"capitulation" poems
#
*This coup
A new nation
Loyal dedication
Its classification*
‘Species procreation’
Prevents us from facing
A human cessation
selective mutation
Gestation
Creation
It may help explaining
The reasons
Behaving
*But not the foundation
Or actions
We’re basing*
A simplification
is “continuation”
A checkbox
left vacant
*Fulfillment
We’re chasing*
We sweat
Eyes are gazing
A slight
palpitation
In need of hydration
Complete excitation
Without
hesitation
Intense stimulation
**Deep urges
Heart racing**
*Driven
By sensations*
**Unbounded fixation
Pelvic
Undulations
Clothing
Perforations
Time no longer wasting**
***This capitulation
a Sanctification
****** gyrations
Hint of ***********
The bedroom
Safe haven
For what
we are craving
*Once out
and displaying*
It all had been taken
Before
Feeling vacant
Freed imagination
A resuscitation
Indulged depravation
A rhythm
we’re setting
The giving and getting
**Destroying
the bedding**
All else I’m forgetting
Entwined
with each other
Like entangled netting
*Both
on the same trip
In a unified heading*
Now comes
the summation
A true
Revelation
Final
culmination
Smash all expectations
***Volcanic
eruption***
That lasts the duration
**Loud gasp
We unlock**
Filled with gratification
#
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 3:19 AM UTC
Masters of the Universe,
three and some,
nearly four
months tween
me and you
that words
interchanged,
prayers,
asking for the answering job
which was handily God-to-Man
transferred, transfused
tween you and
me
a/k/a
Job...appropriately
you may recall
I was the bloke
who immodestly spoke,
asking any and all
circulating deities,
to tender
their resignations
post-haste,
immediately
for failure to do
the appointed rounds
well enough to this
human's satisfaction
now don't go high hopes expecting
a large confession
about how hard,
ya see it really is
tending the flock be...
nope
I ain't here to beg of you,
take this onerous
from my shoulders!
no, no, capitulation,
my track record
maybe not much better
than what went before,
but you know what I'm about to say,
cause you are perfect
well I still don't like
what satisfies your perfection definition
for my fellow humans,
so I'm keeping this job/Job,
for another few months,
cause I am.
Human
enough to know
that humans keep on trying
and you just gave up
and said let them do what they want
between human to human,
as long as they pay us obeisance
I put sins of
man to fellow man
as my número uno priority
and if the number of prayers diverted
back to you,
in your inbox receiving,
are just the
dues paying kind,
keep'em,
I got more important things to do...
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 9:44 AM UTC
~and for Harlan, who loved this one best~
*"for tandem is the ever-changing, graying color of their fierce attached tenacity"
waking/walking in
careful pacing regular lock steps,
like new cadets, counting cadence,
in perfect silent, almost motionless,
except for the minuscule quivering of
slightly parted moving lips
these two elders,
still now plebes,
freshmen
but of a latter, graduated stage,
demonstrating robustly
the slow shuffle-along,
a well practiced dance conjured
'in tandem'
her arm, crooked in his,
his other hand,
in protective custody of a
knight's armored chain glove
encasing hers,
he, shuffling just,
a precise, intended half-a-beat slower
lest she ever think
that she, ever be a drag upon him
hair, his,
threaded with daily,
new arriving grays,
proudly accepted
as the privilege of
graceful aging
hers,
disguised with periodic outings,
outings for the hidings of life's bookmarks,
conceding nothing ever to
time's lunatic desire to separate them
modest in dress,
styling hints of pasts' elegant,
the man's hat defiant,
daringly jaunty angled,
a small scarf to handbag knotted,
matching his Windsor knotted tie
the passers-by, all smile,
the signal charm of an
end game processional,
thinking so sweet,
yet mine eyes detect more,
something
hardy and radical
a fierce, fierce fierceness,
both fighters in the resistance,
armed with tandem tenacity,
ground given,
but only inches surrendered,
wounds resisted by
scar skin toughened
by the caress of ions bonding
under the pressure
of atomic level mutuality
worn out,
well past Purple Hearts,
no capitulation feared,
to the ever changing,
enemies' new disguises,
they,
a two person platoon,
each,
having the other's back
and I burst into tears on the street,
a train of out loud moans,
even groans emitted,
like a string of perfect pearls
breaking,
clattering on an asphalt terrain
weeping
not
from visions of the inevitable,
sighing
not
from the certitude of a
cycle's uptime ending*
but jealous furious by this reminder delightful,
angry at myself, for having lost so many wasted years,
mine, the loss greatest, for absent was the
fierce tenacity of tandem
Mar 6, 2017
Mar 6, 2017 at 8:41 PM UTC
arboreal
capitulation
to the last saw;
just lying there,
rusting and dull,
a senile serial killer.
a dirt water droplet
circlestalks the sun
like a vulture.
wild flowers
split the concrete
like jackhammers and
the vines hang low
over city streets,
while unmaintained
botanical gardens
shrivel and decay,
breeding mushy immensities.
bears hibernate in subways
and deer flock in herds
and oh, the birds..
the birds.
spiders hang webs
from ancient clock towers
while moth returns
to chasing moon.
dams crumble,
the water flows,
sea reclaims the shore.
but the
eldest
trees
still weep
when memory pains,
and so surrender
to the saw,
however harmless
out of hand.
Apr 18, 2010
Apr 18, 2010 at 1:43 PM UTC
He's part artist, part alchemist,
but a full-on con, self-professed with post-
graduate degrees in mixology
and the god-given sense to know which
smoldering home remedies will catch fire
(give or take an occasional legal glitch).
His healing pitch is grifted on the easy
comparison of queasily lowered brows to
their indistinctly raised betters. You'll doff
the scoffing face as he pulls back a masking
caparison, and your fever gallops hotly
hoof-in-mouth with an uncontrollable itch.
Tinctures, colloids, salves and potions,
they all have twisty caps, blithe boxes
bubbling over with hypnotic patterns
fashioned to cure your urge to avoid
his futility. First'll come the ****** then
the crumple followed by purse strings loosening.
Don't consider it capitulation.
His assortment of fluid manipulations
bear a singular branding at 100 proof,
and after the recommended daily dosing
(two jiggers with each meal), you'll feel
you're **** erectus made sapient.
May 23, 2010
May 23, 2010 at 8:15 PM UTC
You drip into my thoughts like a slip of the tongue and blushing of parted lips; ravenous.
Your indulgence of my masochistic inquires is shamelessly scandalous,
Akin to a laceration of lace and a bursting of buttons, unraveling the threads of my modesty.
The consequences stripping me of my delicacy exposing the betrayal of my anatomy.
Brutality and savagery quicken my submission and the remnants of my restraint will succumb; a hunger.
Dive into the warmth of my energy, the color of my heart, the wavelength of my soul; exploit.
Your devilish grin growing, dilated pupils following my form taking sadistic pleasure in my resistance to a futile fight.
Wide eyes watch your teeth sink into the purity of my flesh, porcelain complexion now stained with crimson red; capitulation to a carnal sentiment; surrender.
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 5:15 PM UTC
I'm a hung dumpster! Alcohol flask bucket
Sacked into the trash can of grocery store monopoly the end of all produce and of production
Collapse
Coronary killer vegetables
Rotting in the stomach
Begotten sons of Aspergers eating asparagus
the symptoms of collectivism and social surplus. colliding and,
The end of evolve.
The cities you see are the collecting cells pooling to cesspit trudging on tracheing breath.
Collapsing lungs with no space left
The cornucopia is over. It fell down with its mortar and grout lain to crust into soil. Traipsed through toil torture and insolence.
The Crimea fell next comes bombs next comes Obamba. Capitulation with motor skills
Feigning docility and anti-hostility mortar round bills.
Mountains from Jerusalem cricket ant hills
I am your friend though we owe the same blood
I am no different yet I give nothing up
I claim all the land just as you do
You take and you take and I lose and lose
Corruption and solitude
Killing people only gets you less friends
We are mirror yet very mad at it
.
My time will be up only but once.
This is the one time I'm not scared of death
But the glimmer in her eyes laughs me through it.
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 12:09 AM UTC
Close your eyes and listen to the painful voice inside,
the truth you hide is written long after we all die.
You are hidden on one side, I am fallen on the other,
we could have worked together, but you chose to let me fall.
Who would sever a family tree, who would do such a horrible thing?
Who would poison the food we eat, and watch us disintegrate?
You burned my life and future down, you left profound devastation.
Now watch the body hit the ground in the wake of my capitulation.
Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 4:04 AM UTC
The fog crept in on giant monster claws,
Surely no itty-bitty feline foots, I pray:
“Feets don’t fail me now,”
A line that will live in infamy,
Way back in a vaudeville when,
A minstrel Chitlin Circuit then,
Was an actor known as the
"Laziest man in the world,"
A character designed to stick to a
Collective white consciousness,
Stick like Tar-Baby, that negative
Image of African-American men--
I speak of The Brothers--
Who for over a century, have been
Struggling to live down a pernicious,
Most persistently demeaning,
Hollywood trope.
Tribute is due to the black actor born:
Lincoln Theodore Monroe Andrew Perry.
Oh, Mr. Perry, & yes, you were the
First black actor to receive
Screen credit in a film.
Well, I guess that puts you right up there,
With Jackie Robinson & Sidney Poitier,
Carver or Tubman, or any of those
Countless northern abolitionists--
With no personal stake in slavery,
Or emancipation, but fervent nonetheless--
Color-barrier breakers &
Household saints a-coming &
A-marching in, in that number . . .
You paid a big price, Mr. Perry:
The indignity & débauche,
By abject surrender to the Boss Man,
Tribute, recognition is due for
Feats of humility & self-abasement,
Entailing total superhuman surrender,
Capitulation to the dismal, prevailing
State of American race relations at the time.
Stepin Fetchit: a name & a persona,
Not just painfully racist, but
Downright subversive.
Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 1:45 AM UTC
Supine, wrapped in scarlet,
only eye open, third.
I create her skin, flawless and golden;
her hair becomes the color of midnight
on the ocean,
blood at night.
Suspended, bound in purple,
capitulation, freedom.
These lonely visions, they are cobblestones in my twisted path of memories both past and future, overgrown with weeds of time and worn around the edges; an uneven course winding in and around and back again, with branches, heavy and black,
so black,
on all sides.
Where are you, dearest?
I smell acrylics and oils and linseed
and the windows are open; traffic hums on the hill and your brow is furrowed as your brush caresses the canvas, each stroke, love manifest.
Later, you will sing for me
Fluid, mercurial, she sings and paints
and broods
and pouts
and wipes her cheek with her thumb, smearing alizarin crimson on her pixie face.
Time stops at her beauty
The moment falls into my guts, burrowing into
my insides forever;
the plants by the window,
the deep red smear on my angel,
the sound of camelhair hitting canvas, forever mine now
to cherish and carry
with me as I trudge this
desolate and dreary landscape.
*When I come home,
you will sing for me*
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 5:52 AM UTC
The first thing you notice
As the clothed self starts to dissolve
Is the relaxation.
A kind of sinking into the the buoyant world
And surrender
So is in there too
But not capitulation poor and bowed
More a fizzy feel for all the
Overwhelming all
That can be
In the curve of fences
Seen from trains
And blurs of green and soft remembered walks
Of girls.
Mostly.
I have to say.
And moon and planets squirrelled through
The secret words of electrons to
The screen.
Food is all around us but we starve.
Apr 5, 2010
Apr 5, 2010 at 11:39 AM UTC
A party in the jungle heat,
he is sober,
Like always.
*Just one drink...
Come on try it...*
No.
One, please, do it with me
No
Don't be left out
No
Just one...?
...no...
One.
Capitulation First Sip.
Fruit juices of the jungle- strawberry sweet with that telling aftertaste
no regret.
Sip.
Gulp.
First cup finished
He is Tipsy.
Secnd cup finshed
He is Buzzed.
Pride, He has lost his inicense, He is growin' up.
The only limit is dere are none...
Three cups in and the sweet nektar is gane,
One half a Loko next – grawss.
The world tips.
One half a wutr botle goes very fastly - no flavor at all
The world blurs,
Cut to couch 3 am
He tiiirrrred, He fulll, He is full-on drunk.
For the first time in sixteen years, he is a wining-confused-inarticulate baby.
Pillow on his face to hide from the lights- not the shame- just the party that needs to be over
He wants sleep, but the spins keep him awake.
The rumors abound: "He assed out on the couch."- not true.
Alcohol fueled lie.
Alcohol distorts perception far worse than a few rumors can hope to encompass.
Alcohol turns your average teen into a
Thrill-seeking
Death-defying
Lady-killing
Frisky-living
Idiot.
Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 2:00 PM UTC
wintry sun,
brief,
byplay yard
shadowed in cold
and yet
powdering
golden tones,
drafting
a fire, a mirage.
heyday adjourned.
ethereal hibernaculum
of the light,
tilting floret in
full-blown decay.
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 5:55 PM UTC
she was a quick pencil sketch
nothing more than a moments
hurried hand
her perfume and brushed hair
an echo in the worlds soundtrack
she was a quick pencil sketch
in a world of masterpieces in motion
but thouse few dark lines
were spent here in the walls of this silent room
sketched in the afterimage of her presence
sketched in the lingering words of her farewell
each line cast down to page with a quickness
but drawn out in the mind
to slow abandon
to slow capitulation to a lesser dream
one of crying
one of loss
her perfumed brushed hair
catching the light
as the door closed
a masterpiece of motion to the world
a sketch of dire love to me
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 3:11 PM UTC
A mask of lies disguises my inner thoughts
Accompanied by a black veil which conceals my sorrows
A cage of snakes hold captive everything I ever bought
While ropes of disillusions hold back my tomorrows
Encountering materialistic poisons that plague my existence
With a side dish of infectious bad habits
Offered with a full menu of self-destructive malignance
That are stuffed into my boxed head like voting ballots
Having a desire for unwanted capitulation
Which lead to uncontrollable regrettable decisions
But a light guides me on a path to true elation
With nervousness overcoming my body like a surgeon making his first incision
Darkness becomes light blessed with colorful roses
A flame of love has ignited its route like a traveling circus
Followed by a wandering mind that creatively composes
As life’s symphonic strings are strummed, this writer finds his purpose
Jonathan Pizarro
Copyright 2011 ©
January 29, 2011 2:40am
Feb 20, 2011
Feb 20, 2011 at 9:31 PM UTC
The guise of a false hope warily cloaks
an unkempt soul bereft of fortitude -
stolid in the belligerent face of unnamed evil,
an aura of past opulence adulterates naive purity,
the stigma augmented by an insidious breach
of internal asylum. The vulnerability of
a soldier against oneself takes precedence
in the chasmal crusade yet to come; omniscient
intimation gives way to dour prophecies,
ambidextrous in their intricate verbosity.
Molten in the inferno of cross-interrogation,
pliable in the hands of a mortared veteran,
reiteration serves only as a gibe, a grievance
only the most foolish jester would make
before a corroding monarch. The demons
have rallied for annihilation; the starling
warbles an aria of capitulation, its notes
reverberating through the tentative sunset,
a sky of gray and orange mingling with the song
to convey an unequivocal defeat. But after every
dusk comes a period of resurrection, and from the haze
emerges a heroine unrecognizable if not for eyes
ablaze with scarred determination. She strides
with the strength of ten thousand legions, a leviathan's
courage uncovered in her still-beating heart.
The devil flees, uncomfortable in the blinding presence
of mortal accompanied by heavenly body. This -
this is redemption for armor lost, the answer
to her yearning prayers that had been barely audible over the
convulsing sobs that had swallowed her for so long.
Finally vanquished of the toxic beast that had claimed her,
she rises victorious, proclaiming amidst glory a single word -
“Checkmate.”
May 15, 2016
May 15, 2016 at 10:03 PM UTC
Several written
And none read
History stabbed
Stories bled
Torn
Withdrawn
To except a fate
Waiting to be born
A prisoner of this state
Separating truth
I reveal the lies.
Bearing the leverage
I see the blind
I am asked.
To surrender my mind
Calming capitulation
Revolution reformed.
From the natural expression
Of dialectical form
Several written
And none read
History stabbed
Stories dead
May 3, 2010
May 3, 2010 at 8:00 PM UTC
inside surfaces; a couplet affair of
mess and lost movement,
what small safety is left to believe in
can't make me or
you listen:
desperation makes soft
rainfall outside seem like
splinters,
chopsticks neither of
us would bother split,
anyway.
and now i
'm drunk and
now, i can't figure
out
how
softness works (am i weak and formulaic?),
or how i've
switched heartbeats
to some small
distance that won't capitulate.
capitulation would be far too easy,
of course.
how built up speculation,
inevitably in isomorphism
to your sweet ruffled hair,
to another lover,
who won't care anyway,
(will she?)
wines and dines my
foolish mind.
is all this pursuit futile?
just;
please care for me,
new darling, you,
as anyone in rainfall,
or tomato juice, or;
basically:
i need
all the ******* help in the world,
right now.
give me something.
anything.
dying for new light,
i managed to set sights on
oceans or
footsteps abroad or
just not feeling like this,
if that's ok?
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 11:02 AM UTC
dance of days, head as a twig, to pass the time away. tendrils unfold and try not grip too tight or loose, to never lose or choke; sometimes feeling the low roar of blood rushing through flow-spaces, held in prepare and transparency. in these moments, there is a fine tapestry we were woven upon, gestures lain side-by-side. sayin' all the same words, in distinct& ruffled tongue.
cold snap, and there's layers again. cycles run circles and somewhere, at the back of the room, there's an utterance: "funny, that". and i wonder if i'm hearing my voice or just seeing my own breath. it echoes in the corners, out between shadows. my left eye's been twitching, but only as ghost. i carry out the honours after, only by some gnarled sense of capitulation.
but that's life.
Mar 14, 2016
Mar 14, 2016 at 4:35 AM UTC
everything else confines a
space between eyes an
informant, i, capitulation
finally breaches the wounded
water. you facilitate this,
with only a small clue. i
didn't write conviction down
my arms for nothing. at
least i hope not, this hopelessly
dawning i, this reality in
which we gravitate. find
a path to your palm. a
visceral obeisance you
may find in my eyes. a
low hiss, my heart leaks
to make space for you,
oh darling anew, the
inside of my chest
is snowing.
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 6:17 AM UTC
obscenity isnt always
in the words written or images sketched
but sometimes in the hearts and minds of
thouse you look within for it least
sometimes the images
overwhelm the idea within them with their simple verse
and he must hurry behind and clean like a proper butler
dusting and polishing to meet the standard
making a home for the love felt
a true home for the misbegotten
but these come thundering out of the dust and noise
hard and swift on massive waves of
untamed emotion
like the sudden shout of peril of the last watchman standing
knowing his warning falls to deaf ears
but he must fulfill his destiny and creed
to be the only one who could have stayed the downfall
but within the sweet reprise of finding
is the void and capitulation
as if the celluloid heroine
steps gently from the screen to the empty room
your weeping occupy's
to comfort as only true royalty of worth can
as only dignity's angel can
you are left with your own cage of
your own doubting thoughts and tread-worn dreams
while she journeys onward with her own
on a cold mist strewn road
far to the north
in some unforgiving land of harlots and liars
the end of this night approaches
bearing its regrets
gently in its arms like comfort and peace of mind
can be purchased with well wishes
and happy thoughts
the last solider limps slowly away from the battlements
wailing his souls song of friends fallen
and blood that never should have been spilled
over such foolish proposition
as words spoken are equal to those written
as such an expensive toll should be paid for some rich mans pocket
overflowing and wasted
Jun 21, 2013
Jun 21, 2013 at 1:19 PM UTC
capitulation is on the English sides mind
their brand of cricket has been of an awful kind
this ashes series our Australian side blew them away
as they had a very stylish form of play
the bowling and batting of the Australian team
has wrecked the English lads winning dream
our lads didn't put a foot wrong on the wicket
they were a class act at playing the game of cricket
the last match in the series is on to-day
and the Australians will most certainly be making hay
at this stage they've got the English struggling
they've not got enough fire power in their batting
after the lunch break we'll have the English all out
they'll be wearing the odd ****** pout
they've not prepared well in any facet of the game
which has been a terrible shame
the annuls of cricket shall record England's loss
and speak glowingly of the Australian teams gloss
the 2013-2014 ashes series a series of capitulation
where the English didn't play well against our nation
Jan 3, 2014
Jan 3, 2014 at 8:20 PM UTC
*Maculate Cheddar Moon nights o'er Aquarian countryside
Hinterland for young lovers , pathways for romance rediscovered
Shangri-La midnight glen , flaxen mane , astral beacons of
Smoke blue in concerto with Flame red
A reflection on a chosen star at curiosities unlatched gate
Traipsing rain washed , cool clover with strawberry tressed , porcelain 'Inamorata'
Ebony hour capitulation and seduction* ...
Aug 21, 2016
Aug 21, 2016 at 9:21 PM UTC