"communicable" poems
A populace filled with totalitarian tranquility
The supposition that the world is in a harmonic homeostasis
Blissful ignorance that leads to careless calamity
Amid the uproar of the most populated of places
Therein lies the seed of humanity’s deceptive destruction
A solitary host housing a virulent virus
Infectious disease that proceeds crisis and corruption
Hope only stands with the powerful and pious
Prognosis describes communicable cannibalism
Rabid outbursts show signs of voracious violence
The harrowing pandemic leads to ceaseless cataclysm
Cities and towns suspended in systemic silence
Habitations riddled with gratuitous gore
Hope fades in the wake of the crimson carnage
The pestilent hoard feeds to a glutton’s galore
The Author of humanity publishes the final page
The closing verse rains down a rapturous recompense
The high cost of a dense population paid at humanity’s existential expense
Oct 31, 2018
Oct 31, 2018 at 11:06 PM UTC
*While I love the communicable energy
Given from sanguine, upbeat music,
Sometimes the hum of the street
The rushing, dashing, of careening motors
And the leading blissfulness
Is true serenity, just enough.*
Jul 24, 2014
Jul 24, 2014 at 11:44 AM UTC
Days are splendorous,
in the royal color wash,
and frost,
of November.
Four thirty is a burning torchlight
of reminiscence.
November,
older,
wiser,
But similar,
in the way that air,
is a rustle of crisp leaves,
and emotions that,
stretch across the horizon,
like an autumn parade.
Familiar,
in the way that,
shifting parameters of light,
invigorate and disturb.
Prodigious,
whispering of enchantment,
and it's Siamese twin,
disillusionment.
November,
That lingers like a somber melody,
or a dense beat,
hanging on the evening wind,
Whose disruptive energy,
is portentous,
of wakeful nights to come.
That shimmers,
and shivers,
and sings,
sending a mating call,
to ravenous winter.
November,
is a communicable pheromone,
am aphrodisiac,
A crescendo.
The yearly succubus,
crowned,
in her raucous display,
of jewels,
Her ingenious distraction,
as she drains the world
of warmth,
and daylight.
And I am hallowed.
November's champion,
riding the dark,
like a faithful steed.
A cowgirl about town.
An outlaw,
blown in on a strident wind,
Primed to partake,
of libation and lechery,
because I am restless,
and it is too brisk to wander.
November is distilled,
and flows like hot cider,
steaming in the faces,
of days it leaves cold.
It is one thousand proof,
and permeates breath vapor,
each small fog,
that lingers like an apparition.
Shades of November,
fettered from dissipation,
as winter,
in search of answers,
clutches at the evidence of its becoming.
Dec 4, 2017
Dec 4, 2017 at 11:10 PM UTC
There are situations in which one is cut off from the opportunity to do one's work or enjoy one's life; but what can never be ruled out is the unavoidability of suffering. In accepting this challenge to suffer bravely, life has a meaning up to the last moment, and it retains this meaning literally to the end. — Viktor Frankl
[T]here is no coming to consciousness without pain. — Carl Jung
Should the conflagration climb
Run till all the sages know — William Butler Yeats
Heart-injured in North London, he became
The Latin scholar of his generation. — W. H. Auden
It's urgent,
Imminent,
Fiercely non-communicable.
(Carry a firestorm in your veins.)
*Secrets, secrets are no fun
Secrets, secrets hurt someone*
The secret, untranslatable, hurts the secret-holder:
Frustration disguises isolation.
Distilled isolation is pain.
Purified pain is meaning.
(Carry a firestorm in your veins.)
*Secrets, secrets are no fun?
Secrets, secrets hurt someone?*
O, only momently!
Heart-injury transfigured is salvation.
(Carry a firestorm in your veins.)
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 2:45 PM UTC
Is it indubitably unsuitable
to be suitably incommunicable
on the undeducible deduction
dubitably deduced
to be immovably unmovable
or doably undoable?
Or can a crazy conundrum communicate
the incommunicable indubitabilty
of the undeducibly suitable deduction?
Simply said,
such is doably suitable,
or indubitably deducible
if the doably communicable deduction
deduces down
to the suitably suitable,
Movably reducible reduction
that's indubitably doable.
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 8:29 AM UTC
There's a blank sheet of paper I hung on the wall
My mother suggested to after a fall
A fall of inspiration,
Dead of true life,
Hope prancing, leaping, dashing,
In the light of unconventional thought beyond all comprehension,
Of dancing on cloud floors, declining haze of the forests,
While insouciant specks of light, similar to glowing pointillism
Can sharply puncture one's un-anticipating boredom
And infect with a communicable virus of
Celestial inspiration.
I always look back on that paper and perceive,
Beyond my tantalized body and anguishing mind
Through it's blankness, it's empty slate,
It's disgusting plainness, piercing my hope,
It's beauty in its... Lack of anything, null, nought, nothingness--
An array, plethora, profusion, superfluity
Of inconceivable courses of actions
Breathtaking inspiration.
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 1:38 PM UTC
Personally, I think we Australians and Guests
Have lost the War against the Terror of Coffeeism -->
The sheer, unadulterated Facts on the Ground
Indicate to me a whole new Generation of
Spoilt little brats and bratettes immune to Reflection -->
A Generation of "Can-Doers" and "Will-Doers" and, my favourite:
The "F**K-you-I'm-going-to-try-to-do-it-4-myselfers."
Bully Beware ==>
I may have stuffed up when I wrote the
"Poem" about nothing leaving the 20th Century -->
What I meant was that WAR (my God-given special
assignment/atonement) needed to be contained
within the struggles of MCM - MCMLXXXXIX.
All the Great Inspirations and Fundamental Studies
Had/Have/Will Have already been scrutinized -
Only the Fine-Tooth'd comb was needed to untangle
The knotty issues and remove the well-hidden
Vermin infecting our consciousness through the
Trapdoor of the sub-conscious -->
Eventually - and I certainly didn't think it would take so long -
Not only should we by now have Tagged and ID'd
The Parasitic TICKS, but also rid ourselves of the more
Communicable LICE at the end of the School yard.
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 5:06 AM UTC
The atmosphere today was ****
Los Angeles County Dept. of Public Health
Communicable disease cline SPA 4
Many of them didn't want to be here
Some didn't even know they were here
And myself, well, I'm on my 7th ****
5th bottle of water, 10th patient
My lunch was barely going down
No **** just the fact
It' only 1p.m. here in LA LA LAND
Last time one of these crazy *****
Reached around my desk and called 9-1-1
I liked her, she had style
She said "SOMEBODY TRYNA **** MEH!"
What in the actual ****
She had been the only one in the room
I felt her pain.
Jul 23, 2016
Jul 23, 2016 at 5:52 PM UTC
For what part of the universe is your mother?
What half of anything did you discover?
For in all relativity: balanced from the center
How amazing to be around you, alone is us together
Your angle, loved in my reflection
Our friendship, unclear satisfaction
As two fishing lines cross in action
Communicable ******* communicable companion
This is no love story
There is one and just another, sincerely
How all things are portrayed in harmony
Like the north star, ignorant of its little family
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 6:52 AM UTC
There's something I need to say
in resolved alliance with communicable insanity
Particulars are of no interest to me
Neither are excuses
What's worried me are your uses
and aloofness to them
"How is it," you say, "are the bonds between us
that give us sanctity?"
I say, "No no, mincing words with the poet
will do you more harm than
you already believe you suffered"
So, please
find yourself at ease
and suffer no longer
You are free to go
Aug 10, 2017
Aug 10, 2017 at 2:42 PM UTC
her pink polka-dotted p.j.'s
fall to the floor,
substituted by the cutest
pink shorts and white top,
suitable for tennis,
or initiatin' intervening dreams
this pinkberry madness,
a communicable disease,
for sure enough,
my manly fingers somehow,
turning pink as well
Imagine that
called the doctor,
doc, what's the cure for this madness?
doc said,
get plenty of bed rest,
you've been exercising that poetic urge
way too much
so shifted my head
to her side of the bed,
where those pink polka-dotted p.j.'s
happen to be still sleeping,
and said,
doc,
your advice is truly inspiring!
8:20am
Aug 21, 2016
Aug 21, 2016 at 8:23 AM UTC
I run my fingers over the scars,
that line your wrist,
and I smile,
thinking that they are parking spots,
for my wayward hands.
and your voice I hear it still,
and I follow the sound of your whispers,
dancing in the echo of my hollowed out heart,
and my innocence reverberates against all I know,
against all I know now.
we laid together under a canopy of stars,
and the fear of getting caught the mosquitoes of our existence.
we stood close to the fire hoping we'd get burnt,
seeking the danger in desire, just to feel,
and we exchanged hearts communicable disease...
the split wasn't even..
it never was.
Dec 12, 2012
Dec 12, 2012 at 7:37 PM UTC
Negativity breeds negativity,
Falling off of tongues, hurtful words we say.
It's lonesome in this City,
A communicable State of Decay.
Fight fire with fire,
Does that not seem absurd?
Amid this lonesome City, State...
Our precious structures burn!
God is dead, as is compassion,
Empathy as well.
Becoming anger, blind fruition,
Selfish tides due, swell.
Purge the system of aversions,
Feed the Demon's wrath.
Void of all Love's inspiration.
Another epic lapse.
Silent words upon my brow
Debate translates to lies.
Apathy takes over now,
Recognition burns my eyes.
Now that we have laid these bricks,
That pave the way to Hurt,
Repent our sins, inflict ourselves,
Return the ash to Mother, Earth.
Jun 10, 2016
Jun 10, 2016 at 5:25 PM UTC
Here is something that I read in the headlines today
And I AM OUTRAGED… (Just kidding guys...)
It goes like this;
“An ex-communicable hubbub broke out in the halls
Of the church today as a certain group proposed
That a super God named Sofia created God
While depicting images of the feminine deity.”
(Can you imagine such a thing?)
The article went on -
“The conflict is over the lefts’ constant barrage of
Attacks to modify references of a male being the
Supreme deity by pointing out that God also has” -
And I quote, “Motherly qualities.”
What an awful a thing - I just don’t know how these
People get off the bus without knowing they are on
The Lunatic Fringe – who do they think we are?
(Again I’m being sarcastic here.)
Back to the article;
“United Methodist leader, Dado do dis do dat said
At the annual conference of the 12 tribes of Brooklyn
That no comparable words of heresy had been spoken
In the last 15 centuries and that just when the church
Begins to lose its grip on powers and principalities,
Weird sort of things like this start to happen.
He went further stating that these ideas must be
Eradicated from Christian thinking.”
Or what? Or these women are taking over?
“Bishop Dado do dis do dat continued – We wanted
Woman speakers who could carry on the Christian
Tradition – but look what happened.”
(You haven’t heard anything yet.)
“The women, who were venerating Sofia as a Goddess
Used ****** images to express the divine and held a
Workshop on belly dancing.”
(All right -)
“And went on further stating that the woman claimed
That with their hot wombs they give formula
To life and with the nectar between their thighs -
We women create the world as we know it.”
(LoL… go Sofia… )
(This was a real article in a real paper.)
The point here is this.
We are in the age of Aquarius and
The Aquarian age is a feminine age.
And that’s what we are experiencing.
There are those who will, for their own
Reasoning, exaggerate both sides of the issue -
Jesus said it this way, “It’s just birthing pains.”
Before the child is born there is a lot of difficulty.
But the child that is being born into this age
Is a beautiful thing.
Move over Dado do dis do dat,
There’s a new sheriff in town
And she ain’t likely to put up with
Your crap any longer.
Names changed to protect the guilty...
May 30, 2017
May 30, 2017 at 12:36 PM UTC
The disease is spreading
No one will be immune
The bacterial strain
No cure
Relationships are infected
people are sharing the virus
In their beds
In their homes
In the streets
It's communicable
The dyeing are unaware
The infection
Technology grows
you can't bury the dead
The graveyards are full
The disease spreads
one to another
Society needs no cure
unlike the diseases before
Death is not painful
However,slow.
Jun 12, 2019
Jun 12, 2019 at 12:33 PM UTC
(whimsy - playfully quaint or fanciful behavior or humor)
——
recent events, minor tumults, additive,
the summing up of wearing,
a slip and fall, financial reverses,
communiques misunderstood,
clanking pipes resounding against
a sonorous soundless soulful sleep, and
the
unrest of disinterest in essaying
thoughts into words into creativity
a far far cry from singing of the whimsy
in life that teases and delights, replaced
by a weariness from the whiners,
who craftily abuse, with deft badly
prosed propaganda propositions,
seeking solace in solitude + add-an-all-inability to forsee the goodness in people,
delimiting desire to inspire, why then
compose when so decidedly decomposing?
lay the ownership of pen-man-ship down
until dealt an inside straight, eyedrops
that open wide, dilate into a wider perspective, a kinder me, and the
patience of a patient awaiting a
healing vaccine against the flu
of whining. so awfully communicable,
will read Whitman, Frost, and those
revolutionary Persians who ken the
revivification of spirit, return from a
there as a refugee
to a refreshed refuge
of here
nml
Addendum
———
*the chill in the body that’s so
invasive, resisting two sweaters,
a coat named “The De~icer,”
over heavy sweats,
the interior is*
frostbitten
Feb 22, 2025
Feb 22, 2025 at 5:22 AM UTC
By the show of hands, how many wonna attend my funeral
not that am joking but doctors have proved am suffering from success
they said its a strange disease coz its only symptom are blessings in excess
its not communicable nor viral its acquired spiritually.
I don't rock Versace but my worn out t-shirts reveals my healthy body
sometimes I walk naked but am blessed coz I always afford to wear a smile
my name don't appear on the phobes list but God is the author of my story
I don't dine with kings I dine with the king of kings am sorry
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 6:49 AM UTC
Your clattering heart stands like a tower clock; your heart beats like a bouquet of roses for others! You fade yourself into the tempting moment if you can’t take care of yourself anymore! In the morning, you sip the drunken sediment of ash-flavored coffees so you can safely return from the land of hibernators! You can’t even understand yourself: a sudden force is pulling inward, maybe it’s hardly communicable anymore!
You can still try to move from the chambers of forgetful yesterday to the overcrowded everyday! With a panting rush, you can hardly move yourself on the spiral trajectory that has been pushing you away from the funnel edge of the chasms designated for you, you are forced to look wolf-eyed away until you become more distant and more disbelieving!
Every lived pile of visions can break into you in heavy debris, your only thing could be to pick out the more valuable ones; everyday life can look like a silent puppet wrapped in a blanket! With the brush of your eyelash, you are constantly trying to imagine yourself in the other place: will your desire to create ******* remain hopeless ?!
The scooter of the Universe dances around you like a big bang, when only a radiantly exotic pair of eyes winkes at you; and you can easily lose confidence in yourself, because it is rare for beautiful Lady Angels to be honored at any time with their gaze! As a wordless, orphaned little boy, you stumble idle like swallowing a stick or making a bell; and if it came to you soundless as Light, through the praying words of someone's secret telepathies, the throbbing argument of your loyalty as a rustling source would still unite.
Jan 24, 2021
Jan 24, 2021 at 2:53 AM UTC