"augments" poems
My auspicious and audacious assault augments the annoyance of aged accomplices.
My bodacious broadside of boffolas berates and buffaloes bros beneficently.
A classy crusade Clownishly chiseling and criticizing childishness.
A devilish ********** of dillydallying dullards; devoutly denying dimwits the dulcet dream of defiance.
Excessive, exuberant edification, ebulliently eliminating education-evictees.
A fair-weather frolic in flippancy with furious fools floundering in flawed foppishness.
Gregariously grating glum guys gleefully, growing grander garnishes of gripping gallantry gaily.
Heckling hooligans highlights my heavenly humor.
Irreverently irking irritable, iniquitous idiots in inestimably infuriating and incredible instances.
A jolly, jocular **** joking with jerks.
A kreiger kicking kleptomaniacs in the karyotype. (Cut me some slack, this is 'k', after all.)
A ludicrous, laughing lambaste of lollygagging lunatics, loftily loosing luscious lunacy on lucky losers.
A magnificent masterpiece of malfeasance, a monstrous, malevolent mission of massive misfortune for the minor minors missing no malicious missive.
A noxious, narcissistic niggling of nitwits, niftily nixing the noisome naivete of niggardly nobs.
An offhand, off-color outburst of outlandish observations to outclass the obnoxious overtures of obsequious offal.
A pragmatic prediction of possible platitudes or platypi, a placid parley of pyrotechnic pleasantries provoking Pyrrhic protections by prurient prats.
A quixotic quibble quarreling with a queer quarry.
Ribald ribbing, ruining the robust reality of the repreachful, repugnant, and rapacious with risque ridiculousness.
A silly, slighting slander of sluglike slavishness, succinctly sinking sloppy simpletons sourly.
Tracing the titillating talent of towing tyranny to towering terrors to tactless, togless, terrapins of the times.
Jan 7, 2012
Jan 7, 2012 at 11:25 PM UTC
I spit that non fiction, when i say life is my addiction, I'm such a contradiction;
you can call me COURAGE the cowardly. don't OVERSTEP your boundary.
the lames seem to bow to me, and if life were a ***** i'd charge her by the hourly.
i feel FREE like a SEED, in the wind
there's no need to pretend
that no thought is more electric than your intent, i intend
to manifest success. my game infrared,
sounds like a different dialect, fresher than disinfect, dangerous like Russian roulette.
when its us or them
the beast against men
melanin augments; to increase my inner G for the main event!
Jun 18, 2013
Jun 18, 2013 at 12:03 AM UTC
Excuse me, Mr. Politician Man,
who the **** are you to say
what information the Government gets
at the detriment of mankind anyway?
Have you forgotten the Bill of Rights?
The 'inalienable' rights we all have?
Do they even ******* matter?
Do they even ******* exist?
I guess not.
What the **** are they doing
pressing this CISPA ********
Unlawful search and seizure of digital information
and they don't even care for warrants.
Under the guise of National Security
you'd have us all put in Camps or killed
just like we did to the Japanese all those years ago
but we've moved past that... right? Right?
I guess not.
We just keep it all more secretive now:
The people didn't stand for SOPA
and surely not for the NDAA
so what the **** gives you the idea
CISPA will fly, anyway?
Maybe if no one heard about it, it would work...
Maybe that's what you were counting on.
Excuse me, Mr. Politician Man,
who the **** are you to say
what information the Government gets
at the detriment of mankind anyway?
**** you, Mr. Politician Man
along with your constituents.
**** you, Mr. Politician Man
and your endorsements.
The Fourth Amendment requires due process
precluding unjust search and seizure;
but where the **** is due process or justice
in this proposed search at leisure?
You pass new legislation that augments old laws,
so much that they don't even need probable cause,
but not new rights nor protections for the citizenry,
not surprising given your abhorrent deontology:
You'd sooner send drones than diplomats.
You'd sooner stage attacks than be peaceful.
You'd sooner bail out banks than your citizens.
You'd sooner pass a law than change your ******* underwear.
What the **** gives you an inkling of the notion
that a beloved sociopath Politician
deserves your ******* devotion
if they pull this sort of ethical rescission?
Excuse me, Mr. Politician Man,
who the **** are you to say
what information the Government gets
at the detriment of mankind anyway?
**** you, Mr. Politician Man
along with your constituents.
**** you, Mr. Politician Man
and your endorsements.
**** me, Mr. Politician Man,
like you already do behind closed doors.
**** me, Mr. Politician Man
for ever trusting this accursed system.
Well, who the **** are you
trusted making legislation,
you can't even overcome
******* monetary gravitation.
Well, excuse me, Mr. Politician Man,
you want the People to become transparent?
Well **** you then, Mr. Politician Man
we want transparency of Government:
I'm sick of not knowing where Tax dollars go,
I'm sick of knowing over a quarter goes to the Military
which is funny in a deeply ****** up way
because I know I may help pay for
the drone that might fly overhead and see me and my friends as insurgents
and launch an IR missile to blow us to bits,
or the bullet that may be sent through my brain
as a distant if more probable than ever result
of your ******* legislation:
And so I say:
**** you, Mr. Politician Man,
along with your constituents
for making this a feasibility;
you're supposed to serve the people
but you'd rather put the U.S. in a state of futility.
So,
on behalf of all those you alienate each day,
I wish to extend to you a humble and heartfelt
Go **** yourself.
Apr 19, 2013
Apr 19, 2013 at 10:52 PM UTC
★ ✰ ✪ ★ ✰ ✪ ★ ✰ ✪
The Baby-Hole, her baby-hole!
Turn back before you lose your soul.
Those walls of pink, those gates of pearl
grant entrance to each boy and girl
who come through this organic portal:
newly-born and merely mortal.
Mystery to be dignified—
explored, adored, objectified:
the baby-hole’s expanding chasm,
promising celestial spasm,
is limned in deliquescent love
and fits the soul as hand in glove.
Beware her tantalizing pull
where poetry turns vaginal.
From depths profound, God can create
(where man would merely **********
hitting Mother Nature’s high note
as the gamete turns to zygote).
Semi-seconds’ spurting passion
years of living baby fashion.
After pleasure’s jest, gestation
thus augments the population;
teenage dads recalibrate,
unsure just what to celebrate.
Yet, if they knew the daring risk
their ***** endure, they’d slip a disc;
to realize what threatening odds
confront these flagellated gods:
(see Luke in Star Wars, [number IV]
battling fascists in the war
alone in the zone to shoot the shot
that blows the death star up. Let’s not
miss out on noting, in this theme,
life’s true conception. So the team
of X-wing pilots flew the run,
eliminated one by one
save Luke, who penetrated deep
the death-star’s ovulated keep
and overcame the egg’s defense
and hit the mark. It all makes sense.
The spheroid bursting in his sight
depicts Conception's glorious might).
Therefore, show the matrix honor.
Shoot and leave—your star’s a goner:
nurture growth while life allows you,
while your star can still espouse you.
Seek her core of hidden gnosis
don’t just set off cell mitosis…
not, that is, unless you are sure
that the three of you won’t end up poor.
Feb 9, 2017
Feb 9, 2017 at 8:02 PM UTC
My dad’s unwilting enthusiasm
does little to reduce my anxiety
actually quite augments it
as I try not to hit the pavement
I am only 7 but feel very responsible
not only for the things I do,
like cutting the roses from the garden
and having my mum get mad
but also for the things I cannot do
like grabbing the handlebars assuredly
and keeping the bike under me
trying to perform some kind of conjuring act
Lowering the seat does help, feet now firmly on the ground
with loose elbows and a light grip on the handlebars
I close my eyes and, lo and behold, now I am a ballerina
swirling around like in a satin-lined jewelry box
My reverie is soon interrupted by my dad’s gentle voice
I tell him I did the splits, even touched my toes
“Seems like you don’ t wanna ride,” he says
with eyes of blue, a hint of a smile
I can still hear his voice in my ears
“Don’t try to do things you don’t like
just because anyone can do them”
May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 12:36 PM UTC
Drastic self-defence,
Drastic in my linguistic augments,
The evidence of my attempts at trying,
To see any future where I’m not dying,
And it makes no sense
Tactic for offense,
Offensive in sarcastic defiance,
Ambivalence on a course for further premonitions,
Static fragments of my continual refusal of any medicinal diminution,
Please help me make some sense
Psychopathic friends,
Systematic traffic hence,
Pensive head and that will drive you,
Insane and round the bend if only they all knew,
I can’t see any sense
Automatic ends,
Ammunition diplomatic,
Suspense in its unanimously tragic situation,
Fate’s unenthusiastic in its conflict upon two cognitive nations,
That makes no sense
Anatomically attic fenced,
Just a poetic way to represent,
One’s combative mental condition,
An addict and the opposite always on the right and the left warring in attrition,
If that makes any sense
Plastic ornaments,
Plastic bottles left to lament,
As the alcoholic labyrinth in my life that cannot be broken,
To help wash down writhing thoughts forced to remain unspoken,
And an I that makes no sense
Fix it no expense,
Fixed monthly recompense now,
I am a myth of someone, whom I do not know,
Sickly pretence took me down a road that I never wanted to go,
And now you say I’m finally making sense
Panic is absent,
Absent the magic,
In the pills that in basic blindness I routinely swallow,
Dynamic in the worn out tools that continue to carve once whole now hollow,
Does that make any sense?
Now I’m really not making sense, by finally making sense
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 5:08 PM UTC
What do you mean when you say you want another chance?
another chance, to hold me by your puppet strings,
to yank my heart and put it on another roller coaster
and make it go through these turns all over again.
you know what
I'm done
I'm done with you taking me for granted
I'm done with with this roller coaster going around and around
like how you go around in my mind
while you sit there and watch me in pain
I'm done with your game of
these god **** strings pulling me around called love
I'm done with your lies
you don't love me
you just love the idea of me
you love that man that cares about you
you love that man to chase you around and around
a man to sit on that roller coaster that you oh so love
You love a man who you can wake up to every morning
but you don’t love me back
you don't want to go through that roller coaster
round and around like our augments we have on a daily bases
Oh wait, now I'm special to you?
All I felt was this : helplessness
helpless like those sleepless nights that you made me go through
making me hear the ticks from the clock by my bed side
I was sentenced to stare at my ceiling.
because I couldn't stare your eyes that are oh so capable of holding lies
but now I'm done
I'm breaking out of these chains and my sentence is served.
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 12:21 PM UTC
The babble of the valley Brooke
A rush- the flowing, liquid memory moving
Downstream.
Water; the stillness of
a puddle
A pond, the pooling-
scintillates & permeates.
A gentel lapping
against the creekside,
A skip-stone-scape beneath the wetness
Augments the heavy water
As nature's soundtrack.
Mar 2, 2024
Mar 2, 2024 at 10:15 PM UTC
He drives into the desert in a Toronado,
Dust in his eyes from the open window,
Sun on the burned skin and black mascara
That augments his vivid gaze.
Black orbs that stare at the burning sand,
His mouth is defiant and morose,
He turns off the path into the sage and saguaro.
The car is like a black beetle on a carpet of tan.
He lifts a shovel from the trunk, looking crazed.
Digs a shallow grave in the sand,
He rips a talisman from his neck
And declares he is looking for something
Unclear and he slurs a chant.
“Something is coming”, he seems to say.
He buries the necklace and drives away.
Will he come back for it or leave it
for the spirits of the desert?
No, he will come for it every day
Bury it again and again
Until the spell wears down,
The perfumed season is done,
Or perhaps the spring floods
Wash it all away.
Nov 1, 2018
Nov 1, 2018 at 7:47 AM UTC
this is ours
by rights we reclaim it, a fight in writing that bites back again
when the nights are stretched to breaking by the hours we spend awake in them.
think of the power we have
fiber-optics and copper trotting through bedrocks,
beneath seas that seem to me to be as near to intervening as the breeze.
and we're afforded opportunities
unavailable to the hoards of previous peoples of every family, genus, species.
we seize these as only we are able, every lost little bean knows
you are as close to us as you are to the holes through which your cable goes.
with which we burrow
and from beneath we ****** comfort and warm fuzzy glows from those
who think they still know how the rock rolls and what it's like to be between the tender years of thirteen and nobody-knows.
it's not enough any more,
stuff galore but still the crumpled detritus of bad ideas augments the dust gathered on the floor.
this rising pain will crash,
like the glass roof we are preparing to smash,
and with the scratching fragments falls the now forgotten skin,
too small for the shining lives we strive to begin.
Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 at 11:38 AM UTC
It seizes One with Fear
and then points One in a direction,
though it is not fatal
if One finds yet motivation.
It doth render unto One
the Courage to create,
though, indeed, such Power
comes also with such potential
as to destroy without so much
as a Care.
Tread e'er with caution;
it doth come in waves.
Hey,
speaking of Waves:
please do not forget
to drink Water,
for mere magical Water
can be a sort-of cure-all
of neigh infinite mystery;
and please do not forget
to Breathe
as slowly, and with
as much reverence for the present moment
and to seek to speak as simply, yet succinctly,
as One can find possible;
for One never is to know
which Breath it shall be,
or, *worse: was,*
that would be One's Last.
-
To be creative
is to exercise
that inner Daemon
known to us, Jungians,
as One's very own
**Shadow:
Shadow**
seems keen
to reveal itself
at the most, shall we say,
opportune of Times,
though, as I find,
Opportunity, itself,
is a matter of
absolute value;
and, as such,
it can be
either
verily
creative
or
destructive,
depending
on the Will (or lack thereof)
of it's User *(or lack thereof)
**.
Love**
is quite the Opportunity.
and quite the same is true of Life.
Joy
is quite the Opportunity,
and such is also true of Strife.
**Thus, I cast this genuine penumbral Plea-
thus, I cast this penned and umbral Plea:**
Please* cast thy Shadow
with the utmost and greatest Care,
lest it envelop thy Being;
usurping thy cognitive throne-
that is, as opposed to
incorporation of Shadow
via the omnitool Mirrors
of Awareness- of Mind:
thusly Shadow augments
the arsenal of One's very own Self.
Beware, though,
for the System, itself,
has it's sordid defenses.
Also, and once more,
please do not forget
to cast thy Shadow
with great Care, and
please do not forget
to cast nary a Shadow
without Self Awareness.
Mar 30, 2014
Mar 30, 2014 at 6:37 AM UTC
Let me travel my love with you side by side
Please do not block all paths and ways on me
I love you from the core of heart is my pride
Present your beauty to sail with love in the sea
In life we face some difficult situations, events
But that does not mean that we should separate
Every new experience just comes and augments
How to tackle ,ameliorate and how to cooperate
On every step there is something new to explain
Idiosyncrasies of life with more horizons and vision
Some realities are to accept from some to refrain
When curtains are taken up process brings precision
Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow
Dec 22, 2016
Dec 22, 2016 at 10:15 AM UTC
Softly tensed- a string of cello’s harm (ony)
Begins a journey through hollow sounds to soothe
Uplifted ****** of ferocity orchestrate
The rise and fall of inner control lost to tranquility
What of peace remains in melodic conduct?
Unbecoming of such distraught frustration
Two-timed tones elude and mislead
Anger augments the pitch in higher discord
Stressed tethers corrupt and oppressed
Buckle under sighed regrets of torture
Unsatisfied feelings upon completion
Strings snap back and play blood-lust tunes of revenge.
© 2008
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 4:25 PM UTC
At the foot of the Cross,
My fear and shame are lost.
Regrets which past hurts had begotten
Are now former things forgotten
By the One who paid the cost.
At the foot of the cross,
Darkness is brought to light,
And faith augments my sight.
No weapon fashioned against me shall have prevailing might.
Grace empowers me to see
The truth that sets me free,
By the power of the cross.
On the hill of the Cross,
Death was utterly destroyed;
With the grave as my permanent ending made void.
A life giving crimson tide was employed
To wash away my soul's dross.
At the heart of the Cross,
The Son of Man spoke
In a language too deep for words -
The powers of Hell He broke.
To bring back the created life He gave to you and me,
By tearing down the staggering veil,
That our eyes would be open to see.
No life can ever be lost,
When we are truly
At the foot of His saving Cross.
At the foot of the Cross,
The Self is left behind,
With its ever striving vexatious bind.
Near the heart of the Father, a true home I find:
An ever faithful, loving embrace,
When from life's storms I'm tossed.
I find it all here
At the foot of the Cross.
Oct 24, 2020
Oct 24, 2020 at 1:12 AM UTC
As night's grizzly crown falls
to the rite of light's way
its servant sun unlocks all
dawn's turreted gables,
azure disposes of shawls
and warmth augments the first rays
as day pierces prisms in dark vault.
But mist gathers to veil
heaven, shrouds my cottage walls
and shuts every windowpane
until grey covers morning
with shadowy swirls of dim change.
What happened to the tuned chorus
of promised blue I thought would stay ?
May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 6:58 AM UTC
Theres a fire in my heart that my tears cannot put out
A scream my lungs cannot take and an ache my soul cant bear
So i allow for the rays of sun to shine in my sky. For a shining star cannot be seen without the illumination of the sun.
But theres a cold that mocks the borrowed warmth of my soul
A cavity that feeds on the hearts entrusted in mine
A void that augments and devours with every faltering heartbeat.
So i close my eyes and i hope for it to sleep.
For a rested host cannot feed its pests. A barren land cannot nourish a blooming woe.
Jun 24, 2018
Jun 24, 2018 at 10:48 PM UTC
nobody tells me what to do with longing
unquantifiable as only the sand is
exulted light dives in my hair
my shoulders are amazed like a cactus flower
your blood self-absorbed rehearses abysmal cascades
tigers are still asleep in your dreams
will you chase the moon on my surface, will you, tell me,
leave your silence on a chair
what if love is this cypher for the mystery of time
what if the pulse is a form of photosynthesis
we have to stay away from any fire since
we would exhaust its thirst
a step into a surreal second that augments me
second after second the one who loves
disturbes time in its mazing grace
the sky this gestational field
the space between each word a cosmos
a white truth will repeat itself
again and again bearing witness to
life hand in hand with death
Mar 23, 2025
Mar 23, 2025 at 5:21 PM UTC
Corporate world transformation ambition
New definition in team composition
Once human agents now robot cognition
Enter the post-human workforce transition
Efficiency skyrockets
Low people, high profits
Delivery, optimized
Retailers, digitized
Dialogue, personalized
Despite hefty savings in stress leave and tissues
The droid revolution is riddled with issues
Compassionless robots corrode
Human relations are slowed
People speak less
Smile less
Trust less…
Science boffins add humanoid humour
and vulnerability augments compatibility
within hybrid social systems
Sentiment sub-routines
avoid awkwardness and
tame transitions
Androids are made more like humans
People-only is ended
Social systems are blended
Human feelings transcended
Workforce entry amended
Now proficient production
is intermittently interrupted
by androids leaking feelings
Patched up too many times
Spare parts are sparse
Units are on their non-figurative
last legs, arms, and heads
Management resists re-investment in the
replaceable, robotic working class
Sad androids stand stranded,
disbanded, drab-handed,
slam-hanged and harangued,
despoiled and destroyed…
To delegate feelings to mechanoid beings
Is fast guaranteeing the absence of meaning
To swap warm emotion for chilly devotion
brings human implosion and moral erosion
Closed system, no weak points
All software, no souls
Is almost as useless as sieves with no holes
Or icing, no cake
For every mistake
ends with a correction
through error detection
Inspection, reflection
And causal connection
That causes protection
and growing conviction
that this is a fiction,
which feeds a new faction
for human affection…
The commerce machine is for people, however,
One person alone can be wrong, but together
The networks of pet-quirks and step-shirks and blunders
Make slipping and lapsing and rending asunder
No wonder the funders are foible-free hunters
To engineer-out human error
The fewer the humans the better
But work is a meaningful human endeavour
Nov 6, 2024
Nov 6, 2024 at 10:43 PM UTC