"corinthian" poems
She's more of a poet
'cause she went to school for it,
and she tastes sweet in the morning,
and in the evening,
sunlight filters through her
and lights up that slice of lemon
that I love so much.
I think I'll have a writer -
on the rocks.
Every time I come home,
my room smells like *** in the summer,
and it sounds like the vinyl is still under the needle.
Best album of two thousand and nine.
Best album of all time.
Sand between our toes,
we wrote prose
on a filthy mattress but
roses never grew here.
And they never will.
There was something about us though,
something that had a feverish pulse
behind it. I'd say it was something to
do with the way we have of never putting
a cheap laugh below us. I think it has
something to do with resilience but I'm not sure.
Humming trite voicings of things we'd heard
in the backseat of our fathers' cars, radios on,
you use to tell me to flash the turn signal,
in the black of night, just so you could make sure
we were alive. Dry, but at least alive.
A little beacon to justify us,
and just defy them.
Whiskey,
come over
here and
kiss me.
C'mon
Corinthian,
keep me
company!
Set this manuscript
to music and dance for me!
Mar 3, 2012
Mar 3, 2012 at 3:08 PM UTC
there once was this guy named oedipus
of whom it was prophesied
that his mother he'd marry, his father he'd ****
at a place where three roads were tied.
his mother and father discovered their fate
and tried to dispose of their son
but he ended up in corinthian lands
and their efforts were all undone.
then a drunk guy ruined his happy facade
and to an oracle oedipus went
who repeated to him the dank prophesy;
he fled corinth, not taking a cent.
while on his sojourn away from his home
he encountered a party royale
which rudely pushed him off of the road,
and angered he slaughtered them all.
then from that blood soaked three-way path
he nonchalantly flew
not knowing that his father was
the man that he just slew.
he continued his journey until he reached thebes
where a sphinx held the city hostage
so oedipus solved the bird-cat's lame rhyme
and released thebes from its *******
as a reward, the people of thebes
gave oedipus their widowed queen,
unknowingly joining mother and son
in a marriage that was unclean.
after they ruled for twenty good years,
during which four children came,
a plague was induced by the sheltering of
the man by whom was slain
in searching him out, oedipus found
that the murderer was really he,
so long ago. the man he had killed
at the place where were joined roads of three.
but by finding this out, he also discovered
that his wife and his mother were one.
he gouged out his eyes after her suicide;
in her own bedroom she was hung.
as it turned out, oeddy exiled himself
but the seeds of his misery were sewn.
so he went to colonus and wandered around
and this is the end.
Jul 30, 2010
Jul 30, 2010 at 5:14 AM UTC
Profound profanity, he says, is the key to germination.
But why, I say, would one ever want to procreate?
For the experience, he says, which is about the journey and not the destination.
I can understand this,
it's like riding a bike
a stationary bike
that goes nowhere but see, you're going! Going and going.
I do see
and so does he
so what do we do?
Not a whole lot, just sit and talk of trains and temperature and how pirates walk.
He likes to do litmus tests of our saliva and hang them in the windows for all to see
that we are not acidic, but on acid, and sometimes a bit base in nature,
like the trees and the crysanthimums and corinthian columns in Greece.
We traveled to Greece, once, on our stationary bike
it was beautiful and real and there was much salt in the air-
they grow olives and fish in the trees
and their water is just teeming with rust.
We put our rust on buttered toast like cinnamon and munched at the oxidized metal,
crunching like captains and cheesin like goats
just a random bunch of fools with our silver and tenticals and suction cups of steel.
We are like robots, fighting crime and boredom with music and shrugs
because frankly my dear we don't give a ram or an aries or any other kind of anything.
We simply do not
because we will not, and refuse, above all else, to sleep without a star in the sky.
May 18, 2012
May 18, 2012 at 7:28 PM UTC
Here in the west borough, down three or four blocks from the epicenter, the shocks come to you in tides — little, electric, delightful in some alien way. Even the sounds of instant decay ring pleasant. The concrete, the bricks, the mortar, the Corinthian columns, the suspended ceiling tiles, the florescent bulbs, the coffee cups, the desktops, the family portraits all fall from their stations, screaming toward the cool pavement. It’s a temperate Thursday in January and the weathermen continue to talk in stunted disbelief. A car catches fire on Malcom X Boulevard, and weather is the wrong word, you think, for this phenomenon. It’s rage. It’s bitter. The violence of the sun-catching glass smacks of vengeance and this whole thing is man-made or, at the very least, god-made but not anything so indiscriminate as weather.
There’s still the pleasure of it though. The collapse of the old world. And there’s nothing but rubble on the corner of 9th and Dominican, and for the life of you, you can’t remember what stood there before. In your evergreen bones you know one thing: whatever anodyne brick institution reigned will be replaced by that glorious glass and that glorious steel, 100 towers impaling the sky. The future is now. A tremor. A cloud of dust.
For about ten seconds the windshield is worthless yet you speed up, hurling yourself through the fog of destruction into a **** world, feeling essential and brilliant and and and.
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 11:59 PM UTC
it's soaring through flaming green hills
your heart races with the curiosity of discovery
it's dancing on a secluded mountaintop
with the drunken energy of a motorino zipping.
it's the endless time spent laughing
lips tingling with wine and philosophy
furiously awaiting l'autobus
and saying basta to the pasta.
the hazelnut aroma of hot cappuccini,
and suddenly you have the bravery
to get lost alle tre in Trestevere.
it's watching sunrays part mountains and Corinthian columns
and sparkling on salty waters
and you inch toward the edges of cliffs
just to catch a glimpse.
it's the comfort of friends and Nutella
when Ryanair lands and Rome becomes Home
and life, and death, and carbs follow you.
it's the homeless and the hungry
sleeping in the strong arms of St. Peter
and disappointment and shame
consumes you.
it's sobbing when you are alone,
foreign, and strange
and sobbing when it's time to say
arrivederci
it's when you fall, your stupid heel caught between cobblestones
that you realize you're in love.
Dec 30, 2015
Dec 30, 2015 at 12:53 PM UTC
"Democracy is the lesser of all evils."
Says the Liberal.
The Libertarian.
The Corinthian.
The Macedonian.
The Farrier.
The Squire.
The Stoic.
The Astronomer.
The Ornithologist.
The Eschatologist.
The Augur.
The Retiarius.
The Hoplite.
The Centurion.
The Governor.
The General.
The Senator.
The Orator.
The Assassin.
The Emperor.
The Ferryman.
Nov 25, 2018
Nov 25, 2018 at 8:54 PM UTC
Low are the crickets of Delphi
With their chirping rays of sunset,
Like Phaethon to photon destructs
Into the fiery ruts of chariot wheels,
Or two eagles flying opposed on stringed vicissitudes,
A bird-yarning of sky from the omphalos stone,
The fulcrum of sung misery, a fishing net thrown,
As the half-bird and half-ion in siren’s undertones
Lure in subatomic orbs of ghostly parabolic swerve,
Into this blued Corinthian evening, self-vibrato,
Rocking like an empty boat from the dock rope,
Or an empty heart, unmoved by its own beating.
May 11, 2025
May 11, 2025 at 10:06 PM UTC
Ένας Έλληνας βασιλιάς
Φιλιππίνων βασίλισσά του;
στις ακτές του Κορινθιακού Κρέμα .....
( Greek version)
(English version)
A Greek king
his Filipino queen;
on the shores of Corinthian cream.....
©Brandon nagley
©Earl Jane dedication
©Lonesome poet's poetry
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 7:31 PM UTC
It's prime time...
Let us now
Lower heads and bow,
Sing hymns to the responsive
Drive train of the latest model,
Ignore a "fasten seat belt" chime
Get on with real business,
Speeding mountain curves
In seats of Corinthian leather
(Professional driver
On closed course)
Of course the fine print
Didn't make it
To the big picture,
Seven twenty P HD
How repulsive!
To lay wreaths, handmade signs
Bows and teddy bears
In loving memory of the lost
As if it really matters
That a pizza delivery man,
Loving father of two,
His Corolla ripped to tatters,
Sacrificed a life to bring pie
In a half hour or less.
Dec 13, 2009
Dec 13, 2009 at 4:51 PM UTC
It's prime time...
Let us now
Lower heads and bow,
Sing hymns to the responsive
Drive train of the latest model,
Ignore a "fasten seat belt" chime
Get on with real business,
Speeding mountain curves
In seats of Corinthian leather
(Professional driver
On closed course)
Of course the fine print
Didn't make it
To the big picture
How repulsive!
To lay wreaths, handmade signs
In loving memory of the lost
As if it really matters
That a pizza delivery man,
Loving father of two,
His Corolla ripped to tatters,
Sacrificed a life to bring pie
In a half hour or less.
Dec 12, 2009
Dec 12, 2009 at 7:41 PM UTC
Reyna;
If I dieth in the fire
Tuck me in Corinthian attire;
If mine lung's, shalt faileth and succumb
To the pitch black dusk, wherein their is no sun.
Reyna;
If mine eye's rolleth back
Put oriental pennies on them, to floateth down thy river.
If mine brawn doth frail
Be sure to giveth away mine treasure's.
Giveth charity to the poor man
Underneath I/75 bridge.
Mine spirit shalt be watching over thee
And ourn abode of bliss.
Reyna;
Just in case the morn doth not make it
I just wanted to telleth thee, thou art mine queen, and mine basis.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane dedication
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 11:45 PM UTC
When we stopped at the mission
The cracked Adobe was a message from god
Saying,
Centuries are just cracks in the stone, my world runs on diamonds and hydrocarbons
On charming interactions
On moments of synchronicity
On rubbing out heat to be dissatisfied into the void
To give feed for the new ones
In the feral zodiacs.
She frowned at this answer, said she wanted something less ethereal,
Something tight to clutch
Like the Parthenon's Corinthian columns
Or the great gables of a Neverending tabernacle
She was a greedy and godly girl
I was stupified, staring intently at the cracks
Asking what strange beings were created in between
Tracing the canyon routes with my hands, pressing the palm against the grooves
They were warm with lost sunshine, they had dust and life and creatures of God that sought not the gaze of us, but the eternal love of the dark
I have neglected many times this fact of life, pretending to be a stone in a world of pulsating flesh
Wanting to be abused eternally in exchange for experience
To be Boulder--
With granite cheeks and dusted neck
With cobalt eyes and chiseled chest
Tectonic movement, sparring feet
And left forever towards the seas.
Jan 2, 2019
Jan 2, 2019 at 2:08 PM UTC
A place in peace
that you can't tease
In the surrounding
you'll find yourself wondering
How great is God?
for He made a marvelous pod
Look up,and you'll see the sky;
and you'll awe,wow! how high!
Look east, you'll see the trees;
swaying back and forth through winds breeze
Substratum of orchids,you'll see through west
colorful petals,joyous to eyes,and be zest
Oh! and see the north, well-trimmed green grasses;
lads playing and beautiful lasses
And as we walk to south , to our standing old house
designed with Corinthian frieze
Holding my hand, my gray-haired spouse
together with me, build a treasury for years
But then I woke up;
And my friend said, wazzup?
Oh?That was just a dream?
I wish it would come true
Impossible may it seem;
But if it happens, I won't rue
May 21, 2013
May 21, 2013 at 1:17 PM UTC
When they started inching their way forward,
that row of men in deep blue, riot shields ready,
batons ready, I couldn't help but love them.
I was never narcissistic, at least not enough
to think I'd see the end of the world. But there
I was, corner of Bedlam and Squalor. Corinthian
columns eroded. Bars on the windows, but
I can assure you they didn't barricade the door.
The chant that carried us downtown, grew
heavy, dragged to a dirge. My heartbeat was my
brother's next to me. My song was my sister's
next to me. And the riot shields approached,
and I could appreciate how well they held a line.
There's a swell of panic from behind. One, two,
three children screamed. The rubber bullet, what
a marvelous concept. Tear gas, effective.
And the blurry men with blurry shields and blurry
batons broke from their line and rushed.
Love can be heavy.
I dominate.
I submit.
A baton crushed against my jaw and I found myself
on my back, looking up.
The chant was a dirge was a scream was a ringing
in my ears.
And I found myself on my back, looking up.
A news helicopter steadied in the sky.
The old men watching my blood run live were
my fathers.
The old women watching my blood run live were
glad not to be my mothers.
I know we disagree, I said, as they kicked my ribs.
I think we should disagree.
May 23, 2022
May 23, 2022 at 11:53 AM UTC
Now that our royal head has gone
You are left with a single note in your song
You are now the upholastery
the carraige left to still carry on
In rivers plastered above faith and will
Righteously your love has grown in
deeper roots bright and strong
I know no other humen on earth
who loved her womb much more than her own
The corinthian covered in lime stone
stand strong forever
So when I open this final book
of proverbs and revolation
I know you are the mother
I ache to keep a lifetime as my salvation.
I love you mom.
© S.T. Rebel of Eden
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 2:52 PM UTC
The illusion of an ivory tower.
The disastrous rise of misplaced power.
Existing.
Persisting.
The height of ignorance,
Accepted ideology in appearance.
Cognitive dissonance repeating on a wide screen.
The next twenty-four stood between
Revelation and oblivion.
The final Corinthian.
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 10:46 AM UTC
For me love is an absolute thing
That far surpasses Corinthian definition,
It is a joyful passion,
And those afflicted delight in every slightest
Touch or word or contact,
And cannot wait for the next opportunity
To share by call or message or text or touch
That love which whirls and spins ones heart about
In a wonderful dance of committed care
And passion,
Both carnal and divine,
But alas it seems in your view
These things I neither did nor do in fact
Share with thee,
But rather - in your view but not in mine -
To my sadness and my shame,
Did rather inflict them on thee
From insecurity,
Without so much as a by your leave,
The worst of many misunderstandings
And one which would make a lesser man weep,
However love remains inviolate
If the heart that beats it remains fast and true,
As mine does,
True to that which has been professed,
True to the woman to which it is trothed,
True to that love which is unrelenting,
And how you feel about my motives does not change a thing
Bar one for,
In my world if thy lover is not secure in any respect
Then you ****** well make them so
Dec 11, 2023
Dec 11, 2023 at 5:16 PM UTC
Is a precious commodity,
Hard won and easily lost,
And once lost doubly, triply,
A thousandfold harder to regain,
A fact of which I am reminded
Over and ever over
By those who appoint themselves
To my judging panel,
No matter any right for redemption,
Repentence or change,
Only the justifief raging of the injured,
The gleeful snarling of the lookers on,
It is enough that a man might
Reasonably give pause and thoughts of ending,
Indeed I have had bleakness
Well up enough to drown me,
Pulled and pushed toward the dark,
Towards despair,
Towards oblivion,
Towards an ending offering restitution to the injured
And entertainment to the chattering hangers on
But my spirit is strong enough,
Or maybe I am just
Too ****** obstinate,
I have survived long enough
To see that other force,
The one that can rescue even a wretch like me,
Even the sorest damaged victim
From this dismal purgatory,
From perennial, repeated argument,
Recrimination and pointless sniping,
A veritable undeniable force,
So gentle yet indomitable,
A force to sunder grief and reconnect aching hearts,
Put aside the rage and hurt
Dismiss the hangers on,
(Prurient perverts all,)
And build anew
A better stronger life,
An edifice anchored
Upon rock
And that force
That thing between us,
That revelation that mystery
All along was love,
Love in all its glory,
Corinthian love,
Patient and kind,
Unenvying and humble
Honourable not self seeking,
Above all
Slow to anger and swift to forget
A slight or insult,
That love I found still feebly burning
In my heart for thee,
And peering through the battle smoke,
Sifting through the wreckage
Of us,
I found that same dim flame in you,
Flame I now gently blow upon,
Nurture and feed,
Watch grow back towards a greatness
Sufficient to burn old wounds,
Incinerate infection and leave behind
Hearts touched by a refiners fire,
Silver-proofed against doubt despair.and trepidation.
OUR hearts
OUR love,
OUR future.
And
I
Am
******
Glad
Sep 9, 2023
Sep 9, 2023 at 5:42 PM UTC
.
Driving by,
lost on a side street
directly in the middle
of where I never wanted to be
Clamoring at the expectations
strewn along the curb
between the broken dishwasher
and empty beer cans
Where neighborhood gnomes
painted gaily colors
wave as if they know me,
but I ignore them – sort of
There is one though
with a hollow bookish smile
that seems familiar
or is it the tulips
A wooden staircase,
worn planks in a grey stain
lead to an entrance where an ornate
metal light fixture sways in the breeze
Your porch used to look like that
but this door is standing open
behind a welcome mat with a clover,
wish I hadn’t lost that rabbit’s foot
Maybe I am lucky after all,
just found a spot with ten minutes
remaining on the meter, forget it,
it took me fifteen minutes to park
The empty passenger seat
still holds your form,
at least I can see it -
Corinthian leather never forgets
A speed bump at 40 mph
rattles me back behind the wheel
when I see the bank clock flashes 5:00 pm,
still offering a free toaster
And that’s it, another Sunday afternoon
wasted as much as I am,
spinning my wheels
with just enough gas to get back home,
alone
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 9:05 AM UTC
be ye the hands of God or
be ye the work
of the devil but
deep in thy heart
is a field of gold and
faith I know you now
i can see
miles and miles of
Corinthian blue sky
Feb 11, 2011
Feb 11, 2011 at 9:59 PM UTC
There's sewage in the waters,
there's cancer in the stew,
we spin in our chairs like fools
and wait for the car to stop burning
happiness out of everything.
There's issues in the sandy caves,
There's civil unrest between unsettled
neighboring differences even though
we just let the LED light command
our gaze and let us think it's enough.
There's buried brave men whose
fights are left in vain. The lost
lessons of history are gone with
the victors and the flesh
filled cannon craters.
There's a team of building blocks
who surround the men
of business suites with business
suites so they're not uncomfortable
negotiating the end of the old.
There's unknown DNA swimming
in the oil and misled incentive
intentions gliding from Doric
to Corinthian pillars then back to
the Ionic style passing law.
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 2:02 AM UTC
I'm a Corinthian of greecian shore
I'm a Irishmen of potato poor
I'm a Frenchmen of all amour'
Whilst also
A English men
Pilgrim brought
A Cherokee
Of sage smoke moss
I'm a swiss bred
Of clearing waters
Yay
A Scottish men of castle dwellers..
Tis all are me
And yes
I'm all of them!!!
I am what I am..
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 10:28 PM UTC