"convents" poems
through the streets and column cracks
culture weaves and summer smacks
sacred figures, holy shrine
monastery in grand design
cathedrals, convents, heaven’s stars
god of neptune, god of mars
doge’s palace, alley ways
gondolier on full display
winged lions on pastel breeze
cicada singing from the trees
pillar walk of saint mark's square
basilica in all its flare
crosses shade the carousel
a bridge of sigh that leads to hell
golden stairs on placid ridge
arches of rialto bridge
torcello! murano! grigio!
the countess rides the river poe!
sins of seven, fiery hides
poplars bank the levee side
black plague, attila the ***
eden formed before the sun
paradise above the marsh
high alter, gothic arch
middle age, religious wars
celestial fountains, marble floors
sculpted peacock, catholic faith
all is true the great god saith
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 9:24 AM UTC
Carefree drizzles softly sings as bliss and ease taken wing.
Gaze upon the auric blooms while sweet melodies, mellowing.
Alleviate our friend's crises, their debts, paid in purple silvers.
Eliminate those pesky mortal threats, lest blood spills in liters.
Toward our star, astride the verde, vibrant beauteous noise.
Abating virtues, without the merde, cometh Byronic poise.
A smoken distance, famished flames, fiery tongues yearning.
A fearful master, ***** dames, merry songs flowing.
Parallel meridians lovingly caress floating wisps of white.
Quarreling impulses embracing soaring orbs of light.
Bright.
See... sigh.
Lavender shades cushion our convents of misty mysteries.
Serene panacea tease me upon sapience; argent histories.
Ebullient crush casting glaring lights into the hostile wind.
Beneath dusky whirlwinds come hazel sparks of sand.
Glory guilty of detested crimes, anon trembling tears.
Inspiration follow thy limelight; guidance of young seers.
A canvas of blue, emotions ablaze through one hundred days.
Amber pillars burdened with wishful horizons... come what may.
Never believe our luxurious dreams under the rainy rainbow.
Drowning in sunshine, tis the era to escape the clutches of limbo.
Cease our anthropocentrics to soar on frozen blooms tonight.
Taste vermillion pain, lest we be gluttons, spying; useless insight.
Mirrors refracting broken perfection, for ever-clear prisms.
Commit altruist favors for all our mistaken rhythms.
Behold the mind, mightier than a sword, bitter tool of priests.
Crusading zen, grander than any reward, come join the feast. <3
Aug 28, 2010
Aug 28, 2010 at 5:13 AM UTC
What if the war machine
was a tarnished memory
and the void between
the pillars
Why there is not contentment for the content
but and endless series
of Roman pillars inside celibate convents.
The pillars of the Panthéon are bars in a demented prison
fermented with the stench of a rancid batch
of torrid dreams.
A palace of pain an pleasure,
a hotbox of sin for the devil's leisure.
Leapt to every level of Dante's hell
and up again
No knowledge have I aquired,
but confusion, a quiet
illusion, and I am tired,
oh, so witheringly
tired.
"We are drawn to the concept of escape"
Nietzsche said.
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 11:56 PM UTC
Should women
truly learn
men's hearts,
convents
would flourish.
- mce
Jan 12, 2016
Jan 12, 2016 at 7:45 AM UTC
methyl (1R,2R,3S,5S)-3- (benzoyloxy)-8-methyl-8-azabicyclo[3.2.1] octane-2-carboxylate
Cahn Ingold Prelog
Whose rules are these? Press
on my lips boy, fill my face
and my hands with love.
Fill it up with confetti
little pink hearts that flutter
like Eskimo kisses or snowflakes.
Chop it doll. Link my elbow.
I'm so in love with a boy
that doesn't even drink -
I wonder if he loves me too.
He doesn't.
I wonder if he knows
that without him I'll get in with the ******* crew.
I know the chemistry of it. I can read the IUPAC.
I can breathe the molecules
I can taste the bad decisions I'm making.
I eat junk food and drink too much
€3.99 Revero
so I can stomach bad things.
Your saliva swims in with the bile.
How many times have I puked
behind cars
or old convents? Too many.
How many boys have I loved? Too many.
Anyway,
uni is finished soon.
I'm going home. Home again.
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 4:41 PM UTC
The charlatans are back again
With bombs to drop from ballpoint pens
Jerusalem Leviathans
Since lions ate the Zion movement
Now Big Ben is crumbling
And mumbling some skittish Yiddish
To some pig anti-Semitic
Who the critics just diminish as dominions of the British who still commonwealth the nations with their Exxon Mobil stations
While the colonies are sick and medicated on these rations, pullin’ racist colored race cards when the kingdoms of creation are the real abominations that the oligarchs of Noah’s arks still preach to seal your fate in
Coffer coffins of the status quotient tokenism banquet, stuffin’ off shore banks with patients who are drowning in malaises
As the taxing burden raises for the barely makin’ raisins in the sun to have some fun go fundin’ Contras cappin’ convents full o’ nuns, don’t get it twisted sister act, I’m coming strapped with Warsaw Pact because the cops be cappin’ rappers when they packin’ artifact on all the fiction superstition
Burning question abolition
Voodoo economic prison cells
Still selling us religions
Of democracy and freedoms makin’ edens
In the middle eastern promise lands
Just broken dreams and neverlands
Cuz no mans makes a stand or plan
To ban these ku klux clan Greenspans
Dec 7, 2017
Dec 7, 2017 at 2:33 PM UTC
I do not belong
In the convents
The wheat, is on me, everywhere
And a foreign language, inside me
Fields of uncertainity on me
They feed, they grow inside me
I think I do not belong
In the convents
Where do I belong? Who am I?
Smell my armpits, that must be I
I lust on my mother's language
I lust to find acceptance of me
I do not belong
In the convents
Am I sorry for my government ?
Am I sorry for myself ?
I crave the vision of unseen fields
I argue for the unaccredited history
But I know I do not belong
In these convents
Pk
Oct 9, 2017
Oct 9, 2017 at 4:12 AM UTC
The sisters from convents
writing prayers on the pavements
holding forth sacraments
while
we man the battlements
but it's
every one for himself.
This is Powder Keg town
and we're all getting down
to the serious business
of keeping our heads
above water.
A sort of transparency
but you cannot see through me.
Do we ever really know where we go
when we sleep?
May 4, 2017
May 4, 2017 at 12:01 PM UTC
If you have never
heard God laugh at you,
you need to listen harder.
/////
It's easy
to bite off
more than you
can chew;
but difficult
not to choke
on it.
/////
Some evenings,
the voice
you don't hear
is loudest
in your heart.
/////
Should women
truly learn
men's hearts,
convents
would flourish.
/////
I always wake up
exactly where I am,
uncertain where
exactly that is.
/////
The poet owns
a closet packed
with skeletons,
whirling and gliding;
he never needs
to dance alone.
/////
The owl's call
at three in the morning
asks the question
who who who
am I?
/////
When you aren't there,
I often caress the air.
/////
Old tears
cling tightly
to their hurts.
/////
Myths don't age,
people do.
/////
Two wrongs often
make a fright.
/////
A university is where
ants train cockroaches
to make new pesticides.
/////
Words create worlds.
Try it. Know what
it means to be a god.
/////
The only thing
that can slow
a clock is Joy.
~mce
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 9:16 AM UTC
Stone cutters cut slabs
For the Masons to form
Architects to derelicts
Home builders
Bricklayers
All play their parts
Building foundations
Singers & songwriters
Performing arts
Dancers
In moonlight
Preachers & Priests
Convents
With sisters
Pray over
The revolutions
Started by poets
Feb 7, 2018
Feb 7, 2018 at 8:38 AM UTC