"besmirched" poems
'tis a sad sad
tale of woe
of which I sing
of gods and godesses
and their lessening
how forlorn
the goddess Ceres
once loved by all
and wooed by many
when unprovoked
and unforeseen
a war was wrought
'gainst fair queen
caught unawares
her throne assailed
her forces scattered
'twas all unfair
cast down she was
from lofty throne
no longer crowned
no more beloved
pierced thru
with many thorns
belittled
and besmirched
her reputation
and now her station
lost far beyond
re-incarnation
silently
she slips away
lost
and near forgotten
wounded
and rarely seen
her sullen thoughts
of malice reign
shamed and bleeding
plotting her revenge
till time and chance
provide the proper
circumstance
then all the thorns
that pierced her thru
she shook as many blades
and hurled
those bitter barbs as one
'gainst Hades' mighty gates
shaken he
from his dark slumber
his rallied forces
armed in numbers
their banners raised
on solar breezes
as trumpets blare
thru breathless reaches
voices shout
in protestation
slide rules locked
in astrometric
calculations
oh see how Ceres
scorned and mocked
has wrought
her rotting vengeance
on Pluto's frozen rocks
"Oh woe to thee
my Persephone
flee thee now
to thy father's house
for thy husband's hearth
hath been broken
and Hades' home
now just a token
My lofty edifice
a shattered wrack
an' all that's left
'tis a humble
wretched shack"
Pic Poem
https://www.pix-star.com/media/cache_local/download/23fc881b88e812947b061094f5694d32/JPlutoThouHastFallen-e52.jpg
.
Apr 22, 2018
Apr 22, 2018 at 4:02 PM UTC
To some it’s all conjectural,
Philosophically conceptual.
You think you’re intellectual
But your reasoning is ineffectual.
Reviled both by heterosexuals
Insulted as well by homosexuals
And some ugly issues contractual
We are the besmirched bisexuals.
While it is the opposite of equality
It is the essence of our reality,
A warped straight-centric morality
Based on a Christianist plurality.
The straights tell us we must decide
Then put the other gender aside.
The complaints range far and wide
Even gay people opt to deride.
We don’t feel welcomed anywhere inside.
Why doesn’t tolerance coincide
When nobody seems to take our side?
It’s freedom, get on the bus and ride.
While it is the opposite of equality
It is the essence of our reality,
A warped straight-centric morality
Based on a Christianist plurality.
We know, after years of research
Gender choice is not learned in church.
It can be shaped with rods of birch
But those are better for birds to perch.
Denying us freedom is an ugly lurch
Past including truth in a morality search.
Back to when we were ruled by a church
And any variance was besmirched.
While it is the opposite of equality
It is the essence of our reality,
A warped straight-centric morality
Based on a Christianist plurality.
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 3:01 PM UTC
Shimmer highlights
Glitter heels
Make me dress
To his appeal
Make me a magnet
Of attraction
Objectify me
A distraction
Let me be an unholy thing
touched
Besmirched
On your whim
Be my prince
On my bed
I’m sleeping now
Between your legs
Saint Malady
Patron of the honest house
Enter through the backdoor
And let it be nothing more
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 6:02 AM UTC
well then shepherd in the mess why does that sharpened cowl of wheat surround those sweet yams in the satchel, some scene of loosening transgressions, no pear ripening itself one dull, and one unfulfilling afternoon, rolls down over its branch of sister and brother father and mother Bartletts from the stem, only to make its way into the bottom of that stretched out tawny hide. Where by the wayside every other nobody can see straight inside when a hand moves in, sweeps its fist and then goes deeply down into that can of rotten novelties we all hate, but you feel keeps us in suspense. I wonder will it ever end? Bells busting from the insides of their guts, another candy shock, up and bounces, popcorn kernels, roasted almond slivers, and some preceding green vegetable posted on the 8th St. Diner marquee display on 9th, another advertisement fighting at the sore, devoured hunger for that silhouette following closely behind the moistened wells where my brush dabs lightly into the cup before the gouache and paint mixture begin to dry, that is where I wait and wonder why? Why? Pained with hunger but besmirched with fright, skin sweaty, knotted like muslin yards growing weak against the coil. So humbling were the groans that nearly a decade crossed swiftly across his face, only five or ten minutes had passed before another twenty years flowed into the vast matrix of the rivers of blue sweat marked by estuaries, creeks, and streams across the brow, down the cheeks, and ultimately across the neck, lazing down into the chest, before settling its heavy panic soaking in the guts. Where a heavy glass brick has been vitrifying in the sun, never have two people seen the steamy and piping-hot quarry go from its conviviality and festivity of life, into this shriveled up tree having found its way into the prairie where giant winds bend its branches and enormous thunderstorms nearly strangle it with its own roots. Frisked by sin and pangs of nostalgia in which a thousand thoughts intersplice the whorls imprinted upon our brains.
Dec 11, 2018
Dec 11, 2018 at 6:57 PM UTC
Friends like fickle timepieces,
I'm studying these circling arms.
Today we're rubbing off the gold,
we're turning pockets inside-out
as I'm peeling off your clothes.
*The dandelion seeds are dancing,
tube between your teeth
lifting up the bell jar
to release the waning fumes of me.
We're disappearing
into shapeless smears on my white ceiling
I'm waking up
to shapeless smears on my white ceiling*
The dewy density of days
between our poems spoken wet and blooming
is just a thin and runny equinox
where sweet abstraction
becomes messes uncontained.
My fingertips and lungs are stained
with your stale and flavorless tepid rain;
hands still moving though I've stopped winding.
I don't know where, I don't know why
nostalgia shriveled up and died
now I'm just remembering.
Aug 5, 2013
Aug 5, 2013 at 2:46 AM UTC
Tempus Fugit:
Nought is eternal,
Nox is ephemeral,
And
The Charred Canvas
Of
The Night Sky
(Noctis Lucis Caelum,
Scala Ad Caelum)
Bedarkened & besmirched, bespeaks
A
Love-Worn Wayward, Wayworn.
In the
Citadel
Of mine
Temporal Heart
Time
Streams infinitely
As an
Exhalation of The Ethereal One.
The Chronology of
The Arbiter of Fates
Shalt Destine,
Herald Eternitas
Upon
The Phantasmagoric Horizon
Of
Mine Mind's Sky
Wondering
Upon
Days of Yore.
(The Hither,
The Thither,
And
The Morrow.)
These
Luminescent Children are
Are born
To wax Luminaries
Then,
Wax Nebulous
For all eternity.
O, Metempsychosis;
Born of
Edicts Unseen,
Of that
Which was,
Is,
&
Will Be.
(For
All things
Are
Circular & Cycling,
Existentially.)
We were conceived
Infinitely
To
Infinity
And beyond.
Let He, Let She
Whose
Ears & Eyes
Of
The Unuttered Anima
Be unstopped, unfurled
To resonations:
Deep within.
The Emerald Lifestream Anew
Dost begin.
The Sovereign of Songbirds sings
Esprit d' amour
To those who wait.
(Se' Lah.)
Jan 6, 2019
Jan 6, 2019 at 5:21 PM UTC
Lovely skies
Dark with clouds and rain
Leaden skies
Lead, Pb, Plumbum
Flat diffuse light, photographer's dream
Latin 4 lead = plumbum
We plumb our psychic oceans' depths, as the sailors did
With lead on their sinker lines
We plumb our depths if we choose
When we are earnestly explorative
Reflecting, meditating, in our psychic plumbing
Pb: the ugly duckling brother of glowing gold
Au of the aura Aurum
Both are soft, malleable, unassailable, & so helpful
Gold like Thor the glowing hero, lead like Vulcan the sooty artificer
We have made one the hero, and misused,
Demonized, besmirched the metal lead
Is it lead's fault we have put it in our paint, our gas?
That we made it accumulate in our fish, like fools?
Without lead, your car would not start
Imagine going on your trips on a mule
Or trundling down the road in an ox cart
Do not denounce lovely lead
Gravid, protector, quiet engine starter
Gently available to you to plumb your depths
Before your chapter's demise
Leaden skies
Lovely skies
Gravid with rain
Keep me grounded, serene and sane
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 2:52 PM UTC
when i am king
you will be strange
and my better angels will laugh
at me, but i will behead
the little piggies.
too gorgeous
to be besmirched
i will unearth your drama
and disown you.
i'll throw flying carpets
at mundane rugs
and shrug an Atlus
at Promethean
worlds
where
i have disfigured
the swan and the mallard
but not the lake.
taking care
to give you nothing
but the very best nothing
my Karma
can mock
and a dime for
your trouble
and be
gone.
for a price.
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 9:52 AM UTC
***Book One
(∞The Psalm of The Star Child∞)
The Precursor's Psalm I-V
To the Child of The Empyrean. For ye valleity stars shine.
(I) ―En Fortissimo
1 Tender with sentimentality,
I fathom you,
2 That you draw closer, nigh’ with every waking moment,
Closer to ensconce ‘twixt my embrace,
3 That your towering arms
May aegis these benighted bones.
4 The Vestibule of Our Souls shall be
Assoiled by an Arcadian Eternity,
5 Shall scintillate in my every blooded tear, shed garnetiferously,
―Upon my crucifix, our crucifix:
6 A penance, pardoning our transgressions prognostically
Before by romance, we touched erringly.
(Se'lah)
(II) Celestial Communion
1 O, Star Child,
May your beckoning
2 Sow the Seeds of Somnus upon the sanctimony
Festering in my faith,
3 (A besmirched hope)
Tarnished by my reverenc’d doubt.
4 O Minstrel of Manumission,
Will ye sing unto me ye SoulSong?
5 The Womb’d Aethers bleed,
The Terraqueous Mother conceives, Gaian a dream,
6 Her Luminous Brethren yearn
For the Arbiter of Fates.
(Se'lah)
(III) Song of Wishes
1 Velleity speaks,
It whispers,
2 In the twinkling of the stars.
When shall it end,
3 When
It has yet to begin?
4 Be still― and become one with all things,
As time fades, consciousness begins,
5 The Experiential Cascade:
All that was, all that is, & all that shall be,
6 Circular & Cycling,
Forevermore.
7 Know that there is a reason,
Know that there is a place,
8 Know that there is a person,
In this world for you.
9 Open up your heart and see,
All you were meant to see.
(Se'lah).
(IV) Spiritus de Tempus (Zeitgeist of the Future)
1 ―Blooming in Reminiscence
The Dreamscape glistens,
2 A Redolent Reverie wafts
The Tenuous Air amidst
3 Her Zephry'd Lightwaves
& Crystalline Pulsations.
4 Ardently I pine,
For thine visage, groping for a rhyme,
5 Whence I can gaze once more upon thine
Countenance sublime,
6 All desperations been defied,
For thee I reverberate Love, The Spirit of the Times.
(Se'lah)
(V) Bastion Heart
1 The agony in existentiality
Unravels undying piety
2 And
Cloistered in cadence of solitude,
3 I, the Somnolent One,
Am roused by The Heart’s Resonance.
4 In wanting, there is life,
In desirelessness, wanting still,
5 Know thine Power,
Indomitable Will:
6 The Couer & The Amour of the Spirit
Are immortal.
(Se'lah)***
May 19, 2019
May 19, 2019 at 8:05 AM UTC
There's a hole in my wall which the wind whistles through
And the wallpaper's mouldy and calamine blue
The carpet besmirched with a decade of grime
And the pattern is lost to a happier time
The journals and books where my memories stay
Have mixed and submerged in a fearful array
The curtains hang tattered in woeful neglect
Where the mildew and fungus and beetles collect
There's a hole in the floor where the mice have a nest
Where the walls creak and groan like a cancerous chest
And a puddle emerges from under the door
Like a serpent, it winds on the laminate floor
Underfoot, fragments of crockery crunch
Still stained with the leavings of long ago lunch
There's a rattle and scratching of verminous claws
The spoon never stirs so the *** never pours
There's a crack in the window that lets in the rain
Where it runs in a rivulet right down the pane
The mattress is rotten and rusted inside
Bacteria thrive and amoeba divide
The ceiling is sagging from waterlogged beams
And catches the sunlight with putrefied gleams
Like powder, the plaster is fast in retreat
With it's choking secretions, the air is replete
There's a trace of a life that was never fulfilled
Like a drink only sipped and then carelessly spilled
There's hope of a future and trinkets amassed
But frittered away and consigned to the past
The wires are old but the bulbs are still new
And pictures of vigor are hanging askew
As if from existence, vitality blinked
A carcass remaining though life is extinct
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 11:10 AM UTC
In a Garage During a Storm
I am besmirched with arrogance,
Besmirched with rage,
Knowing that with every Red Neptune
succeeds rage,
That I would ever address you.
But I am that white spider that climbs to the
Top of the car’s antenna,
And with one cigarette puff drops
To the middle spine,
And with a second puff,
Drops to the coccyx.
And so, I see that
Modern airplane rise above the smog clouds
And feel humbled.
That white spider who saw through so many eyes
The leg-widths
and pulls
Of such a journey
Reflected in the metallic chrome
Of the slick monument pointing toward the sky
In such a reverential, altar-like hand
Brandished toward the stars
Now slipping away
Like the horizon that recedes at twilight.
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 11:33 PM UTC
When drinking far too much and then some more
Expected downsides documented well
Rough ride in psyche, body, gut, and heart
Specific atrophy in frontal brain
Quick charm and nutty humour now all shell
These changes, bad alone, but all combined
Resulting rolling snowball to a curse
No more the looming risks are sharp perceived
No more a likely readiness to change
Slow-building damage cures cannot reverse...
*The body
then the brain
then the readiness to change*
In adding to the insults body-wise
Dear close relationships will suffer ill
And ringing loud the chant of "change yourself"
while far and getting further from the change
All options feel like holds against thin will
The heavy stigma punches surely down
More evidence for judging soul as dirt
Not worthy of the care or patient time
That social justice would dictate for all
No room for being tricky, lost, and hurt...
*The stigma
then the hurt
then the treating you like dirt*
And even those with training in support
Will waver, shifty, turn their gaze away
Unable to identify the soul
That suffer-trembles underneath the mask
The clowning chaos, drink-besmirched display
And carers left to weep and wonder why
Should care be so impossible to give
Your daughter damaged, injured in the fight
With drowned despair and stigma-staking rage
Sad, wounding warmth that shame will long outlive...
*The weeping
then the care
then the shaming and despair*
"We just can't help if you can't change yourself"
So in this caring, wounding, weeping storm
Just conjure up the readiness to change
Or cede to judgement, shifting gaze, and blame
Feb 17, 2025
Feb 17, 2025 at 1:00 AM UTC
I thought I knew you, thought you tried, thought you loved me,
But who was I?
Who was I that was to be found, to be loved by someone like you,
Who was I?
I was broken,
I was used,
Turns out I still am, by the likes of you.
But who are you?
Who are you to tell me this, tell me that,
Tell me I can or cannot,
You hold me close, then just throw me afar,
I’m sick,
Just sick,
Sick of ******** sick of lies, sick of your ******* perfect guise.
I hate you so, I really do,
I swore to myself that I was through,
I swore, even though I knew, that I would just come back,
Come back to you,
You said you loved me,
Said it was true,
I said I did too,
I knew it was you,
Knew you were the one,
But you just got up and left,
Said you were done.
I fell apart,
I couldn’t take the fact that you tore my heart,
So I tore myself,
I tore myself wide open,
I made myself hurt,
Like you hurt me, but more physical,
I was in a denial,
I couldn’t handle what had happened,
I cut, I cried, but worst of all, I died,
I died,
Not in the literal sense of course,
But none the less, I died.
Then you came back,
Oh did you come back,
With your apologies, and your sweet loving embrace,
I couldn’t help it, my heart did start to race,
I felt that love, that passion, that fire,
My need for you was terribly dire,
I accepted your apology,
I didn’t think twice,
Then you did it again, but not so nice.
I couldn’t believe it happened again,
But now, thinking back on it now and then,
I realized you were to blame, not me,
You were to blame, for all the shame,
I did nothing wrong,
You were the one with the mental disorder,
Leaving scars and such all over,
You never physically hit me, but all the same,
You hit me where it hurts, all the emotional pain,
You said so many things, and you besmirched my name,
I knew that things would never be the same.
The cuts healed over, and so did all the other wounds,
My self-inflicted ones of course, not the ones from you,
I don’t know why you did this,
I still don’t to this day,
You came into my life, and left just like that,
You loved me then hated me at the drop of a hat,
I couldn’t stand it, apparently neither could you,
You just left me broken,
You left me without you.
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 5:13 AM UTC
What's worse than
behavior
running amok?
What's worse than
betrayal
self-imposed?
I'll tell you
the
conclusion
I've
drawn tonight.
In my marrow
enmity grows,
infects my self-regard.
How else did I find
myself here, dejected,
wholly wet
pursuing
brief contentment
through besmirched
eyeliner
streaming my face
in a mirror,
in your home,
at night without a car?
I'll catch the TriMet
to my bed, once again.
Jun 15, 2017
Jun 15, 2017 at 7:40 PM UTC
The restaurant where I often eat has a raw cinderblock shell to show the world
It was painted a long time ago, when a new owner bought it out
It was meant to beautify, it didn't work
But I guess it's the thought that counts.
On the East wall, near one corner, is a rectangle of thick white paint
in a field of grime. Always fresh, always clean.
It is marred by a series of looping black slashes.
Stare at them for long enough, relax the muscles behind your eyes, let them slip out of focus
And you'll start to see letters
In the dipping and diving bands of black.
It's writing
An alien calligraphy
People as woefully uncool as you or I weren't meant to decode it
There is energy in the strokes though.
It's a performance frozen at it's moment of completion
You can see velocity, grace, excitement, a little fear, and a deft, darting contempt.
All of these things in the broad and narrow ribbons of paint.
When I'm in the right sort of mood, with a full stomach and a lazily sunfried imagination, with the heat from the asphalt making things in the middle distance quaver,
I can make out the dim shape of the artist.
See where they stood, the sweep of their arm
the turn of their head, wary of witnesses.
Days in and out, it goes on.
Bare white one day,
blackened, besmirched, beautiful the next.
The snowy rectangle grows thicker.
Why the owner never stakes out his restaurant one night, I'll never know.
Why the artist doesn't venture beyond that one little pen, or choose a new wall entirely
will remain a mystery, probably for all my breaths to come.
It's like some mad story penned by a poor, gibbering lunatic.
Each is doomed to a war neither can win, and neither can lose.
I bend double I'm laughing so hard
They take it so seriously.
But then, don't we all have our petty conflicts?
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 9:59 PM UTC
Fragmented wails
Shards of a broken hourglass
Decrepit candelabras ––
Dusty relics I conjure up
When your scent dances my way
Desolate sighs
The farewell letter you never
Cared to address to me ––
Memories that corrode like acid
When you idly spell my name
Glistening strands of gold
Inscriptions on my back
Daybreaks that infuse vigor ––
Things that vanquish my resistance
When I wallow in the past
***
*We were never compatible;
Of different calibre and breed
But our besmirched souls
Are as indistinguishable as twins*
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 6:24 PM UTC
Now I feel remorse
having besmirched this clean page
with these very words.
Jan 2, 2011
Jan 2, 2011 at 8:43 PM UTC
i am not of a mind,
to be inspired today.
i have read much,
of love and beauty,
but it...holds no sway
my mind dwells,
in the realm,
practical things.
like a housekeeper,
with a list of chores
she must bring,
to a close before,
picking up her paycheck
and easing into,
her comfortable clothes..
so, squat and stolid,
my mind works, hard,
throughout this long
and dreary day.
cleaning windows,
dusting souls.
vaccumming carpets
and scrubbing hearts.
then, packing,
the washing machine,
with ***** thoughts
and besmirched linen...
that needs sometime
to dry out,
in the bright shining sun.
i am not of a mind,
to be inspired today...
i may, just slumber on
til,
the housekeeper,
is done.
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 6:43 PM UTC
bookends are better than none
everything falls when we add something in
better we find, familiar in kind
than everything falling on end.
Everything falling on end
that's how it goes when we think that we share
something it's not, and all of that rot
better to stack 'em up there.
Better to stack them up there
don't need the floor space and don't even care
from where I am perched, less often besmirched
but I'd rather a bookshelf to share.
I'd rather a bookshelf to share
got plenty of wall space and welcome one there
you can have your own shelves and just keep to ourselves
or mix 'em all in if we dare!
Oct 14, 2015
Oct 14, 2015 at 6:07 PM UTC
I took a walk looking for a reason to come back home,
And searched for Beatrice along the way.
I too, a wayfarer looked for a response that cannot be homogenized
And sorrowed for breathlessly asking, “Then when?”
I told another woman, “Let Freud’s analysis reach that conclusion”, but how?
And subliminal feelings become another threatening worry.
I thought a word, lachrymose, finite, and resonant. That concisely besmirched her.
And subsequently forgotten, but always tacit, “Why?”
I think about why looking for a reason to correspond becomes hopeless.
And Sisyphus falls backwards against the weight…
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 12:02 AM UTC
Precocious, finding a love
In the bared morn, a hat to liberty
Seldom in league, fame is a corner of us
True, the notion to fend for essentiality
Count me in, a friend will notice
The taste in harmony and new pasts
To a climate of sense, serious enough
To limit one more stare to avarice...
To the common ground
Of a silent watch, for better call, to contrary
Sake, we deem the curious without a sound
Meant like a ghost of reality, the truth to carry...
A hint of a clue to worry for a besmirched eye
Known naked like a shrewd patience was...
See the coiling heat of me, when the silence has died
Will a lovers flower land on the needs, succinct does?
**** terror in the frown of ingenue
Spoken worlds of decision, to look for a paradises crowd
Hope and chastity, will the run fast or few?
Letting tongues remember their gifts, we see a legend proud...
Tales of the adding
Tales of supremacy come to a tout
Of what was, a hap in the skew of misery profound enough, linger
With me, when the careful ability of an energy, is in route
Past, present, future
Compared in a heavenly guise, of choice and meagerer sorts
Let like a flicker of light, in the behalf of a wish, so curious
Made by solemnity, to live the life of privilege, of the times we were
Mar 31, 2023
Mar 31, 2023 at 2:40 PM UTC
if i know a strength then i know a weakness
(and i know it)
come
right over
here and i'll
tell
you
what
it
i s
(i'll whisper it to you)
and it is you!
it is in your slightest body's
cavities that is where it is
the 2 immeasurable heaps
of your breasts(who between
them hold that flittering stutter
of your love muscle)over your
tummy they distend perfectly
roundest and nubile
and over what a belly
that patient field of softest dermis
(but it's not perfect(and that's why i love it)
)it's besmirched by some little coarse darlings
who meander down its sloping palisade
into the impolite swarm of your hips
those dears creep down into a sturdy
copse of sharply culled(by little pretty pink
razors when you took a shower last night)
filaments(and those prickle babes poke and
tickle my nostrils as i build into your strongest
smallness a leaping vociferous erosion,
'
'
,
.
Dec 16, 2011
Dec 16, 2011 at 5:15 AM UTC
"With great dissatisfaction we propose to you a truce,
and further too, we relay to you, the lands of proof
In return all that we ask of you,
is to burn the land through,
and accept our lies as truth."
It was a lonesome room with little light
Men in suits, talking business and the like
Arab desert bombing, the news is very trite
Lack of remorse for families needing to fight
And the old men in suits care not, tonight
After bank statement perusing,
there's little left for sight
Cathedral bloodied, baron and besmirched
But by the hands of holy men that walk this Earth
We needn't look far to find the dirt
of deceitful white men, with desires so perverse
May 26, 2013
May 26, 2013 at 12:26 PM UTC
We'll be loud
Pushing back the doors with our callused hands
It's a revolution
One that we made with our besmirched American reputation and long oak hair
Things can change
We'll dance around
Letting go of what they tell us we can't do now
It's a revolution
One that we'll win with our strong voices and great zeal
We'll never silence the sound
Standing up even if they knock us down
It's a revolution
One that we'll feel with our faces against the stars
We'll be loud
Screams and shouts
Peace and proud
Oh, things can change
Feb 10, 2012
Feb 10, 2012 at 10:08 PM UTC