conquered.

III

Here is a place of disaffection
Time before and time after
In a dim light: neither daylight
Investing form with lucid stillness
Turning shadow into transient beauty
With slow rotation suggesting permanence
Nor darkness to purify the soul
Emptying the sensual with deprivation
Cleansing affection from the temporal.
Neither plenitude nor vacancy. Only a flicker
Over the strained time-ridden faces
Distracted from distraction by distraction
Filled with fancies and empty of meaning
Tumid apathy with no concentration
Men and bits of paper, whirled by the cold wind
That blows before and after time,
Wind in and out of unwholesome lungs
Time before and time after.
Eructation of unhealthy souls
Into the faded air, the torpid
Driven on the wind that sweeps the gloomy hills of London,
Hampstead and Clerkenwell, Campden and Putney,
Highgate, Primrose and Ludgate. Not here
Not here the darkness, in this twittering world.

Descend lower, descend only
Into the world of perpetual solitude,
World not world, but that which is not world,
Internal darkness, deprivation
And destitution of all property,
Desiccation of the world of sense,
Evacuation of the world of fancy,
Inoperancy of the world of spirit;
This is the one way, and the other
Is the same, not in movement
But abstention from movement; while the world moves
In appetency, on its metalled ways
Of time past and time future.

IV

Time and the bell have buried the day,
The black cloud carries the sun away.
Will the sunflower turn to us, will the clematis
Stray down, bend to us; tendril and spray
Clutch and cling?
Chill
Fingers of yew be curled
Down on us? After the kingfisher’s wing
Has answered light to light, and is silent, the light is still
At the still point of the turning world.

V

Words move, music moves
Only in time; but that which is only living
Can only die. Words, after speech, reach
Into the silence. Only by the form, the pattern,
Can words or music reach
The stillness, as a Chinese jar still
Moves perpetually in its stillness.
Not the stillness of the violin, while the note lasts,
Not that only, but the co-existence,
Or say that the end precedes the beginning,
And the end and the beginning were always there
Before the beginning and after the end.
And all is always now. Words strain,
Crack and sometimes break, under the burden,
Under the tension, slip, slide, perish,
Decay with imprecision, will not stay in place,
Will not stay still. Shrieking voices
Scolding, mocking, or merely chattering,
Always assail them. The Word in the desert
Is most attacked by voices of temptation,
The crying shadow in the funeral dance,
The loud lament of the disconsolate chimera.

    The detail of the pattern is movement,
As in the figure of the ten stairs.
Desire itself is movement
Not in itself desirable;
Love is itself unmoving,
Only the cause and end of movement,
Timeless, and undesiring
Except in the aspect of time
Caught in the form of limitation
Between un-being and being.
Sudden in a shaft of sunlight
Even while the dust moves
There rises the hidden laughter
Of children in the foliage
Quick now, here, now, always—
Ridiculous the waste sad time
Stretching before and after.
The uniVerse Jun 2016
So tired of this feeling
so tired of just being
so tired of thy place
so tired of my face
so tired of frustration
so tired of humiliation
so tired of instant anger
so tired of constant hunger
so tired of feeble jealousy
so tired of peoples infidelity
so tired of running away
so tired of not knowing what to say
so tired of yo yo emotions
so tired of no go solutions
so tired of being tired
so tired of how my brain's wired
so tired of over thinking
so tired of sober drinking
so tired of appeasing obsessions
so tired of these possessions
so tired of saying no
so tired of staying home
so tired of praying alone
so tired of making excuses
so tired of feeling useless
so tired of restless nights
so tired of this pointless plight
so tired of facing fears
so tired or racing tears
so tired of panic attackss
so tired I can't relax
so tired of anxiety
I guess I'm just tired of me.
Originally Written: 11/3/14
Cranberry Juice Feb 2015
You stand there noticing people other than me,
While I stand there facing my dull eyes toward you
I pass by noticing your warm scent
While I circumvent , you scented nothing
I listen to your deep, appeasing voice trying to capture it
While you stay there , and avoid it
Am I this invisible ?
Too invisible to be noticed by someone who I really tried to be noticed from?
I wonder, wonder about you , wondering if you're thinking about me too...
Realizing there is no chance.. because I really am invisible
Written in 2015
Saloni Sep 2014
I asked again but my hope refused to extinguish,
It smiled and told I had always been distinguished.
So, I kept checking my mail box even if it seemed lame,
I kept waiting and waiting but that Hogwarts letter never came.

Eleven progressed to twelve, twelve to thirteen,
Mistaken- I thought-they must have been,
Meanwhile I did my own reading and learnt all the curses,
And with the wand I never had I practiced all the verses.

First of September arrived again, and again, and again.
And with the years that passed, so increased the pain,
“So the age limit isn’t actually eleven!” then I optimistically thought,
“Oh! What a brutal test of patience they cleverly plot!”

Pictures in newspaper don’t move, brooms yet don’t fly,
And yes there are times that these thoughts make me cry,
“Hogwarts doesn’t exist”- Oh! These oblivious muggles continue to tell,
Deep down they are just jealous that they just can’t cast a spell,
“Well, can you?” they ask laughing and teasing,
Their voice brimming up with sarcastic appeasing…
“Not yet” I silently speak, “Just wait for days some...
My pretty little Hogwarts letter is just about to come.”
M Harris Mar 2017
And There Comes This Time, The Day Of Reckoning, The Last Night At Home, Where You Could Reminisce About All Those Moments Where You Could Have Been A Better Son, A Faithful Husband Or A Devoted Father, Reminiscing Those Mistakes You Could Have Evaded In Those Flashes Of Time, The Way You Could Have Gotten Those Flashes Right & Worthwhile By Amending Them At Those Instants Embedded In Those Constants And The Mistakes You Knowingly Committed Without Even Giving A Thought About The Outcome &  Its Effects Later.
You Arrived At Conclusions Sometimes Without Even Thinking About The Outcomes Which You Regret Cursing Yourself With Those Empty Question Marks Filled With Greys & The Distorted Mirages Pulling You Against Gravity Into The Abyss. All This Time You Thought You Were Built To Last And Outlast Your Past As You Were Wrong About Fate Eventually Making You Realize Once Past That Gate That You’re Late.
But All Those Lapses Giving A Snap To Your Synapse Are Meaningless Now As You Cannot Control The Upshot Anymore.

All These Eons You Were Breast-Fed Lies By Those Plastic Eyes & To Follow The Congenital Assembly Line & Be Programmed For Idiosyncratic Slaveries You Were Shaped To Be In This World Per The Tint, Race, Money, Religious Conviction, Order In Society & With Hordes Of Other Plethora Of Anomalies & Your Real Purpose In Life Will Lie In The Trashcan Where You’ll Bred & Abused In This Lifespan, Appeasing The World Because You’re The Dog, The Society Dogs.
You Are Mass-Produced In Manner Such That To Be Impressed By The Authority That You Give All Infinite Reverence And Credence To Claim It.

And That Night When You Finally Comprehend To Senses, Suddenly Overall There Is A Different Version To This Sub Version & Those Endless Prayers Searching For Some Tangible Meaning To This Life Are Nonetheless Spiritual In Nature But That’s The Instant, You Are Being Offensive Towards The Established Order By Unleashing Chaos Into The Assembly Line Because The Society Does Not Want You To Make Logic Because You’re The Poster Child Of Anarchy To Them Because You Portrayed Oddity & Suddenly There Lies A Diverse Of Meaning To This Life.
The Society You Were Born To Is Cruel, And The Only Morality In A Cruel Society Is Chance. The Moralities & Viewpoint, Of The Society Is Frenzy And As Virtuous As The World Allows Them To Be, At The Slightest Aberration They Drop Their Principles & Ethos Into Dilemma & The Next Instant The Civilized Are Eating Each Other Up.

Existence Is Arbitrary. It Has No Pattern Save What We Envision After Gazing At It For Too Long. No Sense Save What The Authority Chooses To Impose. This Rudderless Ecosphere Is Not Designed By Vague Metaphysical Forces. It Is Not God Who Kills The Children. Not Fate That Butchers Them Or Destiny That Feeds Them To The Dogs. It’s Established Order We Contemplate As Established. The Paranoia Lingering In The Society Is That Under Great Power Comes Sense Of Protection. Society Has An Awful Track Record Of Sinking To Anything Or Anyone With Boundless Authority, Be It False Gods Or The Fear Injected Into Them Precisely From Their Inception, Sooner Or Later Detailing Them Into Puppets. The Sense Of Authority Clouding Them Makes Them Feel Innocuous.
In Due Course When You Realize What A Joke Everything Is, Being The Comedian Is The Only Thing That Makes Sense.
None Of Us Understand, Society Is Not Sealed Up In This Ecosphere With You. You're Locked Up In Society’s Assembly Line Depicted Divine & Aligned But Misaligned.

We Are Zero But Trivial Amoeba In This Mind ******* Huge Galaxy Of Nothingness. To Assume That Your Opinion Matters, Is Just Arrogant Beyond Words.

So, The Second You Comprehend The Whole System Is Downed That’s Instant Your Clicker Starts Going Down And The Next Moment You’re In The Sights Of The Cross Hairs.
As You Are A Personification Of Malevolence To Society And To The Society You Single Handedly Become Accountable For The Collapse Of The Fabric Of Society And World Order. You’re A ******* One-Man Genocide.

The Secret To Survival. Never Go To War. Especially With Yourself.

-03:21AM
**** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me,
**** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me,
**** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me,
**** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me,
**** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, see me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me,
**** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me,
**** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me,
**** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me,
**** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me.

Love me, love me, love me, love me, love me, love me, love me, love me,
Hate me, hate me, hate me, hate me, hate me, hate me, hate me, hate me,
Love me, love me, love me, love me, love me, love me, love me, love me,
Hate me, hate me, hate me, hate me, hate me, hate me, hate me, hate me,
Love me, love me, love me, love me, love me, love me, love me, love me,
Hate me, hate me, hate me, hate me, hate me, hate me, hate me, hate me,
Love me, love me, love me, love me, love me, love me, love me, love me,
Hate me, hate me, hate me, hate me, hate me, hate me, hate me, hate me.

Leave me, leave me, leave me, leave me, leave me, leave me, leave me,
Leave me, need me, leave me, need me, leave me, need me, leave me,
Leave me, leave me, need me, need me, need me, leave me, leave me,
Leave me, need me, need me, need me, need me, need me, leave me,
Leave me, leave me, need me, need me, need me, leave me, leave me,
Leave me, need me, leave me, need me, leave me, need me, leave me,
Leave me, leave me, leave me, leave me, leave me, leave me, leave me.

Believe me, believe me, believe me, believe me, believe me, believe me,
Believe me, it's buried, believe me, believe me, it's buried, believe me,
Believe me, believe me, it's buried, it's buried, believe me, believe me,
Believe me, believe me, it's buried, it's buried, believe me, believe me,
Believe me, it's buried, believe me, believe me, it's buried, believe me,
Believe me, believe me, believe me, believe me, believe me, believe me.

Deceive me, feed me, deceive me, feed me, deceive me, feed me, deceive
Me, believe me, heed me, believe me, heed me, believe me, heed me, feed
Me, feed me, deceive me, feed me, deceive me, feed me, deceive me, feed
Me, believe me, heed me, believe me, heed me, believe me, heed me, feed
Me, feed me, deceive me, feed me, deceive me, feed me, deceive me, feed.

Pleading, appeasing, displeasing, apologising, releasing, pleasing me,
Pleading, appeasing, displeasing, apologising, releasing, pleasing me,
Pleading, appeasing, displeasing, apologising, releasing, pleasing me,
Pleading, appeasing, displeasing, apologising, releasing, pleasing me.

Will you end it quickly, will you end it quickly, will you end it quickly,
will you end it quickly, will you tend to it quick, will you end it quickly,
will you end it quickly, will you end it quickly, will you end it quickly?

Will we ever learn to stop worrying and love the bomb, will we ever
learn to stop worrying and love our carbon?

When the human's over turn out the lights!
Steven Fortune Apr 2014
I tried to be cordial with inactivity
washing it with weeping juice like a pardoned effigy
but the diamonds of determination were so wrapped in mind debris
that I threw away a fortune in potential

The smiles of the platitudes are louder than their laughs
An appeasing of their attitudes I warrant with the gaffes
of an undertaker's underling bestowing upon epitaphs
another deadened and deprived credential

Seeing days in ways that never did occur to me
Every end a mending by default, a sour recipe
for compromise eroding in a rusty *** of empathy


The dentist rubbed his fingers when he saw my gritted teeth
No sermon on the mount from me, more a mumble on the heath
My incisor is a tack that would support a giant's wreath
Thorns of novocaine will numb my Christmas wish

For the sake of universal order I will freeze a yawn
Mostly harmless said a hitchhiker of Earth so I can spawn
a batch of clones to live on hold where all the battle lines are drawn
I'll zip up and in the universal order I'll languish

Seeing nights in ways that never did occur to me
Every satellite a telecast of fault, a sour recipe
for sleeping juice to boil over in Big Dipper's empathy


Where's a pound of flesh when needed? I've grown tired of these ribs
On the grill of soggy marrow, hungry haunts will have first dibs
Call on William Blake to send the weepers to their cribs
Wishful thinking I'll preserve beneath the floorboards

With a hand in nothing new and an incisor in the usual
intestine chains surround my motivation's hot pursual
Don't read too much into my implied acceptance of a dual
with a messenger of fact's implicit hoards

Seeing days in ways that never did occur to me
Every end a mending by default, a sour recipe
for compromise eroding in an empty *** of sympathy


Sound the bugle for my bed is made, I'm rested for detention
Solitaire I'll play in my confinement for the crime of sought attention
I revolted the philosophers in plugging my intention
I would not concede that lab rats had it worse

The satellites are full and bright, the shadows walk on lakes tonight
I'll dream of sleep but eyes will play me in my bedroom's voided sight
Lay with me and sigh and the elastic laws of nature might
halt the quivering continuum of fate's forsaken course

Seeing nights in ways that never did occur to me
Every channel plays the same old cooking show's ensoured recipe
Compromise a minor seasoning in liver-flavoured empathy


04 15 14
There may be a couple of spelling errors...the rhyme scheme was inspired by Dylan's Tombstone Blues, and the title was inspired by another Dylan song, Just Like Tom Thumb's Blues.  I tried to capture a bit of his rambly style as well.
Sam Conrad Nov 2013
So over the last two hours,
I've been writing these poems
So I could stomach
My Spaghetti.

So I've been really sick lately,
I've lost a lot of weight
But I write these poems so I can eat
My Spaghetti.

Meanwhile,
I didn't realize that
I'm becoming less cold inside, but not
My Spaghetti.

After two hours,
My stomach is ready
For food that's no longer appeasing
My Spaghetti.
River Nov 2015
Celebrating an identity in a gender
Oh! The lipstick,
Oh! The spanx
To God I give thanks!

Being female,
What a blessing,
Even though, I've got to tell you,
These gender roles can be depressing

Nothing like dressing up for a date,
Don't forget, you must be royally late!
Pile on the mascara, concealer and lipstick
Hey mama, don't forget to pull down your dress a bit
You almost forgot to reveal your cleavage!

Please, by all means, empty that pretty little head of yours
Of any intelligence or reason
Girl, your only purpose is for a man's pleasing!
Now, get to that appeasing
You shouldn't be wasting all your time teasing.

Oh, mama, cry it out
Weep and pout
Gossip with your girls
Reject that pretty girl...
Who does she think she is, being naturally beautiful?
She doesn't deserve friends
If she needs support, she has an abundance of men who can pretend.

Go ahead now, pull up that mini skirt more
What do you think he's looking for?
Do you think he cares about your brain?
You're insane!
Do you think he treasures your heart?
Oh please, don't fall apart.
Do you think he'll still love you when you're old?
What, do you think men fall in love with your soul?

In celebration of being female
Let me spare you some advice
Love yourself with all you've got
And please, stop begging for it (love)
Stop showing your legs for it
If you cultivate dignity for yourself and
Love yourself
True love is guaranteed forever.
WS Warner Sep 2011
Verdant eyes, translucent pearls
speak in silent witness,
wounds unfurl
meaning revealed,
interrupted girl.
Safe in solidarity
prolific eccentricity,
the scandal of particularity.
Pouting mouth
grief - filled lips
alluring, set sail a thousand ships;
tempt me to leave harbor.

Arousing euphoria as such,
resistance, amity and distance
amour sans touch
her sense of humor transcends,
appeasing the mind’s thirst
a vogue sultana,
seasoned swagger
hair resplendent flame,
alternating cool, black
asymmetrical coiffure;
nonconforming demure
the renegade metaphor -
singular for sure, no cure.

Muted vanity, bathos piercing
the jaded circumference of banality;
pale protagonist servitude
the sapient palaver of the urbane,
covered patina of pretense,
induced coercion,
the commodity self
appearing abased
wearing lesions of lassitude.
Artistic chattel - eminent domain
preempting genius,
subsidiary of consuming narcissism
external locus of control;
surrender to the tentative,
fettered pendant, Venus in chains
arrested visionary bane
sterile savant, edifice of pain.

The soubrette, dubious incarnation
gravid ingénue of prevarication
imperceptible venue -
theatre of the absurd;
withdrawn siren,
solitude of necessity -
skin - slender veil of shame,
nearness loitering redemption;
moments envisage
the appointment with the soul;
ambiguity eschews clarity
awareness; ineluctable anxiety,
imago - centric confession
sacred pardon, seraphic venation
intravenous textures presume,
the tactile margins of liberty.

Therapeutic retrieval,
Sanguine,
beneath the portico of
individuation;
Your smile I hear,
recovered autonomy
blessed emancipation,
The scandal of particularity;
peculiar treasure
ironically captured
film, canvas,
prose profundity.

Ciphering as an ambling book,
I peruse you,
rendered captive
hypnotic avant-garde fiction,
spectator of denuded opacity
analogous reflection, I Mirror you.
A modest proposal - pontificate the imperative,
forgo the disposal, adapt your narrative,
the scandal of particularity -
resonate the echo, cogitate our propinquity
Love, imagination and destiny.

©2008 & 2011 W.S Warner
Ayad Gharbawi Dec 2009
LAST THOUGHTS OF JESUS

Ayad Gharbawi

October 28 2009 - Damascus

What were the last thoughts of Jesus Christ as he was crucified?
Did he not doubt God when he uttered those famous words: “My God! My God! Why hast thou forsaken me?”
It sounds plain and clear: the cry of a tortured human being who is asking why has his God, or Father, left him to suffer in this unimaginably excruciatingly painful manner?
Why didn’t God save him from this hour’s long torture?
Did Jesus forget his Mission?
Momentarily, yes he did, for he was after all, human.
Who wouldn’t in such circumstances?
The sheer agony of his throbbing torment must have clouded his mind and in effect forced him to momentarily question what the point was in his suffering.
Now, it seems that he did recover his certainty, for the  last words uttered by Jesus on earth were: “Father, into thy hands I commit my spirit.”
In other words I trust in thee, I trust the words of My Father, God.
Interestingly enough, notice that when those unnamed bandits spoke to Jesus saying: “Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself, and us.” while the second bandit said: “Jesus remember me when you come to your throne.” Jesus did not reply to the first bandit. He did not say to him that he can or that he cannot ‘save’ him or save himself from the crucifixion – he chose only to answer the second bandit by saying: “I tell you this: today you shall be with me in Paradise.”
In other words, Jesus felt that perhaps there was no more time left to explain yet again, as to why he did not ‘save’ himself and the bandit from this torture: that it was God’s will for this truth and this scene to be so enacted out in the end.
Or perhaps Jesus thought what was the point in repeating what he had already spoken a thousand times before?
Jesus did forgive those who plotted to butcher him in such a dramatically lethal manner, for a man who not only did not commit one crime, but who was the essence of justice, peace, humanity and love.
What emotional and profound mental power he needed to create in his mind the feeling of ‘forgiveness’ unto those who are in the very act of slaughtering you!
It is, once more, simply unimaginable to our everyday human brains to comprehend how any mind can produce such a feeling in these awful circumstances.
And yet, I think, there must have been within the welter of thoughts of Jesus, a feeling that it must be good to finally die, for his life had been nothing but an anguished existence.
I say this, for didn’t Jesus finally refuse to talk or respond anymore to the hypocrisy and evil of society when he refused to engage in any dialogue with Pilate? The latter asked him: “Are you the king of the Jews?” to which Jesus replied: “The words are yours.”
All Jesus had to do was to deny the accusation that he had been preaching to people proclaiming himself to be the ‘King of the Jews’. Instead, Jesus refused to deny or confirm this accusation that could well have spared him his very life.
Why did he refuse to deny the pathetic accusation?
I feel that Jesus wanted to end his Mission – as God had so wished - then and there and that is why he no longer bothered to interact with Pilate or anyone else for that matter.
This is an important theme: for there comes a moment in time when Jesus felt that enough of the oppression; enough of the hypocrisy, lies, deceptions and that he had enough of the sheer vile, evil of Man and human beings and Mankind and all of the so-called ‘Humanity’.
He had reached a sublime moment in his mind, in his existence on this lowly earth when he no longer cared for this dreadful life and when he finally yearned to return to Paradise as he did promise the second bandit.
There was no need to preach the Good Word anymore. There was no need for his majestic presence. There was no need for any more of his acts of love and compassion to the poor, the sick, the blind, the crippled, the sad, the mentally sick and to all the rest of humanity.
What an overpowering, intensely painful moment that must have been when Jesus felt that his presence was no longer necessary!
Indeed, such thoughts are utterly painful for any person. It is the most overwhelming type of Farewell that anyone can do: in our humble language and life, we can translate it as when a person finally decides to withdraw from public life.
Pilate insisted that there was no reason whatsoever for Jesus to be crucified, and ultimately murdered.
But the crowds, maddened by their rage, insisted again and again with their demand that this utterly noble soul be tortured and killed.
Pilate squirmed with a way to release Jesus unharmed.
Finally, he thought he could succeed by appeasing the mob:
“Why, what has he done? I have not found him guilty of any capital offence. I will therefore let him off with a flogging.”
And of course they refused this suggestion!
“Crucify him! Crucify him!” they screamed.
And throughout this sorrowful scenery, Jesus stood there, quiet and refusing to utter one word in his defence.
For me, the momentous time had arrived quite clearly.
It was time for Jesus to deliver his spirit back unto God and yes he would willingly offer his body like the proverbial lamb to the slaughterhouse.
Actually lambs, cows and sheep do not get tortured for hours on a crucifix as they are slaughtered.
For, in truth, the butchering of Jesus was far worse than for any animal.
And so, as Jesus must surely have gazed at the panorama in front of him at Golgotha, or the ‘Place of a Skull’ and thought that there before him lay what was called ‘Humanity’, those that he was sent to ‘save’ from their sickening sins, perhaps he thought: For them I have suffered throughout by life. For the likes of these people I must die a most horrible death.
So I was sent to heal these people who have mocked me, humiliated me, flogged me, ****** me, and ultimately I am before people who have deliberately acted to butcher my flesh and my soul.
I was sent to heal those who were my disciples and who so did betray me with the ultimate act of love and tenderness – the kiss.
I was sent to heal those who were my disciples and who so easily denied me.
I was sent to heal humanity – a humanity that did not even turn up at my death, except for a handful few before my feet.
So much for you humanity.
Do not weep for me, for you – you people out there who did not stand up for me and who denied me and who did not even come to the final act of my death – it is you who shall now weep and suffer within the rest of your lives.
“Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for me; no, weep for yourselves and your children.”
Is this then what Humanity is?
George Krokos Oct 2014
General Note:
This is an autobiographical poem, given here in seven parts for reading convenience, which mentions some personal events of my life and the names of a few spiritual masters that I have read and studied a good deal about, the main ones being Paramahansa Yogananda and Meher Baba; the latter I have also written about in two other poems titled: #1 “The Highest Of The High” and #2 “The Universal Divine Plan” which are also posted on this website.*

Part 1
Even as a little child I do now recall
You often would respond to my call.
And whenever I was filled with sorrow
about certain things feared of tomorrow
You would comfort me in some natural way
assuring me there wouldn't be such a day
and then my heart would experience much joy
almost just like acquiring a long expected toy.

Together we would have laughter and fun
like a couple of children playing in the sun.
Though You did reproach me when I was bad
then lovingly forgive me when I'd be so sad.
You would always try and point out to me
the good things around there were to see.

You always were the one I called on when in need
beseeching You as no one else believed me indeed.
You were more or less my constant companion and friend
and together would see things through until the very end.
Now and then I would go my separate way and depart
but sooner or later I would remember You in my heart.
It seemed somehow, You had a permanent place in there
as if it would be impossible to leave it empty and bare.

Part 2
The days did pass by and as I was growing up with age
You would sometimes come and offer advice like a sage
especially when found out doing naughty things some days
by my elders, at the time, being not agreeable to their ways.
They would, by inflicting pain, try and get the message across to me
that what I'd been doing was particularly not very pleasing to see.
Those were the times when I would hide and cry my heart out,
wailing with remorse and anguish I would doubt You were about.
Blaming You for my misfortunes I would try and close the door
not accepting Your existence and then declaring a private war.
When all would become quiet and my mind's rage did subside
You would try and reason with me to put all my weapons aside.

Often were the times when I would listen rapt with awe,
to words of wisdom coming from deep in my heart's core.
Little did I know, at the time, that they would prove to be true,
as only to realise, much later in life, that they came from You.
Yet then, many a time, I had the temerity to pass You by
and meeting with troubles and difficulties wondered why.
The hardships I encountered seemed only to confirm in my mind
that You were a figment of my imagination better left far behind.

My alienation from You increased to such an extent,
as I grew up, becoming a storehouse of ill-content.
Associating with those very much in the same boat,
I began to drift and sink in life's tide rather than float.
Such was my plight, I realised, turning my back on You
ignorantly, yet willingly, tangling with a desparate crew.
That worldly ocean contains very many surprises in store,
for the unwary traveller, going away from the home shore.
By living an unnatural existence in a stormed-tossed sea
it's everyone for themselves disregarding their humanity.
But there were the moments when You would shine through
via members of my family and others advice on behalf of You.
Little did I heed though, what they would concernedly tell,
as I plunged headlong into a self-created, God forsaken hell.

Part 3
It was only through repeated experiences, I would learn
that, where I was heading, would surely make me burn.
Tempted with fancy indulgences my mind would lead me astray
and going from one extreme to the other in weakness I would stay.
Involved with those called 'friends' who really didn't know any better,
being like the blind following the blind, with many an unseen fetter.
It was living a life of sense pleasures; mainly that of wine, women and song,
which seemed to be what everyone else was doing, as each day came along.
Now and then I would stop to reflect on the state I found myself in
but, though I tried, didn't have the determination to leave and begin
a new life which would bring out and develop my real self
instead I wallowed in the mire of this worldly life like an elf.

Then the seemingly unexpected happened, while reeking with taints
I stumbled onto some wisdom through the words of one of Thy Saints.
Paramahansa Yogananda was one of Thy true and recent devotees;
mystic, philosopher, poet and saint, through Yoga he was all of these.
The story he told of life, in a far distant land, awakened my sleeping soul,
overwhelmed my mind with inspiration and taught that You were the goal.

He made the words of the New Testament come alive for me,
with patience and love, showing how real they could easily be.
Without any coercion he helped me realise the truth they contained
for many years escaping my attention though now readily attained.
By dispelling my ignorance he was leading me gently back to You
with Divine knowledge and practical wisdom, I did follow him too.
He helped to turn my gaze inside so that I may see the Inner Light
and by acting on his advice was able to behold that blessed sight.
Transforming my existence, he told me that which I hungered for,
ignorantly looking in the wrong direction not knowing any more.
I began to know the meaning of discipline, in a persons' life by which
any individual could rise from the bottom of existence and so reach
that state of consciousness from where all problems were resolved
through perseverance and grace did get myself seriously involved.

Part 4
He opened up a whole new world of possibilities and life to see,
while reading and comprehending his words power flowed in me.
Then one day at work almost at the turn of a new year,
I heard someone mention a name they held quite dear.
It must of remained in my head like a dormant and potent seed,
because it was associated with a person of a very high breed.
As it turned out an incident happened, involving someone dear in my life,
which I recognized to be more than a chance to end some personal strife.
So, early in the new year, I became determined to give it a go,
that is, live up to my highest aspirations, forsaking much woe.
In order to remove the distance between myself and that which I aspired to
many things were done, impossible it seemed, while keeping my mind on You.

With the knowledge and courage garnered by Yoganandaji's grace
I began to come closer to You at quite a remarkably steady pace.
A lot of things were given up, mainly those holding me heavily down,
and other things were taken up, suggested by Your chosens' renown.
Purification of body and mind was the main way to achieve that end,
sublimation of all actions, inner motives, Your Will I could not offend.
You had to become my One and Only, all else I had to give away,
all that I thought was mine belonged to You, having the final say.
You were everywhere, in everything and also in everyone,
I sought to please You only, like Your Own Begotten Son.
This was more easily said than done as I soon began to see,
that I virtually had to cease to exist and live totally in thee.
How I were to do this was beyond my situation at the time
though I tried with a little success in that favorable clime.

Part 5
Then I remembered that name mentioned just a short while ago
and thus made some effort to find out more as I needed to know.
I came across and even bought a few books relating to that name,
thus began another chapter in my life which wasn't quite the same.
What I began to read was the culmination of all that had come before
and by maintaining a steady discipline realized incredibly much more.
My expectations and joy increased so much so in what I had found
all else meant nothing to me, it seemed, coming across Holy ground.
The words I read were so beautiful, loving, very profound and true
I was dumbfounded to realize they were coming directly from You.

The books I read were by and about a person called Meher Baba
whose name in English was translated as 'Compassionate Father'.
In actual fact He never wrote those books at all as such
but dictated the words on an alphabet board in his clutch.
He would spell every word out to one of His close ones patiently,
by pointing to each letter in the words, moving His finger quickly.
His close one would then record what was 'said' each time by Him
for the benefit of those who would come later, such was His Whim.

He did not write or speak during the greater part of His life,
communicating with silent gestures, not even having a wife.
The words that He 'spoke' were of the highest wisdom and Love,
bringing down Divine Truth, with which to awaken us, from above.
He confirmed and corrected what all the others said about You,
knowing more than the others did, but also respecting their view.
His was the highest philosophy that's ever been described by hand,
by anyone before or since, in this world, anywhere inscribed on land.
He was The One I was always looking for everywhere to find
You were really Him being the latest Unique One of The Kind.
He was also from the same league as Zoroaster, Rama, Krishna, Buddha,
Jesus and Muhammad, but appearing this time around called Meher Baba.

Part 6
You, Him and all the Others were the same One, it was emphasized,
but each time You'd come down were so very differently disguised.
Each time You would come heralding a New Age and New Humanity,
which was what some of Your Saints were preparing mankind to see.
By discipline, meditation, study, prayer, purification of body and mind,
one could devote them self to You in daily life, so not to be left behind
in the coming New World Order which shall abate the rushing tide
of ignorance and selfishness, being a part of mankind's lower side.

We have all seen and should know how bad its really been lately,
with all the wars and power struggles that have passed belatedly;
causing so much destruction, pain, loss of life and property
Your words would ring through my brain jolting my memory:
You said 'such are the pangs and symptoms of spiritual rebirth'
and that all would be affected by Your presence on this earth.
Which is due to mankind's forgetfulness, of its divine origin, and is instead
all engaged in asserting short lasting and false values lodged in its head.
These are based on illusion which is the reason we are grossly misled
being the cause of much evil, having ignored what You previously said.
It's only by living a divine life while here on this earth that we can all
fulfill life's purpose thus being not required to come back any more.

You compassionately stated the importance of following a Perfect Master (See Note #1)
by surrendering and obedience to Him/Her anyone could get there much faster.
He/She was someone who had already achieved life's purpose and Divine goal
and was the very embodiment and shining example of man's Highest Soul.
Only by becoming as dust at the feet of such a living true saint,
seekers could gain His/Her grace and so attain a life free of taint.

Part 7
Your advent here amongst us was like the 'spring tide of creation',
when everyone gets a gentle 'push forward' to a higher life station.
The work You did while here was often very intense and exhaustive
so much so that many times You remained very aloof and seclusive.
Undergoing a great deal of suffering while working within the inner planes
uplifting mankind's consciousness by removing the vitiating mental stains,
that have accumulated over all the years to such an enormous extent
obscuring the Light of Love and Truth revealed by Your last advent.

The words You gave came from the Source of Truth and have real meaning
and those who are ready to receive them there's a rich harvest for gleaning.
Though You did say that You 'have come not to teach but to awaken'
and it was because of Love, in this present form, Your Spirit had taken.
You showered on those who came before You of Your Love, peace and charity
not forgetting the good humor and Divine Knowledge imparted out of necessity.
Continually exhorting Your dear ones that by remembering and loving You all would be well
because You were the God man (See Note #2) Who was the slave of Your lovers; by Grace one could tell.
You did mention many times that You were not limited by this apparent human ****** form
and that You used it only to manifest Thy compassion being more accessible than the norm.
Coming down to be amongst us on our level so that we could catch a glimpse of You as before
appeasing our spiritual hunger; by sight, touch, words and deeds, thus confirm our faith for sure.

_________
Note #1
A Perfect Master or Sadguru (Satguru) can be either male or female and is on the 7th Plane of Consciousness (Involution).and has achieved full Self-Realization and is one with God. Also called a Man or Woman God. He or She live the life of God in the world and wield infinite power, knowledge and bliss. A person who comes into contact with a Perfect Master is helped to progress on the spiritual path.
See also ‘Discourses‘ and ‘God Speaks’ by Meher Baba

Note #2
Also known as or called an Avatar – a direct and full Incarnation of God in human form. The Avatar appears on earth (is brought down) every once in a while - from between 600 to 700 years or 700 to 1400 years - when there is a great upheaval or turmoil in the world. The 20th Century was marked by two World Wars and the threat of Nuclear Destruction.
See also ‘Discourses ‘ and ‘God Speaks’ by Meher Baba.
Dan Filcek Apr 2015
their recent deal met with shouts of betrayal:
the new Neville Chamberlain,
The refrain quickly sounded on Capitol Hill.
sympathy should be qualified.
speaking in accurate French
This is our moment ... our chance to join together
But then when is it not a moment?
repeatedly mispriced and misapplied,
often with disastrous consequences.
A complete list would fill a book,
but here are a few items:
the spectre of war
the American invading forces
the border with China
the British appeasing ******
the whole woeful Suez adventure
the occupation of the Rhineland  
the Cuban missile crisis
the fire jobs, in which hundreds of thousands civilians were incinerated;
the saying “extremism in the defense of liberty is no vice.”
the hailing of Ngo Dinh Diem, as the Churchill of Asia
the Kennedy administration giving a nod to the coup
the latest culture of appeasement
the drawing of Jimmy Carter carrying an umbrella.
the mirage of a peaceful alternative to war
which is really a defeat,
peace in our time?
Why do I think that isn’t going to happen?
This year for Poetry Month, I decided to post a "found poem" every day. If writing a poem is like painting, a "found poem" is like sculpting. - source https://newrepublic.com/article/115803/munich-analogies-are-inaccurate-cliched-and-dangerous
Now long and long from wintry Strymon blew
The weary, hungry, anchor-straining blasts,
The winds that wandering ****** dearly rue,
Nor spared the cables worn and groaning masts;
And, lingering on, in indolent delay,
Slow wasted all the strength of Greece away.
But when the shrill-voiced prophet 'gan proclaim
That remedy more dismal and more dread
Than the drear weather blackening overhead,
And spoke in Artemis' most awful name,
The sons of Atreus, 'mid their armed peers,
Their sceptres dashed to earth, and each broke out in tears,
And thus the elder king began to say:
"Dire doom! to disobey the gods' commands!
More dire, my child, mine house's pride, to slay,
Dabbling in ****** blood a father's hands.
Alas! alas! which way to fly?
As base deserter quit the host,
The pride and strength of our great league all lost?
Should I the storm-appeasing rite deny,
Will not their wrathfullest wrath rage up and swell?
Exact the ******'s blood?--oh, would 't were o'er and well!"

So, 'neath Necessity's stern yoke he passed,
And his lost soul, with impious impulse veering,
Surrendered to the accursed unholy blast,
Warped to the dire extreme of human daring.
The frenzy of affliction still
Maddens, dire counselor, man's soul to ill.

So he endured to be the priest
In that child-slaughtering rite unblest,
The first full offering of that host
In fatal war for a bad woman lost.

The prayers, the mute appeal to her hard sire,
Her youth, her ****** beauty,
Naught heeded they, the chiefs for war on fire.
So to the ministers of that dire duty
(First having prayed) the father gave the sign,
Like some soft kid, to lift her to the shrine.

There lay she prone,
Her graceful garments round her thrown;
But first her beauteous mouth around
Their violent bonds they wound,
With their rude inarticulate might,
Lest her dread curse the fatal house should smite.
But she her saffron robe to earth let fall:
The shaft of pity from her eye
Transpierced that awful priesthood--one and all.
Lovely as in a picture stood she by
As she would speak. Thus at her father's feasts
The ******, 'mid the reveling guests,
Was wont with her chaste voice to supplicate
For her dear father an auspicious fate.

I saw no more! to speak more is not mine;
Not unfulfilled was Calchas' lore divine.
Eternal justice still will bring
Wisdom out of suffering.
So to the fond desire farewell,
The inevitable future to foretell;
'Tis but our woe to antedate;
Joint knit with joint, expands the full-formed fate.
Yet at the end of these dark days
May prospering weal return at length;
Thus in his spirit prays
He of the Apian land the sole remaining strength.
Kagey Sage Aug 2014
I told the professor I loved beat literature and all the hippy consequences. He said they were such a small part of the population (along with Native Americans too apparently,  he noted a different time. Because of what, you *******? I thought).

A pompous misguided thing, which either understandably or surprisingly, been teaching there since the 1960s. Five minutes of a winded attempt at putting anglophile humor into the lecture and you know the choice is "understandably" rather than "surprisingly." Been professing for the establishment, closed to other ways of thinking trickery.  

A real square through and through. As if all change should come from appeasing the tyrannical bleachy supposed majority. Those in poverty, darker skins, gays, drug users, and all around flashy dressers ought to don suits for their one night Ed Sullivan performance. Get the folks on Bass Run Lane to be okay with seeing you in a glass cage in their living room scene. For just a couple decades. Then maybe they'll be used to seeing you in a grocery store. You'll always be laughable though, as they designed it to be so.

The hippies were a very small majority says the anointed professor.
"So were the suffragettes" snaps back a fiery thing sitting next to me. I should have talked to her more.
Dew
Can you see the precious releases as they dissipate
Inviting ardent admiration from us all
Appeasing the beseeching eyes of so many of us here
In the scattered dispersing of their fall

Such luminous wonders sustained by minute gestures
Of clarity in their mystical opaque releases
Appearing at first glimpse to stream from above
As if from the floodgates of secret places

A bountiful acclaim can be seen in the new animation
Of the recipients of these precious releases
As they blissfully absorb new life into their essence
Pleasing our eyes, with a beauty that never ceases
Copyright *Neva Flores @2010
www.changefulstorm.blogspot.com
www.stumbleupon.com/stumbler/HerVigil
Colzz MacDonald May 2017
In this life
We have love
We may not have had
The passage of time together
The years of naivety
Youth or freshness of spirit
We have not caressed
Our younger bodies
Enjoyed the sanctity of being as one
When our skin was smoother
Our touch was softer
Our hearts were open to receiving
More congenially
A time when we may have
Chosen indiscriminately
This led us down a road that was
Perhaps
Right for the time
Yet now outgrown ~
The model of love

We have the maturity of mind
Still the tenderness of heart
Enjoying the ability to cherish
That which the Universe brings us
We have more complex bodies
That savors the relaxed
Appeasing, sensuality of love-making
Remaining as a priceless work of art
Instead of the rushed; less intense
Inexperience youth often brings
We have each other in what will be
The ultimate love of its kind
The last known to us in this lifetime
Our twilight years, may come and go
But we have love that lives on
Forever recorded in history
The mistakes of the past rewritten
Because now, in this life
We truly found ~
The model of love
~ It's never too,late~
Glenn McCrary Mar 2012
Foxy pumps

Visually inviting

Stimulus


Leather jeans

Objectively elevating

Yield


Indie jazz

Naturally circuits

Relish


Vivid suspense

Intellectually appeasing
Glenn McCrary Feb 2012
A beloved friend enticed my senses



Appeasing whines with tasteful tunes



Awakening amour at heights of suspense



To serenade me as spry I shall swoon





Euphonies swallowed my bones



Delighted be I to ever have found



Divine obscure ways to atone



Ghastly memories quite profound





Triumph has monopolized tribulation



Along hollow skylines nimble she fleets



Colloquies spewing frost shan't stand elite



Taunted be grief by elimination











© 2012 (All rights reserved)
Once more the storm is howling, and half hid
Under this cradle-hood and coverlid
My child sleeps on. There is no obstacle
But Gregory's Wood and one bare hill
Whereby the haystack and roof-levelling wind,
Bred on the Atlantic, can be stayed;
And for an hour I have walked and prayed
Because of the great gloom that is in my mind.

I have walked and prayed for this young child an hour,
And heard the sea-wind scream upon the tower,
In the elms above the flooded stream;
Imagining in excited reverie
That the future years had come
Dancing to a frenzied drum
Out of the murderous innocence of the sea.

May she be granted beauty, and yet not
Beauty to make a stranger's eye distraught,
Or hers before a looking-glass; for such,
Being made beautiful overmuch,
Consider beauty a sufficient end,
Lose natural kindness, and maybe
The heart-revealing intimacy
That chooses right, and never find a friend.
Helen, being chosen, found life flat and dull,
And later had much trouble from a fool;
While that great Queen that rose out of the spray,
Being fatherless, could have her way,
Yet chose a bandy-legged smith for man.
It's certain that fine women eat
A crazy salad with their meat
Whereby the Horn of Plenty is undone.

In courtesy I'd have her chiefly learned;
Hearts are not had as a gift, but hearts are earned
By those that are not entirely beautiful.
Yet many, that have played the fool
For beauty's very self, has charm made wise;
And many a poor man that has roved,
Loved and thought himself beloved,
From a glad kindness cannot take his eyes.

May she become a flourishing hidden tree,
That all her thoughts may like the linnet be,
And have no business but dispensing round
Their magnanimities of sound;
Nor but in merriment begin a chase,
Nor but in merriment a quarrel.
Oh, may she live like some green laurel
Rooted in one dear perpetual place.

My mind, because the minds that I have loved,
The sort of beauty that I have approved,
Prosper but little, has dried up of late,
Yet knows that to be choked with hate
May well be of all evil chances chief.
If there's no hatred in a mind
Assault and battery of the wind
Can never tear the linnet from the leaf.

An intellectual hatred is the worst,
So let her think opinions are accursed.
Have I not seen the loveliest woman born
Out of the mouth of Plenty's horn,
Because of her opinionated mind
Barter that horn and every good
By quiet natures understood
For an old bellows full of angry wind?

Considering that, all hatred driven hence,
The soul recovers radical innocence
And learns at last that it is self-delighting,
Self-appeasing, self-affrighting,
And that its own sweet will is heaven's will,
She can, though every face should scowl
And every windy quarter howl
Or every bellows burst, be happy still.

And may her bridegroom bring her to a house
Where all's accustomed, ceremonious;
For arrogance and hatred are the wares
Peddled in the thoroughfares.
Are innocence and beauty born?
Ceremony's a name for the rich horn,
And custom for the spreading laurel tree.
deanena tierney Jul 2010
A new life granted
Glad to be starting over
Better days await
A totally free spirit
No longer so appeasing
Reece Nov 2013
He wakes up with teeth grinding, lightening bolts in his jaw
Crooked smile, broken as his home is and lonely in suffering
Each day when the cruel sun streaks in through cracked curtains
and he is reminded of a unique affliction, the asymmetrical torso
moreover, the scabrous flesh that adorns the arms and inner thigh
He feels morose and grotesque, as a woman could never be
Reflective avoidance, the mirror always covered when he stands to ****
Rheum still covers delicate eyes so accuracy goes out the window
and grumbling, stooping over, wiping the mess he sighs and makes wishes

How painful these days are to a man that prays for femininity
Stature and girth like a real man, though dreaming as a schoolgirl
Bristling stubble, adoration for his thick hair from envious men
Appeasing some latent homosexual desire,
but not enough to reciprocate adoration
The pain in his worn teeth is a constant reminder of ineffectual existence
and his shoulders ache every day, whilst legs are jelly and lose balance constantly
How cruel the lethargy can be, that some days he alters anatomy
at least in his own psyche, that ever fruitful imagination

So in lonely doledrum evenings when the mists set on cityscapes
the petty escape is worn, vibrant black ladies-wear, evening gowns
and wild high heels, posturing female attire for a tender soul
Corsets and tapes hiding unseemly masculine traits,
figurine madness, the make-up set meticulous and dynamic
Ruby red lips that eschew gender conformity and mascara mirrors the sky
She feels that warm embrace, spiritual in deep ****** chasms
Grasping for the apparently unattainable; magazine littered pictures on the tabletop
and her coarse fingers glide on silken garments, moonlight serenade on the speaker

How elegant the movie star madame, in this depression taken hold
A temporary release she clinches on to some beautiful image, forever in love
To be beautiful is to be happy and all women are beautiful, experience as a teacher
Funny how fatigue disappears once embellished in womanly garb
and funnier still that the aching head and rotting mouth are nil under blusher
Those nights can be liberating for a man of ennui and illness
Confusing though it may be, that such a man can attain such joy
and still feel devotion for every woman he loved, the fact still remains that
In the mirror she saw herself smiling and so she reasoned to turn the mirror the correct way up
JayVeeThePrince Jan 2015
I just wanna hold you closer than close... It's appeasing when I'm squeezing you when I need it the most. I would tell you about my day and how things aren't going my way. But none of that matters as long as you're here to stay... I've encountered the sweetest things on God's green earth. But nothing's as sweet as a woman who knows her worth... Can I hold you? Can I let go of everything else like I'm supposed to? Holding you may make my day better... You make my issues as light as a feather.. Everything is better when we are together... Just lay here in my arms.. When the weather is fair or even in a storm.. Just lay here.. If it's alright with you I'd rather you stay here... The Cuddle..
Mishika Nambiar Sep 2012
It began with my movement towards the heavenly substance,
Leading my way into a nostalgic trance.
Setting my boundaries, then flying out of limits,
Leaving my senses behind, to begin with my trips.

So now I wander over grounds of light, heat, sound and mist,
Provoking dreams that don’t exist.
A circus of lights where dreams can take flight,
To a carnival of variegated colors in sight.

Gallivanting in the forest of unreal existence.
Appeasing up-close and alluring at distance.
The vivid prism of rainbow like features,
Casting its charade on us, “The Euphoric Creatures.”

Harmonious melodies in our souls now play.
Intoxicated yet happy, and ecstatic yet gay.
Lost in the scenery made of light rays,
Leaving my astray to wander in my blissful daze.

The radiant vibes of every glowing and true soul,
Are mellow like flowers and intense like burning coal.
Fascinated me in various manner and means,
Taking my mind to classically bizarre scenes.

I am an “Errant Knight” of the tripping universe,
Delighted forever, no room for remorse.
Happy to be wandering on the grounds of light, heat, sound and mist,
Provoking me to believe something that doesn’t exist.
amber Nov 2014
There's no doubt you're a lier
Just a boy who plays with fire
Not a fraction of desire
To aim any higher

There's no doubt I'm an inspiration
Playing on your broken-hearted situation
I could never cancel the operation
But from you, I never got an explanation

There's no doubt you're pleasing
Played with your heart, my hands are freezing
My mind in your hands, you're squeezing
But never would you be so appeasing

There's no doubt that I'm a cheat
With your soul with mine, we'll compete
You know I'll never admit to defeat
Even while I know we're bittersweet

There's no doubt that we're fighting
Our minds are colliding
Even though none of this is exciting
Your arms will always look so inviting

There's no doubt we like to pretend
That maybe I’m more than a friend
And you’re just a hand to lend
But everything has to come to an end

Theres no doubt you were a lover
Helping each other to recover
At 1 am, you’d make me shudder
Maybe theres time to rediscover
Westley Barnes Jul 2012
Are these tears of blundering laughter
or heckles of contempt
that spirit on these haggard few
to rhapsodise our era’s curtain calls?
They who brought us mounting debt and conscientiousness
which seems only to be healed in the appeasing fluorescence
of 24-hour supermarkets and the purgatory
of weekends spent at home?

Such stifling, nervous coughs
are head as responses of
today’s domestic questionnaires
Gung-** reformative advances
and calls to “pull up our socks”
Mixed with the state-sponsored fortune-telling
Rationed out to boys languishing on the dole.
Which All falsely transpires,
intimidatingly revealed as being
About as appealing as vacuum cleaners for the soul
aimed at the resolutely bored to tears.

Despite our fears
the sun will come streaming again
through fresh fir trees
which decorate contemplative, sheltered lanes.
These last, frostbitten years
seek replacement with halcyon days
in order to suspend dogmatic disbelief.

Let’s not get ahead of ourselves:
Pessimism is ****.
Even in the most roaring of times
we remained despondent and calculated.

— The End —