"bribed" poems
It is worse for a tulip to live again and be renewed
than for the tulip to die and be dead.
“What happens when you die?”
I asked several romantic partners over the course of my adolescence.
“You’re dead,” they answered.
It is worse for the tulip to be born again,
dust to dust, dirt to dirt, true god from true god,
in a process that spiritual peers define as, reincarnation.
No tulip is an individual (that is clear), but a process.
A perfecting oneness.
I can’t admit or bend to any resounding belief that every tulip is the same.
That FernGully was a farce and Pocahontas, a phony.
That is just not going to fly.
Maybe it is the environmentalist inside me speaking,
or maybe it is God.
I refuse to believe the prodigies and professors of renewal and rejuvenation.
I can not discount individuation, even in tulips!
Tulips are victims of suburbia, they have been relegated to the lawn, to the mulch bed,
but inside of them there are remnants of humanity.
I couldn’t believe it, ever.
Not ever, even if you convinced me or bribed me or seduced me.
No chance.
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 12:27 PM UTC
slave is someone who does not have authority over their own lives slave is someone subservient controlled dominated by somebody something slave works very hard for little or no pay slave is property of somebody something slave is someone forced to obey
sycophant is someone servile who overly flatters more powerful individual for personal gain sycophant is bootlicker brown-noser fawner flunkey doormat lackey lap-dog yes-men parasite toad-eater (pause reposition) somebody possessed of excessive vanity may cultivate sycophant swarms
side by side they stand clothed in black not quite similar the one slightly taller possibly because the other suffers poor posture perhaps they are related because in odd way they appear alike or of same ilk yet upon closer scrutiny it becomes apparent they have very little or nothing in common the taller one with troubled sad eyes the other smiling obsequiously the taller one more muscular ***** from working menial labor the other with curved spine slumped shoulders because of undue bowing and crouching while blowing smoke up other people’s *****
sadist is someone who attains ****** gratification by inflicting physical pain shame to other people sadist is someone who delights in excessive cruelty degradation to others
********* is someone who achieves ****** pleasure from being hurt humiliated abused dominated punished often self-inflicted ********* is someone who enjoys being harmed misused mistreated ignored by others
sadomasochist is someone who gets ****** gratification by alternately or simultaneously enduring hurt causing pain to somebody else sadomasochist is combination of sadistic masochistic tendencies in someone who obtains ****** pleasure from inflicting submitting to pain cruelty
sycophant slave snakes up leg of movie actress dictator who gains pain through pleasure 2000 miles from equator IED cell phone detonator sycophant dilettante ***** up to sadistic art critic or publishing editor on escalator while below on main floor of shopping mall ice rink figure skater pirouettes bows to nominator surreptitiously bribed by infiltrator mutilator
Feb 27, 2011
Feb 27, 2011 at 4:38 AM UTC
Life has many milestones.
Each bringing a significant change to one's life.
Whether that be a birthday, a wedding, a child.
But it's difficult to admit the sadder milestones that we carry with us.
However these negative moments also have a significant effect on us.
This is my list of milestones I hate to admit.
But they have impacted me tramendously.
It's time I released them so I can look ahead.
Molested by a boy at age 4.
Countlessly ***** by my sister starting at age 5.
***** by my therapist at age 7.
Beat by my sister throughout childhood.
Bribed and verbally abused by my step father to condition me to keep my issues to myself.
Traumatized at 10 by my father and his ex due to a domestic abuse situation.
Almost drowned from my first public panic attack at age 16.
Harassed by a man at a concert at age 20.
Endured the hell that relationships always bring.
Attempted suicide twice at age 21.
And a man attempted to **** me at a party last week while I was intoxicated.
I know I'm not the only one with these difficult memories.
And knowing I'm not alone will always be my comfort.
But I'm letting it all out;
purging out the evil so I can be releaved.
And now my hope is to heal and become whole again in the healthiest way possible.
I can overcome these milestones.
I know I can.
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 12:33 AM UTC
Mirror, mirror on the wall,
Who is the fairest of us all?
Skin so delicate and fair
Blue eyes and long black hair
A good king, a good daughter
A wicked stepmother
One day full of gloom and dread
When The Wicked heard it said
"The Daughter is the fairest,
O' dear! You are second best!"
The Wicked was wild with jelousy
And begun plotting conspiracy
Getting rid of the fair lady
Was the wicked plan of the day
The Wicked called on her servant
The name was **** Cindy
Bribed her with riches women want
Promised her a gift of beauty
So **** Cindy and The Daughter
Went into the depth of the forest
**** Cindy has led the pretty girl
She surely must put her to death!
Our **** Cindy however
Found the girl a thing of beauty
**** Cindy's courage betrayed her
Excused herself and ran away
The pretty daughter was left alone
Terribly scared but still alive
Tears fell as she thought of home
Doubtful if she will ever survive
**** Cindy returned to the castle
Showing a heart of a roe deer
And served as a loyal vassal
To The Ever Wicked stepmother
So **** Cindy got rewarded
With unimaginable riches
Lasting beauty she was awarded
At last she got her wishes
At night our **** Cindy
Her riches, all she gathered
And then she vanished swiftly
Away from The Ever Wicked
Meanwhile the pretty daughter
Found a place to stay
That house was full of laughter
And the rest was history
Highly pleased now The Wicked
Turned again to the mirror
But her hopes became unsettled
After the unpleasant cheer
She must die! She must die!
Went The Wicked's awful cry
She became an old peasant
Killed the girl with a poison
And so the pretty daughter
Laid in the forest for days
The cute house lost its laughter
The Wicked went on her ways
The sad news reached the town
And to our **** Cindy
So she wore her sexiest gown
And started on her journey
Into the forest she went
Looking for that pretty girl
Her heart skipped and bent
Feeling that awesome thrill
**** Cindy found The Daughter
Lying on a wooden bed
"Thy beauty is oh, so rare!"
Was the thought inside her head
She could not help but wet her lips
Staring at the sleeping lady
She felt a tingle below her hips
And sensation inside her belly
They said no man can wake the girl
And maybe no man really can?
So **** Cindy kissed The Daughter
And so her passion has began
The kiss was oddly very awesome
And it stirred the sleeping girl
It brought a funny slurpy sound
Waking up The Royal Daughter
"Oh God! Oh my! Oh my!
Oh my beautiful princess!
Take my hand, come with me
Away from this very place!"
So **** Cindy and The Daughter
They ran away together
Across the land of nowhere
Where they lived happily ever after
Mirror, mirror on the wall,
Who is the fairest of us all?
"Snow and Cindy are the fairest
O' dear! Now you're the third best!"
~THE END~
Jan 11, 2013
Jan 11, 2013 at 12:51 AM UTC
If I were a soldier
All ****** and bribed
I would go down by the trenches
On a tank time joy ride
If I were a soldier
Death would be my game
For all the wrong reasons
They will remember my name
If I were a soldier
I'd say my farewells
Down the barrel of a ******
And straight down to hell
If I were a soldier
Wounded by pride
For a country not worth this
Lest we forget,
I have died
May 2, 2015
May 2, 2015 at 10:06 PM UTC
Give me my scallop shell of quiet,
My staff of faith to walk upon,
My scrip of joy, immortal diet,
My bottle of salvation,
My gown of glory, hope’s true gage,
And thus I’ll take my pilgrimage.
Blood must be my body’s balmer,
No other balm will there be given,
Whilst my soul, like a white palmer,
Travels to the land of heaven;
Over the silver mountains,
Where spring the nectar fountains;
And there I’ll kiss
The bowl of bliss,
And drink my eternal fill
On every milken hill.
My soul will be a-dry before,
But after it will ne’er thirst more;
And by the happy blissful way
More peaceful pilgrims I shall see,
That have shook off their gowns of clay,
And go apparelled fresh like me.
I’ll bring them first
To slake their thirst,
And then to taste those nectar suckets,
At the clear wells
Where sweetness dwells,
Drawn up by saints in crystal buckets.
And when our bottles and all we
Are fill’d with immortality,
Then the holy paths we’ll travel,
Strew’d with rubies thick as gravel,
Ceilings of diamonds, sapphire floors,
High walls of coral, and pearl bowers.
From thence to heaven’s bribeless hall
Where no corrupted voices brawl,
No conscience molten into gold,
Nor forg’d accusers bought and sold,
No cause deferr’d, nor vain-spent journey,
For there Christ is the king’s attorney,
Who pleads for all without degrees,
And he hath angels, but no fees.
When the grand twelve million jury
Of our sins and sinful fury,
‘Gainst our souls black verdicts give,
Christ pleads his death, and then we live.
Be thou my speaker, taintless pleader,
Unblotted lawyer, true proceeder,
Thou movest salvation even for alms,
Not with a bribed lawyer’s palms.
And this is my eternal plea
To him that made heaven, earth, and sea,
Seeing my flesh must die so soon,
And want a head to dine next noon,
Just at the stroke when my veins start and spread,
Set on my soul an everlasting head.
Then am I ready, like a palmer fit,
To tread those blest paths which before I writ.
3.7k
Tempted to darkness
Bribed in heat, the truth remains
Blind in the moment
May 28, 2010
May 28, 2010 at 8:07 AM UTC
The party starts at ten to three.
On the second floor,room twenty two
two vicars who had come down from Crewe were wondering just what to wear, to the shindig going on down there.
They collided,both decided to put on crimson frilly frocks,this was not a 'do' for cassocks or for smocks.
Room forty four up on the forth,was Lucy Ann,a double barrelled name of course,a horsey type who came by invite to liven lively up the night.
In number ten slept teacup Ken,who had never once imbibed,the porter was slipped a twenty,but was bribed to keep his big mouth shut, as ties were cut and Ken found Zen in a brandy glass,
and discovered parties were a gas.
The police arrived to room fifty five and found Miss Sterling doing the jive around the severed head of Fred the cook,
poor Fred never had any kind luck.
There is no escape from the party at Lancaster Gate and those who come are those who'll die
but the party is so flamin' good I'll try to sneak in,got to take a peek in room number twenty seven,where it's said,that the lady there can show you several kinds of heaven before you meet your doom.
Got to get in, get a room,check in time expires at noon.
I shall no doubt expire,naked by the fire in
room, one o one.
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 4:44 PM UTC
We stayed in a real temple,
bribed the guards
to spend the night with jaguars,
sleep with dolphins
& listen to the howlers
scream all night,
above our
sacred **********
which ended with the rising
of the morning star
& the coming of more tourists
to see crumbling pyramids.
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 10:15 PM UTC
On a fine and sunny morn
On the third or fourth of may
A boggart and a bumblebee
Went to town to play
They met up with a mugglewump
But little did he say
So the boggart and the bumblebee
Bowed and went away
They found their friends the Fuglywhits
And asked them out to tea
They bribed them with jam crumpets
But the Fuglywhits weren’t free
Much dejected did they carry on
The boggart and the bee
The fine and sunny morning
Was filled with little glee
And then the boggart came upon
A wondrous revelation
That put their moping frowns
Into quick cessation
They need no other colleagues
To have collaborations
Two could play together
In satisfied elation
And so the fine associates
Proceeded to be gay
On that fine and sunny morn
On the third or fourth of may
Feb 23, 2014
Feb 23, 2014 at 3:09 PM UTC
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, October 23:>
bribed the day light to catch me
to welcome the dark night quickly
careful heels
afraid would sting would peel
to the rough ground's coldness
wore this covering black dress
walked on a damaged fate
all in the name of an elegant slate
silent walls no comment
a posture to the moon sent
the perfect hair scattered
my own self compliments flattered
alone for the mirror to be impressed
smiled and the reflection takes a guess
waved for the air
to feel attention somewhere
on that eye
smudged ink lines
vanilla hangs in the atmosphere
memories do nothing to fear
--------ravenfeels
Nov 21, 2021
Nov 21, 2021 at 6:26 AM UTC
I just bribed the ferryman, oh yes, I bribed him well
Don't matter how much mischief because we're both headed to hell
I bribed the man to take some time to tell me of his life
He told me of the way he takes the coinage for his wife
He told me he writes poetry, but only in his head
He wrote some lovely lullabies (and love songs for the dead)
The man is quite a cook and made some killer Wonton soup
Then he told me of his wish to make a knit and crochet group
The ferryman that took the ****** seemed like a really awesome guy
And it almost made it worth it that I had had to die
Aug 29, 2013
Aug 29, 2013 at 1:28 AM UTC
Let 'em hear ya in the cheap seats
In the nosebleeds
Trashed and thrashed
The stove heats up the whole house
The beauty pageant is being judged by those who have been bribed and the biased
There's no room at the inn
To the barn, I guess
Ring in the morning
As today's hectic schedule chimes in
The chimney sweep preforms rhinoplasty on a bobcat
And sends windup toys to Goodwill
I christen thee, Backwards!
Here, take this seven leaf clover for good luck
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 2:35 PM UTC
They bribed me with promises of Audis and poverty reduction.
A six-figure salary, insurance, and free weekends.
They lured me with Prada bags, Chanel Shades and scarves by Hermes.
Vacations in Nice, transits in Paris, and business trips to Beijing.
They said I could meet the Dalai Lama, Bill Gates and the Queen of England,
have wine with Sarkozy, break bread with Al Gore, and kiss Prince William.
They dangled real men, real love and post-marital affairs in front of me
and gave me dreams of seven husbands and no divorces.
They convinced me to grow up and walk across the stage,
and their promises made me smile as I crossed over to the other side.
Today, I lay in my hammock wishing they’d promised me a job as well.
Dec 12, 2011
Dec 12, 2011 at 11:22 AM UTC
It's taking everything I’ve ever had,
not to crawl into the crevice between your arm and hip.
I want seep inside of you
and live with you,
like the parasite I am.
I’ve bribed to God to make you love me,
And bargained away my future sins.
I want to forget the golden retriever
You took on walks longer than our **********
And the way your body writhed beneath my touch
Like a body bracing for a car-crash,
And how with every kiss
I could feel your rigor mortis set in.
I want to read you poems about Kurt Cobain,
While we do ******* at midnight in Golden Gate Park.
And watch you have a visceral reaction
To the memories
Of the times you tasted someone else’s skin.
Instead I’ll
dye my hair black,
Cancel all my credit cards,
And run away to Chicago
to Cheapen myself
and reek of Popov
In a dive bar next to the railroad,
That no one’s heard of
so you can tell strangers
in the subway
and at the New Year’s party,
(at which you’ll meet your wife)
how much I’ve always meant to you
and how
You will always wonder what happened to me
(Even though
you won't.)
Jun 26, 2018
Jun 26, 2018 at 11:18 PM UTC
I am like the bicycle you let sit in the rain,
turned sideways, wheels still spinning in reverse--
an abrupt split second call once my small SUV showed
its dull red color and token dents, signs of an irresponsible me
(and a still judgmental you).
Once upon a time you prized me,
snatched me from the wall of Grandest Biggest Rewards
for those who throw their money and efforts into
impossible pursuits.
My hair gleamed. My skin glistened. My eyes glinted.
but my legs would not spread.
they could not for fear of Eyes of a Watchful God.
when the day came, the day that no one believed you would come,
not even me,
you closed your eyes; I squeezed mine shut,
as did my doors, never to let you in.
Not even when you begged, bargained, bribed.
When you flung insults like the beagle's feces,
fresh, frenzied, frantic,
I dodged each smear physically, but let the memories
haunt my fading floral youth.
Now, that the doors have opened
to admit those who may be trusted,
and have closed deep within a secret,
discarded like a rush of blood--
just as meaningless, just as insignificant,
Now, you've found another bike to prop against the cool
sheltered garage wall, newly painted--
both the garage and the bike,
and her arms emerge months from now
with baby and baby and baby.
Brimming with baby.
And I sold that bicycle months ago,
the one I fought so hard to retain.
I was never the material, nor the istic.
Just used goods gone sour.
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 4:22 PM UTC
Loving you was the easy part.
Admitting it was hard.
Hot chocolate. Strawberry Cream. Bubble Tea
I was drowning in your ocean.
And you, the blind lifeguard
Your oblivion sprouted roses on the thorn tree.
I think that I don't know how to think
Feeling feels like an unexplained thought
I have an undying thirst, but all I do is drink
Drink and drink, as if expecting a drought
I turned loving you into my life
Felt that I was gone when you were
Thought love was only when I’d have you as my wife
You sheltered the storm, brought clarity to my blur
I got so addicted quick
My daily medication
How can someone make you feel homesick
You’re you.
Justification without explanation
Loved you in real life, and even in my best fantasy
I hate love, for destroying the idea of you as my forever
I wanted to experience the world with you.
Greece, Hawaii, even the Annecy.
Hi to bye. Love to hate. Now to never
All I thought about was you.
Couldn’t be bribed with anything new.
I lost myself when I lost you
Burnt toast. Spoiled milk. Bitter brew.
May 2, 2019
May 2, 2019 at 10:31 PM UTC
sweaty forehead, a gory past
wildly glowing eyes of oblivion
shivering hands, sirens, bars
freedom, imprisonment, razor blades
peru, coca farmers, chemicals
smuggler channels, route 36
franklin's face on crumpled-up paper
rattling coins, benjamins, stacks
gotta make it or take it
gotta sell or abuse it
flashing louis, abundant future
sweaty forehead, ****** present
biker chapters, brothers, funerals
tommy hauled jim's coffin
rick carried tommy to his grave
cut-offs, gats, one call: ******
despair, hatred, vengeance, omerta
mortals remain silent, angels don't
rain of blood, a puddle of codes
turf, plots, streets, blocks, gangs
cults **** cultures, weapons replace
shelter in a group home; the stabbing
"shaun got heart, he a furious one --
can use dat dude, pay him up"
black, white, african-american, chechens
territories of unspoken laws
intimidated witnesses, gay mobsters
lured teenagers, deadly magic of power
the old ones impress the new ones
newbies will turn into soldiers
**** or get killed; headshots of fear
numbers on the forehead, blueish
unwritten are the rules of some
bribed politicians, skippers, knockos
the one who wets, will be wetted
others prefer the clarity of faith
organized crime, rats and kingpins
multilevel marketing, elevators
glass towers, late and secret meetings
route 36, the white magic of death
it's all in the game
"The only thing that burns in hell is the part of you that won't let go of your life.
Your memories, your attachments, they burn 'em all away. But they're not punishing you, they say. They freeing yourself.
Relax."
(Quote from the film "Jacob's Ladder")
Dec 26, 2020
Dec 26, 2020 at 4:06 AM UTC
To him all women are hallowed
minus those that hustle themselves.
How instantly and cunningly
they commit truculent acts
yet never bribed by mischief
except by rendezvous.
Sep 7, 2012
Sep 7, 2012 at 11:06 PM UTC
Dear future self,
On a scale of one to doormat,
How prune are you to accept?
And have you been proven wrong,
Or is it still the worst you expect?
Have you learnt walking the line
Between pessimism and optimism,
Or have you lost your wits?
Have you made yourself lasagna,
Kept track of your ***** laundry?
Eating enough green,
Or still lazy to get up when you're hungry..
Is time as life altering as it sounds,
Or plain old yesterdays that represent nothing?
Have you bribed your lucky stars,
And found that perfect timing all of a sudden?
Are you even still writing,
Or left the platform for greater poets?
Still doing things half-heartedly,
Or finally filled the gap where the lines are dotted.
Have you witnessed a miracle?
Washed yourself of your ever present dissatisfaction?
Acquainted the many selves that you are,
And finally released your thoughts from their abstraction?
I know there's no finish line,
Or at least we won't be here to behold it.
But I hope you're far ahead,
So you can slow down a bit.
Oct 18, 2017
Oct 18, 2017 at 2:34 PM UTC
Didn't reap
Didn't ripen
fed it an elephant diet,
stayed guard all night,
pray-bribed the rain gods,
plotted insect genocides,
sold my wife’s bangles
Didn't reap
Didn't ripen
once where were lush fields,
now the coming of concrete
Didn't reap
Didn't ripen
the seasons are unfaithful,
there is no spring songbird
Didn't reap
Didn't ripen
May 24, 2016
May 24, 2016 at 8:28 AM UTC
i
how like a napping innocent
the song was stolen away
when i my reason bribed
could not find where i belonged.
a patch is made of unrimed rime
and *** by *** it tore away
telling awhile
never will, you may.
i groped. you lingered
you waned. i waited.
when i would
to the solitude of
the rocks have gone
alas!
i found,
the singer of the song.
ii
bend bamboo
to the gusts and gails
that sweep, sweep.
swing back to whirl again
as the winds its fancy bend
so do – ne’er complain.
on windy ludes
so low you bow
after you kissed
the earth below
embrace you the sun.
sing now you violins
the rustles of enchantment
of dancing toes
it’s a mellow melody
… lingers on…
iii
useless are
the wings of birds
if the wide and brimless sky
to them are yet untold.
if none to care
and none to pine
how can a sign
of triumph bare
as birds and sky
as twains do share?
iv
full moon and empty arms
for every setting sun?
i fled thy silvern chatter
of vanished cries
and curling past.
suns have gone now.
and seeking never find.
no moon and empty arms
but when were you
not starbeam
and when not star
not beam.
if you could be
but how!
if you could see
but now!
v
came here, but,
did not tarry long.
a handful of sand
a greedy grip
a clutch, and,
through the fingers slip
till naught is left
but an empty grip.
she is come
know i
when gone.
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 8:25 PM UTC
your beauty put nations into dispute
trying to benefit from the rewards of your youth
for every treasure there's nothing to spare
they used you, abused you, then left you in despair
you've welcomed other nations to experience your land
but your slaughter is what they've plotted that's what they've planned
never have you ever became selfish of your beauty
but you failed to discern the hands of the greedy
your pillars they shattered into pieces
your temples they burned down to ashes
you called for gods but it is the gods who are the roots
one even turned his back after gaining from your loots
you offered so much but they left you nothing but scars
you gave them beauty they gave you famine and farce
should you have invited Eris?
behold, you're the victim of war between these deities
whoever obtains this apple is the fairest
whoever consumes you will be the greatest
war is the immortals' way to argue
they saw your beauty but they never saw you
one bribed you to rule other nations
another bribed you to be the warrior of your fictions
then one bribed you with your weakness, your ambitions
oh my land, you fell. let me ask you my greatest questions.
who are you?
have you forgotten your identity?
why are you allowing yourself be defined by the words of these false deities
why do you still call your oppressor a hero
until when are you going to stay on this limbo
you are Thetis and Peleus not inviting Eris to avoid strife
but you also are the golden apple causing the immortals seek for your life
you are Paris being promised of your dreams
but you also are Helen the most beautiful woman in the history of regimes
you are the war itself, oh my land
your destiny resides on your hand
you are every character of this myth
of your own sword you are the smith
Sep 22, 2018
Sep 22, 2018 at 7:15 AM UTC
That amber liquid far from insipid
Like molten honey but drawn from a tap,
Bitter or dark, the choices quite stark,
God's malted ale, nature's true sap.
Vikings grew strong, strengthened their bond,
Giving them courage for mayhem galore,
A beer in their hand, they pillaged the land
Never quite feeling tired or sore.
The Celts used for curing, Egyptians for luring
Their gods from the heavens bribed to partake,
The English just drank as their water so stank,
Beer their solution to gulp for life's sake.
Wine lovers admit that their glass needs
be sipped
While describing aromas of berries and earth,
No such constraint, nor need for restraint
For drinkers of ale are freewheeling from birth.
So let raise a jug or a frothy filled mug
While watching a game and eating junk food,
Nothing is wetter, more luscious and better
Than a cold tasty beer when expertly brewed.
Oct 8, 2021
Oct 8, 2021 at 11:20 AM UTC