"cessation" 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
Precarious Life
Migration in the Age of Globalization
Various Strife
Cessation in the wage of translation
Starvation in our under age narration
Is opportunity worth the cost
Bifurcation of our to be nations
Will we make it across
Vicariously rife
Location of our permanent vacation
Hilarious fife
Hesitation in the living wage stagnation
Resignation of our own home nation
Will anything become lost
Frustration in this age of relocation
Will we make it across
Gregarious life
Migration in the age of inflation
Precarious Life
Stagflation been gauged with low expectations
Automation when we enrage damnation
It shall be worth the cost
Fixation on a whole new acclimation
Will we make it across
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 2:46 PM UTC
There is something magical
in the whirring
of a midday laundromat.
A cessation of pride,
maybe.
People all dressed in sweatpants
the air full of detergent smell
and the sound of coins clicking
against great tumblers
as they go round
and round
and round
and round...
The people smile back,
no use pretending superiority here.
Whistlers twitter on, folding towels and socks into neat, organized piles.
The children are well behaved,
their hands full of potato chips
given by their parents as a pittance for their patience.
The patient patrons
ponder on,
their empty hands crumpling receipts.
This, with the crunching of chips
and the distant whistle
over the percussion of clicking
coins clattering
in a dryer
compose an unintentional opera,
an ode to humility.
Humility's honorable honesty heals humanity's hubris.
Noisy trucks pass outside the floor-to-ceiling plate glass windows,
Where the hot air wreaks its violence
and men make their ways
in spite.
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 5:00 PM UTC
Let the place of the solitaires
Be a place of perpetual undulation.
Whether it be in mid-sea
On the dark, green water-wheel,
Or on the beaches,
There must be no cessation
Of motion, or of the noise of motion,
The renewal of noise
And manifold continuation;
And, most, of the motion of thought
And its restless iteration,
In the place of the solitaires,
Which is to be a place of perpetual undulation.
7.4k
wondrous words,
shades of colorations,
this pain,
artfully slow, steady stalking,
finale staking into
my hardened heart
with tireless twinges
of loss and constant regret,
painstakingly plinking away,
leaving pockmarks of bullets shot
at the concrete ring-fencing,
failing to protect me from just another,
**oh god not again,
have no mo' time**
for jes one mo' time
love's aftermath regret,
bitter acid wash,
that cleanses nothing,
for you are already nothing
when love loss wrenches/rents your
soul's garments with knotholes of
unfashionable distressed
distress
**better not to have loved,
better, better, better,**
than this battering silent hurricane
invisible thunderstorm internally,
than respects no seasonality,
for which the meteorologists
can predict neither its path or its
final cessation
painstakingly,
did I build my walled shelter,
only to fail-fall to the siege machines
of beauty and desire,
and
once conquered,
with fire and heat,
*they burnt me
from the outward edges inward,
and I am not a
Phoenix*
see the stooped slow white walker
more than dead, yet alive enough
existing to be witness to
his own devouring,
his hands wrapped round
the stake in his chest stuck,
painstakingly
protecting it,
lest its removal
be one more undoing of the
painstaking man
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 7:00 PM UTC
I have suicidal depression--
and no, I don't want to tell you about it.
I'd rather hide it from you (if I could)
And bury it the way you might do with someone you once loved
Maybe sharing their pain if only just for the moment...
I don't want you to sympathize with me either. It's not that kind of sad I'm afraid..
I need this to hurt me, because if it doesn't I won't learn that it isn't okay to feel this way.
A long and outlasting life will be my punishment for this. I will die in valour and bury this axe where cessation lies dormant
Never to be shared with you
My sickness fully contained. I will vanquish this demon inside myself.
I will starve before it feeds. I solemnly swear this exorcism on your behalf.
You will never know
My pain.
Sep 24, 2017
Sep 24, 2017 at 11:42 PM UTC
we are free to be
_whatever we please_
whether or not
any others agree
our distinct vibration
shifts all of the nations
and our unique ways
are the _cosmic-hydration_
with _no need for fixation_
on anothers’ dictation
we rid ourselves of
any self-love cessation
we _explode in our glory_
all free from filtration
and use our relations
for human salvation
let us be who we are
embracing each scar
our imperfect nature
keeps us _reaching far_
releasing self-judgement
with our hearts kept ajar
we can see that our falls
_were just crossroads to stars_
Sep 1, 2018
Sep 1, 2018 at 12:39 PM UTC
weary of mothers and friends
losing their children,
before their time,
weary of failing
to achieve reconciliation
with whatever one nominates
the force that regulates,
fate, Name-Your-God,
deity of your choice,
nature, laws of physics,
the "whatever"
that controls, interferes,
that you think to believe
wills these event's occurrence
non-randomly
cessation of formalities,
one sided truce
signed and delivered,
unafraid to call this
what it is,
**** and damning fate,
for no god
could be so cruel...
If only there was a
Dislike button
for life and the poems
wrenched from death
at 5:00 am
this thought is my
sole inhabitant
once again,
nature's bosses distort,
another friend's grief
asks, cajoles me
to betray my/thy belief
banish it or me,
for we both cannot be
cohabitants
under the one roof,
of this limited mind,
where flailing
poems
never good enough,
failing
to express my
sorrowed rage
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 6:03 AM UTC
no emotionally ecstatic experience compares
to the seminal instance
whence spermatozoa
(from profuse *********** beget
the miraculous propensity
to procreate despite the steep odds
female fertility fosters potential impregnation
fusing the hereditary debt
of feral, fiery, fomenting friskiness
fueling fancy free footloose fornication
prior to seminal fertilization union
sans ova doth induce fret
full ness in tandem with
diametrically opposed exultant sensations
(biologically, embryonically, microscopically,
et cetera) seismic shocks inject
when deliberate intent arises to disregard
applying prophylactics choice
plying reproductive roulette let
which analogous fruitful uterine plain
bastes the "cooking" egg omelette
which impregnation upends cessation of "self"
first and foremost asper desire to breed
wrenching role of "me" as operative
of webbed world de jure upon
consummating that most miraculous deed
necessitating yet for the fecund female relief
from messy menstrual cycle
she becomes temporarily freed
that perhaps a novitiate (or even a gal practiced
in the euphoric family, she instinctually
abides prenatal signals that heed
without feeling debased, harangued, lectured
pedagogical, polemical, puritanical, et cetera blast
assessing copulation enjoyed gloriously,
ineluctably, kinesthetically
lectured by elder, especially cast
in thee reel life drama, that nine months
til offspring utters initial whimper
elapses exceptionally fast
emitting a radiant golden halo wishing
to bottle confluence of hormonal secretions last
ideally fully awake to the birthing process,
when juiced the first stage of maternity past
cuz every moment thee inconsolably
(perhaps colicky infant)
gets first dibs to suckle,
which round the clock nursing
consumes moments many vast.
Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 11:04 PM UTC
Read, watched, Listened for snippets
Wore the buttons,
Devoured anything…
Apartheid
Had my own personal
Bedroom Revolution...
Jumped high…In place… with the best of them
Little balled up fists…
Pumping…
Chanted the chants
Sang the song
Freeee-ee Nelson Mandelaaaa
Freeee-ee Nelson Mandelaaaa
And I meant it!
Oh My God I meant it from my
young revolutionary soul
Cried adolescent girl cries
For our South African brothers and sisters
All of the martyrs
Known and unknown
STOP APARTHIED!
STOP APARTHIED!
Free Nelson Mandela!!
To this very day
I love me some Nelson Mandela
Love the man he is
Mourn the man he was
Big Fine Educated Pugilistic
African
Man
Passionate
Compassionate
On that serious mission
Who, though technically still breathing upon his release, in reality
Gave his life
To promote the cessation of
An idea more merciless even than the Rwandan genocide
In that Death
Seldom came quickly
A system more sadistic even than the African Slave Trade
In that it was not based economically
Therefore ALL the
“Kaffers”
Could be maimed or die
And it wouldn’t cost a thing…
Monetarily speaking
A society wherein
Each Black death
Someone’s Job… or
Someone’s Entertainment
Every atrocity’s purpose to serve only to
Douse fuel on the already
Brightly burning fire of
Hate and torture and hate
I love Nelson Mandela
For making like David
And having the *****
To take on the Goliath
Apartheid
Satan is creative
His minions resourceful
We will never know the indignities;
Can only imagine the violations
My Nelson was forced to endure
Imprisoned for 27 years
I love
Nelson Mandela
For having the strength
To keep living
When so many others couldn’t
Still able to put
One
In front of
The other
Albeit gingerly
But still locomoting
Out of hell
On his own two feet…
That alone makes him a hero
To me
In my heart he will always be
The
Big
Fine
Educated
Pugilistic
Passionate
Compassionate
Hero
That the young revolutionary in me
sings about…
Dec 7, 2013
Dec 7, 2013 at 6:29 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
the first sunbeam of a fortnight
brushes fleeting on thy face
transforming all the hopelessness
to a fresher state of grace
and for a fortnight of it's own
hoards pleasure with no pain
until grace without enough regard
dies to hopelessness again
Feb 22, 2012
Feb 22, 2012 at 9:21 PM UTC
the weekend has just got underway
there will be a cessation of work for two days
one will partake of a little relaxation
and one will put one's feet up for the duration
how I like the weekends coming around
I can stay in bed sleeping most sound
the alarm clock not needing to be wound
it'll be deactivated as I snore on my pillow mound
I love Saturdays and Sundays
those wonderful restful days
I love chilling out and lazing about
of this fact there is no doubt
Friday afternoon is the best time of all
one can clock off from work and do very little at all
should the mood strike me this weekend
I might take the opportunity to ring an old friend
the word weekend
is one which makes me glad
it means that there's forty eight hours
of idling to be had
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 4:19 AM UTC
An online Poetry Site is like taking a Lover.
At first everything is new and exciting,
Our juices are flowing.
Our heart beats a little faster,
Endorphins abounding.
We romance and court her,
Our best foot forward,
Play to our strengths,
Beat on our chests,
Try to avoid foolish mistakes.
We get drawn in,
Dazzled by the allure of her attention.
We become intimate,
Embrace her charms,
Confide our inner most Secrets,
Whisper unashamedly our Fears.
But she can be fickle, change her mind,
Love us one minute, ignore us the next.
We invite her to judge us,
Then we resent the results.
We fight and withdraw, vowing to quite,
Then find that we are caught in the web,
And can’t follow through.
She commands far too much of our time,
We can even become obsessed, knowing
That we should back off, if only we could.
We begin to resent the time we spend with her,
And yet cannot get through a day without checking in.
In spite of our protests, when gone, we miss her.
So we nearly abandon old friends and family,
Preferring her company instead.
Lose needed sleep to stay up past three,
Just to hold her hand.
Hanging as we do,
On her every word.
Forget to mow the lawn,
Or wash the dishes.
Enthralled and distracted.
Neglect to shower,
Remain all day in Pajamas.
It’s a romance of words on a screen,
Not a living, breathing thing,
But even with this knowledge,
We can’t let her go.
Can’t leave it alone.
I know, because I have tried and failed.
And here I still remain,
Caught like an animal in a trap.
Or is it, a fat happy bird in a gilded cage?
Who would not know where else to go,
Even if the door were left open.
I am conflicted to say the least.
No doubt my need for self-expression,
Is stronger than my need for cessation.
We love what we do,
And do what we love
And **** the consequences.
The good part is, as far as I know,
No one ever got a social disease,
From Words on a computer screen.
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 3:03 PM UTC
I've got an affection, this affliction
It's bringing me down,
But all the while I am bouyed by such an emotion.
It invades my mind, muddles my devotion-
Nearly makes all function impossible
This diseased mind has only one mission: to be with it's affliction- this affection, you see.
The only cure is in vaccination, filled exactly with what infection you bring
As it courses through my system, I can feel the sorrow soothe;
The panging in my heart stops...
Did my heart stop?
Yes,
This condition, no longer contagion
It makes me happy to say,
Is with sensation, fighting cessation...
Still my only ambition is for you, my love, to stay.
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 7:30 AM UTC
I used to live alone before I knew you
so
of the mundane tragedies endlessly writ
repeat rinse repeat
repeat
how awfully awful
is the complaining without cessation
of busted everything;
recall the the doctor’s office sign
"no cure for the broken heart here"
so when I hear a Buckley sing
the words of the Cohen, High Priest of Songs,
I, a broken hallelujah,
smile with recognition
though the true cure is
yet still forever being researched
patience is a patient within me,
for my muses and their endless,
poking aching whispers of write, write, write, right,
they are the company I keep,
they are the company that sweeps me up
I, a broken hallelujah
they are not the desired flesh, true,
that affirms confirms and denies me
denying my needy frailties
but for now,
mine company to keep,
so when we do meet and
you greet me with a
tell me about your previous lovers
as you humanly must
will recite my poems from
from before I knew you
Feb 17, 2018
Feb 17, 2018 at 1:28 PM UTC
Crafty Waters lured the Captain
To the middle and the deep.
in the height of the hurricane,
It proceeded to speak.
"What do i matter to the birds
who exist between sky and tree?
These fish swim in my currents,
yet are unaware of me.
But for you, oh captain,
I'm everything you need me to be!
You have your ship, and your men,
and your lives at my mercy.
Today you will learn
you can't control the sea."
The dastardly Waters led him to believe,
In exchange for his life,
his crew would survive,
brief cessation from the culling winds,
and unabiding tides.
The captain decided then and there
To make the sacrificial dive.
But before he made a splash,
the hurricane came back
and claimed his crew.
A Sage Seagull swooped down
saying," dear Captain,
those Sneaky Waters lied to you."
The trusting captain stranded,
his ship capsized,
despair in his voice,
to the clever gull he cries.
"stoic grey winged beast,
with blackened,beady eyes,
what difference does it make to you,
if a captain dies?"
The apathetic gull got close
and in a whisper replies-
"we'll trade words for fish one day,
now, repeat as I say."
The captain certain it won't help,
but he spoke them, anyway.
"Proud Waters don't you gloat!
boast about how big you pretend to be.
your power buys our fear,
turning men into memories.
But my life holds your story!
I'll tell it, if you set me free.
Am I drowning in you...
or are you drowning in me?"
Returned home.
the Captain captured fish
for the seagull to eat.
And from his lips told a story
of his time out at sea.
Still new ships think they will prevail.
Distant from diminutive land,
sailors set sail dreaming of the safety
of a mundane harbor.
Unaware of the schemes
between the Shifty Seagull
and those Maniacal Waters.
-
Jun 12, 2023
Jun 12, 2023 at 12:01 AM UTC
Like a newly formed dandelion, it is beautiful.
Entwined with the glistening rays of the sun.
Such youth, such aspiration, you stand tall and strong.
Though when an unexpected gust takes presence, you fall apart.
Your remains are scattered far and wide,
and they grow on their own.
You're seen, there, there, and there.
You're letting go.
You're re-growing. Into a stronger, more secure dandelion.
- High School Relationships?
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 8:36 AM UTC
“Read my poetry,”
I say daily;
I hope that some day
You will do so,
And that then you may know my heart:
For you, and only you,
It beats within my breast.
Every waking moment it aches—
Yearns!—
For you, and yet there may be no peace,
No cessation to this injury;
Perhaps you have chosen another,
Or perhaps it is simply not meant to be.
Regardless, my heart remains
Forever yours, forever broken.
Feb 22, 2019
Feb 22, 2019 at 11:32 PM UTC
Humble beginnings
To the bitter ends
Frantic boot heels
Optical illusions
The **** of a joke
Last but not least
Whatsoever
Then again
Telegram a trigger word
Dangle from an umbilical chord
Eat the placenta
As the deadlines fluctuate
And the ambivalence
Is sealed in a canopic jar
It's experimental
Mental experiences
It's elemental
exemplary mentality
It's explicit
To solicit
The illicit
And go ballistic
-Tommy Johnson
They're so generous
To call me and my work sui generis
I'm just inter-being
To learn from ignorance
By my own volition
To achieve total consciousness
"Of all the nerve you sure got a lot of some of it"
Coming from oblivion
Ideas composing
The appreciation
Imagination turn into materialization
Expand and contract
The sensation of feeling
We crave and we cling
Becoming, we're born
A phase, we age
Sickness and death
Cessation, ratify or deny
Die gratified
These are the type of things we discussed in the Agora, all those times ago
-Tommy Johnson
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 6:55 PM UTC
The cry
of the barrel screams
Screams resound across the earth's
Great Expanse
Expands from the lowlands of Vail to
the valleys of Los Angeles to
the depths of Oceania to
the oceans of death and,
after incessantly increasing,
incredulously stops.
Except not really.
Really, to most Valians,
he was just a name in passing,
fluttering past consciousness just long enough
to get a "poor thing" or a "shame."
Really, his body hit the cement a full
7 hours, 6 minutes before his parents came work
from home, not the other way round,
Saw the alien body of their offspring, then the corpse,
and threw themselves
at lawyers, counselors, and more lawyers
as each professional debated which lover
he wanted as his teammate in the opening of
The Blame Games.
Really, the cessation of Adam's heart
didn't open the gates in exuberant expectation of
The true savior.
His beats stopped when
the world began
The lost change in between his seat cushions
never had just one meaning.
Really, he never thought he would
ever amount to more than a dollar.
Really, the only question that matters,
the only entreatment with gravity,
is, Was he right?
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 10:57 PM UTC
we sing our words as an invocation
of power for all the missing generations
left in this city of sorrow and elation
gone from the top of the world
to the depths of degredation
time and again left in cessation
never ceasing to believe in our own population
liverpool will never be part of this nation
but if you think we give a **** youre very much mistaken
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 2:07 PM UTC
I feel your presence, your spirit near
I remember warmth, but you're not here.
What once was joy has now receded
Gentleness gone, and grace impeded
Did I give too much, or stay too long?
Did I try too hard, or my words prolong?
The vows remembered, naive elation
Disloyalty now begs cessation.
Trust now lost. The struggle painful
Thoughts of another's touch disdainful
You feel my presence, you wipe my tear
You remember warmth, but I'm not here.
We move as robots, time seems long
Together now; forever gone.
Jan 25, 2011
Jan 25, 2011 at 6:45 PM UTC
Bottled up like salad dressing.
Top on, sticky side down.
Put a little pressure on the pressing.
Call it depressing when you take the finger from the noun.
Wrap it around
in a figure eight turn.
Discern or nerves will churn.
Pain is the name of the burn
sensation.
Loosen it at the day's cessation
and keep it on for the duration.
The continuation of blood circulation
is key to the prevention of amputation.
Whether physically or metaphorically,
keeping an injury wrapped in a challis
is the best thing to keep a healthy tally.
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 12:47 AM UTC
Once, long ago
I gazed upon
the world with
conformity’s eyes
and found it absurd
And I cursed existence
and my fellow man
I built a wall to defend
the tattered remnants
of the sanity I perceived
I still possessed
I built a wall that quickly
became a desolate prison
standing cold in the face
of forgiveness and love
I ignored beauty’s gentle bliss
I insulted love in the name
of an antiquated morality
Oh spirits
Oh demons
Oh harbingers
of what lies
beyond
perception
It was to you
that I entrusted
my salvation
It was to you that
I prayed in expectation
of deliverance
I begged for naught
but a cessation of being
to relieve the nightmare
of existence
In desperation
I grasped the reins
of intolerance
I drew the sword
of superficial righteousness
carving a swath of condemnation
through the ranks of my brothers
for the sake of a disapproving God
I wounded virtue in the name of heaven
I exchanged reason for faith
I threw compassion to the dogs of indifference
What pain has my existence
brought my fellow man?
My path to salvation lies
hidden among the bones
of those I once held dear
Heaven should not
exact such remuneration
for paradise cannot be
purchased with the blood
of hatred and the
tears of martyred tolerance
I will not kneel before
such an altar
Not again
Never again
Sep 7, 2013
Sep 7, 2013 at 10:46 AM UTC