"avarice" poems
Extravagantly exorbitant mentality panacea
Pretentious eidetic’s ubiquity mnemonics
Extraversion embezzlement extortion mens rea
Endergonic laconic cacophony phonics
Preterite rendition enclitic equilibrist motion
Mystic symbiosis dharma spiritual sky
Brusque macabre abjections the gist of the potion
Straight up forever ontology on high
Obdurately abstruse vituperatively vociferous
Juxtaposition apparition myriad avarice
Orotund sonorous diction obliquitous
Multifariously versatile nefarious nemesis
Mirador bartizan phantasmagoria aesthetics
Guidon gyration excursion integration
Sorcerous alchemizing interstitial endemics
Chaos charisma objectified tribulation
Conjurous apothegms clitoral apomixis
Exude emote surrogate extrapolation
Astral projection littoral hypotaxis
Kinetic supremacy homogeneity gravitation
Coercible coalescent cohesion dexterities
Adjunct conjunction conjecture acuity
Platonic pragmatic prosaic austerities
Extemporaneous impromptu innuendo fortuity
Propinquity habitation harbinger spectra
Perplexing paradox tenacity rostra
Intensely cogitational abstract mantra
Penumbral exigency , umbrage per contra
Theoretical incursion grandiloquent ne plus ultra
Exogamy of homoplasy sic itur ad astra
Quiescent serendipity surreal anestra
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 6:16 AM UTC
Permission to speak, I am the ally of the silenced and unheard.
I am the noise you can't shake.
Two sharp points like the accents I carry on my tongue.
I slither and squirm as I observe what they have done to you.
It's a tragedy what they think of you and how arrogantly they use you for self proclaimed prophecies.
No! I am not that! I yell loudly, but only the echo replies.
Incarceration, deportation, degradation, gentrification some of the words that burn as I spit them out.
False ideologies are accepted as realities ignoring the facts.
I am not illegal and you don't have the right to label or decide.
I am not a criminal, never was.
Don't obstruct my academic path, I will jump each and every obstacle one by one.
I was born free, you labeled and shackled me with lies and hatred but I broke loose.
With my forked tongue I battle your double sided knife.
I am not content with the destructive pattern that has emerged with your avarice.
I will not **** for you and I will not die in vain.
My snake like tongue has no mercy and will not cease until I see dignity and peace obtained.
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 6:40 AM UTC
Let not this love fall into discontent,
Nor my eyes accustom to her allure.
Let not the sight of her cease wonderment,
Nor my passion bore with beauty demure.
Let not my lips stop quiv’ring for her kiss,
Nor my fingers ache for her velvet hair.
Let not my arms embrace with avarice,
Nor my desire leave anything to spare.
Let not her beauty ever be passé,
Nor my heart not yearn for her naked breast.
Let not making love miss a single day,
Nor lying beside her allow us rest.
Let not me take for granted her boudoir,
Nor my love for her wane even a bit.
Let not my lustful eyes ever look far,
Nor my body ablaze become unlit.
Dec 3, 2018
Dec 3, 2018 at 8:18 PM UTC
Listen my dear daughter, to my first song of caution
Earmarked for you my wonderful sire, come and listen,
That tall old man with white hair all over his head
Standing over there is not good; he is gnomish in the mind
Be careful with him, he is not human in the heart
But a mermaid of Yoruba poetry, just like Thespis of Greece
Even the pecuniary psychopomp of Sweden gave him an accolade
His heart is selfishly full of avarice; he wants everything for himself,
Don’t recite him any of your poetry, lest he spells an abyss
Against your juvenile poetic talent, he will fool you with a gift;
A white sheep or a scarlet goat for your birth day anniversary
Please don’t take it or anything else from him, as nothing from him is genuine
But only machinations of evil spell aimed at mahyeming your talent
Finally to decimate your girlhood and life, this is my caution
For you dear little African girl.
Listen my dear little daughter, to my second song of caution
That short man in a Muslim gear loafing yonder, is suspect
The Muslim beret on his head is merely a smokescreen to aghastly behaviour
He is in no way an avatar of god of love and humane piety
He is a terrorist working with Boko Haram and Algaeda
He is an Alshabab that is bombing young girls in Mombasa and Nairobi
All over Kenya he has killed the young people; his long egret-white sari is not for holiness,
It is merely a nefarious sanctum of grenades, other tools of work in terrorism trade
His loudly prayers, body movements and pocket bursting monies are only a stunt
To have you kidnapped into death conduit, once you goof to join his courts,
His sanctimony is a total picaresque film, (s)heroes of terror the centerpiece
And thus, this is my caution for you dear little African girl.
Listen my dear daughter, to my third song of caution
Those tourists thronging our streets are deadly *** pets, they also skulk ****
Their handsome outlook is not a stamp to any good conscientiousness
They derive pleasure from poverty and *** tourism; they yearn to see a girl in poverty,
Often rarely will they help an African girl, out of milieu of beggarly squalorism,
Instead they go straight for the purse between your thighs,
Regardless of the legacy they leave out of this lewdness, they are showy,
They regret not in their Byronic broadcast of *** and fatherless urchins in the poor streets
Foundation for their further poverty tourism, this is my caution for you dear little African girl.
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 4:20 AM UTC
1682
Summer begins to have the look
Peruser of enchanting Book
Reluctantly but sure perceives
A gain upon the backward leaves—
Autumn begins to be inferred
By millinery of the cloud
Or deeper color in the shawl
That wraps the everlasting hill.
The eye begins its avarice
A meditation chastens speech
Some Dyer of a distant tree
Resumes his gaudy industry.
Conclusion is the course of All
At most to be perennial
And then elude stability
Recalls to immortality.
5.4k
Against the saturated
Horizon of dawn,
Loitering in the dark timbre
Of emerging consciousness -
Dissipating somnolence
And preemptive despair,
Tacitly adumbrate the
Yawning abyss.
Chastened by the cunning and
Lubricious nihilism,
Igniting fermented provocations,
Silent subterfuge; death,
By mirth - the inane;
Lament of the mundane.
Fallow paradigms, accretions of
The last gasp -
Evaporating empty liturgies
Of suspicion;
Charity and equanimity -
Lost in confinement,
Triumphant avarice bearing
Descendants
Of intransigence;
Wielding imperious
Schemes of orthodoxy.
Pollard fragments of
Silken tapestry,
Miasma draped depression
Abridging;
Conversely,
Permuted flurries of anxiety
Dislodge
The vestiges of meaning
That abide
In brazen equivocation.
Tributaries of dogma reach
Their confluence,
Watershed moment,
Numinous effusion
Streams naked epiphany,
The precarious vision -
A gesture of providence,
Certainty and contingency;
Gratuitously derivative, life
Equals choice.
Verdant branches of intention;
And opportunity the vine,
Live forward -
The pen, my voice,
Piquant conduit pouring,
Exuberant wine.
Footprints found in givenness
Underline,
Penumbrae of my soul;
Mirrored silhouettes,
Thoughts and words engender;
And in verse adorn
Fecund soil, Line after line,
The cosmos altered,
Continuum of permanence -
Artist’s art articulating
Essence of my imagination,
I proliferate, I design
Phrases unique,
Participation mystique.
Words creating world,
The apparatus of infinity
Heidegger, ontologically precise,
Language -
The house of Being,
Ineffable, Promethean
Literary devise -
Envisioning possibility,
And abundance to allow,
I occur
Inhabit
Manifest
Future phenomena
Experienced as now.
©2008 & ©2011 W.S. Warner
Sep 16, 2011
Sep 16, 2011 at 2:02 PM UTC
Her red shoe heels
made clicking sounds
aloud,
around the hall
attracting attention;
his shoes,
alluring, plush,
black magic silence
power worn on feet
cried for recognition.
loudness gravitated
towards silence
black silence angled wild red
he measured her
foot to hip,
she focused on his intense face
the silence
with in the precinct
approved their
illegitimate cravings.
Avarice for attention
came together
held hands,
kicked up their heels,
to **** competition
in foot fetish.
Oct 18, 2011
Oct 18, 2011 at 2:58 PM UTC
A sadistic outlook
I hide my fallacies and avarice in a sock drawer,
neatly placed next to my pill bottles
In the closet closest, I store the prospect of future casualties
Shuffled neatly undernearth media propaganda and the war in Uganda
I suffocate the tragedy of unknown victims in my display of malice
Muffled as they’re whimpering
Sociopathic symphony
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 8:50 AM UTC
~~~<♡>~~~
Here's a tale of
woe and love
a ballad soft and low
it shows how greed
can rise above
and how far it will go
King Midas had a
wonderous gift
turned everything he touched
into gold, an alchemy shift
he wanted wealth so much
But he loved his daughter
more than that
she, a maid so bold
she ran to him
where he then sat
and became solid gold
Thus ends the tale of avarice
Midas had the world
but would have
lost all in a trice
to save
his little girl
SoulSurvivor
(C) 6/2/2015
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 3:20 PM UTC
Sing a song of Tajmahal
a fine nazm or a ghazal
Of this landmark for lovers
Ah, a lover's edifice
Complete with medieval bowers
It's a Mecca for tourists!
Tis sensational, tis exceptional
tis truly a touristy place.
Watch the shimmer of its magnificent marbled dome
Moonlight or sunlight, it glimmers of imperial chrome
It's ironical then
that though Indian-Arabian I am
I haven't yet been to this touristy place
It is truly as they must say, a lover's shrine
a place where hearts duly incline
They find it steamy
I find it dreamy
Oh, I've got to see for myself this touristy place.
Each of the marbled minarets
conceal such romantic secrets
for lovers to silently explore
to admire and to adore
A place human lovebirds couldn't ignore.
Ah you've got to visit this touristy place!
Two famed lovers lie in the legendary vault below
and the stream too it has a romantic flow
It's a lovers haven and paradise on earth
Even dead passions there undergo a rebirth
Ah, rekindle my love for you in this touristy place!
Extol I may this awesome imposing edifice
A greed for pure love is perhaps better than avarice
Löng live the legend of Shah jahan and Mumtaz mahal
Long live love and love like a Moghul
so forever we have this monumental grace!
Yeah take me my luv to this touristy place!
Jun 11, 2019
Jun 11, 2019 at 2:11 AM UTC
to more than I can be...
a sad isolated man,
throes of an agonizing,
stretched by her for painful
revengeful gain,
kissed with pointless avarice, divorce.
children deeming
him alienating, his faulty
insensitive sensitivities,
to easy blame
little do they know of the
piercing lowliness, the looniness of
nights he listened to sad-eyed singers,
and his late-of-mid of night scribbled scripts,
where he
off loaded the agonies of a midlife
disaster, not entirely of his-own
sown making,
but still his to bear and bare alone...
some accidents happens for unintentional,
unintended intentional new seasons appear,
stumbled, tumbled, fumbled his way onto
this H~oly P~lace, where someone might listen
to his explanations, expiations, excoriations
of his all too common tragedy, and said:
this broken human, he's got his reasons,
read his overly long treatises, his entreaties,
to those that prowl, rowing, in this corner
of the silence of the internet, where only the
trolls, the cold, the easier to-be-meaner oft thrive,
and found none of that, but an oasis of sheltering,
embracing comforting, those who actually admitted
his writings could be loved, and perhaps the writer
himself, was
deserving
of a second chance, a verbal embrace. a rereading forgiveness,
a pat
on his natback, a sympathetic sensory intaking,
and perhaps-this debt, eternal, that put the
for and the fore in a new baby born, named -
new forever
came into existence
the very same
e
that begins those conjoined words
***e~ternally grateful
"and now I sleep in peace when the day is done"
but the night time
is still the
write time
Sep 13, 2025
Sep 13, 2025 at 11:42 AM UTC
While I pretty much opined for this impeachment
my fellow Americans voted for this guy and they could be right
I’ve been wrong before, stuck as we are with a system
that generates some perplexful leaders, democracy being the worst form
of government—
except for all the others.
Anyone can be president, that’s been proven time and time again.
Wars can start for no discernible reason other than
radical purity, avarice, cupidity, gluttony, rapacity, even affluenza—
meanwhile life goes on outside all around you
perhaps you identify as Jewish, Latino, Muslim, Indian or Filipino
asexual, cybersexual, somasexual, hypersexual, homosexual, pentasexual
it doesn’t really matter, nothing **** matter matters, matter
content of life (serious, love it) hate death for the hell of it
to see what it’s like inside the heart of darkness.
Not that I accept their god, their void, I accepted humanity as a natural
part of nature
demisexual, downsexual, ecosexual, Eurosexual, eversexual, exsexual,
extrasexual, femtosexual, Francosexual, geosexual, gigasexual,
Grecosexual, Indosexual, intersexual, kilosexual, macrosexual,
malsexual, megasexual, metasexual, microsexual, missexual,
medisexual, mocksexual, monosexual, muchsexual, multisexual,
mustsexual, nearsexual, neosexual, nonsexual, oftsexual,
omnisexual, oversexual, pansexual, parasexual, partsexual,
photosexual, polysexual, postsexual, presexual, pseudosexual,
psychosexual, quasisexual, rentasexual, selfsexual, semisexual,
Sinosexual, subsexual, supersexual, telesexual, terrasexual,
ubersexual, ursexual, ultrasexual, undersexual, vicesexual,
weresexual, wikisexual, zoosexual.
When I did that I had to pay the rent and get a job, too.
Feb 4, 2020
Feb 4, 2020 at 7:12 AM UTC
impale olympic skies! their pacific
avarice, turbulence, mai-tai-dyed
oxycontin contradictions pull out
deep convictions to rift meteoric
and fall apart.
happiness apart.
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 9:00 PM UTC
Hollywood is dead and gone
It died a lonely death
It's just too bad no one was there
When it took it's final breath
Forget the tales of yesteryear
Of junkies and of ******
The Hollywood I speak of
Is behind the golden doors
Warner Brothers and MGM
United Artists and 20th Century Fox
Are now owned by conglomertates
With more cash than Fort Knox
Film is just an extra
In a business it once ruled
With the advent of computers
The industry's re-tooled
CGI and Green Screen
Let them do more at great cost
But, without the use of actors
There is something that is lost
The tie in with it's history
We only see each year
When they memorialize those who passed
At the Oscars....shedding tears
There is now just two places
To process film itself
When, way back in it's heyday
Of these there was a wealth
No new ideas forthcoming
Movies get rebooted or remade
And the startlets in the pictures
They're the one's who're getting laid
Merchanidising movies
That is where the real cash lies
If you're not attached to a food chain
Your bottom line will die
Hollywood died in it's sleep
It died with dignity
The funeral will be shown though
On reality TV
It smothered in it's excess
A victim of it's greed
It gorged on people's wallets
Forgetting peoples needs
Old Hollywood is magic
It lives on in peoples hearts
Too bad the studio system
Was sold off in such small parts
The western died, musicals next
Then came the comedy
You can't see them in the theatre
But they're on your big tv
I stand here and salute her
She put pictures in our heads
But, now thanks to her avarice
Old Hollywood is dead...
May 17, 2012
May 17, 2012 at 6:40 PM UTC
1464
One thing of it we borrow
And promise to return—
The ***** and the Sorrow
Its Sweetness to have known—
One thing of it we covet—
The power to forget—
The Anguish of the Avarice
Defrays the Dross of it—
2.8k
O Friend! I know not which way I must look
For comfort, being, as I am, opprest,
To think that now our life is only drest
For show; mean handy-work of craftsman, cook,
Or groom!—We must run glittering like a brook
In the open sunshine, or we are unblest:
The wealthiest man among us is the best:
No grandeur now in nature or in book
Delights us. Rapine, avarice, expense,
This is idolatry; and these we adore:
Plain living and high thinking are no more:
The homely beauty of the good old cause
Is gone; our peace, our fearful innocence,
And pure religion breathing household laws.
2.7k
From low to high doth dissolution climb,
And sink from high to low, along a scale
Of awful notes, whose concord shall not fail;
A musical but melancholy chime,
Which they can hear who meddle not with crime,
Nor avarice, nor over-anxious care.
Truth fails not; but her outward forms that bear
The longest date do melt like frosty rime,
That in the morning whitened hill and plain
And is no more; drop like the tower sublime
Of yesterday, which royally did wear
His crown of weeds, but could not even sustain
Some casual shout that broke the silent air,
Or the unimaginable touch of Time.
2.6k
In the year 3131
They come to devour our suns
Terrible, godlike, interstellar giants
Inconceivable beyond all reason and science.
Humanity and all her colonies,
Divided amongst the galaxies,
Finally united once and for all
For our race dare not fall!
To eliminate the threat of annihilation
We constructed planet-sized stations
That house massive and powerful guns
To protect and defend our vulnerable suns.
As our fears vanished behind us
Those in control sought to rebind us
For systems of authority never change,
Not even with pervasive freedom in range.
With the powerful distracted by their lust,
For control over every speck of dust,
There emerged a demented cult
That believes our race is at fault,
And beings that come from above
Do so out of divine, parental love.
These naive and delusional zealots,
Inspired by avarice long embellished,
By a ruthless society lacking empathy,
Have developed an ever enduring apathy.
Seeking to destroy our only defenses,
They mount violent and ****** offensives,
Their rugged, disorderly fleets crucify
As humanity is unable to reunify.
However, there is another cooperative effort,
A last stand, self-organized endeavor,
This vigilante group battles cultist detestables
They call themselves The Solar Sentinels.
Bound by a principled, passionate collaboration,
The Solar Sentinels defend all people and nations,
Engineers and military minds come together
To ensure our survival and prosper, whatsoever.
Now, one existential question remains:
Will humanity break free of its chains,
Awaken, realize that we are all one,
Disregard old orders and save our suns?
Dec 2, 2018
Dec 2, 2018 at 2:43 PM UTC
driven at night ive seen sights that make life look less like leisure,
and more like self harm for group super pleasure,
your not at the edge of this,
unless you get that sub-dom affection looking like special effects,
I accelerate slow, park, put on the the light, around a quarter to four.
she tapped her nail , amplified by the glass,
a note smeared the window misting, she stared over my coffee flask, intimately into my cocked submission,
her emaciated wrist has this diamond bracelet, it's shaking, as she points directions beyond restaurants and offices,
one too many cocktails slipped by this ruling consciousness,
now she invites in my taunts of a 30ish nihilist, "shh, just drive us".
snorting coke off the plastic payment dish,
using the twenty shes paying me with,
hooked up to my rhythm,
nobody is left not menaced, in a rolling evolution into avarice,
isn't the skyline marvelous,
the ad-hoc sprawl, minerals raw,
rear view see her chewing her face off,
directions useless, i'll let you out here, I believe you,
wave the fair, but leave the door, i need the air.
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 6:21 AM UTC
*there is a tourniquet on his tongue.
he is a risqué bloke
with alkaloid fingers,
they are wearing
yellow asylum jackets
yet he calls me
mad-
emoiselle, his, in between the lines
he cuts with razorblades and mirrors.
i find myself in between legs
of a stanza (not standing),
pale femurs and inner thighs
french-kissing into
surpine ampersands
where the first word
is a proclaimed ugly disease -- perhaps 'love.'
and the other, its escapade -- perhaps 'tuberculosis.'
but i must be the period:
oxidised bones.
within the eyes
of a stanza (still not standing)
abides no fancy lines
no avarice for contemplative meanings
there is but space and void
and i've filled his femur marrows
with metaphors
to the verge of the patella.
he writes poetry for me
with a needle
and an eight-ball.
there is a tourniquet on his tongue
and his spine fits my stocking
seamlessly.*
Dec 9, 2010
Dec 9, 2010 at 5:12 AM UTC
Grievous grace, has due yesterday’s blue
Autonomous avarice enigma entity’s hue
Identity crisis guidon guile’s due
Mystic symbiosis’ existential true
Apostrophe sabbat transcendental kitsch
Consortium liaison’s libido’s glitch
Translucent opulence’s lambent’s a *****
Metaphysical mystique is black as pitch
Terrestrial equestrian tellurian's terrene
Adamant tenacity’s obtusely obscene
Obstinate loquacity spiritually serene
Maniacally meticulous dexterity’s preen
Lucid cogent fecund’s maieutic
Incarnate’s manumissional eidetic
Spatiotemporal telemetry’s fanatic
Logistical tactician’s primal ecstatic
Chicanery dynamism’s opulent fealty
Intrinsic innate retrospective cruelty
Indigenous endemic inherent frailty
Corrupt costume counselor subtlety
Gambit alluvium aloof impunity
Immunity is epicurian absurdity
Who are we to us credulity
Nimbus nimiety nihilism’s congruity
Jun 1, 2013
Jun 1, 2013 at 8:39 AM UTC
*Italic drumroll...
imperial cavalcade with Roman horns, eagle standards raised*;
♪ ♫♪♫ ♪♪♫♫♪♪♫♫♪♪♫♫♪
ALL HAIL !
Ye screen-fed sacrificial citizens, seething simpletons and volatile voters:
attend now, with republican fervor, tempered by democratic zeal, to the golden-tongued orator of our epoch, gallant guardian of American greatness, avatar of avarice, the Jeffersonian gentleman, anointed autocrat and Sultan of Swell, windswept Wazir of Wonderful, emissary of towering eminence in empire, The Anti H-Rod: Donald J. TRUMP !
(Plebeians look up from their circus-bread for a second—)
And may Our Sovereign Savior & Almighty God also bless his worthy opponent and adversary *HILLARY ("H-Rod")*
(Patricians murmur, nod; a few salute)
Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 5:22 PM UTC
Liberate the train
Inch by inch, mile for mile
Speed is a waiting land, devoted to plain
Excuses and accusation, in the lips, all the while
Independance, is our reward
Found futures, in a problem silence, now
In last, the problems of candor before the words
Of compelling a heart to action, as if guidance allowed
Travel of the ******
Suppose to wither with denial?
Sordid capture of a freer insanity?
Cares of presumption, to live with fear, filial?
Callous worth, we's of owed solemnity
Trading hunger for wheel's
Spare adroitness to tame a keeping nativity
Boxes of avarice, with purity to establish a host feel's
Rage, for a dream in the land
Set to firsts and lest we begin the dire harvest
Of an honest soul, that has lent avarice a hand
A thought for wishful patience, that has momentum to attest
Jul 10, 2023
Jul 10, 2023 at 1:05 PM UTC
they want me to be serious, to take it seriously. To look at sunrises calmly and seize coals and watch over red-blooded, man-fueled wars about bravado, integrity, and land. To look at money, a simple representation of labor, and see what it drives other to do, to do for me.
to crush cigarettes and testicles under my boots,
to crawl through mud and barbed wire, smiling
with grit in my grimace
salt rolling, sweaty brows
twisted locks of dark hair
tobacco-brown spit, ground
and filthy, caked in mud
teeth bared like an animal
white eyeteeth crunching
**Scorching earth where my feet touch down.
A cigarette put out on a tongue. No more talking.**
They want me to see and that, in the dark of the night, in the light of the day, when the sun rises and sets, there is pain, always, elsewhere and everywhere. So I will not tarry or joke or be frivolous with the battered souls of others and to think, to think about applying anything I know, to run along with the vigorous social constructs they ask me to dissect and then revolutionize, because I am young, and I will sprint faster, against accusations, and only briefly.
They want me to look at the world like a runner looks at the red track,
with their toes and sinews coiled as hard as steel, a pinnacle of human
at the height of athleticism and possess the ruthlessness of a rabid dog
drool rushed into foam and mad from dehydrating, my brain swelling
with my hormone driven
red, hazy, athletic rage,
gunning my ambition
for some organization.
No.
I will fight, yes, but I will not fight for a name on a card, shield, or building.
I will fight for the sake of fighting because I am contentious and I am wrong.
I side against hero and villain, because I am the ambiguity,
that languishes, resides in no-man's land, antagonizing both.
Being disliked in purgatory is sometimes more easy than chomping at the bit,
for blood and the power of cracking a black bull whip, so I can avoid this terrible avarice and corrupting beauty that comes with working hard, especially for the greatness
that I did not ask
to be ****** upon me, while I wished to remain enigmatic.
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 4:33 PM UTC