"consolidate" poems
**Strange how the dank hand of disaster clarifies the thinking,
How all irrelevancies are scoured from the frontal lobe,
How, strangely, should you look into the morning sky, the blueness is of a brilliant, startling intensity.
How biting into a piece of fresh fruit reveals the new mouth watering, exquisiteness of clean sweet,flavour.
Strange how the dank hand of disaster allow us to consolidate our values.
Where suddenly, the drabness of yesterday becomes the brightly,beautiful now.
Where miserable mindedness adopts an abrupt re-evaluation, in that the sour faced neighbour is embraced with passion as being a fellow survivor.
Where the rich and the poor are thrown together to work willingly, cheek by jowel, for a common cause…Tomorrow!.
Strange how the dank hand of disaster brings out THE VERY BEST IN US …isn’t it ?**
Marshalg
A commonality observed In having survived many disasters over the years.
1 November 2012
Nov 1, 2012
Nov 1, 2012 at 12:26 AM UTC
I got the job
It was the logical thing to do
Sweet sweat dripping down from face to chest, from chest to groin
From groin to thigh, from thigh to toe
I can consolidate this liquid in a jar and trade it for nighttime pleasures
The things we were told never to do are now the luxuries that keep us going
Something green, something brown, something resulting in the "stench" that the neighbors complain about
But I got the job so I can indulge in such cruelties
Silly financial problems creating stress resulting in overindulgence thus causing more financial problems
I can see the cycle emerge and I feel helpless and vulnerable
But no, no, no! Life is what you make it! A paradise, a jail cell, a flower, a hole...
I'll go with the flower, I shall feed it water even if it appears withered and dry
It may take a year, it may take a decade, it may take a lifetime, but you will bloom, my dear flower,
YOU WILL BLOOM! bloom, bloom, and blossom! BLOSSOM!
Jun 2, 2012
Jun 2, 2012 at 9:24 PM UTC
1592
The Lassitudes of Contemplation
Beget a force
They are the spirit’s still vacation
That him refresh—
The Dreams consolidate in action—
What mettle fair
1.9k
I'm an indecisive man at the best of times.
I relish the moments I have true direction.
But I just can't seem to consolidate my feelings.
To bind them up and rope my way out of this one.
Every thought I have accompanies an opposing feeling.
Every choice I decide on leaves me with an unsure taste in my mouth.
How do I have confidence that fills the room and bubbles over.
But no confidence in where I'm headed.
I only wish you could reserve judgment and not be so harsh.
When I imagine my future life I don't see you in it...
Because I don't see anything but a blur.
Everything - All I am is unsure.
Oct 10, 2015
Oct 10, 2015 at 12:36 PM UTC
With an overcast sky, summer warns us
the moon stops by for a brief conversation
before taking its leave, replaced by the sun
I stitch together sheep counts, Z's, and dreams
but these days drag into my subconscious
and streams of melancholy drain into one
You shake your head, watching me
it seems I have mistaken midnight gloom
for rain clouds and thunderstorm doom
Summer's warnings, now clear as day,
everything they were meant to say
I tend to overthink and underthink everything we are
When winter comes,
with endless hours of midnight
maybe then, I will have enough time
to consolidate what we are destined to be
unmistakably
Jul 8, 2022
Jul 8, 2022 at 6:13 PM UTC
Piece together portions of an ever shrinking memory
Sift the extraneous, consolidate the sound,
Rid thyself of factions preposterous and fractious
Crystalise the essence of essential and profound.
Immortalise sensations of sweet rapture incarnate
Clutch to your breast all good warmth from the past,
Know what’s retained is the BEST of your being
Treasure each recall and pray that it last.
Love each moment with ardour of passion
Value the brilliance of colour and sound,
Savour the sweetness in apricot nectar
Indulge like tomorrow will NOT be around.
© 2012 Marshal Gebbie
Jun 19, 2012
Jun 19, 2012 at 1:22 AM UTC
His courtiers all, were blind,
though their eyes seemed
quiet normal, full of glint
ay, there is the rub,
On his proud countenance,
the king plastered for ever
an expression of thoughtfulness
a make believe, a clever construct,
Wasn't it the curse of the lineage?
"May the powerful suffer
the constant fear of fall,
unless courageous to fulfill
the karma truly assigned
without fear or favor"
Every successive king
would ritualistically burn,
his copy of leather bound parchment
written this in lilting Latin verse.
"Bullshit,what would
the evil genius of the universe
would think of me, am I
just a pusillanimous *****
the thirst for war runs in my veins!"
Sneering he lets out a war cry
perfectly pitched and phrased
in the tradition of heroes of yore!
It sounds odd even to himself
"No escape from the rut" he murmurs
Everybody pretend not to see
the big ***** in his armor.
who would take arms against
the kingdom's sea of troubles?
The king was in fact a lonely being
fear alone kept him company,
in person of the lord, his man Friday
in an armor that made him seem fearless!
Dame fear was his true consort
the queen only a substitute, wearing crown,
she was truly appreciated
only when she acted as his tranquilizer,
helping his worries galore go to sleep,
employing complex strategies.
Her favorite one for the final lap
was a lullaby that goes thus,
"Uneasy lies the head
that wears a crown"
in his nightmares regular,
mighty empires crumbled.
So he did the best he can
not anything for love to spread
but to consolidate destructive instinct;
he invented weapons,
went on upgrading it
day in and day out to freeze fear
blacksmiths, knights,
horsemen, cannons, guns
his fear took many forms
and he used them to feel powerful
while trembling with fear.
May 1, 2016
May 1, 2016 at 7:26 PM UTC
broken lips harbor a pale cigarette and untold secrets
some crafted tales, others unfortunately true
disheveled blonde curls scatter near hollow irises
empty vision, devoid of all color from smooth bourbon
as these drunken nights consolidate all of our old stories into one word,
goodbye
blowing smokey kisses into the polluted air
dangling feet, perched above a desolate rusted bridge and clouded waves
whose orange trusses have all but faded
to form a mixed color that matches the scene ahead
the deepening violet summer sky, nearly black and so sticky
tightening its humid grip on trembling fingers
which remove the cancer stick carefully out of sight
in hopes that desperate eyes can convince a lonely mind
that your sillouhette will reveal itself, dancing in swirling smoke
as your faint hand reaches out to invite me to join you
I grab hold with one thought gnawing at my heart
do I give in to your gentle touch,
and slip below the other side of the bridge?
Jun 21, 2015
Jun 21, 2015 at 9:01 PM UTC
What’s wrong with the Big Pharma?
Controlling governments
Ruthlessly consolidate
The elite
Who are able to afford
Basic health care.
Severe side effects
Detrimental to our health and wellbeing.
Taking painkillers
Has caused an epidemic
That’s part of a sinister plan
To squeeze yet more profit
Out of a system designed to
Keep human beings chronically unhealthy.
Vaccines too often have had the opposite effect,
Exponentially increasing illness,
Causing irreversible damage,
And even taking lives of our sick brotherhood.
Population suspect that it is now
Being used as a weapon of mass destruction
To effectively depopulate the earth.
Mar 27, 2019
Mar 27, 2019 at 8:50 AM UTC
Strive ..
Set up standards
Earn gold
Glorify the empty space
With hope
Transition from a seed
Into a rose ,
Queen stand tall upon
Her thrown
Ruler but rather
Misunderstood
Kingdom comes upon the envy
Fights back with horns
Consolidate the negative, concurs her thrown .
A mind over matter is no matter of time .
Grid the world , a journey for treasured riches .
No rules or enemies can manifest the energy of a strictly striving soul.
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 9:20 AM UTC
Heavens were furious this time
In a glimpse it happened
His bridges were burnt down
Void inclination towards life
Desolated on vandalized street he stood
With a malady of his spirit
Immense misery in his heart
The facade of spurn was prejudiced
Confined within the darkness
Lost in the echo of agitation
With a deep gasp and step forward
He feels the quiver in his bones
Divergent roads ahead
To take revenge or to let go
The emptiness inside would never culminate
The Satan inside prevails
Sanity is exfoliated
World seems to consolidate
Paradox of emotions Outburst !
~D. Akshay Kumar
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 12:40 PM UTC
you know why i'm not afraid
of plagiarism?
memes...
funny, isn't it,
i don't mind, or, rather,
i started to not mind plagiarism...
because the plagiarists have
been inseminated, ***** even,
i don't know whether i ever
owned a puppet,
but if i'm plagiarised i own a:
cohort...
it's nice...
you can rule by ridicule
rather than be ridiculed
as ruling,
notably the english monarchy...
it's nice to have pawns who
don't even think they aren't
pawns...
but that's the beauty
of intellectual virology -
an idea is like a virus,
and the fact intact remains
signifying:
well: go ahead with it...
i don't mind anonymous
"credit" 4 it...
you think i have
i have any complacency to mind?
rot the gnat and vermin...
i am the one to fuse
plague and language together...
man was
always endowed with a heart
and woman with a heart,
when it came to, politics...
women always, meddle...
how isn't punctuation
important in writing,
given it be necessary that
equate punctuation with rhyme
and consolidate prose with poetics...
punctuation = rhyme -
overseer? yes.
- and why do i not mind plagiarism,
pontius pilate...
the only person worth
being remembered of the new testament...
oops..
why do i not mind
plagiarism... i know they'll mutate,
morph...
but that doesn't matter...
a part of me remains,
and all the better should the plagiarism
be otherwise be defined...
but it's too late:
the innocent seed competes
with the forbidden fruit...
i have my paupers and my
puppets...
for grit and gift of word,
i have my: assembly...
you can plagiarise all you want,
all i ever gain is yet another
puppeteer's string of
limb annexed.
i love the idea of memes & plagiarism...
it means the utmost anonymous
influence being exerted:
how far is the puppeteer away
from the necrophiliac, may i ask?
thank you for a chance to
not prioritise a demand for
a gene chronology on the altar of Cronus,
allowing me, to,
********** my meme,
rather than consecrating my gene
in the ******* of fake white
and...
the agony of what would be to come...
ever wonder the mystery
of autumn, when a southern wind
blows?
Nov 21, 2017
Nov 21, 2017 at 8:26 PM UTC
Are you ready for the main course?
Prepare the condiments
Thin oven mitts
Teas cozies
Lace doilies
It's just a decoy
Here lies the kid who was left home alone while is parents visited The North Pole
Try to consolidate the front door
And here's a laxative called LSD to aide your constipated mind
Now go on with the insurrection
And fight Parliament for the sake of the proletariat
Who's names are always written in lower case lettering
The limousine drivers
The skrimpers
The savers
The single mothers with bad habits who have to dance off skimpy clothing to buy formula for their babies because they're milk is tainted with junk
The weary recipients of justice obstructions
And catch 22's
Who have been singled out because they have monetary deficits
Console them
Until Eureka!
Grab some Q-tips and clean out your ears
Stop gritting and grinding your teeth
A new realization is in bloom
When did be aware turn into beware?
When did alertness become fear?
Forget and get over your
Remanding-accursed-sweet-tooth-fatigue-that you let in
Because it's all in your head along with the idea that hyphens make things look more important and scary
I contest all that ********
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 2:10 PM UTC
*Fold me, into an abundance of of possibilities.
Consolidate me with your mind to create art.
Scrunch me up into a ball when I become an error.
Spread out my crinkles when you choose to forgive me.
Use me to make your world.
You are already my everything.
Scribble down on me to write notes.
Yes you hate me, but at least you need me.
Recite from the words engraved in me, to please anyone you wish.
Throw me
Summon me.
I will do anything
And everything for you.
But please,
Please,
Don't tear me.
I've got a delicate heart.
It's already been broken.
I don't want to be forever in pieces
Of paper.
But I am.
I have been torn.
I have failed you, my love.*
Failed you I have.
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 1:34 PM UTC
Why is it people only read when it is about you,
although these poems are all I can tolerate.
Is it because my words are so true,
when my dislike will only consolidate.
Are you worth the pain which courses through my brain,
as readers pander for the hurt which you cause,
The only emotion that they enjoy is insane,
So to satiate their lust I reveal my flaws.
Feb 20, 2014
Feb 20, 2014 at 10:37 PM UTC
Deep down a dark valley, unknown to man,
Shrouded in night, hidden from sight.
The home of devils, or so it is told,
With a vision of hell, thanks to whispers of old.
It is a loathing place, no doubt
Yet no one dares to question why
Before heaven, all must tread there,
It's a valley we share as dead.
All sorrows are washed in that stream,
Cleansing the soul of its venom and scheme.
The bones are rearranged, the flesh remade,
A body reborn from the ashes decayed.
That place is not end, merely a beginning anew,
Yet every heart trembles, every spirit too.
The energy to remake what death has unmade,
It's where the life and death consolidate.
Jan 21, 2019
Jan 21, 2019 at 1:41 AM UTC
Let us consolidate our energies, as branches crunch under our feet in the depths of the forest.
Solstitium reminds me of the polarity between the land and sky.
Have you ever listened to Paul Rodgers?
Drought is prevented by the availability of water in this midsummer spell of philosophical ***
The sabbat will commence at the appointed time.
Nightfall reminds me of those haunted monks who chant in the sacred forests of explicit storytelling.
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 1:02 AM UTC
I’m called Madam Budget Cut, hard-edged Ms. Bludgeon ****
Slashing each piece of the pie.
But still I the budget gut, both guns and butter cut,
Balance the budget or die!
I’ve a tax for tobacco, and (pols think I’m whacko),
I’m slashing their projects with knives.
No ribbons for cutting, no grants for abutting
Old properties owned by their wives.
I’ve cross-the-board fixes, I’ve “no ways” and “nixes”,
I’ve silly assumptions and worse.
I consolidate functions, ignore court injunctions
Protecting the power of the purse.
I’ve early-out options, I propose late adoptions
Of programs designed by the Feds.
I close institutions, slow down restitutions,
And limit the number of beds.
I fire those who sign up
The thousands who line up
For Medicaid, welfare and such.
I’ve April surprises, with merit pay prizes
For staff who don’t argue too much.
So go with my uppercut,
Knock out the sludge, and gut,
Budgets should never be shy.
So we’ll cut, snip and suture,
Then look toward the future,
And pray that the patient won’t die!
Mar 5, 2017
Mar 5, 2017 at 6:06 PM UTC
let it be free,
that thing which loves symmetry
the "This we must conserve..."
let it be free,
to teach a lesson
about the Universe.
what is it that we consolidate
we all tug on the
it's all just me
this is just one of those moments
this is part necessity
division strikes me.
a unison is likely
Aug 18, 2016
Aug 18, 2016 at 4:51 AM UTC
I’m on a train
People keep sleeping
Tossing their heads
Closing their eyes
It’s peculiar, truly
People's stories;
Countries with damp skies and damp, sweet, tickling rain;
Mountains and an elderly man with an umbrella,
wandering around the station
What are you looking for?
I remember my computer-generated wifi-password by heart
I have been travelling, running, up an down this country
the past months
Looking for safety
The ground below me was collapsing
The last time I was here I was travelling in the
opposite direction
Not from you – leaving you behind
To you
Only by duty am I forced to leave
I would have screamed out
"Don't say it, please"
What do I know?
I'm just a writer on a train
Clinging to people like magnets
All those clichés are over
Just as quickly as they happened
I think I knew
I think I should have known
Insomnia affecting my friends on facebook's chat
Logging on; signing off
Do you sleep safely now?
We are like inevitable frictions
Turned on; shut off
Close; far away
Warm, intertwining with my sweating feet; cold as blocks of ice
Close by force – far away in our minds
I go away in my own world as you consolidate your own troubles
I am a never-ending train of guilt, self-hatred and self-sacrifice
Stupid, trusting, kind but hostile of nature
Water running down the windows in a pattern of coincidences; ice in my mind
Fire in the hole!
Always a fire, they tell me
Is there a fire in you,
or just ashes?
You are a builder, afraid to stack too high
Trembling when I fall
But just reaching out to run away
So, now I stand here
No train;
No stations;
But there’s still life
But there’s still me
There’s still time and wars to be fought
That train will never stop
The sun also rises
Ice blocks too, must one day, melt
The water rises
We drown.
6.06.14
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 9:41 PM UTC
Lucifer, **** of our pornified planet,
gun-running seraph, whose reign is unraveling
tries yet again to consolidate, babbling.
Heaven will **** it.
Paradigms shifting, his queendom implodes.
His cave-dwelling subjects discover true sight—
then they storm the projection-room: new light.
Dawn, delayed, forebodes.
No more denial, no more to defend
dictatorial oversight, global sedation.
The pharmacological indoctrination
has now reached its end.
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 8:54 AM UTC
My mind is evolving around his'
waiting for ours;
collide,
connected,
consolidate,
yet,
mine couldn't see
his' have been secured
from external interference
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 12:48 AM UTC
One day, I'll.let you down
I'll cast a spell so profound
And you will decay in my gaze of time
With a futile hope to lay the dime
Was it so good to be my muse
Did it consolidate your desire for a bruise
I acquired you with a lust within
And you so easily gave in for my thin
I preached and prayed to hold you tight
You became a slave to soak my light
My affinity for you was barely masked
You never denied for all I asked
And now I lay here, tore in shadows
I had let me thought what comes never goes
You held it right, when your will was tested
But you let it pass, when your affliction rested
For how long did I tame you rough
I didn't let you see any exemplary or enough
The war was lost, my grant repealed
When I saw the ghost of the lips that were sealed.
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 2:47 PM UTC
A boxcar towards Detroit
A cheap ticket and no work week
Train ride rhythm and we stack for nothing
A few hours until conclusion
So I might as well tinker with time
Pick apart these scenes so consumed and complicate nothing
Hear goes one more run for the cynical articulation
Some faces surround for common ground
Some minds scattered by seclusion
Some contraptions consolidate the wonders
Another nod for the distraction tube
No need for introspection
No need for eyes made astute
Cheeto dust and pocket lint for your friendship fund
Cracks complicate a ceilings resilience
Buckets like ****** Toons
Deafening roar of water on tin
A window frantically frosted
Makes blooms blink and breath contract
Casually heads cluster
Laugh inside the sick and gleam a new gold watch
Knock and smile for another soul suspended
Salted avenues crunch like brown bag bottles
Some homeless frozen into earth
Some malignant machinery shrouds the crossings
Air like an avalanche
Face feels like nothing
Solidified fragments for the descent
Ponder another pixel and they fall around this body
Water sticks like concrete poured
Heater heaven for a half price function
I've never felt so low than when the high is momentary
I've never known a God that needed so much reassurance
The sun shines but the cold is never controlled
I wish for Palm tree torture
So why do I head North?
Jan 7, 2017
Jan 7, 2017 at 3:07 AM UTC
I nod pleasantly,
Not absorbing anything -
The wash of pub chat.
Hard tales from hard lives,
Flowing freely; dredged up
As the beers sink down.
I am an island,
Sinking beneath a haze of
Alcohol - lost; alone.
So many pretty things -
So few opportunities
To consolidate!
An alcoholic
Re:lives his past endlessly,
But forgets the now.
Those maudlin souls weep
Into their beers and berate
Lives they have wasted.
In isolation
I observe; ignored, immune;
Free to contemplate.
Pub microcosms
Reflect society's woes
Better than the news.
Friends and foes alike
Are welcome at my table -
But they must behave!
The cute barmaids laugh
At my idiotic quips -
But none take me home!
Knob-jockey's posing
And idiots simpering -
Lonely souls fishing.
The popular seek
Fawns to flame their ego and cry
When bucks out grow them.
My own company
Can become stale, but at least
I'm not one of them!
Their contempt washes
Over me, but I'll survive -
Laughing all the way!
Do I appear as
These Others? Reliant on
Mates to make me cool?
I see the Cougar -
Self-proclaimed, but warranted -
Prowling for fresh meat.
The sounds of the World
Can break asunder against
My protective walls.
Much information,
Absorbed inadvertently
At the pub - Useless!
Mar 9, 2014
Mar 9, 2014 at 4:04 PM UTC