"constituent" poems
bandanna knotted in your hair,
you are
eloquently attired, and almost
always a little late; it ok.
you aren't
beholden
to standard notions of
punctuality or
Americanized dreams of
mechanistic triumph over the
virus of Nature.
you are more and less and equal to
the sum of your
constituent parts and
you are exquisite.
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 7:36 PM UTC
the cosmos
a web of plantary oppositions squares and triangulations
curses and blessings
demons, humans and gods
friends and enemies
each a constituent
a revolving carousel of heavens and hells
the macro, an umbrella of spilling stars
like shattered glass in flames
outer and inner stone & gas planets
wandering infinitely
like strays
others in tight gravitational ellipses and eclipses
the elements of fire air earth and water
from the most subtle formless
to rocks flames oceans and the air we breathe
disjuncture
in a
a mix-meister
a gruesome churning mouth swallowing our delicate membranes
and we wonder
why
we are in pain
why
we are nourished by flesh
as we ourselves are consumed
filled with blood and nothing
and deadened by marking time
all hungry shells
and why
we wither to dust
as do suns and moons
and gods themselves
all of us children of monsters
and corpse eaters
born of magnitudes
episodic collisions
and harrowing creative destructions
the dead living and the living dead
with eyes that flicker only on half a landscape at a time
a holloween
of pyramids and bones
always running from wolves
because we are meant to be eaten
okay my darlings
now
lets try
focused breathing,
and boundless light
lets try
being Hindu
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 2:23 PM UTC
It is the summer that burns my heart
so pure
a virgins soul clean of touch
but a soiled heart broken and used
so artisticaly done
and willingly accepted
the memories of touches past
seer upon my mind far beyond
the words on the page
the look of pure ink
Your angel kiss is my muse
your lips my ground to
grow from
my roots have planted with your own
you are my own
and I your willing
willing repeat
willing constituent
willing sea
willing
to wait
to kiss your wounds
and lap at your words that have captured my devotion
you are my story
the shape of my nerves
I feel you in each breath
you are my own and I wish
for nothing more
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 4:11 PM UTC
Through the gaps in the airline-style seating
I catch glimpses
snapshots
of her face
(or at least,
Its constituent parts)
An almond eye, subtly lined
a rise of cheekbone, flushed but unblushed,
and half of her smile
directed at me?
And I feel like Picasso
piecing together
the jigsaw piece sections
from an altered perspective
and seeing her whole
as beautiful.
Aug 29, 2011
Aug 29, 2011 at 7:22 AM UTC
love is a
state of mind
an emotion
sometimes ephemeral
sometimes steadfast
its source
an archetype
formless
it is not a relationship
although it may exist
in a relationship
or only
in a moment
like a spark in the dark
it is a function of imagination
as is empathy
it is magical thinking
*** may be an instrument of love
or a powerful healing balm
in and of it self
a profound therapy
and seen as an act of
divine grace
the ancients knew this
but unlike them
we have taken
sacred prostitutes
from ancient temples
vessels of the
goddess eroticism
Astarte of the Canaanites
Áine of the Celts
Min of the Egyptians
Aphrodite of the Greeks
Kama of the Hindus
Inanna of the Mesopotamians
and transformed them into demons
by subjugation to the depths of our subconscious
the archetypal female was replaced
by the neutered holy ghost
the patriarchal symbolic genital mutilation of women
a gift of horrors by Romes Council of Nicea
crippling values written in stone
frigidity guilts child
an abysmal morality
a theft by
kleptomaniacs of freedoms desire
for two millennium
vessels of the goddess
have been transmuted into a profanity
inflicting
a cold homicide on
****** freedom
forcing the abandonment
of a most essential constituent of sanity
the miraculous repair and revitalization
of the soul
through passions physical touch
sensual love
and the release of pent up desire
and left in its place
a harness of deprivation
an expression of a regressive culture
that promotes
a barren terrain
between
emotional ****** insecurity
and the monotony of monogamy
I am a voice of Thelema for the coming Aeon of Horus
LOVE IS ALL LOVE UNDER WILL
Aug 29, 2016
Aug 29, 2016 at 6:01 PM UTC
A LAND OF HONEYED-PRAISES,
FULL OF ARROGANT AND PRIDE,
MALIGNANT ONE's,
WITH AN UNCURED~ CANCERS.
A WORDS AND PHRASES
FOR THOSE WHO LOST IT'S SENSE
IN PUBLIC ~SERVICE.
IT'S NOT YOU?
REALLY?
HA!
PHILOSOPHY DOCTOR?
MASTER OF EDUCATION?
MASTER OF PUBLIC SERVICE?
YOUR PORTRAIT HANG ON THE WALLS!
NOT ONE!
NOT TWO!
NOT THREE!
REALLY?
BUT HOW MANY ARE YOU?
MORE PEOPLE, YOUR CONSTITUENT
HAD ALL A DECADES OF
BROKEN~ DREAMS,
THAT SHATTERED INTO PIECES
THEIRS TEARS? IS NOT ENOUGH ...
TO FILL UP YOUR CUPS,
AND EVEN CAN'T ADD UP
YOUR HUNGRY PORSCHE WALLET!
EDUCATIONS MAKES SENSE
RIGHT! CAN'T ARGUE WITH YOU THEN...,
BUT IT ALSO MAKES YOUR FACE~CENTS.
A NECKLACE OF YOU PRIDE,
MY DEAR, DEPED
DAVAO DE ORO EDUCATORS. (Division Office)
OH~SILENT AND ARROGANT
WHY? YOU PERMIT THE BROKEN~CULTURES
EVEN THE TOXIC, GO FAR BEYOND MY LINES.
SORRY, I FORGOT AM NOT A LICENCE, POET.
DID I NEED TO GET ONE?
OR TO PAY YOUR HUNGRY PORSCHE WALLET!
O' COMO'N
SORRY DEAR MAAM, AND SIR's
I LOST MY APPETITE FOR GRAMMARS,
SA , BISYA PA "TULA NI OR DELI"
TO, MY DEAR READER
"NATIVE LANGUAGE"
DEPED~DAVAO DE ORO (Division Office)
O~ DEAR INSTITUTION
THANKS FOR EDUCATING US
FOR ME TO LEARNED
ENGLISH FOR A WHILE
AH, NOW YOU AWAKEN ME,
OH, MY SENSE OF CAPTIVITY.
THIS, UNJUST INSTITUTIONS
CAUSED VEXATIONS
TO YOUR DEAR GRADUATES,
AND THOSE SPIRITED~ONES.
DEPED ~ DAVAO DE ORO (Division Office)
ARE YOU AN INSTITUTION OF
UNJUST & UNWISE
GIVING BREED OF CENTS~EDUCATORS?
AH, SORRY, IT HARD TO GIVE THE WORDS
SENSE, OF YOUR INSTITUTION.
DEPED~ DAVAO DE ORO
YOU LOST YOUR WAYS
YOUR MASTER DEGREE's & PHD's
EVEN BLOWN ~UP WIDE.
SIDE -BY-SIDE!
OH~STUPID THINGS
AND THE ARROGANT's
WRITTEN IN THE HISTORY!
YOU CAN FIND THEIR NAME's
IN THE HALLWAY OF GALLERY
AH, COMO'N
THIS IS NOT A POET
OR A SONG EITHER.
WHAT's, IS THIS?!
SORRY, MATE....
THIS IS PART OF ME,
WHO HAVE LOST AND WANDERED.
REALLY?
ABOUT WHAT?
FOR THE DEPED~ DAVAO DE ORO (Division Office)
WHERE? & WHAT COUNTRY MATE?
IN THE PHILIPPINES, MATE.
WHAT NOW, MATE?
JUST NOTHING.
JUST, A HELL OF ONE PROVINCE MATE.
GOOD TO KNOWS,
FOR THEIR ******* MATE.
YOU KNOW, MATE?
WHAT?
SEC. LEONOR BRIONES
IS ONE OF OUR COUNTRY BEST EDUCATOR.
THE WISE~LADY MATE?
YOU RIGHT, MATE!
HOPE, SHE VETTED.
Sep 25, 2021
Sep 25, 2021 at 9:05 AM UTC
I LIE IN THE BOTTOMLESS PIT OF BITTERNESS
What have I done to life
That it kills me even though I lie
Down in the bottomless pit of bitterness
I am ****** down to the barest state of anarchy
Too choking and breathless, I can’t talk
Catatonic, I stand in dumb
Severe as I lay in me numb
I can’t wish to have life within me
I only choose to let go of it
If it will let me, leave me!
Leave me! Leave me! Life
For I hate you and everything in you
I am a genius, always eager to go along
You are too jealous of me
And capture me in your wicked web of limbo
That I may suffer and strip away like straw
Waiting to be burnt for the cloud smoke
I barely uphold my breath and strength
As tears and mucus mixed at my chin
All streaming down to my mouth
Am sick and tired of wiping
My weakling hand also tired of wiping
I’ll only let the constituent enter my mouth
Or pass down the earth
What have I done to life
That it kills me even though I lie
Down in the bottomless pit of bitterness
Rolling in painful rub of suffering
Dejection and rejection am screaming!
And sobbing as I struggle to doddle out
Of the brutality of life
Leave me; let me go for am tired
To be thrown, tried even tired of tossed
Who shall set me free, who shall deliver me?
Can you hear my cry?
Help me! for I am drawing
into the boiling ocean of life
Aug 1, 2016
Aug 1, 2016 at 10:45 AM UTC
Who am I ?
Can I ever aspire to touch that shining spot,
Suspended in the entirety?
This base form is bound.
Every agent a shackle;
Every constant a fetter.
And 'this' the final frontier beyond which lies the ever unattainable.
I am but a constituent;
A byproduct.
An aberration.
And such shall never surpass the goal of ordinance.
Or seek to know more than that which is due.
For futile is this search
And that which I hope will ensue from it.
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 8:36 AM UTC
to be a stone worn smooth in the bed of a river rushing to parts unknown, save for the banks and bits of cattail being dragged downstream by a million hungry hands, broken up into the smallest constituent parts by a million groping mouths and spit back out into mother ocean's wide accepting embrace and stirred into a stew of bones and various creatures picking them clean, many of which know not the existence of anything above the surface save for warmth and light, like the embryo turning fetus which also swims in a sea of nourishment, also cradled in mother ocean's loving arms, also perfectly content to feel the light of the outside from a distance until, in time, when the descendants of the same coalition of cells that once made up the body of that fetus breaks back down to atoms, flesh feeding new cattails and a million tenacious sets of teeth, slowly washes back into a rushing river where I sit,
a stone worn smooth,
watching it all.
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 3:47 PM UTC
The solution to pollution
Is to cease affluent effluent.
In other words make the rich
Live in their ecological excrement.
Force them to drink only from
Their permanently poisoned pipes
And turn a deaf ear, as they did
To any of their constituent’s gripes.
The enemies of the anemones
Fought their way to the deep
To censure and make sure
The sea creatures had no sleep.
It seems the corporations
Don’t realize what they’re doing.
If we **** off the plankton, then
We’re headed for planetary ruin.
It was bad enough when someone,
Without telling us, sold our land
And then they chopped down trees
For a reason anyone can understand;
Greed. That was the proper word.
They wanted more money in the bank.
So when the land erodes and dies
We’ll have the corporations to thank.
They cover up their eco-crimes
By declaring illegal military forays
And pretend they are taking us back
To those good old, happier days.
But in between bombing villages
It can always plainly be seen
That we and our country are
Slowly being picked totally clean.
And when we object, cry out loud
That something is wrong with all this;
They start to call us unpatriotic,
Call us who starve are the neurotics.
So, don’t listen to their lying rhetoric,
Instead look at what they are doing.
The sonsabitches are Macbeth’s witches,
And they have a lot of poison brewing.
Feb 8, 2016
Feb 8, 2016 at 10:44 PM UTC
in the dream i float naked at the sun
waxing and waning fractal plasma whorls
exposing and hiding scope like
complexities in a loved eye
rushing photons scraping
blasting perfections imperfections
i'm so sorry
memories banished on solar wind
where they can finally die
horrible versions of myself
driven insane from constant performances
of sensationalized sins
i carried as penance to no one,
expire as impossible sighs in a vacuum
forgotten
as freed cleansed me pulls forward
on a sunlight tether smiling sobbing
molten tears universes tumbling
constituent particles scoured away
dipping my head into a roiling hydrogen ocean
to hear ultraviolet symphonies play how forgiveness sounds
Jun 26, 2011
Jun 26, 2011 at 1:25 PM UTC
If you are sitting in government
With fattened campaign coffers
And your pockets filled up
With all the bribes and offers
Just be aware that the gifts
You take with each breath
Are the direct cause of decay
And of your constituent’s death.
You’re selling off our birthright
And that never can be made right.
You choose money rather than fight
And you make of it a long night.
While the police ****** people
Who had no guns in their hands
You send tanks to small towns
And claim it’s all very grand,
Because in a police state
You can control our very fates
And slowly disassemble
The future of the United States.
Your kids are killing elephants
Along with rich kids in their band
While ours are shooting innocents
In a war-torn foreign lands.
The decisions are being made
By those who have the wealth
And that way there is less reason
For any kind of political stealth.
You can steal whatever you want
And use both hands at once
Then, laugh and call us names
Like uneducated, fool and dunce.
We’re starving while you fatten
We’ve no hatches left to batten.
From Los Angeles to Manhattan
You make speeches in garble-Latin.
You’re selling off our birthright
And that never can be made right.
You choose money rather than fight
And you make of it a long night.
Mar 5, 2016
Mar 5, 2016 at 7:48 PM UTC
I can still see Stan pulling his hair and
off there to the right, Oliver with his,
I can never remember if it was a bowler or a pork pie hat, but I kinda like that, like the haziness of a memory that comforts me, it's a
part of the comedy of growing up.
Once, like I was two or maybe three an eternity ago, on a trike, pedals and a bell, pedalling like hell was on nmy trail,
but
the word constituent, constituant, ringing in my head, must have repeated and said that word for hours and hours.
Mum Said, i had ABC, well that's waht it sounded like to me,
acronyms, CIA, RAC,CBI,
I went to the citizens advice bureau
the CAB, WHICH
if I really had OCD, would be the ABC, BUT YOU SEE the alphabet is what we get in tinswith tomata sauce and Mum OF course had the last
word.
They always do when you're two or maybe three.
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 6:36 AM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret,Kenya;[email protected])
It is moral duty of poetry to throw away ***** power
Often formed by political snobs out of selfish extension,
Poetry without arms and ammunition have been there
Ever creating social and political power un-violently,
Planting moralized empires that cannot away be washed
By the snobbish currents of constituent powers that be,
Show me all the social powers formed by poetry
That ever oppressed the poor or the weak,
You would have given me glorious pedestals
On which I will firmly stand and stretch my arm
To show to the world a blind philosopher,
Even Rudyard Kipling in his prime of colonial poetry
Had the Indian kidimadiggar, sorriest of all coolies
As the constituent pith in his racist hearty
Where blended colonial urge and poetical altruism
Into humane conscience for destituent social power.
Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 3:38 AM UTC
Harness the power of the chakra describing what I see in the process stone Amazonian statues surrounded by unknown objects. She told me about invisible trees, then told me how she can create a universe all she needs is one thousand trillion trillion degrees. Distorting the time line, the grand architect the relative radiance of the sky. Comparative sharpness among artists, if you still worshiping money I think you are Godless. Always remember. It's her agenda. No corruption no destruction no budget because politics and perjury bring out the worst of me. Battling my shadow with no media coverage. See i don't want it. I'm rarely seen in public. Basic instructions. Test driving my principle findings sometimes I double the writing as I design a new style of rhyming. I see all their movements. I can't live with the same ******** So what will I become? The spider web nest has been spun. The invisible tree. And me defending it with new alloys in the year 2023. All these poets ain't saying nothing. Matter of fact they have no constituent function. This poem is an alternative route. I used to call names out but it's played out. Have patience. She will give you verification for her space station infrared spectral observation before you take a break. I need you to list and name them. This is from my heart. Listening to Mozart In space there's unknown floating parts creating unknown art. To be this consistent is a sickness persistent writing with conviction she made all these predictions I'm just documenting what I witnessed.
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 9:23 AM UTC
Early nineties,
they found a box behind reception labelled ‘lost anatomy’
opens it,
finds his voice.
They took our sounds for granted and crossed the lines ‘till the only thing our lips could do was flail,
they plugged us in with wires but no amps, back into the whitewashed walls and tied us up in graffitied corners, all the places where political shadows do nothing but lull out anaesthetic.
Mocked scenes from final destination,
the one where the subway train collides
encounters America’s tired hum and buzz.
The television upchucks static and we don’t know why it’s still switched on.
A child’s hand reaches out and plucks a seashell from an afro,
tries to hear the sea.
Looping, rippling and losing his rights each time a wave hits the shore.
The invisible nooses around our fingers rifle through an open book.
They told us that that much candy can rot your teeth
and the hand works its way up a room with a view where
tights aren’t tight
but no one ever notices the old man at closing time,
crying at the clocks.
Nov 25, 2018
Nov 25, 2018 at 11:10 AM UTC
The sun with all its beauty and glory has gone.
Where has it gone? Nowhere.
But again I ask: Why do I not see it?
It has given way to Winter.
But why?
Is it because that everything in nature comes and goes
or is it because that it had no choice but to go and give way
to a sombre and disheartening state of affairs just for the sake of it?
Hmm.....I have often wondered.
Gloomy days and frosty nights are its constituent.
Water trickling down from overhead and onto the ground,
moistening the earth after the earth baking I found
Oh! a water drop fell down the back of my neck
- how cold yet how soothing.
All cuddled up in a big fur coat seeking to find some shelter
I was where from a front yard porch could look at the water
washing away all the ash of yesterday.
How pleasant it is to see such a sight
as a river of water making its way
down the gutter of man made carrying with it
all the dirt and **** that was and will be there another day.
Having found my shelter and home I was dripping and shaking from a winter day
looking out there and thinking I dare not be in it again.
It can be good and it can be bad, knowing this now after years gone by
when I was a child in dismay wondering why I felt so sad.
A child in dismay. A child in dismay.......
Ah! another cold drop fell down the back of my neck,
through a hole in the porch roof which awakened me from days gone by.
Oh how cruel winter is in a way stirring me to think of memories from pleasanter days.
The days are short, the nights are long and both are cold.
I must adapt myself as others do to escape the danger
and cost of paying the bill when all is needed for winter.
How I wish I was in summer dreaming about winter,
but then why should I when both are hard times.
Oct 11, 2011
Oct 11, 2011 at 10:19 PM UTC
You can't control how people think
Or how they truly feel.
Your only hope is that when they blink
They see what's truly real.
Their smiles hide the lies they tell,
Speaking lines that match their face.
An image that they're pressed to sell,
You're the constituent of their disgrace.
They don't care for your objection,
Only hearing what works best.
Their kindness masks rejection,
While your pain seeps through your chest.
Firmly rooted in their stances,
Their opinions refuse to budge.
They refuse second chances,
And prefer to simply judge.
All roads lead to self-salvation
You just need to travel light
The rebel laughs at retaliation,
And will revel in any fight.
So even if the mask they wear
Looks like the one of a friend.
Watch out to see if they really care,
Or cause another wound to mend.
May 11, 2018
May 11, 2018 at 8:45 AM UTC
the job before us is to chop the hog
into constituent parts and serve the meat
to all the hungry cut up into neat
easily cooked servings none for the dog
but plenty to be seared upon the log
given a thorough and sufficient heat
and then served up for all the poor to eat
spreading good warmth throughout the cold and fog
so much is duty and the common task
of ordinary service and the name
we give is cruel but the purpose just
to do the action that good heart may ask
of any decent players of the game
who know the meanings of both light and trust
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 10:28 AM UTC
Its subtle
Almost unnoticeable
Covered by sheer emotion
Perhaps even irrelevant
But in the moment of my growth
It remains present
Evermore
Evermore
It began as I did
Inconsequential
Devoid of any importance
Attempting tasks empirically simple
But counting as steps on my journey
1 2 3
1 2 3
It follows as I do
The course towards what I believe
To be the Next
The After
Going after items intangible
First Second
Minute, Hour
It concludes as I will
Established in process
Committed to items deemed inevitable
Held as the final constituent
Irrelevant
Nevermore
Nevermore
Jan 28, 2018
Jan 28, 2018 at 8:58 PM UTC
The color yellow is attracted to me. Induced by flattery
It just wasn't my battery.>>>>>>>
For I sought out clarity......
and instantly she wanted to marry me
if I said yes then where would that carry me?
The lone wolf has no constituent need to breed.
And yet, The world keeps messing with me!
Reflect then learn new speech creating star seeds,
so in In a way, All my children are in need!
Just Trust in me and the color 3.
It's tough for me
To act like it's nothing to me.
At my best. Depressed.
What does it feel like to be obsess with me?
I'm numb to that shock of chi.
What happened to me?
My creativity.
Is for me to ignore my victories.
Consistency.
It depresses me. I never get to cherish me.
All in secrecy the love for all starseeds...
Oct 9, 2016
Oct 9, 2016 at 11:02 AM UTC
I have baptized myself by immersion of studying your photograph, examining as each constituent lives under my scrutiny. I have been waiting for my brain to acknowledge the imperfections on the details of your physicality and introduce itself to your blemished deficiencies.
So far, it has already shook hands with the distance between your eyes, and the murk residing below the pair, the defined philtrum proudly standing in the middle of your nose and your mouth, the abnormal upward curve at both ends on the side of your parched lips, and the scream from your pupils that seem to sympathize with my observations.
With utmost patience, I have waited for my brain to perceive you under the category of ugly.
But I think that's just an excuse I say to myself so I could reason out why I'm still staring at your portrait after we have come to a compromise of parting.
Oct 25, 2020
Oct 25, 2020 at 8:35 PM UTC
God’s Light split,
Laying bare its constituent parts,
Diverted on course,
Nurtured by prismed skies,
Producing rainbow’d shafts
Which penetrate even the darkest hearts,
To be feasted on, only to be contradicted,
By sad, unbelieving eyes.
Mar 18, 2018
Mar 18, 2018 at 3:07 PM UTC
If the world be ever changing,
Ever rotating on its wobbly axis,
Then I,
As constituent and citizen of the world,
Be ever changing too.
I was born hot, and wet, and loud, the last day of June.
And now I have grown,
And I have grown cold,
Because the hurt of learning
The pain of change, and the disappointment,
Has eaten to oxygen from the flame of joy
I was born holding
In my chest.
Were that I could find ignition within,
Some magic bit of unlockable truth,
rather than casting out my net of questions,
And attending to the ones who bite.
Sep 3, 2016
Sep 3, 2016 at 9:50 PM UTC