"conscientious" poems
I’m the excommunicated extra extraditing
your excess excrement, extricating specimens
of your essence getting especially excited
call me the exorcist enlightened,
a devil exercising a frightening
double existence.
Conscious constant resistance
from a heavy conscience that lives in
the conscientious angel hidden
deep within a very contentious prison of flesh
fresh from living a half-life, given a dark light,
splitting apart like I’m shining through a prism.
Divine intuition combined with true sinning.
Pinning down angelic powers devoured in hellish prowess,
Tyler’s now a super-villain.
I’m my own double, troubled my other
call me Jorge Dostoevsky a symbiotic brother.
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 5:34 AM UTC
A mirror I carry
and ignorance I bury
I witness the truth
And walk in the light
I discover, cover by cover
Who I am beyond these covers
I see with clarity
And act out of normality
I am the vision of infinity
I am the image of signifacance
I walk into a trance
I see grace take a glance
I find the I beyond what they see
I see harmony between you and me
I grasp a life whole
I embrace the blaze shining
They were finger-like linings
Revealing the truth of what lies in
I grab a pencil and write
It creates a feeling alright
I see the justice in all His might
I view lies that can't be right
I find my life waiting
I am late as if I had been dead
Only hiding from the truth, which many-a-men dread
I then receive a conscious conscience conscientious of unconsciousness
And I know that I am alive.
Nov 1, 2012
Nov 1, 2012 at 8:55 AM UTC
This was written a few Septembers ago. Walking on the streets of a now deserted beach island, only the leaves, in various states, to keep me company.
September,
walk with me,
under bridges of wedding tree canopies,
still green aplenty,
tho subtle marked for change,
making summer illusions,
environmentally unsustainable.
September,
stroll on pathways
of lesser, off the track, shaded lanes,
the sun blocker trees wear new necklaces,
brown and yellow diamonds,
a coming attraction of
their denouement,
their denudement.
The September trees are:
Ever so slightly stooped,
bent with weight of a surety,
knowing with high certainty,
their future, bleak,
bowed and drooped,
discouraged by the
cold travails soon to arrive.
Living in the recent past,
I am dressed inappropriately,
white tee and shorts,
past pretender,
still dressed in my
Gap issue summer uniform,
summer suspended animation.
Island streets are de-humanized,
gone home are the children,
newly fallen leaves have,
their place, taken.
The leaves are:
magically organized along
the sidelines of empty streets,
quiet stadiums of would be
kid's touch football fields.
browned, crisp and soulless,
first greet this solitary stroller,
like a cheering throng of ghosts,
celebrating a sighting -
man, as a seasonal fossil,
one that still is living
and worth reminding, yet
human too shall pass when
his fall arrives.
the leave's cheers make over
into jeers and mocking laughs:
Oh humans, they say,
your summer songs naive,
mais tres charmant.
On Crescent Beach,
the driftwood sadly forlorn,
looking more adrift than ever,
for no one passes to express
admiration at the past seasons
Nouveau Expressionism,
an objet d'art lonely,
for the beach gallery shuttered,
raising questions existential.
Is driftwood on the beach sans
human admiration,
art, truth or refuse?
I am looking backwards as the
Earth moves forward.
My own axis, my eyes,
conscientious objectors
refuse to be pressed
into service of the seasons.
No, no,
to involuntary servitude,
to rotation and revolution.
Nature's witnesses,
trees and leaves write
their own poem,
of foolish men who:
Bow and droop,
discouraged by the
travails soon to arrive,
Delaying their own fall,
finally shed summer delusions
like leaves upon the ground,
summer poetry silenced,
summer suspended, no more.
Dec 7, 2013
Dec 7, 2013 at 8:06 AM UTC
Melting madness and shimmering isles
The bubble-gum boils in drug pedophiles
Let's teach the East to love Western style
We come in with strap-on's and pillage with smiles
The rest of the world watches their watches
People keep saying we're at hour eleven
We're changing the design on our gold lockets
From a heart to a blackjack, Seven Seven Seven!
The college boys assure you that they know the lyrics
And the meanings behind them for they've been enlightened
They swarm out like locusts and pretentiously parrot
Verbatim the textbooks they read when they're frightened
That they'll die with nothing to show for their efforts
They want everyone else in the world to remember
That they did exist on some scale of importance
Even though we're just spun yarn of grass, dirt and oceans
Intelligence streams the consciousness seeds and conscientious objectors it seems
So pardon me for the fallacy of pardoning tyrannical dictator queens
It seems these days to be discovered you need to cheat on your spouse or your lover
You'd think that with all the war crimes we've seen we would have hung at least one or the other
We've got two parties, so pick one or scram! (Look at them squirm as fast as they can!)
They're starting to think for themselves again! Quick, strangle the market and feed this man
Acid and bath salts and give him some tear gas and send him on in to disarm the smear traps
And **** everyone so we'll jump to conclusion with no where to turn, the final solution!
I'm drunk again and we're falling in, the shoreline is riddled with explosions
We don't speak of the war, we have no comment, we're almost out of original content
We're frantically searching for a brand new contest to prove that our nation is still the best
Whether you're China, Russia, Israel, Pakistan, the U.K., or India, the U.S. or Japan
Let's take all the gangbanging **** out of Oakland and drop them in to the Atlantic Ocean
Or better yet, set them loose in Uganda, let's see how long they last in Rwanda.
I'm done with religion and socialized medicine, this aristocracy of pull and deception
So for once in our lifetimes, let's seek a vision, because God knows people can't make ******* decisions.
Jan 7, 2013
Jan 7, 2013 at 4:20 AM UTC
In the intricate tapestry of love,
the adage "once a cheater, always a cheater"
weaves a cautionary thread.
It is a phrase laden with the weight of experience,
a mantra that whispers of broken trust and shattered vows.
When someone treads the path of betrayal,
leaving the fragments of a once-whole heart in their wake,
the scars run deep.
The echoes of deceit reverberate
in the corridors of love,
leaving those who have been wounded hesitant to trust again.
The notion, "once a cheater, always a cheater," emerges as a defense mechanism,
a shield against the vulnerability of being deceived once more.
Yet, in the realm of love,
the narrative isn't always so black and white.
People evolve, learn from their mistakes, and yearn for redemption.
It's crucial to acknowledge the capacity for change
within each individual.
While the wounds of betrayal may linger,
they need not dictate the course of someone's entire romantic journey.
The human experience is multifaceted, and relationships are complex landscapes.
People stumble, fall, and sometimes, they rise anew, reshaped by the crucible of their own errors.
Love, at its essence, encompasses forgiveness, growth, and the possibility of second chances.
So, while the cautionary phrase carries the weight of wisdom,
it is equally important to recognize the potential for transformation.
People can break free from the chains of their past misdeeds,
learn to value trust, and construct relationships founded on honesty and integrity.
Love, after all, is as much about healing as it is about the initial spark.
In the end the tale of "once a cheater, always a cheater"
is not a universal truth
but rather a reminder that love demands conscientious navigation.
It prompts us to approach relationships with discernment,
to treasure the fragility of trust,
and to foster an environment where growth and change are not only possible but celebrated.
Nov 25, 2023
Nov 25, 2023 at 7:26 AM UTC
I romanticize humanity until what's left isn't even human.
I cook up fallacies about legal aliens and add a dash of cumin.
Your chef tosses salads in the pasta section of the grocery store.
Devil's just as confused, with a ***** and an apology at heaven's door.
You don't know, and no one cares where eggs go when they die.
Godzilla thinks of a car full of clowns like you would a sardine pie.
What happens when an elephant gets alzheimer's and loses keys?
Does the paradox consume an entire circus of trapeze-act-fleas?
I ruin birthday cakes by blowing off the frosting instead of the flames.
How I do that? Count backwards from backwards and say my names.
Bittersweet love anthems pollute the brains of conscientious dames.
Heavy metal doesn't pollute, it pacifies rage quitting from soul-sucking games.
Out of the woodwork comes a limp ***** that would work,
Long hours only to find he'd pay millions for a Miley Cyrus twerk,
Which is worth about as much as an all-female circle ****
Unless you add strap-ons, so strap in and lap up the knee-jerk-smirk.
It is unwise to handle scissors when one is being cutting-edge,
Because your accountants will dangle themselves off of a three-storey ledge,
When you cut up the ledgers and make light of, that is, burn, the evidence of pledge,
To the monkeys in your think-tank mailing feces to the upstart farmer's hedge.
Now I know you're sick of rhyming and of poems and of liver culling whisky,
But I must inform you of a pirate's missing eye, I've bought sight of something risky,
I implore that when this song and dance is done, you'll assuredly miss me,
Because I've told you everything about depravity, hence forth you must kiss me.
Beacons of hope shine much like cantankerous silver in the moonlight.
If you're a werewolf that will fill you with hope and with immeasurable fright.
One day the world will admit that I'm awesome and impoverished to boot,
Because when the song and dance is done, what's left is just an ounce of loot.
Jul 20, 2022
Jul 20, 2022 at 9:28 PM UTC
Please remember to remember not to forget to remember
We braced the chill and last shared voices in November
When with reasons unknown you suddenly lost your temper
And in faceless avenue unseen you put it all in a damper
Please remember to remember not to forget to remember
Two minds steep in years hoping to revive a dying ember
Angling wisely for the solace of light in a peaceful chamber
Rising for noble ideals each a worthy conscientious member
Please remember to remember not to forget to remember
I stoke flames and called out doves in days before September
Not for glory or gain but in delight to fly a friend wishes tender
Homage to a smile Lisa, like that made by da Vinci the painter
Please remember to remember not to forget to remember
Now its time to seek the Sun afar in the land of greens and timber
soothing words that shows the grace and give of a friend keeper
Remains aloof to a joyless onerous mind that will only get sadder
Please remember to remember not to forget to remember
Empty pride rousing clouded mind makes it fittingly simpler
Strength and clarity to atone chimes only wit now't sinister
A truer pilgrim seeks pardon and deftly shames attitudes insular
To the wise what cost affinity in the garland of true harmony
Copyright. LaurenceA31stJuly2018.Allrightsreserved.
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 6:51 AM UTC
1372
The Sun is one—and on the Tare
He doth as punctual call
As on the conscientious Flower
And estimates them all—
2.3k
Have the shatering cries awoken you
Have the conscientious thoughts split you in two
Or will you shrug and let it pass
Mumbling silent "I'm glad it aint my ***
Contradicting morales give us hope
Dangling in view like a transparent rope
Instead of taking action we hessitate, stall
All the whille letting the person below fall
I however, will not run from the fight
Face down the darkness even in the shadow o f the night
I will be there to say "Hey miss,
Why are you crying
Is it cuz of all the people dying
Don't worry it won't be long
One day they will hear our sad song
They will realize what went wrong
For humanity will see us through
This I promise you"
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 7:45 PM UTC
1395
After all Birds have been investigated and laid aside—
Nature imparts the little Blue-Bird—assured
Her conscientious Voice will soar unmoved
Above ostensible Vicissitude.
First at the March—competing with the Wind—
Her panting note exalts us—like a friend—
Last to adhere when Summer cleaves away—
Elegy of Integrity.
2.1k
Whales were,
above all else,
deliberate
about the pace
with which they
moved through the world,
conscientious,
perhaps to a fault,
about the economy of movement
required to propel
such incredible mass over such
enormous, empty spans
of open ocean.
Here is a humpback whale
resting, face-down
staring into the cerulean
abyss, alone
but singing, perhaps for
enjoyment, perhaps out of
boredom, or perhaps due to
loneliness and longing.
She twists
and turns a single eye up toward
the surface, her iris catching
sunbeams and contracting,
as she gauges
the gargantuan effort she must exert
in order to gain her next breath.
In this case, she concludes that, yes,
the effort will be worth it.
But what you must know about
whales is that
on rare occasion,
they would cast these concerns
of intentionality and efficiency aside,
and choose to
activate the entirety of their being,
from the sinews to the soul,
and propel themselves,
heedlessly and at top speed
toward, through, and past the surface of the ocean,
as though they were attempting to
fully take flight,
to escape, with finality,
the cold confines of their known existence,
the omnipresent, furrowed gaze of the void below.
But invariably,
and in spite of their best efforts,
the whales would be pulled
back downward,
by forces they could not
fully comprehend,
sure as the tides would fall shortly after
the moon passed overhead.
Yes, the physical impact of colliding
with the surface of the ocean
would be painful for the whales,
but what hurt
so much more than that
was having to return
to the stark, lonely calculus
of whether or not
to keep going.
May 22, 2021
May 22, 2021 at 11:55 AM UTC
Once upon a time, there lived a lady Gem
When she cleared her throat, she went ahem, ahem!
not to take anything cold, so was she advised
but she didn't care as much her doctor did; so I surmised
The aroma ran sweet when she started to cook
Her tasty muffins' recipes could easily fill a book
Her friends who ate them wouldn't just stop with one
And in the end, she would normally be left with none
When it came to work, she was conscientious
And in all that she did, she was fastidious
Though sometimes one could say, her mood was capricious
In all that she did and said, she was simply courageous
She had a large heart, and it was not just with food
In every one's life that she crossed paths, she blessed them with good!
Anyone who asked for help, would never be told no
She was one of the kindest souls one could ever get to know!
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 1:10 PM UTC
I don't remember when it started,
The need to baby sit the world.
It gets so tiring sometimes,
A tremendous burden to bear.
The constancy of forethought,
The conscientious words of harmony.
Seek it first to make it last.
Maker of Peace wherever you go.
Jun 14, 2015
Jun 14, 2015 at 9:43 PM UTC
Lustrous brown pearls,
No words of a poet conscientious
Beautiful dark blonde curls,
Mystic her melodies mellifluous
Beloved her beauty beyond belief,
Her countenance immensely immaculate
Her appearance with minor mischief,
Her pulchritude leaves all in disbelief
Her eternal beauty so luminous,
Her personality voluminous
Endless azure skies, dancing
Over infinite copper fields
In her it is captured:
All the beauty the galaxy yields
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 4:15 PM UTC
Under the weight of sins all collective
Seeking from guilts deep,refuge divine
Forsaking daily conscientious angels hearty,
Rushed in multitudes I to Gods Almighty
On mountains highest and valleys deepest,
Heeding not,his part am I,in me He is and
I but am a pilgrim, from death to birth last,
Every instant, in moments each till eternity
Bonded divine,here or there,in time and space.
Rendered incapable were they all,mute
Under the burden heavy of my sins unthought,
Watching impassive as the mountains fell
The rivers rose,very earth in fury collapsed
Swallowing,burying my sins for a beginning anew.
Jul 31, 2013
Jul 31, 2013 at 5:19 PM UTC
Before he was here
He would have said, "bereft of feeling,"
Now he says TBI
Before he was here,
Overwatch was a game.
Now it keeps him and others alive
Before he was here
He was a conscientious vegan.
Now he's an omnivore,
Devouring vacuum sealed inorganic meat byproducts.
With vigor
Before he was here
Musty was the damp basement smell-- endearing, familiar
Now it's the infection smell -- nauseating, familiar
Before he was here,
There was good and evil,
Now there are only shades of evil
Before he was here
She was there,
Always.
Now she is gone,
Forever.
Before he was here
Death was distant, clinical
Now it's cloying, visceral
He doesn't know if he'll be able
To return to the time before here
He doubts it.
Dec 11, 2016
Dec 11, 2016 at 1:29 AM UTC
**It's 5:00 pm,
any poems to share?**
*my watchwoman, Seamless Siri,
my conscientious conscience,
gives said inquiry daily,
at the precise heure de rigeur,
with the perfection of a
mechanized soul attending to her
imperfect human programmer
poetry, a sometime thing,
comes when it comes,
what the query,
my godmother faerie,
truly seeks knowledge of is
something she cannot measure,
like my counted steps and distances travelled,
what this overseer mine truly seeks to know*
why am I here?
*Here. On this earth. On this site.
have you any new written proofs,
your existence on this day to justify,
were your failings and flailings,
surpassed by any acts of kindness,
this new, freshest penmanship, a reflection,
an accounting of grace and worth,
blogged and logged here
as if only I had
one day,
one poem
left...
at tabulation time, the incisor bites,
are you juiced or morbid,
this, your essayed life,
are the words,
deemed shareable,
is their value,
calculable palpable?
Siri inquires but you are jury
at the late afternoon
trial by fire,
wherein my singed bunt offerings
are produced
at the
wake of when,
my nom I do append
am I deserving
of your recompense
of one more day,
one more poem?*
~~for Harlon~~
5:13 pm
November 21, 2015
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 5:07 PM UTC
***** is that my name”??
Black white!
What do you see?
The color of my skin?!
The name Negro! Negro am I... ***** am I?
A Strong young black woman. I stand up tall n raise my head up high and say yes I will make it!
Black ... And white kids we all are people.
We all are people who have dreams and stand as one! One I am. Black and white we join our hands together. And look upon those who have hatred against
black and white. To hate each other,
To disrespect each other
... we all are brothers and sisters. Who am I?! I am a young educated black woman.
I stand and raise my hand up high and look down upon those who want me to fail... Like they say sticks and stones will break my bones but words will never hurt me! What do you see when you look at me..? Do you see my eyes...? The shape of my lips... If I am intelligent or not? Am I educated? Or not. ... The color of my skin?
The color of my skin. I may be judged of how I look or how dark I am. Maybe called dumb and stupid! Just because I am black... But oh yes I stand! I stand as a strong educated young black woman. Oh yes I stand! Is it the color of my skin that I am judged for the way I walk, the way I talk. I adore the people, who stand before me and fight for colored people,
I respect them. I look up to them. I may be called a ***** A dark skin girl.
I stand, I stand and let the sun shine on me. I am not a minority, I am a priority ... A black dark skin girl with brains that will succeed. Negro I may be called ... The name I may be called. But I am proud to be an African American young woman. I will rise. Every day, every second, every breath I take. ***** I may be called but I definitely know I stand on top of mountains and seas. I stand to be superior! Black! The color of my skin! ***** the name that will always exist! But I will never let that name ***** break me down.
“Nothing in all the world is more dangerous than sincere ignorance and conscientious stupidity”
-Martin Luther King Jr.
by Jeanna
Mar 30, 2012
Mar 30, 2012 at 5:06 PM UTC
let’s love the lawn
sweetheart
let’s trim the lawn;
let’s get it cut
and neat and fine;
let’s do the groovy lawn dance
baby
so the neighbors will be
green as nourished grass
let’s feed the lawn
sweetheart
all chemicals and fertilizers;
let’s read the warnings first
baby:
*keep away from eyes
wear a face mask
and spread generously
on lawn*
let’s keep the lawn beautiful
and pleasant
like the ancient fields of Albion,
sweetheart;
it’s time for the weed-killer sprays
and conscientious as we are
we use only enviro-friendly
so let’s read the instructions
baby:
*Keep spray away from drains
and eyes and skin
and do not spray before rain*
Ah, come on
ladies and gentlemen
of our distinguished
blue ribbon suburbs;
out all with your chemicals
and all our pesticides
to **** the grubs and such pests
come all, Old Ken
and newly-weds Lily and Peter
and new-arrivals Tan and Goh
we’ll show you how;
come sweethearts
come let’s dance in the fields of cherished suburbs
and let the earth yield a great big burb
this is the way
we spray chemicals
this is the way we **** our weeds;
this is the way we fertilize our lawns
this is the way we spray pesticides
early morning
every Spring and Summer
this is the way we do it
early morning
every Spring and Summer
so let’s love the lawn
sweetheart
let’s trim the lawn;
let’s get it cut
and neat and fine;
let’s do the groovy lawn dance
baby
so the neighbors will be
green as nourished grass
Oct 12, 2010
Oct 12, 2010 at 2:58 AM UTC
Cute snowy-haired child
Sprinkles of freckles; gilded face
Tender spirit; meek and mild
Paints a glorious picture of grace
A child of December
The angel I remember
Gentle, this boy; and unpretentious
A quiet achiever; naturally gifted
Imaginative and conscientious
But even here you drifted
A boy of December
The angel I remember
Kind and selfless; not materialistic
Boy not boy and man not man; Seeking alone.
Always seeking. Exceptionally artistic
The gentlest of gentle I've known
A son of December
The angel I remember
The poet emerged
Words lingered on lips. And died. Unspoken.
Feelings buried. Submerged.
Lineage and ties broken.
A man of December
The angel I remember
Jan 6, 2011
Jan 6, 2011 at 12:53 PM UTC
2
I know
once I was just like you
I was young and furious too
the world was too much
everyone made you feel
so hopeless, you think you could ****
I know exactly
how you feel
Like the time
then at work
the colleagues went on
about responsibility
and they conspired:
I was irresponsible;
they were conscientious;
I was a freeloader
*Ah, the judges in one's world
the judges of one's soul*
and one day
they found a worker in a bad state
dead and lying naked in the clichéd
pool of blood –
in the toilet, of all places -
with the words: “How irresponsible”
on the floor
Everyone was in a state -
I moved inter-state
I was going places
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 4:58 PM UTC
It's 12:25 in the early morning,
The stars are majestically prancing around in the heavenly sky.
Never was there a gigantic, obese sign forewarning,
Attempting to grab my attention seeking eyes.
Screaming and shouting, "He's just a beautiful boy with a devil heart."
Would a young, innocent soul have the conscientious mind to spot such a simple flaw?
Maybe, if I wouldn't have been so knee deep in trying to restart,
I may not have ever let your rough, graceful hands unclip my bra.
It's now 12:39 and I'm slowly remembering how to forget you,
All I can slightly acknowledge is scratching your bare back and moaning your aesthetically crafted name.
Don't ask me to bid you adieu,
Because I only have my wondering heart to blame.
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 12:50 AM UTC