"connive" poems
Laboriously beleaguering hypercritically meticulous hypotaxis apomixis strive
Rainbow mare aura roan exude emote derive
Syntactical propinquity habitation harbinger harangue stoic hive
Colloquialism vernaculars prurient adage jargon idiom clichés jive
Mirador bartizan panorama stalwart bastion bulwark tableau live
Canny cleaver crafty cunning furtive sneaky stealthy connive
Poignant cogent piquant ephemeral effulgence temporal refraction arrive
Paradoxical dichotomy greaves gauntlets gamut catalyst abstracts survive
Hectic mayhem , proximity parameter perimeter peripherals , annihilate rive
Zingy zesty zany zenithal azimuth entity zeal alive
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 9:11 PM UTC
Thoughts spinning, creating insanity, Twenty Four Seven.
God do I Wish I could be sweet old Eleven.
All wanting sanctuary, Want to be on Cloud Nine.
Instead we sit in our lullaby, stuck in Our Rhyme.
Black Crows fading in the grass field.
Turning fast , to defend, pulling out The Zelda Shield.
Whistling back and forth, calming nerves.
Heart dropping, where tires are not stopping, she swerves.
Music helps along the way,
Helping figure out a reasonable comeback to say.
Waking up, you're my savior.
Finding the key to this rusty ****** door.
Living in the unknown,
Almost nothing is really shown.
Under the blankets is where She turns Alive.
With no Authority, all She does is Connive.
Each measly passing second,
She drowns slowly, hesitant to go in the deep end.
About to die, left with ourselves, are only true friend.
High hopes, the letter She wrote was for you,
Collecting thoughts of passion was all She could pass on through.
Through the trees, fast speeds show flashes of unconscious views.
Jumping off the rock sides, She misunderstands, How to find her Muse.
With my canoe, I'll trying my best to save you.
Every bone in my body needs to, cringes, fiends, breaks, as you petrified me to do.
She spoke out, in no means of worries.
Not listening, growing ignorant.
Unaware of Her affair,
Leaving Her, to jump, leaving Her indignant.
She becomes whole, in the Levant.
(est.j.r.e.)
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 12:21 PM UTC
***I see many portraits in my visions.
portraits of black sheep in division.
portraits of eyes so deep,
a portrait for ones soul to keep.
portraits of two hearts collided,
a portrait of a life divided.
portraits of wise men citing verse,
a portrait of sage ending in curse.
portraits of shadows with knives,
a portrait of the horned ones as they connive.
portraits of footprints imprinted in the sand,
a portrait of those footprints washed free of this land.
portraits of life and blackness of dieing,
a portrait of some innocence, then crying.
portraits of smiles not to be trusted,
a portrait of a chain all weathered and rusted.
i have many portraits my collection has grew,
a portrait of my life and a visionary portrait of you.***
Sep 8, 2019
Sep 8, 2019 at 7:57 AM UTC
I see many portraits in my visions.
Portraits of black sheep in division.
Portraits of eyes so deep,
a portrait for ones soul to keep.
Portraits of two hearts collided,
a portrait of a life divided.
Portraits of wise men citing verse,
a portrait of sage ending in curse.
Portraits of shadows with knives,
a portrait of the horned ones as they connive.
Portraits of footprints imprinted in the sand,
a portrait of those footprints washed free of this land.
Portraits of life and blackness of dieing,
a portrait of some innocence, then crying.
Portraits of smiles not to be trusted,
a portrait of a chain all weathered and rusted.
I have many portraits my collection has grew,
a portrait of my life and a visionary portrait of you.
Jun 17, 2019
Jun 17, 2019 at 8:51 PM UTC
I have seen the blood of my loved ones, spilled on a dusty road;
Seen the fall of kings, powerful warriors and the bold;
The skin of mothers and little children, broken by cold;
The ancient landmarks of the fatherless, siezed and sold.
I have heard the cry of the homeless but no one there to save;
Heard the wailing of the deserted, seen the tears of the brave;
Many driven from their homelands, now hiding in caves;
And a father toiling night and day, treated as a slave.
I have heard of dreams of many, still unrealised;
The ****** daughters of priests, lured or defiled;
The goals of youths, swallowed up by pride;
And the future of generations, poorly discerned.
I have read government policies, unfavourable for the common man;
Heard of national resources, expended without concrete plans
Communities connive to eliminate a defenseless clan;
And a nation sold into modern slavery, by reckless polititians.
Many tears have droped, sweat and blood everywhere;
Many races have been run but the end seems nowhere near;
Many have waited hopelessly for a better year;
Many have stood up but crawled back for sake of fear.
A day will come when the oppressed will arise;
Like Martin Luther King Jr. did,though his blood was a price;
Like Nelson Mandela did, even though his act was termed a vice-
For the freedom of the enslaved and oppressed but the wicked's sudden demise.
Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 3:26 AM UTC
An infant wrapped in ***** sheets
No heat to warm his soft cheeks
A mother weeps for her mistakes
Clutching the baby tight, trying hard not to break
Absurd thoughts crossed the mother's mind
What harm could happen if she leaves her baby behind?
Never has she wanted to keep him alive
A sin she can easily connive
A night full of guilt and regrets
Things she wishes to forget
If only she was a better mother to him
Everything would have never been so grim
Tonight she shall cross the street
Walk the pavements of melting sleets
Lay the infant down on freezing concrete
Turn her back, a sin she would concede
But guilt twisted her stomach as she walks away
She feels as if her baby calls for her to stay
Conscience compelled her to walk back
To the little angel lying on its back
She picked him up and love confounded her
"How dare I leave this poor angel? I am such a terrible mother!"
She planted a kiss on the baby's face, she then wept for her mistakes
Holding the baby in her embrace, little by little, the heartaches dissipate.
ns
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 5:29 AM UTC
Let us imagine, we write together!
You come for a visit,
From Germany, the Philippines, Singapore,
India, Nepal, even from industrial Leeds,
Bring me some Aussies and some Kiwis,
Green Tennessee, Nevada City (Ca?), the Canadian Plains
Hampshire & Haverford, where the H's get lost,
Even London, where everything is pensive expensive!
Cannot forget Minnesota, hotbed of poets restless.
If you are crosstown, let's meet on the Great Lawn in
Central Park, by Shakespeare's castle,
Let us turn my, now our, town into a belle-ville!
Side by side,
Stride for stride,
Manhattan, we connive
As our source, spring waters
For inspiration.
You come to me not as tourist,
But as explorer.
Ever-after twenty blocks,
Movement ceased, halted,
The mile, approximately travelled,
We then stop-sit.
Park bench, museum steps, bus stop,
Street curb, ok ok, Starbucks!
We each write a poem.
Exchange fluid words.
No proceeding until each have
Completed composing.
That's the rule.
A poem per mile.
I see this lovely island,
As home,
The sidewalk cracks, my veins,
The harshest of noises, my siren harmonies,
The dirt, my soul food.
But you, fresh eyes for me to
Discover what's been missed, for
Familiarity breeds cataracts,
Clouds the visionary.
I need you beside me
To be my teacher
To see my city
Anew.
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 9:22 AM UTC
And so they asked' bruh
What is love?
And then I said... thus...
Love is an unexplainable trago-chemical curse ******
into your heart leading to a kinda shock
That neither ABC nor CPR can resolve
But instead of dying... you hearts keeps fighting
And instead of crying... your eyes keeps igniting
with lights that's almost blinding
See, what I'm implying....
Is though love strucks like lightening, it still feels exciting
Pretence, judge, privacy, remorse
Nah, love is far from stuff like such
Love is the brother of loyalty and trust
The great grandpa of affection and lust
Who happens to be the uncle of honesty and Wisdom
And right next to the wall of love
Lives heartbreak and hurt
Even though they're not related by blood
The same boundary engulfed their hut 🏠
But see, even at detriment of abuse and insult
And when the whole world connive
to bring love distress and strive
True love thrives and survives
All the tempo of life
True love is the upgrade of Love and Like
Yea, I said love and like cos they're alike
Love is immortal; it never dies
Love don't give up; it don't say goodbye
And even if it gets weak; it play back the golden times
Love attracts enmity; unlike water 💧
But like Leonidas and em 300 Spartans; love don't falter
Yea, love slaughter; any obstacles that tryna taunt her
to Moses and Samson in the bible; Love is stronger
Even box to box; Tyson Fury wouldn't last a quarter
Love don't lie, love don't hide
Love ain't fly, but it touch the sky
Love don't cry; love don't deny
Love don't oblige to picking side
Love don't die; love survive
Love don't sly when bad time arise
Love ain't man; but its arm is open wide
Like clouds up in the sky, love dont lack supply
Love is philanthropic; love don't deal in hate
White or black; love won't discriminate
If you're rich, and I'm not; love won't disintegrate
Love will share with you every grain in its plate
Love is transparent; no tricky games
Love don't give space for hate to lay
Love don't hibernate; it's brain is wide awake
Love don't stray from the right-filled way
Love forgives, love don't seek revenge
Love repent wholeheartedly; love don't pretend
Love don't hold grudges; yea, love dont resent
And when its blood boils hot; it clicks reset
Loyalty and honesty is what love do pledge
Love is trust; love don't set cunning tests
Love believes; it don't need evidence
God is what Love represents
Aug 5, 2022
Aug 5, 2022 at 7:38 AM UTC
Bedlam is our repletion, bellicose our rest,
For ever state which we call peace is war of constant test.
This war must share no allies - each warrior a martyr,
And it would stand that every soldier someone calls their daughter.
The instigator Terra, the perpetrator Yahweh,
Instant and perpetual - a bellum night and day.
The resource universal, from sea to ****** sea.
This war is fought o'er any man who might a bachelor be.
Civility and stupor the only neutral face they wear,
But underneath the plaster smile iniquity lies bare.
How cruelly do they cozen, how capricious they connive,
A thousand times more vicious than any man that seeks to wive.
And how they suffer sedulous, their bodies they contort
Into the most pernicious forms, a weapon of a sort:
They don the war paint, pluck the hair, admonish slightest error,
And take to wield those eyes of steel, and bless the world with terror.
Jun 2, 2012
Jun 2, 2012 at 9:43 PM UTC
Don’t give mind to the signs that have resigned by being placed behind humankind cross winding the signs are aligning this is time of denying why all are depriving from arriving to connive absolutive approval to let others not feel useful while the delightful are despiteful even might find them frightful the prideful stifle denying the insightful a rifle to go in headfirst is this worse than a curse pushing you to try it first knowing where this was birthed abashed have you found this to come on fast and it lasts on after has passed the last attacked has passed.
Nov 13, 2011
Nov 13, 2011 at 1:37 AM UTC
Earthen roads spring alive with berm-gardens,
Thistles, and animals’ connive,
A country road the blows the dust
Off the porch, so that it’s just
Us.
When the time comes
that we arrive to claim the hills over there,
Command honey evenings
I, the colt, you, the mare
Transformed by winds, raw from the pastoral
Over-there,
It gives to us the boundless open dome
Free to graze
Free to roam
Where we shall know finally what it’s like to be home.
The homes, they spring by diving arms
Growing strong and respiring clouds
Of coaly waste
That eat the clarity of austere farms
And every life of put-upon
Denature, contorted as the victim-fawn,
Bloating with guts the hue of oil
Strewn by a semi’, in two drawn
An image that takes some getting used to.
And yet, this is only natural to be one with the aluminum blood
That runs in the veins of pale concrete to its beating heart
A healthy babe born of predation
A community called Animosity,
Where a life affirmed is a life denied
Though it be a bridge ‘cross chasms to prosperity,
Hold it close,
For they are deep and one United States wide.
The entrails rot on the city face, spelling out
“Payment,” on the pavement, the street
Maggots reeking, thriving in carrion
Smiling as they urge me, of course
Carry on,
That all will be well in time.
My beautiful mare turns from the hills
Her eyes now glow cinereal
How wretched she stands my side
Her heart now a mirror for how mine feels:
Drawing on love, the general kind.
Such life of hers
Such of mine
Betoken a passion, in its turn, an ill
Then to two ridges, shorn by pure will,
And still we congeal two passions to fill it
‘Till a fibrillating heart beats the color
Of ****
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 11:01 AM UTC
How clean is clean
when the cleaning began
from the floor of a sunken ship?
Barnacles grace the walls in the place
of family, or a familiar face.
When filth is a given, and given
in projection to the overtly empathetic
as a matter of course, why implore?
Because you don't implore,
you explore as an entity
reaching for a meaning.
The question becomes,
do you fight, or do you invite
the coming cessation?
Even with a gun, and a view to ****
the power the bullet affords
would surely fail to thrill you.
The best charlatans paint your hands red,
as you're sleeping in bed, preemptively.
Let the liars lie, let the builders connive.
Uninterrupted access to their own confines.
To Narcissus, the cool nod is colder than the knife.
Let the liars lie, let the builders connive.
When the company you keep requires the sacrifice
of your authenticity and your reality, just leave.
It'll never get good. It'll never get great.
It'll never be worth the investment.
Jan 19, 2019
Jan 19, 2019 at 8:29 PM UTC
I sat up late with a Shoot-em-up
While the wife went off to bed,
There was a time I’d have joined her, but
She only had sleep in her head.
There was Gabby Hayes and a guy called Clint
Holed up in a barn, in Mo.,
And blasting away at the barn outside
Was an evil guy, called Joe.
I knew which was the good and the bad
Though they each wore a Stetson hat,
For Hayes and Clint’s were a pearly white
While this evil Joe’s was black.
He’d robbed the Stage, and hidden the loot
In the barn, where the good guys lay,
He yelled, ‘You’d better throw out them sacks,
If not, then you’d better pray!’
‘The Sheriff will come and kick your ****
Rang out the voice of Clint,
‘I’ll say, Dadburned if he don’t,’ said Hayes
‘You’re a pesky, bad varmint!’
Then it ended, as the old westerns did
With Joe laid out on a slab,
Though he starred again in a hundred films
He was always labelled bad.
I went out onto the porch to smoke
It was warm, a summer night,
While the Southern Cross shone up above
In the Milky Way, so bright,
And I pondered then on a single line
That Joe had snarled, to connive,
‘If you don’t throw out them sacks right now
You’ll never get out alive!’
The world is full of the likes of Joe
Who threaten and rob, and steal,
While the rest of us are lying low
And living a life that’s real.
But he said one thing that applies to us
To the bad and the good that strive,
Whatever the sort of life you live
You’ll never get out alive!’
David Lewis Paget
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 10:02 PM UTC
I'm alive,
I'm here to thrive
With nothing to do with the word connive..
I've got to live smart,
And love with my whole heart,
Be focused as though in a game of dart,
Be creative and live by my gift of art....
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 3:01 PM UTC
~~~
I do not have a poem
at the ready,
at my fingertips,
ready, willing and able,
instant provision,
*yet, in the fingertips, yes,
is red ink, warming,*
waiting for the
sounding,
your tap tap tapping calling
of once-more
I do not have a poem
sited upon my lips,
in sweet patient stasis
awaiting
your requesting kiss,
*yet, deep hid within my throat,
are universes of words,*
ready for assembly,
immediate delivery,
needy for the signaling of
your endearing
provocations
I do not have a poem
stored in the heart's ventricles,
in cavitation, ready to bubble upwards,
ready to travel the veins,
provide art to the arteries,
encamping in the capillaries,
*yet, come stoke my steel furnace,
melt molten its contents for the removal of*
the irregularities of,
enduring love,
leave the glowing rawness of
glory passionate and gift abiding,
songs of felicitous contentment
I do not have a poem
upon my person,
easy to come,
easy released,
signaling its lanterned
mode of arrival,
one if by voice,
two if by hand,
*yet, this poem,
is my legal tender for you,
come purchase your poem
from the cells of my tissue*
spend it wisely,
for everything is beautiful
but delimited,
in its own way
when thy body needs to survive,
this body rises to connive,
this body to provide,
words of relief,
of soul solution,
in words precise,
particular,
designed medicine
designated for thy spirit
all you need supply,
the need,
and perhaps,
a bit of editing
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 1:58 PM UTC
*She's tired of fighting
To keep her soul's fire alive,
She's been in a constant battle
Just trying to survive.
Overdrive,
Overdrive,
She's totally over
The long, hard road, drive,
Always giving,
Whilst her needs
She deprives.
Nosedive,
Nosedive,
Her heart and mind
Are taking a plunge,
A freeing, freefall dive,
She's tired
Of letting the backstabbers
Take advantage of her;
She's over the malicious way
That they conspire and connive.
By Lady R.F (C) 2017*
May 22, 2017
May 22, 2017 at 5:49 AM UTC
The brain is an ever changing vessel filled with first
impressions, truths and lies of what life gives and also
takes away.
It is a vessel filled with hope, regret sadness and joy a place of
learning yearning forever's and goodbyes.
The mind delivers tragedies break ups make ups illusions
confusion love of what there is and what there’s not.
Hope and sadness sorrow pain as we go through life looking for
some type of gain walking on our heals one step ahead but one
step back lost like spitting into the wind.
We strive, connive and play our cards and what is shown is what
lies, all for a glimpse of what is ours.
The vessel drains then it fills overflows gives us thrills, it beats
our heart and pumps the blood it gives us life. Is that
understood?
Yet we abuse infuse but try not to lose our way so we can stick
around another day to play the game of life for which we pay.
Apr 21, 2010
Apr 21, 2010 at 10:05 AM UTC
stop reading my ****
go make money
if u wanna be a baller
quit reading this ******** honey
they're not just gonna call u
u gotta get up get out and get it
enough of the ********
oh i wanna do this and that
wanna make a certain amount of money by then
this time
when?
which line?
of coke did u snort
that made u think
this **** came easy
u can float real breezy
like
i'm gonna make a million dollars
but first
let me head to the bar
grab lunch
go to the library
read a book
call my friends
play online
flirt
and think about boys
nah girl
get the **** out
and get it
all that ****
get rid of
friends, family, they'll be there, but they will change
to support you in the way
u need to grow
a million dollars my ***
u havent gotten off your ***
that fast
to get to work
receiving hand outs
from rich families
hoping to inherit
something that isn't yours
i guess those are your gifts
a gift of gifts
given to u your whole life
all you do is receive
receive
receive
receive
but that will never teach
how to take it
let the burn drive inside
if u really want it
you'll **** for it
steal for it
connive and bargain
try and try
beaten down, boo'ed, buried alive
but you strive
no such thing as no
never an impossible
no such thing as never
so go get it
u dont have forever
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 4:16 PM UTC
You lie an connive
You make me sick while u spend all your time with that other guy
Im a fool an i do deserve to die
But ill make you pay ill tear you down where you stand
How dare you betray me how dare you ******* deface me
Your nothing but a worthless ***** tearing me apart without asking for more
I hate what youve done an who you have become ill cut my wrists an drown you in my blood
Ill wipe that smile off your face with a handful of distaste i regret it all i was in a worthless fog
I will make you regret playing me an making me weak im sick of you an what youve put me through fall down die in the ground im sick of this pain
That leaves me drained ill watch you convulse while i walk away my back forever turned on you
Jan 17, 2012
Jan 17, 2012 at 12:19 AM UTC
*There is an absence of light
screaming around me
It is the first of February
the night crawling, an obituary
Conspicuous and hung with death.
A blackout
the local electric company
has yet to be friendly
I didn't mind
The air was young and a tease
Through the windows it approached
Like a growing fire
Closing in on my bare ribs
Soothing my sore mind
Out on the receiving territory
Comes the warm excess
Like oranges hilted on wax
It was sad claiming
They wage brighter wars
Than my soul
But I inhaled their spirit
For a quietness lived in their glow
Barks scrape against the summer dread
Unable to shut their stubborness
They connive with the crickets
For a night of overture
I can smell ambivalence
In the starless skies
Will it cry?
Or will it die along as with everything?
I'd embrace the cold with
My equally hostile arms
It treats me with dignity
From outside the cars screech
Like a wailing woman
Stalling the witch's eye
With fragments of yellow and white
Onto the oblivion of the roads
And the loneliness of a night just
Coming to life.*
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 7:56 AM UTC
Sweet lips.
Juicy hips.
A *****
To saduce.
Unto death.
Caressed to sin,
Forbiden meals to dine,
Overthrow tha devil,
Savour and devour no evil.
She rode me to hell,
With flowers heavenly,
Some scent of olive to connive,
I was annoited with gasoline to burn.
Tied to the grave To life I wont return.
Aug 27, 2017
Aug 27, 2017 at 5:30 PM UTC
Fractured friendships
and ruptured relationships
All fall away as one
For this swiftly fleeting glimpse
At everything around.
From the floating specks of ancient
dust that dance with swirling grace
To the rings of cigarette smoke
That hang like blossoms on trees
The sights, the sounds,
The greens, the blues
Connive to **** the cold
That comes from eyes of
icy stares and shifty shameful glares
Hold me captive, never letting go.
It's only for a moment, but anyway
I know
That soon this smoke will turn to snow.
Apr 24, 2010
Apr 24, 2010 at 7:28 PM UTC
When you’re looking back
It's quite easy to say
I've made it so far
No more troubles on the way
But the moon warns otherwise
When she is wearing crimson
Err on the side of the wise
Pay attention to warnings given
Lest ye not want to survive
She, being the great mother
Is not attempting to connive
So long as you are not a bother
She doesn't take so kindly
To those who wish to harm
To hate, to destroy so blindly
Anyone or thing under her loving arm
To see blood on our mother moon
Is a sign of trouble not far behind
To listen close won't make you a lune
Though to obsess could do so in time
Sep 20, 2017
Sep 20, 2017 at 2:28 PM UTC
There’s no substitute for life.
I find myself,
seduced by yearnings.
I’m flourishing here,
contemplating sin.
I’ve nothing to do
when I’ve nothing but time.
I’m reusing solitudes -
they’ve become ragged.
What’s the answer then?
Should I seal my girly heart,
engage in uncaring kisses
like it’s ‘casual friday’ -
connive brief excitements
- just to feel a pulse?
Mar 4, 2024
Mar 4, 2024 at 9:42 AM UTC