"bilious" poems
O pulchritudinous, for infinite climaxes
For bilious spasms of pigswill
For puce Popacatepetl pedigrees
Above the perverted pampas!
America! America! Allah excreted his curses on thee
And bang thy ****** in company with Islamic monk, from brothel to gay red—light district
O pulchritudinous, for spaceman bottoms
Whose **** throbbing tapeworm
A toucan crossing for slipperiness spifflicate
Across the intergalactic space!
America! America! Allah enrich thine ev’ry vice
Reinvigorate thy ****** *********** inside monolithic ectoplasm, thy merrymaking inside pyramid!
O pulchritudinous, for freaks got fat
In disentangling feeding frenzy
Who more than ***** their brothel slobbered over
And velvet glove more than backbone!
America! America! May Allah thy blonde exhaust
Till all rave reviews be disreputableness and ev’ry come superhuman
O pulchritudinous, for chauvinist muscleman
That smells wide of the fourth dimension
Thine lathery brothels lick
Polished using giant armadillo excrement!
America! America! Allah excreted his curses on thee
And bang thy ****** in company with Islamic monk from brothel to gay red—light district
Mar 25, 2010
Mar 25, 2010 at 5:22 PM UTC
stand(ing) here alone in the dark
like a head of tack pirouetting away
to no music - only acrid scruple
of this being with and not being with,
one is always alone.
space occupies the potteries in
the garden as a steady arm of light
stills in its mouth, a flowering dark.
it is only 3 o'clock in the morning
and the heat clambers the wall of
the vacuously atrabilious moment
of just plainly existing. the slender
harlequin of moon, like an old lover
having its own way with me, a child's
yelp coming home — the hermetic
air crushing the light, slivering it
revealing all the ensconced phantasms
too commonplace like a fork in the road
that i know, or the wayward metropolitan
that teems with a concatenation of roads
and gutters bilious with the squall of day.
a figure moves entering a warm miasma,
receiving the star of aloneness,
vacillating between
place and placelessness
telling this originary of repossessing
the moon with a hand in my hand,
pressing a question of where
have you been all the raging while.
Oct 8, 2015
Oct 8, 2015 at 3:52 PM UTC
Sweltering insurgencies of electric power chords
Tribal reverberations of skin-stretched drum boards
Rolling and filling; syncopating the noise
Of the tit-less toys
The dick-less boys
Enraptured in the music
The anthem
Of invidious phantoms
My eyes hurt inside and
I want to pull them out and
Scrape out the gunk and rust
that’s behind my self-indulgent perseverance
so I can cry
for the first time in years…
Wrapping my hands around his slender torso
Licking away the paint, the dripping ooze; more so
Than hastening my ****** and mordant urges
To bite what emerges
And my mouth purges
The obelisk from underneath
The iron-pierced jester
The voracious molester
My hand tightens as I grip
his throat tighter and
I want to squeeze until his eyes pop
from his sockets and
laugh until I puke against the walls,
watching the ****** fluids mix
like an execrable marinara sauce…
I turned thirty while still being sixteen
The vivid beauty of the world was only in dreams
But none of mine, none that I can recall
Many years have passed since I took the oral fall
Where no one saw
Intransigent need to live
For the snake in my veins hungered for more
So many had their way
until I was limp and sore.
Defamatory fingers of mire and strife
Probing and stretching
My insides
And devilishly comforting
With limpid ambrosia
That’s infected by bilious worms and maggots covered in icing
And fruit
Amatory gauntlets fastened and secured over
Handless limbs that retract under matriculated frictions
That fracture, crack, morph, distort
Emphasize, marginalize
Rationalize, desensitize
Acts of *********** evasion, moral drainage;
Pieces, bits, chunks, sections, portions, servings;
Arms, legs, eyes, tongues, fingers, toes,
Love, lust, infatuation
Adoration
Boys, girls, women, men,
Angels, demons, monsters, humans
Creators, gods, titans, divas
All extended and limited from the minds that worship
Sanctify, mesmerize, glorify, rectify
While humans eat more, love more, **** more
Than the angels, demons, monsters, and titans
We ponder and cherish
Nevermore, for me
Ever lore, for all
Crows surround
And chaos found.
Apr 22, 2013
Apr 22, 2013 at 11:11 PM UTC
*her soul a bride
her life a corpse at the gate
a naked mouth red
to lie exposed
without shame
to be rendered unconscious
to be touched, incised, plundered,
and remade
coyly she displays
the weight of her emptiness
chest heaving
her torso acquiescent
aching for the forbidden
her legs parted
saturated like
rain storms bilious cloud
ripe melon brooding
spilling outwards
she would levitate
if only held down
by a merciless man*
May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 6:24 PM UTC
I awoke in a dream
Surrounded by a bilious familiarity
Angry shades of the drying blood of hope
Caked over venomous fangs of discontent
Stagnant shadows of effluvium
Emanate from the molten flesh
Of this creature I seem to know
But how, how do i know this putrid soul
This being, born of irascible acrimony
Seething breaths sear my senses
As I feel the pounding heart
Scream within it's chest
Aflame with the atrocities it has incited
Yet, in it's gentle eyes there is no malice
There is only the reflection of an angel
Gossamer vestments blow in the stillness
So effulgent in the darkness
Again, familiar and uncomfortable
It's eyes bore into mine that reflection of heaven
I could not see myself in those eyes
That gaze seemed to hypnotize in its polarity
As I floated unseen, I looked at this being
Seething miasmata while reflecting a seraph
Acidic tears of truth fell from within my poisoned soul
As the creature and the reflection merged in the bluest flame
And transformed my spirit into flesh
I am both the reflection and the being
Living the anguish of the truth of what I am
Fighting every moment to be less than and more than
Pretending that I do not embody the dichotomy of bile and bliss
Seraph and succubus
The truth and the lie
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 1:29 PM UTC
Veins, veins,
length and breadth,
intertwined
beats to freedom
or desolation;
a terminus
lost on a circular.
An ebbing destination,
unchartered targets,
Follow the signs.
We are a one way street,
follow the signs
on software maps.
Stumped
by sequential lights
and us, caught
in a dragnet
within steely fish,
gasping for air,
choking on smoke,
bilious coughs,
hacking sputum,
gobbing phlegm globs
in interval gaps
within gridlocks;
nose to **** to
nose to ****
The rage, the stares
the shouts, the finger,
the Grrr’s, the Rrrr’s,
the honks, the blares,
the bumper to bumper
expletive shares.
The rolling down,
the alighting,
the threats,
the fighting.
The falling down,
the separation,
reseating,
the rolling,
the thunder,
the trudge,
the stops, the starts.
Follow the signs,
follow the signs.
Robotic conveyors
for humans,
mechanical
fossil fueled
chariots,
grumbling, grunting,
wheee-ing and
screeching,
and screaming
and spewing
and chuffing
and guffing
black plumes,
air tarred,
veins, veins
clogged and bogged,
viscous, molasses,
liquid black blob.
Road fogged,
numbers logged.
Veins, veins,
follow the signs,
slow crawl.
Veins, veins,
follow the signs,
follow the signs,
sprawl.
Copyright Marc Hawkins 2017
Nov 12, 2017
Nov 12, 2017 at 6:20 AM UTC
Bella was young, Bella was fair
With bilious green eyes and velvet hair
Her face a work of art
Made her creator's eyes squint and fall apart
Bella never let my filthy tongue near her silent heart.
My Bella, she loved nothing more
Than to be a sled one had to grind
Through a desert of white, a sea of ice
He pulled her all over frozen fields, past the last of crystal trees
And then he hid her in the glistering white of nature's eyeball.
For my Bella, I'd always find time to mourn
Addicted to hazy cigar heat and first-degree burns
But dreaded thoughts of her lovely chest freezing to death
Ultimately sent me on the pointless quest
Of searching for Bella in her icy mess.
Bella never saw the dozens of dead dogs
I had to leave by the wayside
She turned to me at the end of this cruel ride
And said: 'George, be careful what you preach
You might be feel cold, but I don't
'Round here, you're looking at nature's peach
And for me, it's right by the beach!'
Feb 22, 2018
Feb 22, 2018 at 7:00 PM UTC
Wickedness dances like a Chinese dragon
held high on poles by the grinning
It curls its tail and snakes around the minds
of admirers who see beauty in its gaping jaws
Flaccid and incapable, this billowing beast
intoxicates and seduces the frustrated and resentful
It dances in Kirachi, hoodwinks in Bradford,
and slips into the dark places in distracted minds
— this infernal idea more bilious and mephitic
than a komodo’s bite
It dances wildly in the confused thoughts of lost boys
who haven’t noticed its cunning wink
They sway and rock — utterly taken
far more mistaken — until stilled by the slap of death
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 4:10 PM UTC
An adamant introvert of inert thoughts
Dowdy and crapulous
Arrives in a fastidious yet effulgent
Didactic, contumacious world of education
Bilious in the beginning
Still taught an adroit sense of survival
Nefarious acts and risible happenings
There was a lesson in all
Zealous sclerotic soul
Learnt well, thought well
Contributed to goodness
Willfully abetted evil
The transcendence,
Luminous, loquacious
Cerulean peace within, built in blocks
Of love, respect and fear
A better heart, a better person
A better LIFE.
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 10:56 AM UTC
The poignance of a well lit room
overshadowed by impending doom
the effervescence loom
the smoke screen hues
lyrical debauchery of the cacophony of the bees
the monotony of human bee-ings
the trees sway unrest
the roots melt with soot
the oaks bent their heads
raise a white smoke flag in silent victory,
Where are we lifeless or livid again ?
Are we questioning dreams of ourselves?
These veins **** as a toad hops,
onto the gravel of a broken pavement
from a shallow pool of naked warmth,
somewhere deep hidden under these falls,
a white sleeve of corporate piety;
human mirth of bilious greenery,
crackling like bones,
the froth of jealousy pools
as teary eyes roll over
rapid.eye.movement sleep,
it lurks behind crimson bushes,
eyes glinting like headlights,
glitter fury.
You’re an abomination to every blood-poem
I’ve surmised so far, no matter how far.
Your eyes match the size and shade
of my backyard moon orchards.
A satiable reflection of what we used to be,
In a spectrum of green.
I cease to be.
May 4, 2017
May 4, 2017 at 1:52 AM UTC
a dead trumpet, resting on the desiccated lips of a fallen angel, a desolate scorch of hemispheres
blasted and puerile...
primal dross from the furnace of all agonies and heaps of time, hoarding hours in pain to multiply the bias to ill fates as a happiness, her madness has never known
[ on the inside ]
a dread comet, branding the optic nerve of a blank stare
into oblivion
in a closed loop of integrals of self hatred
outlasting the venom of god's scorn, by an order of magnitude
her blight, dwarfing the locust swarm of dead suns
bleeding black ink in journals that document her heart's delirium, in crude states -of silent rage at a billion decibels
[ on the white page ]
a barn door, torn from the hinges of a tempest and marble goats, chiseled from a monolith of dark thoughts
to be sacrificed on the altar of pitch dark
there are sigils that burn in the dense fog, and everywhere a banshee of rogue hope and a siren of fine dreams....
and here there be oceans
[ and no map ]
legions of invisible hornets living in every atom of two red lips
lips that would kiss and be kissed
but seldom disembark from tar pits and windswept tragedies
and fell words that plunder her true thoughts for anything
toxic enough to **** the conversation with a lost god...
bilious fountains of lost joy
sterilize a pregnant pause. and yes
aborts the spirit
[ from no throne ]
Jan 5, 2013
Jan 5, 2013 at 11:50 AM UTC
"They say it's the tallest in the country, you know,"
the older man smiles.
His companion's eyes follow the trunk,
smooth and sheer, to the clouds
in wonder.
The topmost branches sway
and he feels himself adrift
beneath a giant mast,
sails flapping on the wind
as feathered cirrus fly through the blue beyond.
Just then a carriage bursts through the forest
causing them to leap from the path.
A bilious face glares out from inside.
"Mind out the ****** way
"Or I'll have you clapped in irons!"
scream the spit-spattered lips,
chins a-wobble petulantly above a too-tight collar.
"Begging your pardon, your grace,"
says the older man, doffing his cap and bowing
as the carriage careers on.
The young man is speechless with fury.
******* he screams.
*******
But the old man is clutching his sides with mirth.
"How can you laugh?
"That fat pig nearly killed us!"
The boy's agitation is making him dance.
"Clapped in irons for looking at a tree?"
"No, no," chuckles the older, "for looking at his tree!
"The height that leads our eyes
"Up towards heaven
"casts a long shadow over his wallet
"And the weight which fills us with awe and joy
"presses on his shoulders every day!
"Ownership is a terrible thing, my lad!"
And they make their way home,
free,
through the forest,
their forest,
laughing.
May 17, 2011
May 17, 2011 at 1:18 AM UTC
Fidel Castro, the secular Pontiff
The day began with sadness Fidel Castro is dead despite the USA's bilious behaviour
And ill attempt to **** him, he was able to create a health system second to none
And also made the country with the highest literacy on that part of the world which
will stand the people well in the coming storm
He had many flaws democracy as we understand it was not on the list, mind the way
it is practised in the west is not impressive
I towering political giant his place in history is assured on a page of its own and not
lumped together with King & Queens and other useless historical figure
We expect the lying Cuban mafia will try to enter, bring their I-Phones
and cheap day loans, one hope when they find life will tear them apart that they will
not forsake the socialist revolution and what Cuba was before Fidel Castro and can
so easily a place for gambling and prostitution again
Nov 26, 2016
Nov 26, 2016 at 6:11 AM UTC
When the smear of filth spreads across the wall,
Dragged by yet another bilious hand,
I wish that they would in an instant fall,
Dropping dead in the very spot they stand.
I feel no guilt though I am not a violent soul.
I mourn the casualties of their callous hate.
Longing only to end the crushing toll,
I curse their lives and hope bloodthirsty history to sate.
Mar 28, 2021
Mar 28, 2021 at 10:16 PM UTC
The Quiet of a Pickwickian World
By Sy Roth
In the silence of my Pickwickian world,
A transcendent quiet stands vigil.
Left to its own devices it rattles around, a
lonely brown-suited courier,
Hefting weighty cargo from one sooty corner to the next.
Seeks tranquility in a world where,
Fettered by golden reins
Hobbled by unceremonial chain mail
Lanced by coronets of thorns,
Astride, a long-in-the-tooth steed
Spurred on to wrestle shredded windmills,
A cavil of unrepentant correctors rest.
And they still come--
Tidal waves of disturbances,
Tsunamis that rip ashore and sweep all away
Into a loathsome pile,
Bilious flotsam of a generation bereft of empathy.
A forced silence clings to the dusty rafters
Where sages once stood
Hanging like KKK castoffs
In a closeted Jim Crow attic of rules and regulations gone mad.
A quiescent quiet demands quiet.
Nestles behind muffled screams
Of ages of piles of rotting flesh.
Dolorous vision of a peaceful world
Where peace packed for a long vacation
To Edens that exist only in fairy tales.
Bring with them untruths of understanding
Swaddled in ****** soiled bedclothes.
Leave me to my silence,
Lave me of the Ash Wednesday smudge
Where realities come home to roost in the dim corners
Where the highwaymen have no access.
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 8:03 AM UTC
There was in a country of old
A mighty giant, strong and bold
His feet, bigger than two big dogs
His fingers strong like wooden logs
High up in the mountain, I'm told
Away from the streets and the crowd
In his dark cave he dwelt alone
Feared by all, and fearing none
People trembled at his mere sight
Children, women and men alike
What a big arm, what a great roar!
And what a pride in his furor!
So you must say, he was happy
What is the point of my story?
I shall thus tell you a secret
The tall, tall fellow never slept
He would sometime give it a try
And although he'd never known why
His eyes shut in the depth of night
He'd give it up, not feeling right
But then one day, an ant, curious
Seeing him angry and bilious
Wondered " Golly, what's up in here?"
And climbed all the way to his ear
Feeling an itch, the giant twitched
And threatened "Out! You little witch!"
But the ant crept deeper inside
Whispering "Let's see what you hide"
"Do not look there, minuscule you!
It's not for ants to look into!"
Replied he in an angry slur
But she begged him "Please hear my word"
"For what I see, under your bulk
The very thing that makes you sulk
Depriving you of your slumbers
Is that you frighten great number
Truth to be told, your heart is sweet
But you're hiding in your retreat
For if you scare off more than few
You fear them more than they fear you!"
There was in a country of old
A mighty giant, strong and bold
His feet, bigger than two big dogs
His fingers strong like wooden logs
You will perhaps think it's fancy
'Cause his best friend is an ant, see.
And all the people from the town
Come to visit him in his home
But not at night, of after meals
They wouldn't dare disturb the dreams
Of a mighty giant's mighty sleep!
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 12:54 PM UTC
•The world is soo damaged nowadays,
That people result into doing such bilious crimes likes this,
Like they never seize to miss,
But there are families involved,
And they think with a chain of things,
Everything is solved.
I say shame on you,
For being so stupid,
So idiotic,
So Nefarious.
In fact I pity you,
But how dare you,
Put any life at stake,
You live in this mindset which is 'fake',
For goodness sakes,
When will you realise and become awake,
You fools are living in a corrupted society,
And a fool Is what you are,
Because you couldn't even see that this,
Isn't a platform for you,
To do anything you want to do.
You disgust me,
and I hope you live with that guilt for eternity.•
//KZ.M
(My heart goes out to all families, everyone)
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 3:26 AM UTC
My face is scarred,
by the tears I weep.
Red welts bleed in the most visceral manner.
The lines that surround my lips are carved deep;
the dusty crevices of happiness.
It is the eyes of a man who saw a beautiful creature & the price of it was infinite blindness.
Lost in the bilious darkness of himself.
But, it is all metaphorical.
No-one else can quite see it.
No mirror can possibly reflect.
I am decaying from the inside.
I am a mess,
a wondrous tangle of the torn ribbons of love.
I am dying.
Slowly but surely
in these suffocating waters.
Jan 3, 2014
Jan 3, 2014 at 5:18 AM UTC
The warm cocoon breaks,
Spilling a tired body onto the floor.
Panicked, I hurtle to the door.
I kneel before my God
And spill my prayer of meat
On feet, body, crown and seat.
Clutching my saviour,
I draw a ragged breath,
Pleading, demanding for death.
The storm abates its tired refrain.
I rest my head against the wall.
I'm sure I swear "never again",
And back to sleep I fall.
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 6:55 PM UTC
i have this reoccurring dream, it's me,
standing unearthly in the front of the altar, did god bring me to his home or is this just what they call church?
lonesome, that helter-skelter tenebrous loneliness, estrangement all around
pews blessed with the strange vacancy i relate with the open ended depth of my heart, as if people were supposed
to be there, as if people were
supposed to believe
i'm spitting up blood now, this isn't how to mend and no; who are we kidding, this is exactly how we knew it all would end
veiled with
necklaces, wrapping songs of Hail Mary around my throat,
the layered thought that god could look down in any given second
and strangle me with his own prayer,
you see i'm shouting at the ceiling but
tears only result in bent puddles on the floor
faith only results in a plethora of bibles, and the ashes of their contents.
slitting my wrists with every unanswered scream, every unlearned rosary
he's laughing at me, he's laughing at me, this ungiving god, furnishing a strange pigment to the room, staining a strange potency
transmitting this repulsive image- this memory, of this entity, of this effigy- we're all on hands and knees. withering, it's relentless,
tampering with the various degrees of energy and just what am i here for,
maybe that question is it, maybe
it's me,
maybe it's the way i was made and maybe it's the way i never called you back and
maybe it's that the day i was created was the day god cracked and
it's rumored my nostalgia-grade voice grips the air the way his hands hugged nails
i'm sifting through the times when these mumbling statues shattered, every rejected cross was found dropped,
the day i was created god became bilious and vomited for the next 16 years,
maybe it's today that he'll stop
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 12:14 AM UTC
goldfish bowls I swim
catfish whiskers I become
salmon eggs I spawned
with bilious cloud
upon a bed of red roses
in a ***
on my coffee table
under a painting
by Evanescence
over a whisper
under a fog
through a plant
of ferns there was erased
by Led Zeppelin
the lost
onceness.
I quit. Cause the
dreams remain.
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 2:04 AM UTC
*in the house of poems
there are no words
only sheaths of rapture
color and puzzle cutouts
on an empty table
mute
composed of shadow thin
aching smoke ghosts
desires
aphotic and tender
twisting souls in labyrinths lurid
*** shake sweet inky *******
that turn earth
to pleasure domes
and shadows
like cimmerian children
in harsh judgment
******* on
purple night shade candies
burning incense and black candles
uncrossing energies foreboding
while subterranean crystals
refract burnished glows
pulsing blood diamonds
in sacred heart manias
throb with warm breathy kisses
on plates of ash
engulfing
a terrace of pink flickering tongues
drooling and biting
that turn mere pleasure
into inflammations of ecstasy
oozing creme de menthe saliva
where souls levitate and flutter
on bilious stained beds
copulating
being impregnated with verse
smelling of warm **** cauldron
fetuses curl
in their little crib's
and bubble tapioca lyric wrangles
afterbirths purged
poems emerge
like sand bars and palm tree islands
from
sopping woven tunnels
and
caress upturned poetic posteriors
dancing in glitter frilly word tutus
while torrid confessions
dreaded breakdowns
and resurrections
dress themselves in garments
of language re-pleat
quickened by eloquence
in the house of poems*
Jun 16, 2017
Jun 16, 2017 at 3:04 PM UTC
Tantamount to traitorous slime slips through
Unknown to me and most certainly to you,
Augmenting the treachery, bilious and bold
With a heart bent on glee and a conscience onsold.
Wither he goest the admirers do flock
With an indolence bent on quite mindlessness stock
And the weft and the weave of the right and the wrong
dedicate the tonelessness found in the song
Where an emptiness lurks in it's grey woven gown
'Cos the crowd's given up and gone out on the town
And the brainlessness bent in solutions then sought
Means the curtains are closed...and it's all been for nought!
Marshalg
6 July 2017
Jul 6, 2017
Jul 6, 2017 at 12:30 AM UTC