"coercing" poems
Fading stains record the tender scheme of flagrant deliberation
Transparent in their defense of the illusion
Depicting careful consideration of honesty and reserve
While shattering the picture of your delusions
A saturation of recollection, distinctive in its eloquence
Briefly coercing the eyes to conceive
The continuation of a scheme hid in a shroud of confusion
Which refuses to change or ever leave
What would ever stain, yet without any imperfection
Expressing clear in all of its defense
Completely raw and uninhibited in the purest honesty
Yet leave your values standing on the fence
A love beyond comprehension is your tender scheme
The stains are your records of transparency
A continuation one cannot deny, when looking in your eyes
No illusions, just the pureness of honesty
Jul 11, 2010
Jul 11, 2010 at 10:03 PM UTC
welcomed to the idea, once again
by the cool calling that lead me,
barely heard, and hardly felt,
yet, still coercing enough for this.
so i decided to attempt it,
again.
an attempt made at nothing,
when reality says it was something,
as i digress, it was nothing,
and again, it was something
though i'll never name it
what it should be called
because it has a
name.
aspirations brought about
by perspiration and an inclination
that, again, it would be okay
to try and make sense of something
that i've wanted before
and want again.
Oct 12, 2012
Oct 12, 2012 at 11:13 AM UTC
I rub my skin raw because of the way your desire scarred its way across my unwilling flesh. You were selfish, you are selfish. You are greed in a human body, and I am paying for it. Triggered by another man the same as you, who put his hands around my neck and seemed confused by the concept of a woman not wanting him. Who quickly decided he didn't care either way, and that I could get him off "willingly" by my own method or be forced in ways I would not survive. There is no such thing as yes when no is taken from you, when you have a choice between two evils and you choose the one you think you can live through. When silence answers questions and "I don't want to do this" is ignored because his **** means more than the choices of the person he's trying to force himself on. That is no man, that is a monster dressed as a high school student pretending consent can be forced. Because you made me decide between you ****** me unprotected or getting you off with something else, and I chose the one I thought I could live with, that wouldn't result in an unwanted life growing inside an unwilling body, a body that wasn't willing at conception and who would probably make the choice to end its budding inside of her before having her rapists child. Because you triggered memories of coercion with your threats, because you made it happen again and afterwards had the ******* nerve to get me some ******* grape juice and hand it to me ******* ******* pouting because I "looked like I hated every minute of that" and you "didn't even get to **** so it wasn't even worth it." Because coercing me into ****** activities under threat of unprotected **** apparently wasn't worth it because you didn't get to **** me, because me telling you no and saying I didn't want to until you got so fed up you wrapped your hands around my neck and squeezed annoyed you. Because you put your **** over my free will, over me as a human being. And I get to suffer because of it. You made me a survivor twice over and you smile at me in the hallways like you're somehow still my friend.
Jan 24, 2015
Jan 24, 2015 at 6:37 PM UTC
freedom is a funny thing
what would dreams bring
but calamity (and loss
tears superfluous waste of water)
slow treading in treacle
hold absent flora to the wind face
cross eyed glory on a pale mask
no extending big hand
to the child who doles out water
to babes from ***** papercups
scratching scoops of brown mess
amid domesticated fauna
in the middle of nowhere land
feet rubbing for warmth
an ever going stipple wagon
a small blanket the only cover
one scooter holds too many
open beauty closing too soon
supply demand coercing blank stare
impasse holds the keeper hostage
some up - some down
no break from unbroken cycle
the dreamer lives forever on
inside the tightest cage
and knows there's little cure
yet within full ironic view
lies the priceless key to unlock
dark eyes implore me to take you
anything is possible
yes
anything
dreamer, dreamer
open dreamer
open your dream wings
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 11:38 AM UTC
the overcast window haze casts shadows over farmlands at distance, past ferns and cottage solemnities out on plains cold and alive; meanwhile, concrete and preservative-laden once-trees cage in the zoo-horde of humanity this lovely city is built upon, through the steep divides between the walls of foreign strangers, still neighbours, calling telephone lines to the lover that makes their heart shrink in the cool sheets at a distance of eight thousand leagues under kitchen sink designs where drips escape onto a blue-grey dishtowel, strategically placed to avoid having to address the issue over farmland holidays when stormclouds gather and sleep 'til the grand show, back over the alps, as the fallabout planes drift under blue over grey with distorted fantasies sandwiched three abreast internally, whispering "you'll be here, I'll be here, seventeen minutes" as the black gown of evening bids its farewells to the long-worn ball of flame we call upon for life's little affirmations, the skin and bone we call home, the constructed caves we wish we didn't, and, letting frost's call begin, the last of the seasons hauls its bulky frame over the horizon and clusters on the fingertips of tree limbs, coercing: "let go, it's late, it's so very late" and so the sidewalks choke with debris under the wearing off of summer feet, and the declination of that peach-pit feeling of sanguinity as the blankets pile up and the distance consumes once again, long after delusion gave up the chase; we all want to be left alone and want someone to pursue us at the same time, we all dream of the grandeur of timeless monuments: the desert road, the glint of illuminated heavens, the mist's rise and fall, the electricity in her eyes.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 5:22 PM UTC
We played with words
and peddled euphemisms,
as we hid behind veils.
We had reality
twisted and bent.
We chided and spat
into the winds
of coercing gales.
Jul 20, 2021
Jul 20, 2021 at 9:12 AM UTC
People often say to me “I wish I could write like you.”
Which to some degree I should find humbling
But if only they knew the truth
That every time I touch the pen I'm afraid of what it might do
Behind the guise of self expression it takes possession
All defenses are torn a sunder in pain under its reign
And I am helpless to stop it
Like I would, even if I could anyway
Each tear in me is subject to its tyranny
I watch every sunset fearfully
As the veil of darkness falls
So do the castle walls
It is then that the pen will begin to possess me again
Coercing confessions of sin
However, as much I hate it
I abhor I love it more
I concede that I need it
There is a stink of distinction
Between me and this ink pen
Yet still somewhat synonymous
Whatever I hide under the surface
Determines its purpose
And it always serves it
Even if it hurts when
I bleed through this pen.
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 5:27 PM UTC
They say it is a silent killer
but I have never heard a din so loud as the chemicals consume my brain
the voices in my head screaming for more
coercing my conscience
"just one, wait, that wasn't enough, a little more.. just a little more"
over and over
the cycle repeats
again and again
My heart is racing
my body is numb
I exhale
all the hurt
all the haunting memories
gone
over and over
the cycle repeats
again and again
"just one, wait, that wasn't enough, a little more.. just a little more"
Aug 6, 2023
Aug 6, 2023 at 2:02 PM UTC
Once she was called storm
her wrath was pure fury
yet cleansing and vital
her nature can be unforgiving
but she would always settle
At times her calm was just
an illusion
The eye of a systematic
cyclone
Once they called her raven
feeding on dead sheep
coercing with wolves
adorned in mystery
hidden behind her long black hair
whispering messages from the gods
Once they called her firefly
her interal beauty shinned in the darkness
although by day she looked rather average
by night her light was pure inspiration
and many tried to catch her as she passed
Many names
many places
many loves
many decievers
but even at her worst they rendered
her beautiful
she's "Too crazy to live,too rare to die."
And all aspects still live
in my heart and mind
a spirit that never dissipates
with time but morphs
into a new name or kind.
Oct 26, 2012
Oct 26, 2012 at 12:20 PM UTC
The unscrupulous cavalry shuffled aboard narrow lanes,
Cutting in line towards Jager Bomb's tether,
Cluttered duffel bags concealing cheap champagnes,
Passing cruise ship commuter's ruffled feathers.
With their fake, "excuse me's" en route to the bar,
Coercing the conductor who's been under the weather
With smug smiles and counterfeit Cuban cigars.
Leaving the harbor three sheets to the wind
The cowards commandeered Grandparents pool chairs,
A little past midnight with no foresight of end,
An abrupt brawl broke out, fists flying through air.
A sightseeing whale trip turned into a ship from hell,
The assailants now held in a South of Wales cell.
May 2, 2018
May 2, 2018 at 12:07 AM UTC
Distant It's heard
The nomads
guitar hum its trembled
arias
Its whispered strum violates
ephemerally
ragged
plasticine walls
It penetrates
stale pine
Punctured by
rust-haggard
nails
It travels
through pebbled hearts and
Nestles
in hidden cracks
Coercing
suffocated crumbs
of life
into the night.
Apr 2, 2012
Apr 2, 2012 at 4:48 PM UTC
i am incredibly foolish & repetitive
foolishly repetitive
repetitively foolish;
there is a pebble in my heart,
small but firm,
impenetrably set still,
demanding to be felt
coercing the blood supply to soak it all up
as if blood can seep through
a pebble
it cannot; but it won’t stop
demanding attention
it is smothering
and relentless;
i have shortness of breath
and my heart pounds
like a door slammed shut
and then opened
and then slammed shut
it’s almost as if i can feel the pebble
rattle within the walls
with
each
pound,
welting the vulnerable tissue;
open,
slammed shut,
open,
slammed shut;
we all forget how to cry
when we most need to
Sep 9, 2013
Sep 9, 2013 at 4:16 AM UTC
Sweet drenching rain
Blanketing I like the warmth of a fire
Soothing and coercing me
Rearranging what I do so desire
Removing my direction towards
A tight grip on withered pain
Forcing me towards a reflective solitude
Worse defeated, in my directionless game
Alerting me now so responsive
In cleansing I from greater pain
Sweet drenching rain bury me in your ocean
Of directed waters
Keeping me almost sane
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 11:27 PM UTC
autumnal leaves
frost brittled lattice
under their own weight
crunch
exposed nerves
toes gasp through clay
fatigue threatens clench
yet splayed arms extend
heartwood congeals
coercing ebullience to Earth
intrusting tendril
beneath edged billows
scalping innate patina
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 8:33 PM UTC
I'm itching to tear this body down.
I'm being deafened by this sobriety,
Trying to silence this urge to
Scratch off all this skin
And smear my insides all over these stupid
White walls.
I've gone too long without the razor
To give up now--
But, oh!
The desire to watch my own blood
Drip and
Slip and
Slide down my skin,
Watching it dance around
The freckles and past scars
On my arm.
Isn't it amazing how
Fragile
My first line of defense for my body is? How
Thin
it is? How under several tiny layers
My insides are held in place,
But with one
Slice
They can come tumbling out
So everyone can see the filth
I hide inside?
These silent screams that no one else can hear--
That others deny even exist in my mind--
Are rattling around in my skull,
Calling me,
Coercing me,
Nearly forcing me to--
.
One small cut.
One
Small
Carefully
Controlled
Cut
By my own
Shaking hand.
And finally,
There is silence once again.
Sep 7, 2010
Sep 7, 2010 at 10:53 AM UTC
Division is the tool to try
when all you want is fear.
They relish that we're paranoid,
and thrive upon our tears.
Hoping we'll turn our anger out
and rise in arms to strike
at those whom we can hate and doubt
at those we don't look like.
It fuels those who would aim for more,
those whose scruples are unjust,
those who seek a favoured war,
with trepidation and broken trust.
Mislead and swindling Holy writ,
coercing faith to poisons tool.
With hope from those so full of ****
must gain endearment from the fool.
Whatever your religion be
don't let them speak in your name
cause then the light we'll never see
and they will win their game.
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 8:47 PM UTC
the rain cascades, watering the soul
the sun a warrior coercing the cold
the leaves rustle, the wind blows
the sand a blanket for vacationing toes
the trees tango, the birds sing loud
the sky a canvas painted with clouds
the night falls, crisp days begin
the earth a poet to be heard; let it in
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 2:43 PM UTC
being insulted by someone
of a trans-
status quo
classification
will never be enough
to mind, had i the pairing
to a higher tier of socialite endeavour -
to be debased with a fragrance of
a misuse of language
on a level of comprehension will
always place me steadied with placards
of 'hello, my name is Samauel'
well hello Samuel..
boiled herrings pan-fried readied for
a star wars sequel akin to rocky 7,
boxing-catchup K.O. no.31 -
an here the champ gives way to a chimpanzees'
worth of gurgled laughter -
readied speed at a Bronson's uppercut -
and we're too the readied ones
annex to the molars that might be considered
the chewing apparatus should
we not have juiced with bites as if a load's
worth of hammering was taken place:
chewing as if hammering, imagine
the cranium gush extract - it would be
like porridge if reverse due to diarrhoea!
flaky shit-bits and anaconda's suntan to measure up to;
well, there was the leather chair to mind
in terms of approving leisure activity as coercing
a carefree fortitude of futuristic investment -
mind you the loss of the Celtic vocabulary,
I.R.A. and the instigation of Anglo-Saxon
vocabulary to suppress the populace
of renegade Catholics or the twin Belfast known
as Glasgow - indeed Edinburgh remained
as much conservative as St. Andrew's would allow,
an extension of England, even with parliament
it was a Basildon of northern Essex...
scots among the multitude of accents usurped from
pole-dancing with kilts! Tartan su doku!
Apr 26, 2016
Apr 26, 2016 at 8:46 PM UTC
To be honest,
I cannot say I miss your crocodile smile
Or the way your breath creeped down my neck
And gave me goosebumps.
I could not decide if they were out of excitement
Or out of pure fear.
You took a walk with me,
Said all we'd do was talk.
Or maybe kiss.
You lied.
We ended up in a staircase.
"I don't want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable"
You said with a flicker in your eye.
Yet part of me knew you were being deceptive.
That doesn't matter.
I told you from the start that I did not want to sleep with you,
And yet you tried to pry it out of me.
I still would not let you go that far,
But you had me preform other unmentionable acts with you.
I could not escape if I wanted to.
The texts, the grabbing, the coercing, the mean spirited teasing.
It was Hell from the first hello.
Two friends of mine had died the week before,
I should have known when you became so concerned with my well-being,
That something was terribly wrong.
You never held stock in me before.
We have not spoken since,
Yet, you have the nerve to text me
You tell me you're sorry
That you were a ****
I say, you were a **** and a half.
I know this was another scheme to get your way with me,
And frankly,
I don't miss our "friendship" anyways.
Not even a little bit.
No one knows what really happened.
They called me a **** a ***** a *****
All they know is that we did stuff,
And I told you off
When you would not stop bothering me about ***********
Then you went after my emotionally unstable friend,
And she was not so lucky and strong as to tell you
"No."
We both lost friends that day.
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 11:37 AM UTC
Because while the truncheon may be used in lieu of conversation, words will always retain their power.
Words offer the means to meaning, and for those who will listen, the enunciation of truth.
And the truth is, there is something terribly wrong with this country, isn't there? Cruelty and injustice, intolerance and oppression.
And where once you had the freedom to object, to think and speak as you saw fit, you now have censors and systems of surveillance coercing your conformity and soliciting your submission.
How did this happen? Who's to blame? Well certainly there are those more responsible than others, and they will be held accountable, but again truth be told, if you're looking for the guilty, you need only look into a mirror.
I know why you did it. I know you were afraid. Who wouldn't be? War, terror, disease. There were a myriad of problems which conspired to corrupt your reason and rob you of your common sense.
Alan Moore, V for Vendetta
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 8:39 AM UTC
Product placement is subliminal.
Coercing kids is criminal
Things you know are minimal.
Baby brains are spongy.
Bending minds is grungy.
Try shooting ducks in a barrel.
much harder to hit.
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 9:47 AM UTC
Could you know enough to know that
you don't know anything about
any one particular thing at any
given time?
Enough to feel your mind first mildly
groping for some association about the
topic at hand, then scratching in panic
at its own gray walls for a segue into
something more familiar?
A subject change.
There sits in Spring a mournful child wishing
for winter and the necessity of layers,
the easy task of coercing his mother
into hugs because without them, he says,
he'll surely freeze to death, a phantom son,
a display case of old human progeny
from the time before love was outlawed
and before the babies were made with
chemicals, when they were made at all.
Those future children will die with no
souls, no prospect of ghosthood, no
morals and no literary merit.
They will flinch from fiction and pound poetry
into the ground with steel-toed boots, spit
on the remains, pretend to dream with their
government-issued flashcards, scenes
from movies projected on billboards in silence,
ears ringing in the quiet but for the
occasional puttering along of a society so
advanced, it doesn't know what to do with itself.
Nov 11, 2011
Nov 11, 2011 at 10:25 AM UTC
Perhaps Grief’s stiff grip around my neck,
the one that robbed my throat of air and asphyxiated me,
is still coercing Mother Nature to make my walk a constant downpour.
This is always a possibility.
But what if said hold is one by one loosening its fingers, the blood gradually circulating back into its whitened knuckles?
I, too, feel recirculated, renewed, revolved,
like the sun’s final leg on her ellipsoidal path.
The colour has returned to flush my cheeks,
the radiance to frolic in my eyes
instead of being veiled by dark shadows,
because my heart has found a new light.
And it is that light, that candle’s bitty flame, that will not be extinguished
by the winds of confusion,
of muddled and undefined feelings,
of heartache.
No; this lantern follows closely behind me,
lighting the forest trail and inviting the sun to pierce through the treetops,
to illuminate the world with it.
It will not yield in guarding me,
overseeing my journey from rear attacks
and keeping my spirit warm.
Furthermore, I feel as though this light should maneuver alongside me rather than behind,
for we are equal,
we are one.
It is this light I find myself slowly clinging to
instead of the falsely beautiful mask Grief teased my heart with.
Yes; it is this new glow that I prepare to capture in a jar,
much like a firefly whose glow never fizzles out;
like a light-bulb with no expiration,
as I let it guide every direction I follow,
every footstep, one after the other.
Every breath I inhale.
Every breath I exhale,
without blowing out the flame.
Dec 17, 2015
Dec 17, 2015 at 7:43 PM UTC
bless the parents
who grow their worry lines,
a slow etching upon their face,
every night, a fractional addition,
what will the future hold for the children,
wandering tween wondering and wonderful
I am among the parental plenitude, who
struck a deal with the authorities of life,
pleading, demanding, coercing, begging,
take my years excess, give it to the children,
and spare them famine, thirst, war, sickness...
give them children, and spare them too the worry,
ban those crinkled lines, provision only smooth faces,
never let them never wonder, the accursed how,
will they be alright, & let them read this poem,
and laughing ask the surrounding atmosphere
whatever made the old man write such nonsense?
April 10th 2021 @5:38 AM
Apr 10, 2021
Apr 10, 2021 at 5:48 AM UTC
I became aware of my emotions today,
but it only made me sad.
To think these emotions will never go to bed
I choose this path of awareness
because I felt I could be better.
To think this way makes the wounds fester.
I check myself to be better.
But I feel the pain, sharp and not so subtle
Coercing the pain to subside puts me in more trouble. .
I know I can be better
but fighting the inevitable is not enough.
to do this alone makes this journey extremely tough.
I have a choice that I thought wasn't mine,
but that choice may turn out just fine.
to think too much is a choice always escapes my mind.
Perhaps mind control will turn out just fine.
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 9:20 AM UTC