"contentions" poems
Your eyes burn in eager greens
hazel upon inspection
little strokes of fire in between
Your lips part with intention
always standing by every word
I can feel sparks illuminate our contentions
but it was deviations of feeling we always seemed to have heard
Hands that want to hold but search for answers on my skin
kindled comfort in passion
felt their way in
You intoxicate every cell
and I'd rather not explain
how each excessive thought is a sweeter taste of hell
a simpler dose of pain.
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 3:27 PM UTC
Antagonism
burgeons back bad blood.
Compatriots, courtesy can cool contentions:
doubly, disrespect demands decisive
execution. Early efforts evolved
fatuously, force facilitated farcical fighting.
Gambling gents gleefully gored
hedonistic harlots. Harassing
ignorantly, igniting
jealously,
killings
listlessly- liars lament
momentarily. Meanwhile, monetary
nuances
of opulence obscure
prime problems.
Quarries quake
running red. Remembering
solitarily- stoic steeds stand silent, sending
thoughts,
unbidden, unbeknownst.
Violence:
we were
xanthic,
yellow years yaw…
Zymotic.
Jun 22, 2013
Jun 22, 2013 at 11:57 PM UTC
The flesh lusts daily against the Spirit
and the Spirit wars contrary to the flesh.
The opposing tenets of grace and iniquity
can never with each other… completely mesh.
For the redeemed sinners operate by grace,
while the practitioners of unrighteousness
prefer the dark, ungodly ways of wickedness
and will not inherit the Kingdom’s fullness.
Fleshly works are clearly evident: adultery,
fornication, idolatry, sorcery, uncleanness,
contentions, jealousies, ****** immorality,
hatred, envy, revelries and evil-mindedness.
Fruits of the sinful flesh are plain to see
and spirits cringe- at their being mentioned.
Can we expect others to pursue God’s holiness,
when people are upset- from being questioned?
For we live under God’s grace and not His Law;
His righteous wrath will be eventually revealed.
Acceptance of His gift of Salvation can insure…
that our lives will have been redeemed and sealed!
.
.
.
Author Notes:
Loosely based on:
Gal 5:16; Rom 1:18-32, 2:1-16
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2013, All rights reserved.
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 5:12 PM UTC
The time has come forth to ponder and think,
about the spiritual planes that are reluctantly unforeseen.
Of the dimensions that are surreal to those who use emotion and feel.
The mind creates an undeniable creation that disguises itself to be real.
Enduring and speculating on the thought of consciousness and love;
one will realize the reality of our minds perception defying the dogmatic breeding brawl.
Although our minds potential is finite and cleverly obscured;
we will begin to witness the marching of shooting stars so pure.
Imminently clear, we begin to reach a higher plane of degree.
Meditating to the point where we become one with the universe without plea.
Encompassing the ethereal and uncovering half-truths,
perceiving the ultimate correspondence intelligently and shrewd.
Where will one travel amidst the taunt of death and fear?
To a place that is all well too known, a herd of aimless tears.
Lacrimation will enlighten those when they have fallen in the solstices peak.
To experience a world that was previously known as a philosophical creation by the streams.
Metaphysical questions will mark its toll to the soul who learns to decipher no more.
Otherwise, contentions will cause despair and half truths will then have to bear.
Inducing a different consciousness to a degree not explored before;
one will embark on a alchemic journey of the mental transmutation to the inner soul.
Mental creation spurs the ****** of the universal degree of spirit and mind.
An illusion so concurrent to the law depicted within our eyes alter-mind.
Deception will avail to those who blindly believe they have prevailed;
when attempting to solve the riddle behind the creator of the tale.
By: Michael M. De La Fuente
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 12:10 AM UTC
Metal softly clinks on ceramic.
Fingers joggle embossed grip,
elevate blades toward moistened hide.
Darkness covers the corner
opposite antique coaster bed
disheveled by fitful sleepers.
Her hair, twirled into tangles
flows on the pillow, nasal noises
mask the music of his movements.
Any light might arouse her,
awakening her to revive
last night's squabble.
Their endless feud
over contentions long forgotten
encircles their days.
Blades glide over chin and cheeks.
Shaving quietly in darkness
avoids anger in the morning.
Dec 30, 2012
Dec 30, 2012 at 3:03 PM UTC
It's stories above where the butterflies rustled,
Whirring between the lights in aeolian bustle.
I'm smiling spritely at a neon halo,
While my organs writhe in jacqueminot El Niño.
Wading the nightscape with a glitched simper,
I could not change nor attempt to tinker,
Just breaching the moments passing to linger.
Fingers, then palms, then lips, then black,
Then for a few seconds the world collapsed.
A breath, a sip, some wit, I'm back.
Shed the murky vision of captive cataracts.
And now,
The sylph saunters in epitomized elegance,
And I've buckled on the inside to the resonant reverence.
I follow the fragrance in her wake as paralyzed sedatives,
And anything I might say could only lack eloquence.
Then magnanimous mantras attract exact,
It seems way down the rabbit hole I've finally met my match.
There's a mesh of flesh, a smooth caress,
Then I wake and realize these were not visions yonder death.
Particles of my brain erupt,
I can't explain away the unfading elation of touch.
Every pose palatial down to the pixels,
I'd gaze deep in the sheen of her mind gleaming as crystals.
Her eyes open like daybreak in flashes,
Sunstreaks glint over the horizon of her lashes.
There's morning songbirds behind the taste of coffee,
I think she's figured I'm just a well decorated softy.
Unveiling my most human of contentions stripped to the eclipse of logic,
My former self laughs in tones pitched sardonic.
Euphorically strumming at gossamer heartstrings,
Etched in the fabric as sakura carvings.
Oct 31, 2017
Oct 31, 2017 at 8:48 PM UTC
As firm as a rock I would be set
Against the world and its lewd contentions
More steady proving clearest virtue, stressed
With brilliant facets of the light, resolving factions.
A hope amidst the strife, this worth bestows
To character, ruling every passions’ season
For perfect care, great purposes to show
In blooms of time or timeless, sacred reasons!
Converging and uniting, such care met
Life's waking might, more near in sight to shine
With pure intent, whose knowing best reflects
All states, here cast in figures of design.
O dawning vision, pierce the awful night
And horns of plenty pour, true love requite!
When I was young I thought humanity
To be my nurse, my comfort and sure strength;
An eager hope, in every hour to length
Fleet days of wonder, all of life to see.
I cherished kindness, lain upon the breast
Of upright admonitions and good will;
A care of grace, in love, a founding rest
And honor for my vision’s windowsill.
How yet, too soon, cruel condemnations frowned
On ways I blessed in youth, now grown insane
With outward forms, the worldly pride bestows
And falsehood, waking my dread infamy.
Alas, my wasting sorrow and the shame
That groans with silent tears of faith betrayed!
Long hours, cruel hours that vex my wearied soul
With thoughts of contradiction; fawning days
Of youth are closed, in stock of lies arraigned
For inquisition and condemning powers.
What tyrannous and brutal, ruthless ways
That slam this sanctioned slavery overhead;
While bravery endures an awful crime
In contemplate of shame, too stark with dread.
So mock, O State, the way of noble ends
More false, discharge your rotten judgments’ fate;
A greater cause, at last, where first you rend
The back and front of self... my selves berate!
Dare now upon life’s brow your six-thrice brand
And testify! All stripes shall truth withstand.
Apr 14, 2012
Apr 14, 2012 at 10:59 AM UTC
soapbox man has
measured the moments
in the the small wood floor room
she dose a wet step soft shoe little hip swing dance
to music only she and god can hear
and to her soapbox man is god
as she slides slowly thru the dense air of his self contained contentions
in the the small wood floor room
its freedom to her
soapbox man has come and she is here
to get her fix
of his brand of guns to subjugate the dead
and iron fist rusting in a vacant lot brand of rule
its freedom to her
echoes down the bridge road between realitys
a woman laughing in slow motion
the tread of boots on marble
oddly distorted pieces of conversation
that are appended to soapbox heroes
who preach
that those not with us are against us
and should be punished for their cruel foolishness
this is not heaven
its a place that wears the face of grace on earth
it wears the mask of memories warm and kind
its peace and freedom to her
its a lie
this is the nature of the human beast
what reality we dream is pleasing
no matter how toxic
in the the small wood floor room
she dose a wet step soft shoe little hip swing dance
to music only she and god can hear
and as time passes
and it eats from within
she falls to the floor
and crumbles to dust
a fragment of humanity
on a pergo floor
and its freedom to her
Aug 11, 2013
Aug 11, 2013 at 3:01 AM UTC
A cadence of breaths stings my lungs,
my tissues contracting in a rhythmic pattern,
oh how it stung.
Turgid veins swelling with blood, it bites like battery acid.
Tepid vision is clouded, and I'm placing a bid, one still tacit.
Bathing in the moonlight, I have sworn to remain focused,
the stale breath of the night drawing me nearer.
Contentions bind us together, it attracts me, I almost fear her.
Atop the mountains I have had a revelation.
Unlike before, synapses fail to send reason for any stipulations.
A feverishly beating heart, once stagnant, is evolving passion again,
becoming ostentatious.
This pen and ink portend my timidity, acting out for me,
love has again become contagious.
I can feel it in my brittle bones, a tingling spine indicates
I must offer to amalgamate.
Though ardent, I linger in ambivalence, as to when my heart will proceed,
I can only speculate.
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 2:56 AM UTC
soapbox man has
measured the moments
in the the small wood floor room
she dose a wet step soft shoe little hip swing dance
to music only she and god can hear
and to her soapbox man is god
as she slides slowly thru the dense air of his self contained contentions
in the the small wood floor room
its freedom to her
soapbox man has come and she is here
to get her fix
of his brand of guns to subjugate the dead
and iron fist rusting in a vacant lot brand of rule
its freedom to her
echoes down the bridge road between realitys
a woman laughing in slow motion
the tread of boots on marble
oddly distorted pieces of conversation
that are appended to soapbox heroes
who preach
that those not with us are against us
and should be punished for their cruel foolishness
this is not heaven
its a place that wears the face of grace on earth
it wears the mask of memories warm and kind
its peace and freedom to her
its a lie
this is the nature of the human beast
what reality we dream is pleasing
no matter how toxic
in the the small wood floor room
she dose a wet step soft shoe little hip swing dance
to music only she and god can hear
and as time passes
and it eats from within
she falls to the floor
and crumbles to dust
a fragment of humanity
on a pergo floor
and its freedom to her
Aug 10, 2013
Aug 10, 2013 at 1:41 AM UTC
Caring, Loving, Understanding
Needing something, very demanding
Just to be loved in return
Is all that you are asking
Persistent, Constant, Unrelenting
Contentions, yours are never bending
Maybe life is still unfolding
Maybe strife is in the molding
Of your life and in mine
I have your traits
Good and bad
I have your tastes
Including dads
Wanting, Craving, Longing
Desire
Addictive needs
That never tire
Simple luxuries
We both require
Sometimes just a
Camp side fire
I have your charm
I have your passion
I have your love
I have your fashion
In all my life
There was compassion
From you
My mom
My one satisfaction
May 23, 2010
May 23, 2010 at 8:55 PM UTC
Let’s all pretend we have a life
We have love, we have family ties
Let us bask in the transcendence of hope
Sing out our hearts with falsetto
Let us clench tightly to uncertainties
Bury our contentions and Uphold false tranquility
Tortured desires concealed beneath Mormon beliefs
The pure clarity projected from the Bourbon reliefs
The Abrasion of broken bones
The thrill of gilded gold
The red bled to the lead
My insecurities became known
Sep 15, 2016
Sep 15, 2016 at 1:21 PM UTC
Your eyes were hotels
Keeping me safe at night
At the expense of almost fastened hooks
and marrow in the folds
Something like a Transaction,
A Cartridge for a Sore
Each one of your blinks,
wafting plights through my pipe dreams
And Your lips; counterfeit salvation
Pretty presentations but lacking in procedure
Chewing on contentions before I even spoke
And Just Clear beyond the slope of your truth
Tympanum ****** manufacture phantom lies
Determined to Scoff my psyche in a sitcom
Festering tongue shoving splinters of the former into my nail beds
Where nuzzles are necrosis and
Cloying sighs mutate into Apollyon
A mouth of ivory tacks and culpable rims
***** Eager to siphon drums of poise to empty
And lick them clean to a drought
Coasting on exhaust
You depart from me;
Constricted tiny vessel and a plaque stuffed thought
A Rusted, Sorry Cask, flooded with idle junctures
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 12:19 AM UTC
Various contentions commandeer the gossamer
threading of blink-and-you’ll-miss-it amateur
apertures
free loading and buffering to the hammer strikes
of daring digital darlings
raising stakes in the race
to the bottom
All our ever present neurons
raining clusters of chemicals into challenge videos
and lip-sync contests fray under the drip
of toxic positivity and special guests
with arcana wit and a pithy redress
to the hectic tempest control
of foreign fingers
These chance tragedies and reality puppet shows
commune and presume to know better than best
in show
about the circumstance of happenstance
when the fickle turn away
to gaze fiery into a rabbit hole
curated for those who
skew chaotic
No cogent tightrope margin tricksters
will condone the manic viral feel-good fixtures
hanging from the yellowed wind chime
keys which only lock up fever rituals
with dancing flame and ridicule
made wholly manifest from
distant voices
Suburban haze arrangements rot eternal
while withered updates wax nocturnal
failures
in feeds of fomented fragility
lost among our endless
search for an end
of searching
Planned spontaneity burns borrowed minutes
festering in the better world we prohibit
and all along the symptom was
buried with the cure
as we the ill incarnate
toiling with clicking tongues
red from cherry picked plights,
block windmills
and declare defeat
Jan 14, 2025
Jan 14, 2025 at 12:06 AM UTC
484 lines intended as Artistic Interpretation of peace defeating war, in my mind, for today.
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1qx4E9PuF5jAxrFNFzEHn17dZCLkyFTr0qtmv4pI5cN4/edit?usp=sharing
The link is sharable and artsy criticism with generational contentions requested, if I offend, I wish to know if it was where intended.
Dec 26, 2020
Dec 26, 2020 at 7:40 PM UTC
Stressful appetizers,
Bladed exercisers,
Sprung to cheer of wine hinted mass!!!
Catholicism's crownism with a million man army to pass!!!
Lazarus lift thine eyes_
For blazing chariots sattle their well,
No more blind dates to whom you have no idea!!!
Wilt thou still appreciate if the siding comes off?
Doth thou gaze? Whimper? Whisper? Or scoff thy intermost contentions!!!!
Neighborly love,
Hath thou been sold into madmen's slavery?
Hath thou yet come out?
Is there anymore left?
Or art thou savoring???
May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 10:33 PM UTC
Goodness, that woman is always so indecorous
she does not give a hoot about what people think
she pars with me in outrageous contentions
and her flippant disregard does match mine
She is a wild spirit of the high winds
one of goddess status that I call my kin
her might, well she never shows
but within her does pure light glow
Open with retrick to the ways and wrongs
this is Lady Jane's faux pas
she is not one of the fallen
for she sings in songs of truths
It matters not a jot to Lady Jane
for she is infectious to note arrietty
and her menial task
is to flick you back to reality
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Aug 17, 2014
Aug 17, 2014 at 2:20 PM UTC
I'm guessing prolific, is not to strong a word
Handing out the prose, not always clear, or blurred
Spewing of rhymes, and a vomiting of style
Some of it quite good, most of it, quite vile
The cliche's are repetitive, and often over used
Stay with me awhile, walking in my shoes
Ignore as you see fit, all the bad humor and lines
Selecting only the best, forgiving all past, and future crimes
As you would from apples, pick the ones that shine
Enduring is the flavor, casting pearls afore the swine
Peruse the sentiments , but keep your wits held tight
Reading all contentions, even if, none of them are right
Simply can't help myself, a compulsion I won't fix
Just another ****** poem, from my wordy bag of tricks
It doesn't matter, if garnering comments or likes, you see
My words not put here for you, but murdered here, for me
Nov 28, 2017
Nov 28, 2017 at 11:49 AM UTC
As life is full of adventures,
People take it sort of ventures.
Whatever endeavor one has gotten,
It is a choice though to some is verboten.
Nobody truly influences what we aspire,
Only God surely invades our innate desire.
Yes man is gifted with inborn intelligence,
Best if he utilizes it with able diligence.
All five senses except one man detests,
Is it his religious orientation that protests.
Sexuality does excites different social reactions,
But the higher IQ one has the better interpretations.
It is a taboo for most to discuss ***
Why is it so, are you doing it to vex?
Is it not innate part of being normal persons,
How come we relay much on irate reasons?
Maybe those frigid have overlooked,
Even animals do it not just for hooked.
Have to resolve all our life's contentions,
Explore the five senses for self expressions!
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 12:48 AM UTC
Hey you.
I’ve been pondering whether or not I should do this..
Seeing as our shared duration of interest with one another was so short.
Well,
On your end atleast.
However,
For myself,
And my own contentions,
I wished it had continued; so I will write one last time as a means to find some clarity in my delusions over you.
I.
I promised myself I wouldn’t fall for you.
That I would ignore the underlying feelings
that had been created the moment we met.
To this day, I share mixed feelings regarding us.
If there ever was an ‘us’.
Sometimes I talk to myself, convincing the inner mind that I should’ve tried harder with you, fought tooth and nail for you.
Yet,
Near our end,
I knew this wouldn’t fit your agenda.
You desired something else.
Something I completely disregard via my own experiences.
Once perhaps,
But now,
I seek the opposite.
A friend,
but more.
It’s always more with this body.
It cannot be satisfied by means that I am aware of.
But you.
For a moment,
which I’m sure you’ll doubt,
I was vividly content with my life whenever I was by your side.
For the first time in six years I felt what I had felt back then.
You broke rusted chains of bitter emotion that had restrained me,
that kept me in the dark and isolated me from my own positive emotions.
It’s been over a month now.
I feel immense pain over you,
Yet somehow it’s bearable this time.
I feel pain, and I feel nothing.
Two sides of my own coin that will remain separated,
And never to be conjoined.
Will I ever be able to better understand what I seek,
Or who I am?
Why must I be different from the others?
These questions remain foggy.
Nevertheless,
These sentences are not intended to make you feel guilty nor remorseful in any way.
I just needed to write I guess.
And how could I blame you?
You saved yourself a great deal of pain and difficultly fleeing whilst you had a chance.
Perhaps you never cared for me..
Or maybe you did.
I’ll never truly know,
and that’s what most saddening about our experience together.
Perhaps I am still paying off the debt of karma that was acquired from the first heart I broke.
II.
Whatever fate decides.
I will always miss you, beloved
Jun 17, 2018
Jun 17, 2018 at 1:38 PM UTC
**Our troubles now
stem from the
stuck and static
life of our many
polar contentions..
Meanwhile the truth
is found in motion:
Separation and
Consciousness
in continuing swirl..
A moment's realizing
Consciousness
seen as Separate
or
Separate
seen as Consciousness
and at last:
Separation shines
only as
Consciousness...**
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 2:42 PM UTC
If only we had that connection
That we longed for
I think of our contentions
As I write this score
The one I'll never mention
You left my heart sore
I'll forget about you
Like you never existed
I regret I ever met you
Should've been less persistent
My ambition led to my demise
My desperation was never a disguise
You and I were just physical
Us being together wasn't a miracle
We had nobody else
So we gave each other to ourselves
I understand now what you meant
I just wish I was the one that left
Oct 9, 2018
Oct 9, 2018 at 10:30 AM UTC