"blathering" poems
Autonomous talking faces
Blathering on & on about
Endless government *****
Like a perpetually new iPhone
There's an App for every view
Install. Use. Reboot.
Multi-dæmon robocop
Seduces his sci-fi fans
With tales of grandeur & success
A printer spliced with a vacuum
Pay it with ink; have it print what you want
It'll **** you good
And then
Late at night in the quiet of a Sunday moon
The zeitgeist peels off his human suit
Plugs itself into the wall
And has cybernetik ***
With its self-aware CPU.
Jul 9, 2012
Jul 9, 2012 at 9:28 PM UTC
*Leaving the windows open
and the miles the same
as black waters curl
between our southern toes.
The long way to you
is engorged with short speech
and our blathering tongues
well versed in ******
memes.
We are not without design.
but we assume the worst, regardless...
farm our beetles to the sticking place
and etch firebrands in orchids
lording over under-frost
and deplorable
sins.
we grieve as we ****** shame
from the wick of burning candles...
at both Ends.
our every scandal, more luscious
than desolation would have
Us both.
we choke on the plumes
of our disconnect
and close our
Throats.
And leave again
Love's Ghost.*
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 1:07 AM UTC
Its annoyance
Anointed
In pessimistic clairvoyance
Its the avoidance
Of the simplistic
And stoical
Components
Its motion
Less
Ness
In oceans
Of lip service
Its ***** potions
For the passionate
Its fake ****
And face lifts
Its abortions
In portions
Of subordinates
As gifts
In gifs
Of gorgeous
Ordinance
Distorted
In tortured
Tapping
Of the dead
Its all the fame
In shoving
The pain
Of loving
In the oven
Of stubborn
Mothers
Blubbering
Under the covers
With other men
Its the omens
Of the oh mans
In roman
Misnomers
Of fortunate
Misfortunes
Torn
From time
Its the mine mine mines
Confined
To their own kind
Pre signed
In old blood
Its consignment killers
Its the drugs
Its timeless thrillers
Its the shrugs
Its the thunder
Plundering
Structures
Rattling out
From under the bed
Its all the thoughts
In our heads
Blaring
The booms
Of the tamed
Its the assumed
The restrained
Its this tomb
Of shame
In doing
The same
Old **** again
And again
Its been
Better
Then again
I grin
When
Cold
Its when i should fold
That i embolden
Its all the No's
Its blankets nose
Its the cut blow
And lack of flow
Its fists and elbows
As opposed
To safety locks
Its ******* flu shots
Its everything
That ****** me off
Its the the stupid robots
And the silly riot cops
Fencing in the famished flocks
Its the *****
And the *****
In plastic boxes
Giving rocks
Off
Without us
Its the gold pots
And stacked stocks
Locked
From us
Its the Rocks
Inside my socks
As they knock
The blocks
Of billy bobs
Bobbling
On the dash
Its the harsh
And its the rash
Its inside the last
Bastion
Of dummassez
passing
Through the
Blast radius.
Alas
Its the mass graves
And the paved pools
Of anyone who knew
Anyone who stood
Its all us fools
As cool kids
Knowing
No show biz
In soul ****
Its in knowing this
And ********
And barking
At the moon
Soon
To swoon
None
I am peaking soon
In looming threat
Of lost concepts
Slipping away
Under the sun
Electing to quit
While im ahead
Way back when
It was fun
Way back when
It mattered
Its a gun
Shooting blather
Blathering
As a bladder
Would
Misanthropic
And misunderstood
A changed topic
Knock on wood
Bye is good
Goodbye
Told you
Its implied
In rite
So
Good
night
Until
next
time
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 2:59 AM UTC
read it in the leaves of grass
withering as the time goes
marching past
we've sung of ourselves,
total selves, man and woman one,
*********** plumes of white cloudy
dreams into the holy skies,
total consummation,
writhing pleasure lips,
part smile, part begging,
total self-adulation
but,
the grass withers my old friend
those fields, tepid pools of oil
our skies, churning ebbs of burning progress
a civil war roils,
just beyond our yard
remnants of it tumbling within the square boxes
we worship for their divertive power
no longer brothers and fathers
north and south, pounding powder death
but,
mothers killing mothers,
fathers murdering their unborn
sons and daughters
a generation of human flesh
eats the soil of the earth,
drinks the blood of its rivers,
plunges its arms deep within
the arteries of the land pulling
forth trinkets and black milk
to feed our steel cattle
to ***** towering mirrors of our
false power and prestige and progress
and prowess of mind and prudence of judgment
no, no, no! lies of a blathering ***** unhinged,
we scream at our total selves, man and woman one,
this is not the song i intended to sing
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 9:07 AM UTC
i dream of you i dream with you,
following the musings of the aching poet
blathering hyperbolic verbiage
into subconsciousness
where we leave entwined mortal bodies
for the impalpable enclave
we have created.
i dream of you i dream with you,
in sleep our minds meld
over aching bodies
and lift our spirits
to the ethereal nether-realm,
where we roam
for eons
sauntering through the fields
of ecstasy.
i dream of you i dream with you,
where the groans of the spirit
and its insatiable yearnings
find solace in the vastness
of the tangent universe,
existing outside our mortal guise,
alluded in our mind’s eye—
it’s heaven
built by you and i.
i dream of you i dream with you,
in lucid dreams
where we know we are asleep,
but we just laugh whilst
walking through the gates of eternity
flourishing in the eternal splendor
we have created.
Jan 29, 2017
Jan 29, 2017 at 1:15 PM UTC
I regret (usually too late), the authority
Of the sitting government.
Any government.
Once in power (I regret that word)
The back room broking good ole boys
At the exit polls loose their senses,
Sight and hearing.
Feelings get hurt.
Taxes are wasted.
The trough gouging is too loud.
I resent lying.
I regret (mostly from the evidence),
The too full baskets of organized religion
Overflowing from indulgences;
The Roman fingers
Poaching coins for another memorial window;
The glass cathedrals
And get-a-way cars.
I resent hypocrisy.
I regret people don't arrive on time
(no matter the time);
Especially when outside anyplace waiting,
Perhaps a light for a smoke is needed,
Or there's inclement weather,
The nearby company is distasteful.
Waiting dinner.
Late children are the worse.
They cause worry.
I resent the selfishness of time.
I regret being diseased,
And hated for it.
When in remission I'm loved.
Active, not so much.
The know-its say it's a matter of will.
Like you can cure
Cancer or smallpox with thoughts.
The one symptom alone, hurt,
Would need temples of meditating chanters!
I resent condemnation.
I regret failed relationships:
Family, friends and women.
My thoughts are mine;
If I said everything
You'd have a different opinion
Of what I am.
So we don't
Because we can't
Say things: we would appear as socio-paths.
We think good and bad;
Therefore we're real.
A virtual humanity.
I resent blathering.
I regret an educational system
That believes in paradigm shifts;
Spouting new-age lingo:
If it's not broken, break it;
Selling out to athletics,
Or Mr., Ms and Mrs. know
All about education;
They went to school.
Bullies top the list.
I resent permissive parents.
Most of all,
I regret
My resentments.
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 12:44 AM UTC
it was that i was. gurgling a valorous *** of cells at the bottom
of the notched brick habitat of sickly algebra. and i and. with all
the dirt meticulously skeletal. trenchant chaotic lips blathering
skinny vocal animals. the smooth monkeys pinstripe about the
square in my needle city. well and i am an we. with your habitual
pocket of blood and dust in correct lumps small and large proportionately
spitted on your ideal, at my hips your hips(hand in hand). we walk
bythe specific straights towering sky breakers hollering reflective
skin. the neon electric residue of light smacks my eyelets. and
some ****** **** with the night air agreeably. but i,m a yours
and only. yes. so let's make some drips of clear tremulous benedictions
to this vibrant lovely hell
Oct 6, 2010
Oct 6, 2010 at 12:07 PM UTC
what is to be of a wasted life of spent breath to vent the concepts unkempt to the context of the plight?
It could really be alright, as we dance the night away, and play house on a world scale, a snails pace on the trails of progress.
Yet to digress to a better man with a plan and a project to reach naivety, in elementary innocence never completely lost.
We are the boss of our own reflections.
Gluing together the inter-sections divided of the perfections embossed in loss-less injections upon your ghost.
Host to your congregation of one.
One day to become
Become the son of the day
Days encased of night
Nights blathering beautifully in the love songs of lonely poets united beneath the stars of afar in unprompted kindness that spread like a virus inside us, and opened the eyes of babes with the dice of slaves freed on self gambles, leaving dread in the shambles of yesterday's imagination.
Be emptied everything.
Sep 4, 2012
Sep 4, 2012 at 3:20 AM UTC
Your cruel words are cursory
Mean less than null to me
Don’t need a PhD
Learnt more in nursery
Sweet song of ‘helping me’
No more than sophistry
Pick out the forgery
Lies with no artistry
Flowing in, eyeless grin
Sugary medicine
Gaslighting, infighting
Snarl under strobe-lighting
Saccharine blathering
Indolent flattering
Backhanded compliments
Heard without inner sense
I reject totally
Self-slighting sorcery
Callous affrontery
Bankrupting bursary
I have observed more
Preserved more
Have learned more
Deserve more
Have value
Don't argue
Can trust me
I must be
Enough being
just, me
So hear me,
my dear me,
coz now we agree
I am worthy
Nov 3, 2024
Nov 3, 2024 at 5:01 AM UTC
I worry for a creature
One that calls itself wise
That needs to believe
Some ancient pack of lies
About timeless people,
Gods that can never die,
Though they are preposterous,
They fail to ask why.
I worry for a people who
In an age that conquers disease
Where we can educate ourselves
To do almost whatever we please;
Can turn night into the day
And speak across the many miles
Still chant their superstitious tales
About magic arts all the while.
It seems they are trained monkeys
Who push buttons for rewards
When spiritual independence
Could be their permanent award.
They thank the wrong saviors
For pulling us out of the slime
That has punished our people
Back since ancient times.
It was not ritual witchery
That gave our people freedom.
Instead it was seeing clearly,
Analysis, research and wisdom.
No blathering high priestess
With winged dragons to fight
Brought us medical cures, or
Radio and electric light.
Jan 19, 2016
Jan 19, 2016 at 7:35 PM UTC
prison walls enclose sky
darkness sparks pyre
definite
articles get cut out
where rivers empty
into bitter oceans
where mix
morbid metaphors
of narcissism
to test my dead flesh
in vacated premises
condemned to destruction
blade as absent tenant
insert line about cutting here
then murmur teenage angst
over lost boyfriend
lifes meaninglessness etc
add some more weird
unpunctuated lines
oozing like a mediocre
razor ****
no caps even
then arbitrarily bold something
as if you knew what the hell
you were blathering on about
holy band-aid batman
my poetry *****
(does yours ? )
Oct 3, 2015
Oct 3, 2015 at 9:44 AM UTC
And the strangest part is,
sadness is just a voice inside your head.
At three in the morning,
arriving to work at the bakery,
it can be the only one—
blathering in grumbles,
writing in scrawls,
citing the bed
every twist of the bread.
It can be the cold, white hum of the halogen lights—
although sometimes at that hour,
especially during the winter,
the baker works solely by the light of his oven.
Then, things become different.
Then, there is the sound of fire,
the smell of heat,
the casting of a warm glow
onto the empty metal sheets dusted with flour.
It is during these precious few moments
that the baker realizes
that he is standing on the surface of the moon
during a lunar eclipse.
Aug 9, 2010
Aug 9, 2010 at 12:27 AM UTC
When I catch myself being overly Human
I pull in the reigns and push the thoughts from my head
But not through the mouth
The mindless blathering about.....
That's how I knew in the first place
I was becoming one of you and
It offers me no comfort.....
Quite the opposite
Jul 25, 2010
Jul 25, 2010 at 9:31 PM UTC
(1)ones laughing like a dog with 2 22's
who're like 3: a whorish slightly giggling mess
3 prods the carpet by footed semblance of leather
assembling her flesh in the left corner of a lazy
rectangle cinema cube. 1nes still cackling throat
******* cords vibrating stupidly on every face with the 2 maybe 23's
mouthhanding and eyefucking with his fat grunt syllabary. 3's uncomfortable
atthe sycophantic panting of her 23's atthis masculine discharge
wetting the silence a pulsing ***** of tongue barking vomit . as an usher ushers fleetly our
moist intellects to the quiet little. the quiet little notch. of waiting excited
screaming visuals a screen crucified blathering.
the 1's ungiddy prance detonates by the skinnyjeaned legs pumping fetid motion. in company of long femininity. and the ovals of 3
grate swift bile at they're lump. and they swallow inthedarkness
his moronic spit. and puke . . .
Nov 15, 2010
Nov 15, 2010 at 10:17 AM UTC
Race-baiting covers for agit-prop agents
splitting white hairs in their dark distress;
with name-calling, bullying, lunch money payments
and shifting the blame for their people’s mess.
Reparations are due for your boring screed
that you scrawled at the helm of the Black Star Liner.
You owe it to those who were forced to read
your obtuse agitations (you Afro-whiner).
Poisonous shout-outs to fallen comrades:
holy Saint Michael in reaper’s hood—
endless blathering racial tirades
poor comrade—your dreams are misunderstood.
You’re obsessed with injustice. That’s nothing new.
You’re a David anointed to overthrow Saul—
(as long as he’s white and less rabid than you,
oh prophet and scribe of the activist call…)
Stay mad at the system. Revile all your foes
with raving, with preaching, with bitter bad words.
Insult all your enemies; list all your woes
as you document stink on your turds.
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 6:04 AM UTC
Let’s play Name That Goon.
How many can you get right?
Someone you see every day
In the news, in plain sight.
The first one looks very much
Like a troll doll but larger.
He brags about how much
Money he has in his larder.
But, his blather does not
Include many discernable facts.
He’s about half of the man
He stands on stage and acts.
The second one is a talker
In a very vaunted arena.
He seems as incapable of truth
As a citizen named Fiorina.
He’s been faking his credentials
And his skin has darkened.
He’s orange, so one wonders
If the old KKK has harkened.
The third one was a big cheese
And he was a big deal once
Until his mouth and behavior
Proved him to be a dunce.
But not before his crew
And his ineptitude managed
To leave the country *******
And semi-permanently damaged.
The fourth was the third’s pal
In all those dastardly deeds
That any tale well scripted
Or any tragedy needs.
He made a bundle for him
And all of his colluding pals.
Maybe he thought that might
Make him attractive to the gals.
The next one is the queen
Of the Washington crazies.
She might make a bigger fool
Of herself, but she’s too lazy
And as stupid as a box of lint.
She opens mouth and convinces.
Every time she speechifies
The entire country winces.
So, now we have done it
We have played Name That Goon.
If this glib poet doesn’t choke
We can have more real soon.
So, you all play nice and have fun
At your next political gathering.
And keep track of who is who
And what they are all blathering.
Oct 8, 2015
Oct 8, 2015 at 3:39 AM UTC
Flippy Hippie, what the heck is your trip?
We get things going fine and then you flip.
Your political lips are criminally zipped.
Because you are obviously losing your grip.
Tripping hipster, what were you thinking?
The ship of state is so obviously sinking.
Are you diddling with your own erections?
And too good to vote in our elections?
Hippy dippy, Flippy Hippie, you’re mental.
Apparently your adulthood is experimental.
You’re just tourists in your own realities
Blathering a lot of brainless banalities.
You make excuses not to use your brains.
You’re making choices you can’t explain.
To you all politics is just a boring game.
When we ask, you say they’re all the same.
Flippy Hippie, you make not much sense at all.
You’ll die too when they stand us to a wall.
We know you quit thinking in elementary school
And that explains why you’re such a big fool.
We understand the reason you are so dim
You don’t see it’s us or them. You’re not them.
Later, if they get their way and the US is dead
Just remember a lot is because you stayed in bed.
Apr 20, 2018
Apr 20, 2018 at 12:55 AM UTC
Let’s scrabble to rouse the rabble,
The massive blithering and blathering,
Make protests ring above the babble
And set foaming mouths lathering,
When our country and its youth,
Newly awakened and newly wise,
Stand up and demand the truth
Instead of the usual pack of lies.
The rich get the wheat
And we get the chaff
Then the rich sit back
In their palaces and laugh.
What has served as intelligence
Has put this country in a bind
By people with no common sense.
Supposed adults just voting blind
Based on ideas without merit.
Those with money get a pass
And let the taxpayers bear it.
Then the rest take it in the ***
The ‘haves” drink wine
And we drink water
Maybe sometime soon
They’ll come for your daughter.
The people we have elected
Saw a shaky foundation laid
Have left us mostly unprotected
And massive bribes were paid.
The wealthy among us got a pass
So now just the rich have a voice
And the poor and working class
Have no effective voice.
The wealthy get shoes
And we get bare feet.
We learn to live our lives
In postures of defeat.
This is the age of communication;
We have to look at what we are doing.
We still can save our weakened nation.
And maybe start some careful suing.
Let’s vote out the Couriers of Hate;
Hold these ******** to their vows.
To stand up to their inequities
We need to start right now.
The rich get the wheat
And we get the chaff
Then the rich sit back
In their palaces and laugh.
Dec 7, 2015
Dec 7, 2015 at 12:45 AM UTC
I can't say it was what I expected,
(an intimate dinner for two).
When Charlize showed up
with two bodyguards
What's a poor fella to do?
She glides in with the grace of a dancer
which is what she first wanted to be.
Charlize won the "Lucky Genes" Lotto,
I didn't unfortunately.
There I was was, stammering, star struck
blathering blithely away.
She passed a remark about mirrors,
suggesting I use one someday.
She could have been lovely and gracious,
instead she was distant and rude.
It seemed she was still Queen Ravenna
and I was the Burger King dude.
I dropped fifty large for the dinner
A pittance for charity due.
There's not likely to be little monsters
as Charlize and i are quite through
Jun 7, 2012
Jun 7, 2012 at 8:48 AM UTC
I. nope.
II.
long-windedness verbosity
diffuseness prolixity
wordiness rambling
circuity discursiveness
redundancy tautology
tediousness verbiage
verboseness length
longevity permanence
garrulity windiness
volubility circumlocution
expansiveness babbling
periphrasis gushing
blathering protractedness
waffling lengthiness
iteration repetition
prating prattling
jabbering digressiveness
dreariness tedium
deadliness wandering
repetitiousness repetitiveness
pleonasm convolution
logorrhoea boringness
maundering superfluity
duplication tiresomeness
monotony reiteration
gabbiness informality
mouthiness diffusion
logorrhea wordage
blah-blah dryness
dullness boredom
sameness loquaciousness
talkativeness loquacity
freeness orotundity
roundaboutness breadth
gobbledegook gassiness
wittering multiloquence
perissology big mouth
gift of the gab garrulousness
staleness tallness
Aug 19, 2019
Aug 19, 2019 at 9:38 AM UTC
The secret is
There is no secret
Everyone else was told
The secret is there
Sometimes they forget
to tell the poor kids
We just guess
the secret is important
and funny enough
figure out first
that there is no secret
Now I can't help
but to speak and stop
blathering fools
from speaking around
the non-existent secret
to how life should be
Poor kids know
it's whatever you want
that life becomes
unless you're rich
then life is
what the commercials say
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 3:46 AM UTC
.
O the trender souls who keep
Spewing their ladled ornaments,
Words even a dull, starving bird
Would not gobble, plastic pieces,
Rambles of thought, unthought,
Pretty sounding, shiny trinkets,
Merely nailed by some old book,
Or a dog eared dictionary, maybe,
Some pulpy article wherein hacks,
Dreamt with loss, sad aspirations,
These are the dug trailings of fools,
Lazy, writers who fancy themselves,
Fancying themselves, in a black mirror,
Merciful as imagination and delusion,
O how the neophyte sings without any
Voice, nor depth, nor taste, nor blood,
Conscious revels in unconsciousness,
O but lame awaits the vain, the shallow,
The self proclaimed, the peacock, but, their
Showtime is only something base, something
Not and ghost peculiar, something only a carny
Would know to mock, revile as he promotes.
How glittering are the newest word baubles,
Blathering speak to mask all faceless souls,
Twaddle, twitterings, revered by simpletons.
Oct 11, 2015
Oct 11, 2015 at 9:03 PM UTC
I don't know what happened
somewhere along the way our feet must have slipped
because this place is cold and unfamiliar.
Look at the jester as he dances with all the ugly girls
A poet is a poet is a liar is a liar is a pretentious **** off
But I never let you read them
no because if you did
you'd realize that a large chunk of my blathering
is about you
then you'd probably say something like
what the **** this is odd. no creepy. stop calling me. I don't want to wind up in saran wrapped pieces in your freezer
but I do write them
and that's what counts
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 12:44 AM UTC
Forcing these thoughts like clay through a spout.
Flagrant doubt as to the success of your recent suffering.
It isn't like it used to be. Nothing is like it used to be.
Lost inspiration in happiness - dragging out words like animal carcass.
No immortal flow - no ingenious drawl - blathering rants disguised in colorful diction.
Dissatisfaction in all nonfiction - creativity only thriving on dysfunction.
Functionality is ruining your beauty.
You were better when you were useless.
Jan 30, 2016
Jan 30, 2016 at 1:51 AM UTC