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"bellum" poems
a human tool, a drawing pencil, shedding snakeskin cells as lead from no. 2 pencil am **** and blood, skin and hairless, all-to-come-to-go, return retuned, at their own chosen speed, gen of regeneration of disrupted oils and heavenly blessings, morning cracks and orifices, filling and emptying obediently, to the tidings of the grieving gravity of my moon’s decisions that govern the lunatic cycle you may kiss me with all your heart unto a robust welcoming, scorn with spittle and deem unfit, I know the difference and it is inconsequential see me as combustible or flat, airless and empty, as a new or a two day old leaking birthday balloon, or a haiku that makes the reader gasp for the reasoning for breathing think of me as a meme who responds to the touch of your nippled forefinger, but my powers are unlisted, therefore unlimited for I am neither cyber or cypher though aesthetically they appear as parts of my humanity, a human machine forever reprogramming to new stimuli sensating, the temperature of your breath, the many odors of you as inputs that bear newborn children notions in my chested gas chambers, the belligerent bellum bellies of my brain my digital describe in thousands of computers do hide, but to comprehend the interacting calculations that are my constancy and my inconsistencies, you must make a tour if you are awake between midnight and dawn when from wells the visions, the fluids - the words are drawn they, the residuals of a man’s *********** with other humans, kin akin, and the thriving discourse between l, man and parental gods of invisible powers, that offers insanity as a viable solution, to cracking the codex human DNA in the vial labelled Medusa Who else?
0
Dec 18, 2017
Dec 18, 2017 at 10:24 PM UTC
the twelth poem: neither cyber or cypher
a human tool, a drawing pencil, shedding snakeskin cells as lead from no. 2 pencil am **** and blood, skin and hairless, all-to-come-to-go, return retuned, at their own chosen speed, gen of regeneration of disrupted oils and heavenly blessings, morning cracks and orifices, filling and emptying obediently, to the tidings of the grieving gravity of my moon’s decisions that govern the lunatic cycle you may kiss me with all your heart unto a robust welcoming, scorn with spittle and deem unfit, I know the difference and it is inconsequential see me as combustible or flat, airless and empty, as a new or a two day old leaking birthday balloon, or a haiku that makes the reader gasp for the reasoning for breathing think of me as a meme who responds to the touch of your nippled forefinger, but my powers are unlisted, therefore unlimited for I am neither cyber or cypher though aesthetically they appear as parts of my humanity, a human machine forever reprogramming to new stimuli sensating, the temperature of your breath, the many odors of you as inputs that bear newborn children notions in my chested gas chambers, the belligerent bellum bellies of my brain my digital describe in thousands of computers do hide, but to comprehend the interacting calculations that are my constancy and my inconsistencies, you must make a tour if you are awake between midnight and dawn when from wells the visions, the fluids - the words are drawn they, the residuals of a man’s *********** with other humans, kin akin, and the thriving discourse between l, man and parental gods of invisible powers, that offers insanity as a viable solution, to cracking the codex human DNA in the vial labelled Medusa Who else?
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35
No. I write against. (Aihmeanlike, against it.) No, against it. Like this. [The point is pressing A dark circle down down down.] So (Djiuknowhatuhmean?) I clash on this. After doing that All day, on air! With conscious Breath, (which is just force myself Breath!) out of the glued muck Moss in my sere bellum. My Me do lah. Oblong god. Duh. How long, these fractured seams of seemlessness around? In the meantime, here’s some words, an image of a Stream, and I’ll say: “Like a dead Man(’s passing.)” Look at it. And you thought infinity Could be brushed off like a fly! Wring your wet sloppy self! Undried, then sundried! Well. Now, you are one-eyed. But what about that cry Of true voice swishing lost And found in the growing Concrescent infundibular Abyss? Oh, that might be the Sublime Sadness! (That one mentioned once.) Keeping the Eternal Walker out in the dwindling Afternoons, closer than tears To littered ponds of cold light. Will he pull out the solidified Spirit, or precipitate his freedom As indistinguishable from the Mystery? Oh. Please. Then the Self would be (the question). And there. Would be. No. Need for the asked king.
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Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 7:58 PM UTC
Muck Moss
Your words bang hard against the unwritten Wind, Uncontrolled souls explode; destroying others within Una voce. With one voice. Searching frantically, identity lost in the Air Your tongue slaps the stranger; now all gather there Vinculum unitatis. The bond of unity. In anger the Angel spits streams of Fire She swings at the world; opportunity tires Status quo ante bellum. State before the war. Unbridled words; foundations lay Earth Reasoning lost. The war is now birthed. Vae victis! Woe to the conquered!
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Feb 10, 2011
Feb 10, 2011 at 9:40 PM UTC
Veni vidi vici.
why was rome built on bones? hundreds of dead caught by arrows or blind cuts of steel crowd the rivers, the roads, the very air and it is so so hard to breathe– every corner is a reminder of public executions, outdoor gallows, diving into shallow seas, exsanguination in the roads till red rivulets made new paths in tempered cobblestone; caesar was not the first man to bring about *pax *** bellum* to train armies to battle their own hearts and find nothing there at all– caesar falls, rei republica falls, rome falls . . the dead do not become lazarus
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May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 12:09 AM UTC
glory & god meet at a crossroad
Si vis pacem, para bellum - Vegetius "If you want peace, prepare for the war." I have been at war for a lifetime. At war with myself, At war with the world. I am tired of fighting, Exhausted by this agonizing war. Please let it end. I just want to be at peace.
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Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 3:26 PM UTC
Prepare for War
Bedlam is our repletion, bellicose our rest, For ever state which we call peace is war of constant test. This war must share no allies - each warrior a martyr, And it would stand that every soldier someone calls their daughter. The instigator Terra, the perpetrator Yahweh, Instant and perpetual - a bellum night and day. The resource universal, from sea to ****** sea. This war is fought o'er any man who might a bachelor be. Civility and stupor the only neutral face they wear, But underneath the plaster smile iniquity lies bare. How cruelly do they cozen, how capricious they connive, A thousand times more vicious than any man that seeks to wive. And how they suffer sedulous, their bodies they contort Into the most pernicious forms, a weapon of a sort: They don the war paint, pluck the hair, admonish slightest error, And take to wield those eyes of steel, and bless the world with terror.
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Jun 2, 2012
Jun 2, 2012 at 9:43 PM UTC
Make-Up
Theme/Chorus,many voices,(call and response) is it the worst thing ever?/ITS THE WORST THING EVER,is it the worst thing ever?/ITS THE ****** WORST THING EVER!/ Sample Ice-T "I stare at them blue lines,I think I'mma go blind" I'm goin crazy cuckoo,finally losing it, trapped in my gravel pit,rehashing my own **** my old shit-still holding me back, may as well get a pipe and start puffin' up crack, cos I've cracked,and frankly don't give a **** I'm so sick of bangin' my head off this mental block, its the size of a freight train-Strength of the Hulk, you really think I wanna fuckin' sit here and sulk?, you leeches... keep preachin' deceit, one more fake smile,OOPS there go teeth... was that a piece of your jaw on the floor that I saw? was that real or a dream, I can't tell any more? each rhyme I write-so god **** tight, like your first piece of ass-first nasty fight, first make up *** first broke up ex, my mates just stare at me perplexed when I bare the holes in my soul to all, I dunno whether I'm gonna get cheers or catcalls, but don't worry bout that I got plenty of boots, and I'll kick your ****** ***** til they're bigger than grapefruits, I'm a live grenade throwin serenades, So god **** sick I gave cancer aids, Sandman-sicker than cancer cells in the cerebellum, Si vis pacem, para bellum ,cause I'm prepared for warfare I don't advise goin there , you'll find limpet mines in your ***** hair, I'll blow the scabs off the ***** on a filthy ***** if I have to- I have to to scratch this itch in the centre of my mind like a black hole Sun, this mental block has got me all undone... I swear if I don't finish a track I'll drop dead... wait a minute...I just fuckin' well did! so much for mental blocks Mhmm? but seriously-y'all ladies and fellas- is it the worst thing ever?/ ITS THE WORST THING EVER , is it the worst thing ever?/ *ITS THE ****** WORST THING EVER!* / "then the beat becomes me,sit in the dark and write a whole fuckin' LP"
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Nov 18, 2016
Nov 18, 2016 at 10:01 PM UTC
Mental Block Funky Breakdown
Theme/Chorus,many voices,(call and response) is it the worst thing ever?/ITS THE WORST THING EVER,is it the worst thing ever?/ITS THE ****** WORST THING EVER!/ Sample Ice-T "I stare at them blue lines,I think I'mma go blind" I'm goin crazy cuckoo,finally losing it, trapped in my gravel pit,rehashing my own **** my old shit-still holding me back, may as well get a pipe and start puffin' up crack, cos I've cracked,and frankly don't give a **** I'm so sick of bangin' my head off this mental block, its the size of a freight train-Strength of the Hulk, you really think I wanna fuckin' sit here and sulk?, you leeches... keep preachin' deceit, one more fake smile,OOPS there go teeth... was that a piece of your jaw on the floor that I saw? was that real or a dream, I can't tell any more? each rhyme I write-so god **** tight, like your first piece of ass-first nasty fight, first make up *** first broke up ex, my mates just stare at me perplexed when I bare the holes in my soul to all, I dunno whether I'm gonna get cheers or catcalls, but don't worry bout that I got plenty of boots, and I'll kick your ****** ***** til they're bigger than grapefruits, I'm a live grenade throwin serenades, So god **** sick I gave cancer aids, Sandman-sicker than cancer cells in the cerebellum, Si vis pacem, para bellum ,cause I'm prepared for warfare I don't advise goin there , you'll find limpet mines in your ***** hair, I'll blow the scabs off the ***** on a filthy ***** if I have to- I have to to scratch this itch in the centre of my mind like a black hole Sun, this mental block has got me all undone... I swear if I don't finish a track I'll drop dead... wait a minute...I just fuckin' well did! so much for mental blocks Mhmm? but seriously-y'all ladies and fellas- is it the worst thing ever?/ ITS THE WORST THING EVER , is it the worst thing ever?/ *ITS THE ****** WORST THING EVER!* / "then the beat becomes me,sit in the dark and write a whole fuckin' LP"
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41
*"Through grim and void we march towards freedom, we are all proud by serving the original Vow. Confronting the dreams of solitude and awe, our eyes will burst with tears by remembering home."*- Spoke the youngest of all, and the elders listened. *"Our smiles will freeze like an old photograph, and that burden is expected decay and colapse some day. Finding two men alive from five, saving two souls by killing ten. It ain't worth it.*" - Said the captain to the ***** "Our children will forgive you for being a murderer."- She replied. "Will we ever forgive ourselves for being murerers?": The enemy thought before he walked into the tent and killed them both. *"There's no phoenix rising, only a lifetime of carrion and a hostile wind that will carry our ashes across the battllefield."*- Said the drinking middle aged man to the Bartender. "We curse them, they curse us, there is no good side neither bad, sir, just a special feeling of threat, and some kind of love for killing. It's unforgiving, but it doesn't matter at all. We still die."- Interrupted the youngest of all. And from the distance was heard: *"Let us cut through the ominous throat of the land! Let us march upon destruction in the name of love! Fatal wounded, disarmed, violated, murdered, we don't care! Because we are laughing at the grave of a lost friend, we conceive destiny and grin to the blood moon. Oh! Mater Bellum ora pro nobis. Nobis hoc ostenderent. Sancta pulchra bellicum.."*    And the land was painted in red, the men dead and a strange smell crawled in the air. The songs stopped, the laughs went silent. There was nothing and nothing happened . Just one red drop in the sea of blue.
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Aug 20, 2015
Aug 20, 2015 at 5:56 AM UTC
Weapons of Desire (Canticum ignota fratres)
*"Through grim and void we march towards freedom, we are all proud by serving the original Vow. Confronting the dreams of solitude and awe, our eyes will burst with tears by remembering home."*- Spoke the youngest of all, and the elders listened. *"Our smiles will freeze like an old photograph, and that burden is expected decay and colapse some day. Finding two men alive from five, saving two souls by killing ten. It ain't worth it.*" - Said the captain to the ***** "Our children will forgive you for being a murderer."- She replied. "Will we ever forgive ourselves for being murerers?": The enemy thought before he walked into the tent and killed them both. *"There's no phoenix rising, only a lifetime of carrion and a hostile wind that will carry our ashes across the battllefield."*- Said the drinking middle aged man to the Bartender. "We curse them, they curse us, there is no good side neither bad, sir, just a special feeling of threat, and some kind of love for killing. It's unforgiving, but it doesn't matter at all. We still die."- Interrupted the youngest of all. And from the distance was heard: *"Let us cut through the ominous throat of the land! Let us march upon destruction in the name of love! Fatal wounded, disarmed, violated, murdered, we don't care! Because we are laughing at the grave of a lost friend, we conceive destiny and grin to the blood moon. Oh! Mater Bellum ora pro nobis. Nobis hoc ostenderent. Sancta pulchra bellicum.."*    And the land was painted in red, the men dead and a strange smell crawled in the air. The songs stopped, the laughs went silent. There was nothing and nothing happened . Just one red drop in the sea of blue.
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21
So what is the new next thing? isick ilich selum lee lay lum syntax brizoke choke sizome jabber wizock riverrun, past Eve and Adam Raisinets, Kay Jewelers, Round Up ‘s the way Nirvana sun Gaga Ketchum drum Bellum Numb undone-or-been done “that’s right son you tell’m” “Ugh a rhymer?” “a diner.” “no stop it,” “crop top it.” “No really I’m feeling like this meter is cheating” “but I can’t stop,” “that didn’t rhyme” “oh yea” So now what? What is there? Can I go any further? Not not, come **** **** September November taint I, you, it—‘s all ****
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May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 5:12 PM UTC
Sure Why Not?
You see that? That's a whole City on fire The war will End.. soon But before That, a lot More people Have to die
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Apr 10, 2024
Apr 10, 2024 at 12:35 AM UTC
Bellum
What good is peace if war is not a possibility. Fool's gold though old men get to sit out while the young are minced,vaporized.                                                              Peace is a Noble aspiration and well worth pursuing.  Meanwhile The warrior must stand firm To allow peace to have a say. Wolves are at bay not by happenstance but by design. The devil will take the hindmost but will catch hell from the foremost who will turn and unleash havoc Even at the highest cost. It has always been. That way. SEMPER FI.
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Dec 13, 2012
Dec 13, 2012 at 1:07 AM UTC
Si Vis Pacem,Para Bellum
Och! Airn an’ Thundir! Great Orrah! Ere ye a' sune an’ syne fast, verra fast *** Wae Verra Skye-Storne Hye, Skye-Unleashed, IT! Clitheroe's Gory Orrah! Frae mah Burnan’ Skye-Rage, An' unco Airn-Curse o’er ye a', Downe, downe! owre downe! Theis Moorlan Firey Grass flyin’, Dinna Daur! Ah say, Dinna Daur! Tae mah Verra Skye-Roaran’ An' Skye-Furious Bellum, Guid Orrah! Nae tae baith nowe listen! Nor tae set futis ageyne, Ah say! Wae yer unco dishonorable duds, Oan Theis Verra Nobil Glamis’ Hal’, Kingdom o' Scotland IT, Airn-Auld, Robert th' Bruce Micht, Ironclad, her Ruler, wae Wois Loud! Fore, ne’er, ne’er, Ah skye-yell; AH UNCO WADNA! AH UNCO WADNA! Great Guid, Verra Guid Orrah! Wae mah Bleezan Skye-Blade o’ War, An’ Verra, Verra Guid Gilded Targe, Auldfarran, juist twich ye a'! Whene'er, an’ unco fore’er, Intae THEIS DEEP LOCH O' RID HEL, An' thro' yondir War-Thundir, och! Wae mah Skye-Skean steel-fechtin’.
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Nov 2, 2020
Nov 2, 2020 at 4:08 AM UTC
Unco Wadna
You're going to make me lose my mind, but I'm okay with that. I love you for that. Take me someplace new. Set up a homestead (under my skull) Plant your garden on my sara bellum. Grow. Let's **** my life and make a baby. Bring it up in a new home; a home in the mind (my) forrest. Building, building, and building. (something worthwhile) I'll take you to the hardware store. Climb a ladder over me; or a dozen each taller than the latter. (stay tall)
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Dec 13, 2012
Dec 13, 2012 at 11:17 AM UTC
Eat me alive.
Long before daybreak With eyelids so heavy Beseeching, let me sleep! Never-ending, indefatigable thoughts In waves, each more belligerent Than its foregone, Sang of tempestuous oceans Of Winters of long-lasting darkness. A bewail - of bleakness - For souls convoluted amongst alb foam. To frank such thoughts Dry them underneath moonlight Obviate nefarious whims. To coerce the ways of rational kin, Eradicate rapt, impetuous Combustions fired by The cholera of heathens. With herb and candle, enthrall, With hammer and anvil, fashion! Worming out the Eye of Dystopia I wage war, Quill in shivering fingers - si vis pacem para bellum.
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Mar 18, 2021
Mar 18, 2021 at 2:53 AM UTC
Eye of Dystopia
am a human tool, a drawing pencil, shedding skin cells and lead from the no. 2 pencil in my saliva am **** and blood, skin and hair, all come-go, return re-tuned, at their own chosen speed, gen of regeneration am cracks and orifices, filling and emptying obediently, to the tidings of the grieving gravity of my moon's decisions that govern the lunatic cycle you may kiss me with all your heart into a robust welcoming, scorn me with spittle and deem unfit, I know the difference and it is inconsequential am, see me as combustible or flat, airless and empty, as a new or a two day old birthday balloon, or an abbreviated haiku, that makes the reader gasp for the reasoning for breathing think of me as a meme who responds to the touch of your nippled forefinger,  but my powers are unlisted, therefore unlimited for I am neither cyber or cypher though aesthetically they appear as parts of my humanity, a human machine forever reprogramming to new stimuli sensulating, such as the temperature of your breath, the many disparate odors of you, the curve of your eyes, the wetness of moist places inputs that bear emergent newborn children notions in my chested cavernous gas chambers, the bellum bellies of my brain my digital describe in thousands of computers do hide, but to comprehend the interacting calculations that are my constancy and my inconsistencies, you must make a tour if you are awake between midnight ~ dawn when from wells, the visions, the fluids and the words are drawn they, the residuals of a man's *********** between other humans, akin, and the thriving discourse between man and gods of invisible powers,   that offers insanity as a viable solution, to cracking the coded human DNA, we exchange in silence from need, to translate ourselves to each other
0
Feb 2, 2019
Feb 2, 2019 at 8:48 AM UTC
neither cyber or cypher (Poem #1)
am a human tool, a drawing pencil, shedding skin cells and lead from the no. 2 pencil in my saliva am **** and blood, skin and hair, all come-go, return re-tuned, at their own chosen speed, gen of regeneration am cracks and orifices, filling and emptying obediently, to the tidings of the grieving gravity of my moon's decisions that govern the lunatic cycle you may kiss me with all your heart into a robust welcoming, scorn me with spittle and deem unfit, I know the difference and it is inconsequential am, see me as combustible or flat, airless and empty, as a new or a two day old birthday balloon, or an abbreviated haiku, that makes the reader gasp for the reasoning for breathing think of me as a meme who responds to the touch of your nippled forefinger,  but my powers are unlisted, therefore unlimited for I am neither cyber or cypher though aesthetically they appear as parts of my humanity, a human machine forever reprogramming to new stimuli sensulating, such as the temperature of your breath, the many disparate odors of you, the curve of your eyes, the wetness of moist places inputs that bear emergent newborn children notions in my chested cavernous gas chambers, the bellum bellies of my brain my digital describe in thousands of computers do hide, but to comprehend the interacting calculations that are my constancy and my inconsistencies, you must make a tour if you are awake between midnight ~ dawn when from wells, the visions, the fluids and the words are drawn they, the residuals of a man's *********** between other humans, akin, and the thriving discourse between man and gods of invisible powers,   that offers insanity as a viable solution, to cracking the coded human DNA, we exchange in silence from need, to translate ourselves to each other
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34
Because the day will come where they come for you and all you love. They better pray to their god, and beseech their idols of control, that they are as dangerous as I.
0
Apr 11, 2023
Apr 11, 2023 at 7:30 AM UTC
Si Vis Pacem Para Bellum
Silence! The field mice have scurried off, With the last of our sinister seeds In their spangled, spiteful masquerade Now the reddest of rivers carry wistful reveries Out to a cold, callous sea Tomorrow, the sun may climb once more But where peace sleeps, war dreams Coveter! Dwell within your own spirit, For these souls have wretched memories And their willful, wanton deeds May yet still sunder sons and daughters From mothers and fathers Tonight, we stitch our children back together Because where peace sleeps, war dreams
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Jan 20, 2021
Jan 20, 2021 at 4:17 PM UTC
Ubi Pax Dormit, Bellum Somnia
is so the scared battlefield. The beginning and the ending of the heart. And so saith by the latin tongue, "Bellum se ipsum alet", the war will feed itself. To this war, as lifetimes later to end, these warmen, these courageous maids none like the amazons, have fought wholeheartedly without restraint for the passions they’ve cared for, for love, for sorrow. The sun will shine and roses will flourish again like ever. This new age will bring us utter blissfulness and surely a proper burial for the battlemen.
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Oct 1, 2017
Oct 1, 2017 at 1:13 AM UTC
Love in BC
Onions peel off Layers by layers In a disarmingly Bittersweet way. It's like personas Beguiling Their players, Let crusty skins Come over Eventually. As ****** moths Flickering, Tenderly knitting A warm deadly Nightshade Over the moon. It's like everyone Mingling, Eagerly laying Crosses over naughts In a human Para bellum.
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Apr 16, 2020
Apr 16, 2020 at 3:53 AM UTC
When at night
We fight and strive for very little in the end. The results we seek never come easily and because of that, We suffer. Without preparation, Without knowledge, Without passion We become at war with ourselves, Seeking some type of short-term goal And we are satisfied with just that little. I choose not to take my anger out on you. You choose not to make assumptions about my actions. Yet you cut me down and we're back to square one. Screaming. Fighting. Crying both together and apart. Maybe one day we'll be stable again but until then, This resolve is okay for now. This battle isn't our forever.
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Oct 2, 2018
Oct 2, 2018 at 11:26 AM UTC
Para Bellum