"append" poems
Just a little off the top.
Drawin' a dotted line
'round the skull
takin' your shears
just above the ear.
Cuttin' a close crop.
Burrowin' into the skin this time
'round the skull
now your clippers
smilin' so chipper.
Leavin' a head clean smooth.
Whistlin' at a near-finished work
'round the skull
peelin' back the skin
bravin' a peek within.
Grabbin' that comb with its fine tooth.
Unfurlin' that pink mass of quirk
'round the skull
eyein' where tendrils append
trimmin' the dead ends.
Jan 6, 2016
Jan 6, 2016 at 12:25 AM UTC
Day's end, sun's caisson doth wend
Residual rays a respite to append
Twilight's shroud dreary dividend
Swirls of gray into firmament blend
Vestments of light shed sacral veil
Luna's naked, pale orb flashes its spell
Twinkling sprites across dark tides sail
Constellation's mystical portents braille
Nyx, Erebos eclipse Hemera's blithe melody with bass duet
Earth's warmed bed yields its thermal blanket
Ocean tides move in rhythmic tandem to cadence of lunar clarinet
Swarming shadows stalk each footstep paring each dark secret
Greek gods
Nyx: goddess of Night
Erebos: goddess of Darkness
Hemera: goddess of Day
Sep 15, 2011
Sep 15, 2011 at 6:35 AM UTC
I was raised by a pack of fools
Who proclaim Caucasians are the best.
And are glad to fight, at the drop of a hint
To put the whole matter to the test.
They have an entire joke routine
And descriptive names they repeat
In minimizing and insisting that
Their right to decent treatment isn’t real.
There are references to some animals
And unfunny comments about color.
The statements about characteristics
Of body and features always go together
With a special set of gross anecdotes
To cover any kind of non-Christian belief.
And the refusal to consider equality
As a decent attitude stands in bright relief.
Beneath all this horror, not very deep,
Lies a sickening river of hate and fear
That fails to improve as education is
Rejected year after disgusting year.
Pointing out the error of their ways
Might earn you a punch in the eye
But the bigot hangs on to their rage
And never gives fellowship a try.
The American Bigot claims to be
A staunch Christian all the way through
Which forces them to hate and cheat
And lie as much as Jesus would do.
Of course, we know that Jesus was
A preacher of love and acceptance
But it seems that bigots never quite
Made that Jesus’ acquaintance.
So, here we can see we need to add
Some terms to this kind of individual
Whose relationship to peace and love
Is at best slight, scant and residual.
We also need to append to their titles
Of masters of anger fear and prejudice
The unhealthy pallor of indecency,
Dishonesty, inhumanity and cowardice.
Apr 4, 2016
Apr 4, 2016 at 11:33 PM UTC
Now,
We are mellow.
Having spent the evening exploring the threads of friendship.
That had come adrift of warp, weft and weave.
Time and distance had
silks, snag-tagged-torn,
on the bustling-busy,
hectic-hustling of work
and family.
Teasing-taunt,
needle-gnawing,
small, gap-rip-rents
in the snug comforter
that is... the wonder of us.
Us, so many secrets woven. So many, nights of tissues and sobbing tears.
Darning in daring exploits. Cutting away knotted,
fear-angry-scream-fighting feuds.
Cutting work, for days of delight and nights of desperate yearning.
We used anything at hand, rough wools, pieces of string and twines.
To weave a blanket,
to hide us from life's storms.
We were,
so young, so strong, recklessly-brash,
stupidly-joyous
and braveheart-fools.
And now, time and age,
has softened our work. Felted and fuse-melded,
the fibres into a beautiful entity.
That we store-save in the heart's cupboard,
of special and precious things.
It is an heirloom of sorts.
We bring it out,with occasional, humble-grace,
to be dandled and stroked with reverence.
Caressed and cossetted are our memories held within the abstract weave.
We are the dwindling
of a youthful exuberance
flung-thrown-heaved
to the wild winds.
So now, we are grateful to be curator-custodians of the retrospective nature
as we augment-append
and reiterate-repair.
A new thread here,
now,
embellish-embroider,embed
and tatt-stitch.
My son and your twin girls, squeezed, splashing
into your tiny bathtub
big-grin-giggling in the gurgling water.
Our future, here and now,
is the brightest of silks,
Our past, mellow and yielding in,
the luminent opulence,
angelically-asleep in,
the other room.
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 6:30 AM UTC
*I am not one of these leather wearing ******* you see on **** sites. I am real. I listen to 911 calls on repeat. Images of gore, abortions, death, and torture fill me with unbridled lust.
Humans are amazing... Their build, their skin, with billions of embedded pain receptors. Optic nerves, sending horrific images directly into their frontal lobes. I love their faces, tiny changes in their expressions with different types and increments of pain.
There is such a glorious range and variety of pain that can be inflicted upon a human. Few appreciate the sublime canvas of a humans body. Each sense can be tweaked and tormented. All of there emotions can be played like an instrument, by someone with the right skills and tools. Their screams are sublime.
There is a certain kind of scream a person lets out, the moment they realize their own mortality, but it is beyond words. It makes me see red. I lust for it. I adore it.
I am free. I am not bounded by your conceptions of morality. ****** **** and torture are simply choices. I can do whatever I want, whenever I want to whomever I want. Whether it is one death, a million, a billion, or an entire planet or the entire universe, it means less than nothing to me. I have no ideology, religion, or higher purpose. If the slab of meat and chemicals you call your mind is searching for a word to append to me, just think of me as an artist. My medium is flesh.
I walk among you. I understand you better than you understand yourself. I have studied the human body, peeled back the layers of flesh, the emotions. I see right through you. I am the nice, unassuming person you know. We share secrets. Some of you like me. Some of you love me.*
None of you know me.
I am, sadist.
Dec 13, 2010
Dec 13, 2010 at 9:18 AM UTC
There was a fog that seemed to hover thickly
over the perceived salience of his musings
It was as if there were a veiled mystique
that left hopeful understanding ,
ambiguously obscured ...
His soul's cadences fell beyond the pale ,
like a reverberant iron bell’s clamor ,
drowning acumen ;
albeit , unmistakabe crystal clear allusions ,
scanning inwardly, rhapsody in his mind's eye
Illusive accord ,
beclouded by seeming stigmas
borne of the flesh ;
delicately sensitive nuances ,
misunderstood imperfections ,
bespoken utterance weighed heavy upon heart ...
In the hush of pensive repose ,
flow of soul streamed forth from its retreat within ;
bequeathed as if darkness
was magnetically drawn towards light ,
purging muted understanding ...
Assuredly seeking all questions with verve ,
accepting , that all answers sought
are not meant to be understood
A realization of those who wish to speak yet abide unspoken ;
the unseen mark of those that wished they had been loved ,
befallen the music of a thundering heartbeat ,
understanding a circle is vulnerable ,
only makes it stronger ―
hence ,..
it had been written
in countless misunderstood ways ...
Knowing he resists an inner-voice to endure silently
for a fear of that which remains indelibly writ ,
tattooed on introspective walls
far removed from the afterglow of light ,
where depth of soul yearns to be freed ;
heart speak hushed , deft words avowed
in enigmatic tongues ― Vayu doth whisper
soul's prevailing tides ebb and flow
from unseen depths , permeating
deeply within inner realms
The spirit of soul once steeped his heart’s intone :
"Spell words that bind together passing strangers
*Coalesce thoughts to inspirit those whom often walk alone
Append the goodwill of poetry, aspiring to bond individual
hearts and minds with words of love and light.
Conjure written spells to bespeak sincerely ,
a faith in unabated love*"
and yet , he will write it again and again ,.. searching beyond words
…words grasped from emerging thoughts
drawn in to the light
searching for other adept words
to recite yet another way ,
sketch another word-scape ,
written with the relentless inexhaustibleness
of an unstoppable awakening ...
Another winter dawn imbues a new day come to light
he will write it again and again ,
... finding another way to be set free ...
Harlon Rivers
Jan 17, 2018
Jan 17, 2018 at 5:35 PM UTC
**It's 5:00 pm,
any poems to share?**
*my watchwoman, Seamless Siri,
my conscientious conscience,
gives said inquiry daily,
at the precise heure de rigeur,
with the perfection of a
mechanized soul attending to her
imperfect human programmer
poetry, a sometime thing,
comes when it comes,
what the query,
my godmother faerie,
truly seeks knowledge of is
something she cannot measure,
like my counted steps and distances travelled,
what this overseer mine truly seeks to know*
why am I here?
*Here. On this earth. On this site.
have you any new written proofs,
your existence on this day to justify,
were your failings and flailings,
surpassed by any acts of kindness,
this new, freshest penmanship, a reflection,
an accounting of grace and worth,
blogged and logged here
as if only I had
one day,
one poem
left...
at tabulation time, the incisor bites,
are you juiced or morbid,
this, your essayed life,
are the words,
deemed shareable,
is their value,
calculable palpable?
Siri inquires but you are jury
at the late afternoon
trial by fire,
wherein my singed bunt offerings
are produced
at the
wake of when,
my nom I do append
am I deserving
of your recompense
of one more day,
one more poem?*
~~for Harlon~~
5:13 pm
November 21, 2015
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 5:07 PM UTC
It's a dim & drizzly Memorial Monday
Hell, it could be Sunday or any other day these daze
The BBQ pickin party's cancelled
due 2 more rain and things finacial
We did not escape the flooding after all
the AC was out on the hottest day I recall
the heat & humidity is so oppressive
makes one's instincts blur & become panic obsessive
On a day set aside for all to remember
Those who gave all & did not surrender
Is marked with a lack of labor & shopping mall sales
No football, no banking, no courts & no snail mail
So I'll have another chunk of dat brownie
and wash in down with some good ol' Tenessee JD
Take another puff & drive another nail in my coffin
Until my head stops aching & can stop coughing
What will dis day bring?
Maybe I'll just sit alone with my guitar & sing
Play me some blues cause the mortgage is due
the roof is still leaking, two cats have nine kittens & I'm blue
I'm so broke I can't pay attention
to all of the things that I owe I've lost my retention
YA, I got dem steadily depressin'
Low down mind missin'
Everything is way past due
I got dem Memorial Blues
Append Just had 2 write dis 2 get my daze started, U all have happy :) Memorial Day, Doc
May 31, 2010
May 31, 2010 at 8:40 AM UTC
This Time. Now. Where the Monuments will speak
The Prince of the North cheers the Dame on her Guild
That at last would their worth-bound Souls will keep
Fifty-Starred Trials wipe this Cankerous Field
Happy beseech, clime this Eloquent News
Her Skill with Striped Sorority will merge
Towards append - prim Victory ensue
Then their braised party for Red Cups will splurge
For now. The Board. Make focus on her Craft
Point the Latin Consulate with reprieve
Evermore. Support. Bless this penchant Draft
Pawn bets by Prayers; As what you believe.
So the Dove perches. Its beak drops a Pence
Which slots your Alarm; Then improves you hence.
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 2:32 AM UTC
Tout seul au plus profond d'un bois,
Dans un fouillis de ronce et d'herbe,
Se dresse, oublié, mais superbe,
Un grand vase du temps des rois.
Beau de matière et pur de ligne,
Il a pour anses deux béliers
Qu'un troupeau d'amours familiers
Enlace d'une souple vigne.
À ses bords, autrefois tout blancs,
La mousse noire append son givre ;
Une lèpre aux couleurs de cuivre
Étoile et dévore ses flancs.
Son poids a fait pencher sa base
Où gît un amas de débris,
Car il a ses angles meurtris,
Mais il tient bon, l'orgueilleux vase.
Il songe : « Autour de moi tout dort,
Que fait le monde ? Je m'ennuie,
Mon cratère est plein d'eau de pluie,
D'ombre, de rouille et de bois mort.
« Où donc aujourd'hui se promène
Le flot soyeux des courtisans ?
Je n'ai pas vu figure humaine
À mon pied depuis bien des ans. »
Pendant qu'il regrette sa gloire,
Perdu dans cet exil obscur,
Un oiseau par un trou d'azur
S'abat sur ses lèvres pour boire.
« Holà ! Manant du ciel, dis-moi,
Toi devant qui l'horizon s'ouvre,
Sais-tu ce qui se passe au Louvre ?
Je n'entends plus parler du roi.
- Ah ! Tu prends, à l'heure où nous sommes,
Dit l'autre, un bien tardif souci !
Rien n'est donc venu jusqu'ici
Des branle-bas qu'on faits les hommes ?
- Parfois un soubresaut brutal,
Des rumeurs extraordinaires,
Comme de souterrains tonnerres
Font tressaillir mon piédestal.
- C'est l'écho de leurs grands vacarmes :
Plus une tour, plus un clocher
Où l'oiseau puisse en paix nicher ;
Partout l'incendie et les armes !
« J'ai naguère, à Paris, en vain
Heurté du bec les vitres closes,
Nulle part, même aux lèvres roses,
La moindre miette de vrai pain.
« Aux mansardes des tuileries
Je logeais, le printemps passé,
Mais les flammes m'en ont chassé,
Ce n'était que feux et tueries.
« Sur le front du génie ailé
Qui plane où sombra la bastille,
J'ai voulu poser ma famille,
Mais cet asile a chancelé.
« Des murs de granit qu'on restaure
Nous sommes l'un et l'autre exclus,
Là le temps des palais n'est plus,
Et celui des nids, pas encore. »
904
Your Youth. Your Time. Your placed Investiture
So did these Ringers let your Throne announce
With fresh commentary spring your Boys pure
And clasp their Spirits for Victory enhance
Now there's the Go! Humbled yet so Pronounced
To apply Punctuations for your Team's End
Which the Lion roars their Thoughtful Doubts bounce
And Mark every Tariff they could Append
When most Nations laugh, they Green in Despair
Why his Coloured Mane kept whipping the Waves
Perhaps Leisure, his fleeting Vice repair
Kept hard-earned Fortiments from Woes and Slaves.
Still on still, these Songs by Splashes carry
Another Batch-of-Stamps; To Home they tarry.
Apr 21, 2013
Apr 21, 2013 at 10:06 PM UTC
And as i go to write you, poem,
i think of what you should become
who you should talk to
where you should run
how you should rhyme
if you should whine
wondering, all the time.
Which words to pick
which way to go
if my images will stick
if my emotions will show.
I know i will be
smiling at the end
up for everyone to see
now i must go append.
2/13/10
Feb 13, 2010
Feb 13, 2010 at 7:34 PM UTC
Pages be poured out,
be torn out books,
they all append with
you getting her looks,
how alluring she is
and will always be,
reborn each time
with no memory,
the seed once was
or the fruit it could be.
Thieving a mere sight
here and there
is worth every bit of
the herd's pity.
Aug 11, 2021
Aug 11, 2021 at 10:28 AM UTC
By whom, strike Courage, does infect the Louse
Whose ominous Trails let ****** Thoughts to bleed
Then the Female - whose Nickels cost the House
Let wounding Heresy spore Thumbs to speed
Maybe my words be Words permit bequeath
Append your Permission my Heart pretends
Else voice this Rebel; Be Rebel's own beneath
Harm my Efficancy will purse Contends
Though pause the Bitter Pill invite to swallow
Only through your Certificate spot this Call
Yet by Wisdom-Tooth's share spare this Sparrow
Knowing, by Mammon, Like-Hands do appall.
So her Perfume - inspire for your Date
Absorb her Womb's Treasures though none too late.
Jun 9, 2013
Jun 9, 2013 at 4:28 AM UTC
Life was taken away not too long ago
near was the one I had once called dear
no longer was my Love, though my love remained
her face (a shining star) now set aglow
her body soon to melt away as like the snow
little I remember of how that day went
for all I knew is she lost her hue
warmth that remained was eaten up by the hungry earth
the hole lines its self with my velvet discontent
its sinister works being fully spent
what she left behind is a question I face
annoyed I am to this never ending void
that has carved out its home in me
filling its nothingness into all my space
never at rest always apace
clouds of black form over me
clouds of black “attack!” is what they say
continuing on throughout all that was good
clouds of black, my true friends they be
for they blot out the sun from hitting me
maybe in my mind I’ll see her again
if not, to just play those memories (they turn out gray)
faults of the past fight out the good
they leave none alive in their campaign
leaving the battlefield in unending strain
who pushes me to sit on such a mood?
death’s very breath teases me these days
could it be him? or is it his own guilt?
which puts him in a place of being so lewd
his job needed be, makes him not lightly viewed
‘what ifs’ plague my thoughts and despair
they begin to tell me of that which should’ve been
they mix my yesterdays with now and future
it seems they get energy from the very air
I have to breathe no matter where
these thoughts are my last gift to her my Friend
the pieces of my heart are too small for a restart
my knowledge will only come with my obsession
this all I have left to append
I will not ever again befriend
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 10:27 PM UTC
secret isolation, best effort to hide
uncertain reply, when confronted I've lied
explanation escapes me, hard to defend
sincere self malice, to this vice I append
commonly pity, never love; lines eyed
misunderstood, breath of relief; brief reside
calming warmth runs down my arm, loony implied
appalling the stranger, understanding friend
Take with you the culprit, I offer to you
genuine compassion, all judgment aside
gentle and doting despite red tears I've cried
embarrassed Achilles wrist; don't condescend
perceived unshakeable, now I see an end
silent, spoken: vicarious Love; tears dried
Take with you the culprit, I offer to you
May 5, 2015
May 5, 2015 at 8:16 AM UTC
I see this bright night!
I see this darkened day!
I see the darkness light!
Which in the morning fades away!
I see the space end!
I see the time append!
I see this beautiful dirt!
I see this infinite Earth!
I see these coal shine!
I have what's not mine!
I see you but you don't see me!
I am in this cage yet i am free!
-Vivek!
Feb 23, 2019
Feb 23, 2019 at 3:43 AM UTC
I wish that I could tell you where this little train is going,
I wish that I could promise it will make it to the end,
But whatever light or shadow at the tunnel’s mouth awaits,
The journey to my blessing count I’ll wistfully append.
- p. winter
Dec 16, 2021
Dec 16, 2021 at 1:53 PM UTC
The truth is.
Love will not set you free.
And I know we want to believe in this so badly because it is scary.
If love does not set us free, what does?
You.
You set yourself free.
With every step you take, every goal you reach and every obstacle you overcome.
Little by little it is freeing you into yourself and into the one person you really are and want to become.
And then when love crosses your path.
Grab it with both hands and append it to your self created freedom.
Cause this love.
That is something extra, a gift, an addition.
Will not set you free.
But you.
You will.
May 14, 2020
May 14, 2020 at 7:42 PM UTC
Pick one.
Step out of the book clean,
any book, whether bible, cookbook
or blue novel append the phrase
“In the beginning” to the mouth of it:
Harissa & Preserved Lemon.
In the beginning step off from there.
In the beginning there was
Harissa & Preserved Lemon.
Go forth into the worlds
reasonable and unforeseen
& flush with the knowledge
of nothing that precedes thee,
flush as nothing precedes thee
& graced that every fowl or beast
or behemoth fish or mite is
beholden to the tongue
that would taste its name
& every breath spools out
a world anew spewed from
the mewling attentions
of short—tenured gods.
We,
short—tenured gods know
nothing of what we make
until the meat is tendered
& the stew of our lives
cools in that blue porcelain
bowl we save for Sundays,
velvet to the throats of those
that would devour us.
Jan 29, 2021
Jan 29, 2021 at 6:16 AM UTC