"crassness" poems
Beloved wanderer,
What are you running after?
your external commitment to reach crassness is taller than a benevolent Tikbalang
you are quicker than its long legs to lead a soul astray
But my beloved,
where is your soul?
your Passion is non-existent
like an ondine, all you seek is an immortal soul to waste
on your blinded fate
on the woes you continue to create
and your petty blown up mates
a thick, bold flesh they’ll never extricate
surrounding the empty stems from which they originate
My beloved,
your eyeballs were so viciously extracted and replaced
with poisonous bile
your hellhound eyes are so vile
if one stares at them twice
they’ll be seized, and they’ll be sacrificed
and their souls disintegrate
their roots begin to decay
they merge with your spirits
and they aimlessly gyrate
around in circles,
my beloved, you **** the souls
dumping their bodies in holes
indulgent in mutilating the skin around your heart
vandalising your worth and claiming it's art
but my beloved wanderer
where is your drive?
where is your start?
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 11:11 AM UTC
I **** on your grave for I have had too much to drink!
A glass 'o ginger beer and shrimp crackers I ate today.
Thou art not to fall! To tartuffery for a drink is as good as the last.
But alas, I am not to drink.
For my heart is heavy with woe.
Those stoics! They bring me much misery.
Oh the stoics, with their logically given truths that are naught but prejudice! Prejudice in truth they claim, liars.
Oh the stoics, with their ****** analogies of nature and so fourth.
To be! Like nature, is to be indifferent and prodigal.
That's probably why we love the intelligent uncaring character. He is nature.
She too! O' who's heart is full of love! She brings me roses and kisses upon my lips. She too, is nature. Stupid also, unbelievably crass.
Is crassness then, what we call nature? Then it is he! He! Who bring us our daily news who is unnatural. But then who is the preacher?
No, nature is to live. To live! Hah! A joke! To live is not a command for you cannot conceptualize living without living.
You'd do better as a pretty little scarab, but he doesn't drink ginger beer.
So too, our conclusion is to be natural. But not the scarab. To live, obviously. To be correct! by our own prejudice. And to reject divinely given truths. I do not know how I would feel about children of my own, we'll see when I have one.
Nov 9, 2016
Nov 9, 2016 at 5:21 AM UTC
Oh my
how they flap and slither
shades of shades of
ghastly crassness
Haven't harnessed
their atoms' fickle spins
spilling, instead,
through the strong and wise and deserving
befouling their blood
Gulping and gaping their own small slice of evil
while we will guard ours
in cages of guilt and fantasy
Spill then
spill slickly,
sick, stupid spectres
You strengthen my bars
beyond imagining
Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 11:30 AM UTC
When bit by proboscis of bullying ********
When flayed by management’s moneyed constraints,
When cowed by political pressure’s publicity
….Irrepressible positives will cut the restraints.
For regardless of age or the state of the body,
Regardless of worriment carried in lieu,
Your irrepressible “up” shall rise to the surface
To wipe negativity’s blemish from you.
Irrepressibly, positively beaming in sunshine
Gleaming blue eyes in the sweet morning air,
Sprinting ahead of the crassness negated
We won the moment with wind in our hair.
Marshalg
In beating the odds
AUCKLAND
6 February 2014
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 3:43 PM UTC
stumble over the rhythm you create
as if it wasn't yours.
trip over the syllables in haste
as you attempt to overtake them
before they run out of control.
this is not poetry;
this is just plain crassness.
you're a verbal klutz,
and it hurts our sensibilities.
you can't hear what you're saying,
you are driving blind
in the blizzard of words
and you have the audacity to think
you'll get out of this unscathed;
somehow revered
because of your valiant effort
and mediocre product.
a bad combination,
and you're bound to be
called out on it, for sure.
luck won't cut it.
you have to know what you're doing
and you have to be good at it.
so if you have nothing to say
that you'll be saying right—
nothing that will squeeze flesh
through clothes or break skin and teeth
or kick and scream—basically,
don't
even
try.
Dec 25, 2014
Dec 25, 2014 at 11:09 AM UTC
It's here I sit, looking at beauty's start
Yet here, I laugh at my bewildered heart
Her eyes match that of starry skies
Feelings for her greater than family ties
If I lost this there will be a great demise
Set sail amongst troubled sea's ,this boat corroding
Against the oceans heaves, my will is being broken
For my words lack the skill of spoken
And this ship is going down, In lieu of a captain
Neither, took lead of this troubled vessel
My mission is now to end this situation deemed stressful
Now, to her I am god yet, strange and unfamiliar
To me, I am a goblin, beautiful and familiar
It's a shame I have to end this, Now the darkness begins to overcome her
I now live in a world of undetermined reality
I apologize for my obscenity and crassness
I lay her down to sleep, For I am a prisoner in this madness
I am the warden in this madness
I lost all sense of what is real
I gave up all sense of what is real
And now, I lay her down to sleep.
Jun 9, 2013
Jun 9, 2013 at 10:24 PM UTC
So hollow in intensity, so shallow in it’s depth
A crassness to integrity, opaqueness so bereft,
A shadow of its former self, this champion of the State,
Arcane in miss-performance with mistake upon mistake.
How is it taken seriously, Why be now, so bizarre
This monolithic monster like a spider trapped in jar?
Writhing in confinement, convulsing from within,
In ranting forth obscenity with florid faces grim.
All dialogue refusal then a storming into view
Of hoodlums clad in camouflage waving weaponry at you.
To barge over borders with a reckless disregard
Mouthing blame at all the vanquished in a parody’s montage.
Abuse at reaction from an outraged world out there
Derision to the sanctions and a startled, people’s stare.
Russia in the only mode it knows to bridge defence
Attack, attack all comers then barter recompense.
M.
29 July 2014
Auckland.
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 2:00 AM UTC
‘We’ve got chemistry. She laughs at my jokes’, you said.
You slayed me with crassness. I imaged me dead.
Body brain jerks with racked cravings for you
as days upon days, and nights without break.
I willingly grew an addiction to you.
I can’t white the black or forgive my mistake.
I began to need you. All else fell away.
I designed my defeat, by saying yes that day.
Where women were, yes there you were;
oozing charm like hot melt summer sun.
Those rabbits in headlights; blinkingly
they burned, flap-fluttered, couldn’t run.
She’s kicked you out once. Did she notice you hunt?
Did her heart die when seeing her end?
How can she know you better than me?
How is she more friend than me, ex friend?
You’d never survive on your own, big man.
You don’t even understand bills.
All you know is your stage and your fans -
how to extract the maximum thrills.
I now zombie glaze-like; undead. I howl for my friend and my lover.
I wanted to keep you like real, but living and high highs are over.
Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 3:22 AM UTC
The boogey man is not a man,
But a monstrous cavity in the minds of the men.
Black corners and shaded wardrobes,
What deamon, boggle, hobgoblin the bedstead-dark holds?
Eyes are sticked on the darkness,
Noble nowhere: the wide pupil is seeing far less,
While the truth is under your nose:
Thousand lies' eyes lie upon you that no one knows now.
Spiders? Rat snakes? What's hidden there?
No one knows and no one cares by-chance you barely dare;
It's you and your mind - your demons
Who barely care - its self-destruction deepens itself.
Dark room, wardrobe and under-bed;
Darkness dwells in none of among them, but in your head.
Empty-headed pics of crassness,
Made by no boogey, but an ignorant's recklessness.
Put away your holy water;
No need for illusive Jinn-conjurer Gin-tonics.
Darkness knows one weapon: homage;
Nightmares can be killed only through the light of knowledge.
Black corners and shaded wardrobes,
What morbid poison, what fearful drug your brain cells hold?
Embrace no torch, no crucifix;
The thirst of knowledge dries out every grim-naughty pics.
Oct 5, 2019
Oct 5, 2019 at 2:52 AM UTC
unable to shake this slight pain in my head
it has become as consistent as the rising and falling tide
looking at crystals and tea leaves unread
seeking a new place of perception in which to reside
doing my best to avoid getting caught up in dread
feeling myself peeling apart like toilet paper, multi-plied
attempting to maintain what’s left of my street cred
eyes puffy from crying after my mother went and died
seeing dignity flee leaving me not even a shred
no one notices how hard I have tried
never once being the man who turned tail and fled
thinking back to the moment when so softly she sighed
my crassness overflowing cracking jokes about the ******
seeing the anger flash across eyes fit to be tied
grasping for something to prevent a trip to the woodshed
a long piece of kindling, seasoned Maple, and wide
giving me something to think about before bed –
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 12:28 PM UTC
I love to flirt and dance with suicide
Counting death, as if I’ve already died
It’s a fantasy date with destiny
The thrill of that last and final ride….
I’ve gone over the edge… I think
Into a melancholy void I sink
Where flights of imagination take over
Memories and projections, with no apparent link …
Do I long for the end? Sure…
But allas, there is no cure …
Death being but a transitional doorway
Into another state, not necessarily pure…
I cannot shed this sadness
Nor it’s selfendulgent madness
Its all adding up to imbecility
And an attitude of crassness!
Ah! More time spent in morbid revery
Emotional Back-sliding and mental mortality
But never you mind!
The worst catalyst is any sympathy ….
May 23, 2020
May 23, 2020 at 6:12 PM UTC
It's very disturbing to hear people say
That they wholeheartedly object
To being forced to weigh their words
And having to be politically correct.
Forgetting the crassness of earlier times,
They want to return to the careless days
When Jews were called horrible things;
When blacks weren't "blacks" and gays weren't "gays";
When Native Americans were called "redskins";
When despicable names were given to our foes,
And children were taught horribly racist
"Eeny, meeny, miny, moes."
People didn't "cheat" you, they "gyped" you;
The Irish and Italians were both called names;
"Eskimo" was a generalized term;
Men referred to women as "dames."
Mute people were "dumb" back then;
Latinos and Asians were called names, too.
It seems that derogatory words
Were seldom if ever considered taboo.
Will decency and respect both
Be tossed out the window? Please say no.
We can't return to the ignorant days
Of racist jokes and slurs and Jim Crow.
Being a considerate human means
Sometimes bearing a heavy load.
Our lack of sensitivity
Can lead us down a dangerous road.
- by Bob B
Oct 1, 2016
Oct 1, 2016 at 9:49 AM UTC
what gives you new life?
- the underpinnings of the artist
- mischief (and hellishness
- (becoming friends with nothingness)
- devotion to (healthy) destruction
- becoming friends with nothingness
------------------------------------------------------------
hellishness (being hellish)
(the shadow)
exploration of the shadow
the unconscious
rage
callousness
violence
killing (things)
crudeness
crassness
- healthy outlets for destruction
- becoming friends with nothingness
rage
wbu?
its an important thing to know
------
mischief and hellishness
becoming friends with nothingness
the underpinnings of the artist
-------
memories of musing privately
(good memories
of musing privately)
---
(waiting) to be moved, egoically
--
confident ignorance
i try to be unconscious and let things shape themselves
(things shaping themselves unconsciously)
---
the familial greif inbetween my teeth
----
i cant control this beast
the beast that is my creativity
Feb 15, 2016
Feb 15, 2016 at 7:49 PM UTC
I can't move in this dim room for the crowding of spirits
Each hustling and tussling, engorging the space
In all their gluttony and false exchanges something beyond their crassness changes
The air, it lightens at last
And in the corner, permeates your glance.
Apr 17, 2025
Apr 17, 2025 at 2:28 PM UTC