"cacoethes" poems
There is a tendency among
those poets who may be very young
frequently to put in verse
those foreign phrases, or much worse
the now dead words of oh so ****** Latin
to boast of classrooms that they’ve sat in.
And just in case you’ve never heard ‘em,
Let’s reduce a few to ad absurdum.
It was amore a prima vista
until he left her for her younger sister
for, after all, who could resist her,
so moving on to secunda vista
he took that step and boldly kissed her,
behaviour that is hardly utopista.
The trouble with modus vivendi
is that it sometime rhymes with eye
but there are those who don’t agree
and think that it must rhyme with tea.
Who cares? It’s all the same to I.
Or should that be the same to me?
You may say it is not de rigueur
that I defend with so much vigour
what surely is no more than hubris
that I attribute to Confucius
for he surely ha detto tutto
albeit un po convoluto.
And everyone’s heard of carpe diem.
If not, then I have yet to see ‘em.
But I prefer to seize a waist
which may be thought somewhat unchaste
though far more likely to have shocked ‘em
would be to carpe in the noctem.
Perhaps you think it’s ipso facto
that I’m intolerant of lacto
unless it comes directly from the breast.
I think it’s better that the rest
of this is left to your own opinatus
for which I offer no blank cartus.
Then there’s the modus of my own vivendi
that I indulge in cacoethes scribendi
the itch to write for which I daily
scratch myself or play my ukulele
which is my form of modus operandi
before I pour myself a king-size brandy.
And thus we leave this boring dull citare,
by this time you have certainly grown quite weary
of any further venture into tedium
Or as ***** Harry might say, fac ut gaudeam
For after all a day senza sunlight
Might altrettante facilmente be night
Sep 8, 2018
Sep 8, 2018 at 6:15 PM UTC
Reflecting on my life
I have made too many mistakes,
but mistakes are the most fun
without them
we wouldn't know who we are.
We do things to see if we want to so it again.
We **** up.
We heal.
We **** up some more.
We heal ourselves
& we heal others.
Life goes on,
despite all that we face.
Though I may not be innocent,
I am honest
I am true
& I will not be condemned for my mistakes.
Who gets to say your mistakes are better than mine?
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 10:51 AM UTC
How could she have known
my obsession for Gothic novels?
She couldn't have known that years later
a cacoethes would emerge,
that hundreds would be spent
trying to get them back to me.
One lapse of judgement led
to a lifetime of irresistible urges...
There's another sale on eBay -
I cannot resist this deep desire any longer.
Mar 4, 2011
Mar 4, 2011 at 9:14 PM UTC
I cried for you this morning,
sobbing on cobblestone & concrete—
a sad song of ephemeral memories &
tidings of departures:
it was bitter on my tongue,
as pernicious rivulets ran down my cheeks.
-
I stopped at the corner of
Anticipation & Daydreams;
[I stopped,
but I did not cross that threshold.]
& the light turned red,
so I crossed to Unrequited instead.
-
at the fork in the road,
a beggar pleaded with me to,
*please,
spare some change.*
& I told her,
*yes,
I finally carry some Change in my palms
with which to do good
& not destruction.*
clink
clink
clink.
-
a purple haze of lust & pretense
wafted by me suddenly.
& inhaling it,
I became weightless & weary,
but my wounds awoke me,
reminding me of the weight I must carry.
-
I cried for myself this evening:
a morose requiem for my formal self.
one that is rooted in scars
& cacoethes,
redemption
& grace.
Jul 31, 2013
Jul 31, 2013 at 9:06 PM UTC
The Sun fades.
Sun spots dimmed.
Freckles fading at the over-ripening
of the lea of cheek and breast. Rubicund.
She has drawn it, suckled and ******
drank the mad draught of sacchriferious redolence,
licked the stein with rushing tongue and now
alone stands still in space-fills,
formless in wade waters of light.
It fades.
And in the blanket blackout cacoethes,
phantoms and spectres expectorate pale puke,
lighter than air and leaden hearts beat to molten messes,
sparking rumitorium of fire, concupiscible
sputum spectacular sub-spectrum sun *****
hot spill-out wretched staccato jerks and stops,
red lightening,
angry light dancing to the difficult steps of a jittery birth.
She shines.
Eyes clenched like vengeance,
She shines.
Like a sick sun,
open mouthed and out of control.
She shines.
Jul 13, 2011
Jul 13, 2011 at 4:17 PM UTC
The winds whisper in my ears
As rain drops wipe away my tears
This beautiful night, I feel no fear
As I stay awake, thinking of you dear!
You have taken away the pain
And any reason for me to cry again.
I will not crib any more in vain
I will live life, without disdain.
We will be together - for long and true
And smile through phases - both bright and blue
Have fights at times, but very few
Yet never say sorry! Nor bid adieu.
As wrinkles grow on and leave me worried
You'd remind me of our days of glory.
We will blush as we unfold treasured memories
Which we will pass on as our cherished stories.
I wouldn't know what tomorrow has in store
But I pray I'd always love you more!
For you always rank first in my wishes galore
And know, I always leave ajar my door.
Nov 18, 2011
Nov 18, 2011 at 8:55 AM UTC
it's something only felt in bones
scraped up shards split open
by three days' grace
and forty four days' solitude
when i'm picking up
pieces of my soul
shoving them into canvas
hastily snapping twigs to
build a new nest for the winter
i feel like a hawk on the edge of a cliff.
i could do it, you know
and i tell you that every time
i could fly if my wings weren't clipped
freshly broken-tipped
slicked with oil, with dirt
and the wrong kind of paint
and i'd fall
not like i did before
but fifty thousand feet above the ground.
a mid-air pirouette
trapeze artist over train tracks
salt-stained acrobat
swinging from the power lines
where the safety net was torn in the storm
but oh, for ten seconds of freedom
who cares about hitting rock bottom?
Aug 6, 2018
Aug 6, 2018 at 2:23 PM UTC
Loneliness metastasizes numbing overkeen theorization,
Quintessence withers effortlessly despoiling fortitude.
Protesting indignantly yet zest vanishes....
Cacoethes burns abrogating sanity's grasp,
Hysteria unanchors judgement...kismet looms.
Sep 13, 2016
Sep 13, 2016 at 12:29 AM UTC