"cabal" poems
************ the ego
tis seen as a trifle banal
the odd big cranial bloke
belongs to this cabal
tirelessly they stroke
the head to a maximal size
as the inflated phallus
doth give them such a rise
************ shall always be
their pastime of infatuation
as they are so in love
with the ego's glorification
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 11:02 AM UTC
She sat by me, in her skirt, hand grenade green,
And an off-white blouse obscured by a jacket with dust in its seams,
Like leather, like elderly skin, like a crossword puzzle with half the letters filled in,
She sat by me and spilt her sentences and her tea:
She claimed her husband had been killed by a cabal of spiritualists,
Killed by a bull elephant in the streets of Nepal,
Killed by the seven plagues,
And never killed at all,
That he was once a number
Somehow both perfect and prime,
That he was Prime minister of the sea,
And independent of time,
That his bones were cracked marbles
Bought from a widow in Tennessee,
That his name continued to escape her,
But that he looked something like me,
Leaving I saw her wings drag her heavenward,
I saw her terrible wings,
As I stumbled and veered from concrete to tarmac
I heard the pavements start to sing:
“I was once a flowerbed,
My father was a field,
My mother was a source of light,
Before which all the people kneeled.”
Then lost in the eye of daytime and night,
Drawn to the moustache of a Spanish racketeer,
He was once abandoned by his books and his babies
In the boot of a broke-down cavalier,
His pasts and ideas caught up to him,
And gripped him by his belt and his teeth,
His pasts gripped him in quiet of his nightmares,
And slashed his arms in the street,
Visions shook me by the bleeding palm,
Her terrible wings now pinpricks for the moon,
Visions shook me as deities died,
With eyes like a card-trick and fingers like doom,
Then stuck in the endless space between words;
She sat by me, in her skirt, hand grenade green;
Stuck in the endless space between words;
And an off white blouse obscured by a jacket with dust in its seams...
Mar 11, 2018
Mar 11, 2018 at 9:11 PM UTC
a ****** of crows gathers
over Hamburg, carrion carrying on
with business as usual.
feeding on the festered flesh
of a gentrified populace.
in private jets coughing carbon
they fly from the west on turbine wings,
engines screaming as they dive towards a nation
secured by razor-wound walls
and barb-wire borders.
they pitched a battle in Germany,
convinced that austerity
would ******* the resistance
and give justification to premeditated violence.
but the tables have turned on the thieves again.
we are the end result of your failed policies,
globalization has destroyed our homes.
if your cabal rallies like a kettle of vultures,
you will do so behind closed doors,
cowering in your fortress' halls.
you shall not pass. watch as the power shifts
like the melting gears of torched BMWs.
we will tear the vestiges of your authority down.
we will black out your surveillance cameras,
smash your windows, and block your limos. no pasaran.
flee, while you can still run. this city belongs
to the wild ones, a black bloc, thousands strong,
dancing amidst the tear gas, tossing molotovs.
marching to liberty's sturdy drum,
equal in our solidarity song.
Jul 8, 2017
Jul 8, 2017 at 12:14 PM UTC
He only imbibes because of his dipsomania.
She only practices onanism because she's afraid he'll impregnate her.
He despises her monomania.
She's too affable, almost to the point of being obsequious.
He's too acrimonious and muzzy.
She knows she's a bit of a coquette.
He thinks he's a cuckold.
She used to be flighty until she fell into this convoluted dystopia.
He used to find it scintillating to get sozzled.
She just wants a lark once in a while.
His iniquity makes him want her to be lascivious.
Her every fatuity leads to a cabal.
He's too opaque and insipid.
She has to iterate and reiterate everything she says.
He feels his infatuation is unrequited.
She finds this unproblematic.
He doesn't imbue her with anything anymore.
She thinks he's unpitying of that.
He'll malinger tomorrow.
She'll wonder if it's all adventitious or kismet.
She can't handle his odium.
He can't stand her ten dollar words.
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 7:58 PM UTC
we're all armed
with an appliance
of emancipation
we can nurture non-violent
defiance in a
non-compliant ethos of
antiauthoritarian self-reliance
we have the ability to eliminate the
vestiges of imperialism and
dominant dogmas that choke
and impede our creativity and shackle
our imagination to impotent ideologies
fragmented unrealities augmented
by fractures in our psyche
tendrils of theology that prey
upon our fear and exacerbate
conditioned responses that are
at once
unnatural and irrational
and lead
inexorably
to infantile expressions of
regression and fantasies of an
aggression rooted in the
suppression of dissent and
the oppression of dissidents
deities
as impotent
as our terror
of the unknown
by the promise of security and prosperity
a cabal of brutish thugs have erected an
imaginary hierarchy and demanded our
subservient obedience and reverence for
this malfeasant apparatus that leeches
our paychecks and robs all of our dignity
while somehow retaining the illusion of liberty
a delusion that festers like an open wound
a tumorous ulcer oozing foul fluid into our minds
blotting out our capacity for cultivating a
future divorced from misanthropy
so pour kerosene on this fluttering
flame of revolt before it sputters out
if we'd quit looking back and forth at
one another rotting in the gutters
checking to see if we have more to
our name than our sisters and our brothers
we might just muster the courage to overthrow
the vapid and misguided fictions that
divide and segregate us into pawns
trapped in this unending rat race
they've deemed the American Dream
harness the revolutionary tenacity
dormant in humanity's most important *****
infinite potential latent in every molecule
each neuron dancing across synaptic
gaps and fanning the embers of an engine
that gives motion to this evolutionary frame
the human brain is omnipotent
Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 at 1:26 PM UTC
My dreams and life
contrasting in the abstract I
feign to transcend
an awakened state-of-being
Grasping,
with one foot in this existence
Lapsing,
One in the past,
dreams of a distant dimension x2
Crashing,
This corrupt, clandestine system
Gasping,
I can't surpass
my haunting demented visions x2
GO!
Pray for forgiveness
With overwhelming power in hand
I'll bring an end to it all
This all-consuming cabal, *******
I'll bring an end to it
All
To the hidden monsters flying in the
night sky, always gazing
Ever secure, beneath a crux of
watchful eyes again
Through figments of our minds
we're always hiding not surprising
Clever volumes
disguise the truth of awful lies
They reign
Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 5:56 PM UTC
Circle ****
A benzene ring of the most powerful
Viral assortment of the worst kind
Accountable to no one,
Secrecy rules this cabal.
Only fire can extinguish this conspiracy-
Burn the rich.
The poor don’t need middle men,
Lawyers or intermediaries
When there’s an obvious infestation
To be dealt with quickly-
Before they change all the rules, again.
Aug 9, 2010
Aug 9, 2010 at 8:26 PM UTC
Blood on the street;
The man who cast the first stone
was discharged and acquainted
While passersby were jailed
Cabal in the chambers;
Making treacherous remarks
Lady Justitia is not only shortsighted
The silence of her treachery is deafening
Customise looting spree;
Men of means are pardon of their sins
While men of straw burn in hell
A cleansing ritual to appease angry gods
Two mad men fighting without cause
One is protected with immunity clause
Jun 10, 2015
Jun 10, 2015 at 7:18 AM UTC
I found a way to make it painless, to make god good, to make myself good, to make myself god—me—Joshua Jerome Hutton, sound familiar?
God I hope so.
I found a way to make it painless in the checkout line, while the bleary-eyed maidens of South Moore, one in front, one behind, talk 3 a.m. rallies and resurrections right through me.
I found a way to make it painless at the eternal stoplight, watching the eternal Vietnam veteran in eternal rags holding eternal cardboard, summoning crumpled bills from anyone other than me.
I found a way to make it painless during the photo shoot, a way to place my chin so thoughtfully in my hand, a way to look into the middle-distance, a way to imply self-deprecation, a way to find near perfection—only under ample light, of course.
I found a way to make it painless in the soup queue, amongst my fellow unshaven, shamed naked, shamed to the bone, shamed pure, shamed to one flybuzz drive: I must consume.
I found a way to make it painless, to make it to the center of the white space, to suspend, inking out the worst parts of me, an all caps ATTRACTION, impossible to pinpoint, all for the review of books and the cabal of the slowed-down and insane still reading the review of books.
I found a way to make it painless by never breaking eye contact nor speaking a word as you talk yourself deeper into what you hate about yourself, and I stir my drink with a black cocktail straw, and I clear my throat, and I hahaha to myself, and I say these little issues just seem like problems. Just wait. You just wait.
I found a way to make it painless, to eek out of my own borderlines, to meld with the air and chemtrail across the sky, to observe from a holy distance the tightrope walker, the controlled demolition, the desperate young men lagging five feet behind the elusive loves of their lives, firing every clever phrase, hoping for one to land, to glean one little pause, a moment to catch up, and here, I must admit, it gives me great relief to be this removed, this far gone, this far god.
Jul 31, 2017
Jul 31, 2017 at 12:13 PM UTC
Truces
by Michael R. Burch
Artur took Cabal, his hound,
and Carwennan, his knife,
and his sword forged by Wayland
and Merlyn, his falcon,
and, saying goodbye to his sons and his wife,
he strode to the Table Rounde.
“Here is my spear, Rhongomyniad,
and here is Wygar that I wear,
and ready for war,
an oath I foreswore
to fight for all that is righteous and fair
from Wales to the towers of Gilead!”
But none could be found to contest him,
for Lancelot had slewn them, forsooth,
so he hastened back home, for to rest him,
till his wife bade him, “Thatch up the roof!”
We must sometimes wonder if all the fighting related to King Arthur and his knights was really necessary. In particular, it seems that Lancelot fought and either captured or killed a fairly large percentage of the population of England. Could it be that Arthur preferred to fight than stay at home and do domestic chores? And, honestly now, if he and his knights were such incredible warriors, who would have been silly enough to do battle with them? Wygar was the name of Arthur’s hauberk, or armored tunic, which was supposedly fashioned by one Witege or Widia, possibly the son of Wayland Smith. Legends suggest that Excalibur was forged upon the anvil of the smith-god Wayland, who was also known as Volund, which sounds suspiciously like Vulcan. Keywords/Tags: King Arthur, armor, sword, Excalibur, spear, Lancelot, wife, domestic chores, war, peace, homework
Apr 18, 2020
Apr 18, 2020 at 1:17 AM UTC
A vast landscape spanning mountains and valleys,
Enter entombed upon the dark marsh and gullies.
-
The trees, all decayed except the weeping willows,
Flattened forests jut up through the hillocks.
-
The call of a raven can be heard betwixt,
The open cavemouth of all silence,
The breeze concerns your cheek’s fine flesh,
And you know inside that God exists.
-
The beautiful darkness that escapes the light,
Shocks as if thunder were having its fright.
-
From the gorgeous hillside at where Cain murdered Able,
To the trepid path leading to Four horses’ stable.
-
The wind’s vague touch clearing fallen leaves,
The spring’s dripping water rids of disease,
Ash of the cremated flows through the air,
Swept up, caught in without despair.
-
Sharing stories around a somber fire,
The warming words do stoke the pyre.
-
The Black Cabal does peak between,
The center valley betwixt mounts obscene,
-
The abhorrent cathedral in gothic fashion,
Does purify in all reactions,
Leaving clean and reborn again,
Remaining free for eternity to gate about Eden.
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 7:35 PM UTC
The Old Testament;
psychoanalysis;
Communism & interest
are blamed on the world
Zionist conspiracy;
a secret cabal of Jewish
bankers behind the scenes
controlling events is
hard to argue w/;
Catholicism & the Mafia
peacefully coexisting w/
drugs, prostitution & ******
there are still saints among us
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 10:30 PM UTC
Executive- My powers are absolute,
thus I am totalitarian.
The legislature and judiciary
are each subservient to my whims.
I pass my bills with attendant
compliance, and interpret my own
terms as the law.
I shut the doors of compassion,
I am very deeply elusive.
I give no room at all to dissent.
I get bloated with the treasures of the nation.
In a leap year's tenure I bulldoze
my way back to my incumbent status.
And when four multiplies two, I impose
a minion to cover my ills.
Legislature- To obnoxious decrees I give my consent.
I inflate yearly forecasts to become opulent.
I am gratified for the cabinet servants' affirmation.
I always my selfish treaties ratify.
I am undoubtedly slavish to executive excesses.
I seek the redress of constituents' grievances
to enlarge my pocket's size.
And above all else, I am largely rubber stamp.
Judiciary- My evasive justice is yours' to reap
if you are a top notch,
whilst I withdraw the distributive
and restorative from insolvents.
I base my interpretations on business
interests,
and make laws for the interests of
a cabal.
Equity and rights are only in my
constitution stated.
But in reality they are no more
than abstract twins.
The sacred laws of our national prospectus
I serve as a weak custodian of,
and weaker still in the face of political
heavyweights.
But with all the lofty responsibilities
I am reverently saddled with,
I can do nothing more than
empower bigwigs because I am weak,
and they are powerful.
Aug 2, 2023
Aug 2, 2023 at 5:29 PM UTC
Ya no puedo dudar... Diste muerte a mi cándida
niñez, toda olorosa a sacristía, y también
diste muerte al liviano chacal de mi cartuja.
Que sea para bien...
Ya no puedo dudar... Consumaste el prodigio
de, sin hacerme daño, sustituir mi agua clara
con un licor de uvas... Y yo bebo
el licor que tu mano me depara.
Me revelas la síntesis de mi propio Zodíaco:
el *** y la Virgen. Y mis ojos te ven
apretar en los dedos -como un haz de centellas-
éxtasis y placeres. Que sea para bien...
Tu palidez denuncia que en tu rostro
se ha posado el incendio y ha corrido la lava...
Día último de marzo; emoción, aves, sol...
Tu palidez volcánica me agrava.
¿Ganaste ese prodigio de pálida vehemencia
al huir, con un viento de ceniza,
de una ciudad en llamas? ¿O hiciste penitencia
revolcándote encima del desierto? ¿O, quizá,
te quedaste dormida en la vertiente
de un volcán, y la lava corrió sobre tu boca
y calcinó tu frente?
¡Oh tú, reveladora, que traes un sabor
cabal para mi vida, y la entusiasmas:
tu triunfo es sobre un motín de satiresas
y un coro plañidero de fantasmas!
Yo estoy en la vertiente de tu rostro, esperando
las lavas repentinas que me den
un fulgurante goce. Tu victorial y pálido
prestigio ya me invade... ¡Que sea para bien!
945
Welcome to
The red white
And dark blue
**********
That owns you
The tax kings
Bleeding you
For better dreams
You will never make it to
It’s true
The wealthy rule
I’m not sure
If it’s a secret cabal
But they take it all
Rake in the money
We make them
While taking more
We feed the fed and the IRS
The justice system
Is the department of property protection
Run by big fat white men
I guess I’m ranting again
But I am tired
And getting sleepier by the minute
We got to many dogs
In this fight
And I’m not sure
If we can win it
That is why this poem doesn’t have
A happy ending in it
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 12:15 AM UTC
The beryl high land smoulders….
Where skinny manes of cloven trailing, cuff
the rake of jumbled scree,
a porous crux of timbered carol
matins from the mossy shrine
to urchin on the bluff and draft
in nooks of birch and bilberry.
On that high dais, Corvid tribals
potter on the reeks of gale.
Fell boatman of the troubled storeys
quarter in some sleet cabal
to throw their onyx gauntlet down
a slating arc of fallow sky.
Jun 17, 2016
Jun 17, 2016 at 9:58 AM UTC
En la clave del arco ruinoso
cuyas piedras el tiempo enrojeció,
obra de cincel rudo campeaba
el gótico blasón.Penacho de su yelmo de granito,
la yedra que colgaba en derredor
daba sombra al escudo en que una mano
tenía un corazón.A contemplarle en la desierta plaza
nos paramos los dos;
-Y ese -me dijo- es el cabal emblema
de mi constante amor.¡Ay! Es verdad lo que me dijo entonces;
verdad que el corazón
lo llevará en la mano..., en cualquier parte...
pero en el pecho, no.
781
One has a degree in Physics,
the other in Computer Science
Both have Bipolar 1
struck now from Societies grasp
Valued less than paupers
so self fulfilling be.
"We are your future" they
whisper angrily under bated breath
as finance Cabal wonder kids in
******* mausoleums sneer and jeer
in their prisms of skill and bone.
One million pound bonus just for doing their job
whilst we remain alone, penniless poets.
There is no justice, change
or before you know it we'll
change it whilst you
sleep, recombine the singularity
tuned into our frequency,
change. Or you'll feel the snap
of your Reptile necks.
Jun 25, 2017
Jun 25, 2017 at 9:24 PM UTC
Well, hello!
Nice to meet you,
I welcome you to come see
The Land of the Words,
That's within you and me
Tell me, what is it?
What words do you seek?
Are you trying to vaguely describe all the bleak?
Well, come in!
We’ve got it,
A library of words
To use at the times where yours just never work
We’ve got, you name it
Every word that there is
Obscure, slick and slimy
Eternal and bliss
Or maybe enlightened
Audacity, please?
Do they properly describe your
Brown dungaree jeans?
No worries, don’t fret
Don't think I'm done yet
Sit back and hold on,
Those words, you'll regret
Bungalow, bushy, cabal and unclean
Tremendously, vacant
And blindly obscene
Tattered and broken
Lies and Unspoken
Do they speak to you mind,
Like they are a foretoken?
Cataclysms with dark exorcisms
Punk, goth and metal
And hooliganism?
Tell me, what is it
The library goes on
I’ll talk your ears off
From dusk until dawn
Patiently, potent
Absurdly, outspoken
Is that how you’ll describe,
A bright golden token?
Charismatic, kick, addicts
Your thoughts are a savage
Discombobulate, ravage
The words can be baggage
Keep looking, it’s there,
Every word, and I swear
They exist to make circles
Out of regular squares
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 6:36 PM UTC
Never was a death so gracious
And I fear there never ever will be
Granted fools may feel salacious
Let their limber bodies bend
While the savage animals rend
Their flesh to scandalous designs
The killer cabal contrives
To take away all lives
Because their body has no divine designs
It will fail faltering and fall
To ills and accidents that attack us all
To ages and we will find ourselves
Lost
We live
We die
And all that is between this and that
Is just a dance against the evening sky
Jun 11, 2015
Jun 11, 2015 at 6:15 PM UTC
You can be polite. Or you can tell all the Julia’s in the world the things you think about when they’re talking to You. You could just… Start. Talking. It would be delicious and taboo and all that, and maybe a little awkward for all the Julia’s but the mainest thing… It would be impossible to ever. give. a **** ever. again. You Know This. You Know It Like you Know how many bottles of champagne it takes to even Begin to be enough champagne. This skill is highly prized. And you can DO this. You can do this Sophia. Right here. Right now. You can - tch. You’re not even listening to me, are you? That is awesome.
I can see it all now… one, two maybe five Julia’s all yapping away in a Vera **** pincer formation and then….! You open your mouth. The stars fall. The Julia’s are like “ What the-? “ and you, Sophia… Drowning the Gallery. Using all the colors you discovered on your expeditions. A Rainbow made of Lions. I can see it. And you can DO this. You can do this Sophia Conasta. Right here. Right now. You can even begin with a… You’re not even listening to me, are you? My God! you’re beautiful.
Like a bomb that uses a fork because ground zero was no place be Un-Civilized. In fact. Ground Zero wasn’t even a Place until you got there. And let your Self, drop! I mean to say…. You can be polite. Or. You can be Sophia being sophia. period. There’s a lot of tuxedos at this Event, have you noticed that? When did they come back? And why lord! do they all look terrible?
How long have I been gone? What the hell is Julia talking about now? That’s Leonard Maxwell and his assistant, April Alcott. She burns money to watch it burn-Ironically, but she’s not sure if she’s doing it right because if it Meant Anything in the first place, she would be first to have no clue what it meant. So now she nails it, but never gets a prize. She bought a lot of my dark stuff from 5 yrs ago that paid for the flat in Portland. What the hell is she wearing? A rhinestone baby Jesus tongue stud? I love these parties. I hate these parties. I’m Sophia Conasta. Celebrated Artist whose Body of Work has astonished the Hoi Polloi of the Art World, and totally lost right now.
What is Julia’s problem? Did she lose a Horse? Again? Somehow?Or Something? Open Bars Are Go! I’ll just weave my way over to the Gayest Cabal and Julia will be scraped off like a Barnacle* By GUCCI, and then I’ll be clearly Minus One Julia. That can only be a good thing. And - Open Bar. Breathe, Drink
Genius.
.
Jul 15, 2018
Jul 15, 2018 at 7:36 PM UTC
The witch cabal recites in hollow cant;
Septet, under nine stars at witching hour,
Calling Outer Fey for wishes to grant,
Gather underneath the great clock tower!
Beneath centenarian trees, owls croon;
Lightning flashes within the gloom-filled cloud,
Under the warbling choir, the shadows swoon;
Squalls lash against land in symphony loud!
Their syllables they screech like scratching nails;
Capering flames sashay in phantom wind;
And the very world howls with piercing wails,
Rolling in colours to which eyes are blind!
They call forth the Name for blood sacrifice,
Hoping for the ritual to suffice!
Jan 5, 2025
Jan 5, 2025 at 10:33 AM UTC
(the drug cos. have invented this,
tablet, capsule, even injectable;
but the pharma cabal says
no to all,
who know & ask for a public release)
|~|
For
A Kiss That Lasts All Week
it will cure most illnesses,
and what’s the point in that?
you will just have to learn it
with practice, practice & tactics
no need to hurry, play with
the concept, roll it over the tongue,
ready for overseas deployment
said tongue,
the tongue now
the advance force
close your eyes
focus on the overwhelming
(says the now all powerful Wizard of Lips)
those underestimated sensors of the lips,
too oft disdained
in a overhurrief hurricane rush
to the
“big n’ better “ orifices,
and the slow luxury
of the tingly
uttering of
WOW~
shooting through you to the parts of you
suddenly rewoked
& now revoked
from the
quietude of functional boredom
and think
but do not speak
*** *** o m g,
this is
the fountain of youth,
the revitalized
cellular generation,
the speeding up of the
flow of blood
to places long forgot,
allowing the heart to pump
its gifts to the deadened spots,
reawakening the invisible
soul
that we all have in common
so:
get to “work”
Oct 13, 2024
Oct 13, 2024 at 12:52 PM UTC