"concordia" poems
When the Costa Concordia met with a reef,
it was certain some lives would be lost.
As she listed to starboard at eighty degrees,
Her Captain was first to get off.
Captain Schettino was schmoozing some blonde
when his ship began veering to shore.
He was unwilling to go down on his ship,-
The blonde? yes, but hold the encore.
It seems his chief waiter hails from the Isle,
the Isle with the ship eating reef.
They drew close to shore so he’d wave to his wife
an excursion that beggars belief.
The Coast guard responders where shocked and amazed;
They just couldn’t believe what they saw:
The Cruise liner Captain, paddling furiously,
beating women and children to shore.
Unlike Captain Smith, who stood at his post,
hearing “ Nearer my God to thee.”
The tune that Schettino will sing his bambinos
is “Nearer to Shore take me!”
He’ll spend time in jail, but the punishment pales
when compared to the scope of his sin
This sailor has fallen from grace with the sea
in his dreams let their screams never end.
Jan 21, 2012
Jan 21, 2012 at 9:05 PM UTC
I just want you. You are my thoughts, my dreams, my voice. Leading me from the Hell of this lifeless world into a Heaven that is underneath you; you take my body and erase my mind and fill it with you. I just want to run to you. I worship only you, my Dionysus. Only with you can I shake off this rust and be human. You are my Savior.
You have ensouled me...
Let me cradle you in my skin. Let my darkness overcome your light and fill you with a devotion that rivals the Angels in their love for their God. Be devoted to me: let me be the only one in your sight, in your body. Give me your essence. Dream only of me, letting me be your Haven and Harbor. Think of me as the Light At the Otherside of the Shore. Melt into me.
We are Concordia. We share life only when our mouths touch: only inhale when I exhale and only exhale when I inhale...
Nov 22, 2010
Nov 22, 2010 at 9:27 AM UTC
The choir girls on rooftops sing
songs of thanksgiving in
harmonious gleam
while the children dance
in vibrant gyrations
underneath the olive trees.
A fire burns while people cheer and chant,
and folk songs flutter like ash.
The sparks fly as burnt wood collapses
and the king takes his throne.
He addresses his court
with eager voice
that echoes across the fields
and all eyes and ears are keenly fixed
on his majesty.
He speaks:
"My people, my friends,
my enemies, my lovers -
from all lands far and wide -
will you open your eyes
and see your live like this?
There is no bloodshed or death
and I can see your lungs expand with each breath.
Now, please fill your cups
with the strongest of wines
and let music ring
with the loudest of chiming.
Let peace fill your souls
and love cloud your minds.
Lay down your swords,
pax et concordia
for love is the strongest of wards."
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 2:08 AM UTC
I used to have a dollar and a dream-
The dream still lives, but now it costs me two.
I have to ante up, though times are lean,-
my only chance to make my dream come true.
I’m not adept at picking combinations
of numbers that can produce a win
I think my ship is named “Costa Concordia”-
which may explain why its not coming in.
I agonize over number combinations-
while angry people wait on line behind.
I settle on my anniversary date;
Its never paid off yet, but give it time.
My friends all say I pay the “stupid tax”
I wait for that last laugh that will be mine:
A lump sum of a hundred million bucks,
or twenty smaller payments over time.
Feb 7, 2012
Feb 7, 2012 at 7:56 PM UTC
the world's at their feet, they can claim postcards
from anywhere - yet they too are at the world's
something or other - the world shat them out
and they described it politely
as worth the travel... or the world regurgitated
them out and made them say
Rome was infinite in the aristocratic practice
of an **** of anorexics -
the best rhetoric i ever heard
was from a bulimic aristocrat
from Pompeii... hot lava streaks of
half-digested fledglings
of a chiselled rock-face of partially
climbed for a reward of a cupcake...
it took porridge to the new extremes!
seriously - the un-celebrated
masculine with masculine enticed
us into accepting **** without lactose
sugars and a cougar **** of fancy -
trans ****** **** because the masculine
form was asked to be damnable
in homosexual practice -
at least homosexuals practised the celebration
of whole male embodiment, the male
form was celebrated - it isn't now, to be
honest - the male beauty is debased,
once by feminism secondly by trans-gender
politics - of "free speech",
free speech is gone... it went down the sewers
with a ship of pirating rats profiteering from
cowardice and the capitalistic motto:
every tail waggling for the dodo coccyx
to be minded! hushed, the rats jumped ship,
the last idiot, the captain remained,
started snorkelling up pride in the one
constellation he wished to avoid, not east
nor west... but the deepest south of a sinking
ship... the depths gave him reprimand for
honour - an assurance in the form of
costa concordia's schettino breaking
the lineage of accepted convent for the upkeep.
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 9:15 PM UTC
Il était une fois à Rimini aux portes de l 'Enfer
Un poème de Dante sur la comédie humaine
Gianciotto Malatesta était vieil époux de marbre boiteux et jaloux
Francesca da Rimini, jeune épouse de glaise virevoltante et volage
Et quoi que leur union soit un mariage de raison
Ils engendrèrent très vite deux enfants pour sceller leurs sangs
Une fille Concordia, un garçon Francesco
Mais le malheur en amour tient à peu de choses,
Parfois seulement à la différence d'âge ou de minéral.
C'est avec son beau-frère de bronze tendre et chaud Paolo Malatesta
Que Francesca exprimait pleinement toute sa glaise romantique.
Il n'en fallut pas plus à Gianciotto
Qui les surprit luxurieux en plein adultère
Dans un baiser anthologique tourbillonnant
Où se fondaient la glaise et le bronze
Pour les renvoyer de son poignard et de ses flèches
ad patres méditer sur l 'inconstance
Gianciotto les occit sans cérémonie
Alors qu'innocemment ils lisaient Lancelot du Lac et Guenièvre
En se jurant de façon courtoise amour pour toujours
Au grand dam d'Arthur.
C'est le destin fatal des Muses
Que d'accointer les Muscs des Poètes
On a tôt dit qu'elles musardent
elles butinent butinant voletant avec la grâce des chevrotains
Entre ombilic et verge
S'enivrant de musc de tonkin ou kabartin
Liquide et chaud, boisé et ambré
Oh la belle liqueur épicée et rieuse !
C'est le destin fatal des Muscs que d'accointer le Miel des Muses
Et cueillir leur racine d'angélique-archangélique aux vertus aphrodisiaques
Clopin-clopant sifflotant d'allégresse et de désinvolture
On a tôt dit qu'ils sont volages, à la recherche de perpétuels frissons
Et on a tôt fait de les mettre à l 'index
De les libérer pour mieux les remplacer
Par des graines d'ambrette et un peu de civette
Entre péché et damnation c'est la voie tourmentée et voluptueuse
Qui mène à la pluie de flammes
Où flânent les Muses ferventes amatrices des odeurs nues et exquises des péchés !
Et les Muscs perpétuellement nus et volcaniques dans leur Cercle des Luxurieux !
Aug 21, 2019
Aug 21, 2019 at 6:09 AM UTC