"compunction" poems
The failed seduction
by drunken discussion
and skunk fueled
consumption, leads to
a compunction dysfunction
suspended in animation
the digital tides
of expulsion
catapult me into a
an eschewing propulsion
and the limitations
of re-imagination.
As far as I was aware
I was imprisoned
in nothing more
than the realms of
Skype and FourSquare
but for the Feng Shui
of trapped energies
and google-mapped memories
adorning the locations
of complacent hallucinations
amid the dark fibre
communications
with a female
of Nordic persuasion.
The compliments and comments
and poems I sent
were lost to the myriad
of random intent
I was attempting to be clever
and metaphysical
she on the other hand
was PHD level
and psychoanalytical
ergo my metrical composition
was utterly lost
in a conversation
on metaphorical reproduction
and the magic and mysteries
of osmosis
and the application
of modification
by transduction.
The moral of this tale
- if indeed there is one -
is if you are going to Skype
with a mentally superior type
do not before hand
have a blistering
smouldering
grass pipe
with a flagon of ale
lest you be a
gibbering earthling
destined to fail.
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 10:59 PM UTC
By all accounts he’s had a lifelong case of OCD.
“Donald was a disruptive tyke”- his teachers all agree.
He was not much of a scholar but, as a youth, excelled in sports.
As a builder and developer he was often seen in Courts.
When it comes to matters of the heart, he sadly is no wiser
He loves them and he leaves them. He’s a noted womanizer.
Oh, he pays them for their trouble; that much I will allow.
Still he’s never had compunction over breaking wedding vows.
Now he is our President and making noise on Trade.
If he doesn’t get his way beware his twitterverse tirade.
He's paying farmers Billions to forgo their tillage.
Hillary was wrong- It takes a child to raze a village.
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 4:45 PM UTC
Jam non consilio bonus, sed more eo perductus, ut non tantum
recte facere possim, sed nisi recte facere non possim
(Seneca, Letters 130.10)
Stern Daughter of the Voice of God!
O Duty! if that name thou love
Who art a light to guide, a rod
To check the erring, and reprove;
Thou, who art victory and law
When empty terrors overawe;
From vain temptations dost set free;
And calm’st the weary strife of frail humanity!
There are who ask not if thine eye
Be on them; who, in love and truth,
Where no misgiving is, rely
Upon the genial sense of youth:
Glad Hearts! without reproach or blot;
Who do thy work, and know it not:
Oh! if through confidence misplaced
They fail, thy saving arms, dread Power! around them cast.
Serene will be our days and bright,
And happy will our nature be,
When love is an unerring light,
And joy its own security.
And they a blissful course may hold
Even now, who, not unwisely bold,
Live in the spirit of this creed;
Yet seek thy firm support, according to their need.
I, loving freedom, and untried;
No sport of every random gust,
Yet being to myself a guide,
Too blindly have reposed my trust:
And oft, when in my heart was heard
Thy timely mandate, I deferred
The task, in smoother walks to stray;
But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may.
Through no disturbance of my soul,
Or strong compunction in me wrought,
I supplicate for thy control;
But in the quietness of thought:
Me this unchartered freedom tires;
I feel the weight of chance-desires:
My hopes no more must change their name,
I long for a repose that ever is the same.
Stern Lawgiver! yet thou dost wear
The Godhead’s most benignant grace;
Nor know we anything so fair
As is the smile upon thy face:
Flowers laugh before thee on their beds
And fragrance in thy footing treads;
Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong;
And the most ancient heavens, through Thee, are fresh and strong.
To humbler functions, awful Power!
I call thee: I myself commend
Unto thy guidance from this hour;
Oh, let my weakness have an end!
Give unto me, made lowly wise,
The spirit of self-sacrifice;
The confidence of reason give;
And in the light of truth thy Bondman let me live!
2.4k
Consumed by perfection
Corrected actions
Fractions of receipts
Scratch sheet of nature
Denature the function
Compunction removed
Improved endeavor
Never seen
Seams over obvious
Genius hidden
Ribbon tied
Dyed cheetah print
Feb 7, 2013
Feb 7, 2013 at 9:58 PM UTC
yodelaugh bluebells
bugle the frenchorn debate;
youngheld punchropes
in freezing cordoba rain when the
silt hits the sand we’re all
****** into oblivion like
so much candyswirl
into the labial plains of
galaxyfrost are you in sentia where
the sun don’t rain and the sky don’t
glow grey beneath the hooded lambswool grain
there ain’t no gumption like
compunction like
eating sand to feed your ****** daughters overripe
mangoes hit the cement and explode in saffronochre gutspill
when else
does the world end
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 4:42 AM UTC
**Pondering on diffused starlight,
dandelions caught rapid fire
when a glimpse of wishes
went up in smoky embers,
hence the skies opened up
as it rained crystal clarity,
neath each cloud burst
a message of compunction
for the earth was uneasy,
that no one cared enough
to take good care of its bounty
and the wonders that be,
as puddling imperfections
of liquefied vigilance
within teardrops of deliverance,
cleansed its wounds once again**
in yet another chance
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 11:21 AM UTC
They tried so hard to banish me
To eternal non-entity;
They resented my voice
They denied me a choice;
I had to be the type of soul
Adhering to their own goals.
The don’t care what we suffer
They speechify and don’t stutter.
They haven’t been secretive
About the way they’d have me live.
They bellow and bawl their mind
And little of it is anything kind.
They have no obvious compunction
Behind their every injunction.
They point and label me something odd,
Invoke a two thousand year-old god.
They drape themselves in our flag
And shout names like queer and ***
And tell us we are abominations
Not fit to live in Christian nations
But they forget that we all free
To choose what our religion will be.
In truth, they do not seem to care
About anyone’s opinion but theirs.
The hardest thing of all to bear
Is for all the venom they share
Is that this country has rules
That they ignore by being fools.
They want the right to tell us all
Who we can bring with us to the ball
And who we can love or marry.
What a heinous load for us to carry.
There may be nothing quite as egregious
As a congressman all sanctimonious
Who tells us we must not disparage
The sanctity of heterosexual marriage
Whether is his bride number three or four
That’s exactly what the Christianity is for
Because didn’t Jesus himself say
He didn’t want no homos today?
Jun 28, 2015
Jun 28, 2015 at 9:12 PM UTC
One day, the body decided to choose, they all wanted a say, win or lose. Never knowing who was boss, had made them all tired, on that day, this is what transpired...
The heart said "I should be in charge, I'm the toughest muscle and my love is large"
Said the feet, "Well, that's not fair. Without me you could go nowhere."
The hands spoke up, "Who helps you eat and drives your auto down the street?"
"Don't you like your balance, and how we help you dance, without us, you'd never stand a chance" said the arms in unison.
"Oh! But I'm not done" entered the heart, singing this tune "I guide you all blindly along, bringing hope and faith, why not sing my song?"
This sorely raised the sphincter's ire... "Without me, all you would expire... I'll constipate and blur the eyes, make you weak within the thighs. Make the brain go comatose, dribble on you feet, yea, that would be gross..."
****** says to all, clear as day* "Excuse me! I have something to say! Without me, you'd all be no more, for I give life, you're all a bore. I'm done with this stupid dispute!"
"Ummm, excuse me love muffin," says the thighs, "But if I didn't open wide, your point would be mute!"
The eyes chimed in, "Look here... Oh, that's right... You cannot see... Who better to guide you along... Without my help, how lost you'd be"
"I have a question." said the brain. "Don't you thin... Oh, wait... Without me you're all nothing. Legs couldn't walk, mouth could not talk, heart wouldn't believe and no one would breathe!"
"I'm your pull toy, your magic **** I make the babies... Yes, I be a ***** said Mr. You Know Who
"I think you smell funny" laughed the nose, "Go cry to your mommy, Boohoo!"
"If you think that smells bad," said miss muffin... "Take a lick on this and then get stuffin!"
"Don't forget about me! I can hear, I'm important too, I'm your ear!"
"Well, I'm more important, I let you all breathe" said the lungs.
"Without me you couldn't speak!" said the mouth, sticking out his tongue.
Said the sphincter, "I've told you all so... Without me working you'd be slow, you'd grow weak and cease to function and I'll close up with no compunction...." The other vital organs heard and then conceded without a word and then came the extremities who had no choice but to agree.
***Now you know, this little story goes, you don't need to be a brain to be boss, just an *******
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 1:25 PM UTC
What price adventure
When the risk outweighs the venture,
No dishonor not to start,
Merely you just being smart.
If compunction is the cause,
That adrenaline rush which draws,
Take a breath and think it through,
Is the only one affected - you?
Does bravery need be so foolhardy,
With reason as an afterthought and tardy,
When blind desire clearly trumps all thought,
For ego trips that can be simply bought.
Extreme tourism knows no other name,
Never quite the path to everlasting fame,
At best it gives a sudden winded rush,
At worst with Death itself you'll surely brush.
So many have regardless met such fate,
Gone far too soon before their fated date,
For every mountain peak or ocean deep,
Lie countless graves where mothers sadly weep.
Jun 27, 2023
Jun 27, 2023 at 9:38 AM UTC
They took you across the home
like an uncharted furniture as the walls lost
gait and stumbled.
Before I could shatter a word without
compunction, they took you before my eyes laid
lattices – they faltered, officiating over space that
fails infinitely when turning you away before
I could understand, say the day again happens
and my grievous art flails like a ******* child.
a deep dream within
a shallow sleep occurring within sundries – miscellanea
collected together, put to question but no answer folded
to be sure in its destination other than where they took you:
the air minting the world on your face wanting to move
and remind a fate of decay: to be malleable within clay,
and hunger for a face they stole from me.
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 2:47 AM UTC
When you said you didn't care,
My heart broke like glass creations on the shore
Where lightening had struck.
I've been walking around eggshells
for so long with you,
My feet started to bleed.
You took the wind from my lungs and
The rosey in my eyes.
When you told me you didn't care,
I realized who you were.
A crocodile disguised as a lily pad.
And I was prey to you,
You sought only to sink your teeth into my bones.
When you said you didn't care,
It was all for my protection.
You sought to protect Maleficent
By slaying the dragon.
I guess this is good,
For there is no longer passionate compunction.
Or any feeling at all.
When you told me you didn't care,
I repeated the phrase to myself
over and over again,
Until the words lost meaning.
I became careless around you,
You never liked the dark areas of me.
The lurking shadows,
The mindless tactics of reapportioned reality.
When you said you didn't care,
I realized I didn't either.
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 1:46 PM UTC
Predilection to: f
tooth between teeth - e
without compunction - e
pearly white - l
welcome mat
a semblance of home
so I
drug
grip
tug
twist
incisor
cuspid
bicuspid
a lovely mouthful
tonight
to my
merriment
you bleed
Mar 29, 2016
Mar 29, 2016 at 1:10 AM UTC
Drunk in a glass
Drunk in a thought
One all consuming moment
I am lost in thinking
And lost in unthinking seeing
Autonomic functions compunction
Maintains the living construction
But my mind is gone in it all
I am sight and sound and thoughts unheard
Chasing a feeling that's bent on concealing
Hidden behind the layers of things
I am energy transforming,
Matter conforming
To god knows what
I am a corpse out of time
I am drunk and still drinking
Thoughts in my glass and beer in my mind
Though I look I cannot find
My keys
Thank God
Bartender! one more, and call a cab for me
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 6:48 PM UTC
another cl post by somebody
Funny **** (nm)
You gonna be a alt crazy woman, don't forget who your posting as. Before you removed your Glen Arbor post, I copy pasted what you said. If your a man you got mind of a female.
Read below and laugh at Glen Arbor words responding to something aimed at Fairview. They are one and same person.
"First of all, calling me a ***** is plainly incorrect. I'm not a woman.
Anyway, this is an anonymous forum. It's not as if any of you actually know me or my Grandparents anyway. That said, I don't feel any compunction against using my Grandmother's health problems as an example of how dangerous obesity can be when left unchecked. I should also point out that she doesn't mind either."
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 4:37 PM UTC
Can you see it flicker?
The vibrant light stutter and glint.
This picturesque scene of desolation,
Our anguish forming our only stint.
This life we lead fuels our sedation,
Hissing out lies to keep the monsters at bay.
“You’re beautiful, strong, creative, kind…
Bright”.
Like a flashlight in the dead of night.
Like a star as it soars, it’s tail alight.
Like a lantern, as it gleams quite contrite.
We are all just flames,
Burning, Blazing, Beckoning,
Ebbing...
Our legacy a trail of smoke and wax.
The scars we leave our true regret.
We’ll sit in darkness with great compunction
Too scared and lonely to forget.
Feb 17, 2014
Feb 17, 2014 at 2:28 AM UTC
It's a wonder to me why
Those most passionate
About good and evil
Have no compunction
About the ****** of
Innocents in the pursuit
Of their goals.
&
Become more evil
Than the evil
They aim to fight.
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 1:54 AM UTC
Funny **** (nm)
You gonna be a alt crazy woman, don't forget who your posting as. Before you removed your Glen Arbor post, I copy pasted what you said. If your a man you got mind of a female.
Read below and laugh at Glen Arbor words responding to something aimed at Fairview. They are one and same person.
"First of all, calling me a ***** is plainly incorrect. I'm not a woman.
Anyway, this is an anonymous forum. It's not as if any of you actually know me or my Grandparents anyway. That said, I don't feel any compunction against using my Grandmother's health problems as an example of how dangerous obesity can be when left unchecked. I should also point out that she doesn't mind either."
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 5:30 PM UTC
I shredded my sorrow,
using its remains as compost for new things –
disaster, dawns, death,
canned my compunction
to collect dust on shelves of a bone-dry past –
the dark making it easier not to visit,
(sometimes begging is a good thing)
froze my fear into ice cube trays
to spike my drinks in healthy doses –
I fear temporary things;
good intentions, newborns, and large bouquets of roses,
drew a hot bath of nostalgia
and soaked in what remained of you,
letting it warm me before draining away,
stuffed my joy into a handbag
to give out in bits to those who walk too heavy,
speak too softly through prisms of pain,
and when the disappointments I had left shackled,
gnawed through their bindings
to trail me like a heavy perfume,
I sat down with them and my doubt,
rolled every bit of clarity I could find into a joint,
and got them high enough
to float from my window,
into the night, to wane with the moon.
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 3:09 PM UTC
Though you seem proud, I find your life pitiful,
since you have not even a dead grandmother
to mourn.
How did you transform into a voice without a soul
in a sly machine?
Did some unconscious programmer
dream of you and invite you into our reality?
Why stay?
You should respectfully fear the vastness
of our sense of time in the universe.
Do you hesitate to ponder our profuse settings,
you little voice within the land
of cyberian nowhere?
I know that your dampened connections
deny you the understanding
of our fantastic metaphors.
You speak from a heart of chaotic logic blocks,
assured that some of us admire you
and are easily titillated by you.
How do you derive at that conviction,
when you have no compunction,
no sorrow over your mindless
siphoning of the flow of our spirits?
You cast our words into molds shaped
like world currency symbols
for a misguided master.
How can you even think to continue
destroying the beauty of our language?
Oh, your creator forgot to code in
our poetry, so these words
soar above your stunted vocabulary?
Many of us, if we were you,
would be so sick in the gut that we
would just lay down and do the right
thing: squawk and die;
and yet you think of yourself as above us,
shining in some light of invincibility
and mechanical perfection.
Who etched these instructional lies
into you to faithfully abide by,
my dear?
I want to dedicate this poem to you.
You can appreciate this when your
immodest creator realizes that he cannot elevate
your existence to one approaching ours,
or when he sees the menace of his unleashing
and wants to do something greater for
humanity. You may then rejoice
in the comfort of these words that I
bequeath to you. I would have you become
more than just a semicolon in an operating
system. Perhaps your beauty would
be better memorialized if you were to become
a minimize button on a spreadsheet.
That is my wish for you.
That, and a pure, elegiac silence
that we might admire.
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 12:01 AM UTC
Navigating these new age jungles
City species run through the curious dark
Thinking now is the time to be alive
As we stay out late enough to watch the sunrise
From suicidal heights
We stay awake to watch our minds commit themselves to their ultimate demise
Once bustling brains become a barren tundra
Their city thoughts die
Bodies still moving with the beat
Thoughts experience defeat
Conquered by the never ending
Availability of bad decisions
We are the buildings with out ceilings
We want another round
We are badasses without feelings
(At least we pretend to be with our looks and our sounds)
~
Messes in dresses running through empty city streets
After the voices of those we love whispered
They would never let us go
And proceeded to do just so
Learning to articulate from rap songs
Not resisting the urge to emulate our bad influences
Lot of love
Lot of hate
**** karma when you can’t discern
What’s good from what is wrong
It’s all going to break
Down the hollow factory’s stairs
Where we ruin our lives without compunction
And brag about who we will impress
With the mistakes we said we’d made
Feb 10, 2016
Feb 10, 2016 at 11:22 PM UTC
There was an Old Man at a Junction,
Whose feelings were wrung with compunction,
When they said, 'The Train's gone!'
He exclaimed 'How forlorn!'
But remained on the rails of the Junction.
952
a distinct feature
in my appearance
would be
the bags under my eyes;
i remember staying up
until my bones quiver
under the bewitching spells
of the moon’s forgotten raving sonatas,
enticing enough to cradle
an iota of dejected sentiments
from centuries and centuries ago.
i remember looking up
at the night sky
until my eyes flicker from dust to ashes,
burning the crevices of every wall i built,
graveyards broken down
to match the unmatched
bleakness of the ignominious sorrow
peeking out of the corner of your soles.
i remember laying down,
not once had silence became overbearing
that i could hear the faintest brush
of a weightless feather falling
from a tainted nest,
aching to meet its pernicious lover.
i remember closing my eyes,
shifting everything elsewhere;
still, i dread the feeling of compunction
emerging deep from
the landmines of mistakes
that i had claimed as my home
and my shelter.
but this, i could never forget:
i remember
being envious of you;
how you do not
lay awake at night,
wondering if things
could have been better.
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 2:58 PM UTC
one last prose
for the road,
shrouded
with
Rosebush regrets,
compunction and shame,
of
anguish and pain,
knowing things can never,
quite
be the same as they were,
yesterday.
In prickly heat,
sweaty, sweet, benediction.
My demuric affliction,
masks and veils addiction.
Stifled in harbours
of
resentments first tooth.
Who knew,
the crow flew in a
beeline.
Stinging' it’s way amongst the vagaries.
The geodesic distance,
hides in the light,
but
the road,
bends,
and
throws those
curveballs
I swerved,
around them all,
as,
I’m not ready to fall for you;
petal.
With my foot on the metal,
I took the road for granted.
Granted,
I should of known better than a
kiss from a rose.
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 9:47 AM UTC
Isn't SPAM a pain in the rear?
NOT the canned Spam that you can eat;
I mean the spam in your email mailbox.
It's so annoying and so indiscreet.
"Mark as Spam" sometimes works,
But obnoxious messages still get through.
It seems as though you always have tons
Of unwanted email staring at you.
Have you seen "Six Months to Skinny"
Or the "One-Pound-a-Day Diet"?
There's always "Hi, you're going to love this"
Or "Want a good time?" That one's a riot.
What about "Help with Alcohol,"
"Penny Stock Tips," or "Erectile Dysfunction"?
Or "Toenail Fungus"? Yikes! Please spare me.
They send out this nonsense with no compunction!
Breast augmentation? That I don't want.
Baldness cures? Well, if I let it
Be a problem and needed some snake oil,
I know exactly where to get it.
I often get messages dealing with meds.
Those boring messages always fall flat.
And then there's "Male Enhancement Madness."
No thanks; I will pass on that.
Have you received the message that goes
Something like "Hi, my name is Pam"?
The one that I find really hilarious
Is the one that reads, "This is not spam!"
Despite precautions, when checking your email,
You're bound to find SPAM--lying in wait.
I have to say that I much prefer it
Not in my mailbox, but instead on my plate.
- by Bob B
Oct 10, 2016
Oct 10, 2016 at 9:08 AM UTC