"crucifying" poems
To choose to listen to the voices in my head or the whisper in my heart.
Blinded by my own hand most of the time.
The roller coaster turned into a merry-go-round.
I knew where I had ended up, but I didn't see the start.
My thoughts are off and running again...
Round and round,
I feel this creeping monster run down my spine and gnaw at my center.
I am terrified of it.
I let it go on forever.
...I finally looked inside and asked,
"What the hell do you want from me?"
"I just want you to know that it's me, which is you.
Just trying to tell you that you need love, that's the truth."
I need to stop crucifying myself to feel alive.
It's selfish.
Apr 3, 2013
Apr 3, 2013 at 8:43 PM UTC
This place was once God’s pious station.
Humanity is the song we sing to him.
The leaves praise him with peaceful African breeze, the breeze of our God.
The children of our mother earth were not left out of the feeling that planted oneness in the minds of the ******* Stone, that was what their minds were known for.
Life was then a simple sphere but now complicated and shapeless.
Life was then soft like unwithered breast but now a
granite. Then hearts was glaring but now, Africa and their black hearts.
See them,
They are crucifying humanity in the house of our God.
They are crucifying humanity in the court of law.
They are crucifying humanity on the matrimonial beds.
They are crucifying humanity on the aisle of power.
They are crucifying humanity for legal tenders.
They are crucifying humanity to be a god.
They are crucifying humanity in the struggle of religion.
They are crucifying humanity to calm the raging stomach.
They are crucifying humanity for thrones.
They are crucifying humanity in front of humanity.
They are crucifying humanity everywhere.
Now humanity is on the verge of death.
See them as they are whipping him.
See his skin as it swell to burst.
They are punching him, they want to punch him to
death.
Can you see those barbarian as they merry with the melody of crucifixion. Humanity is their scape goat.
Humanity is dead in theirs
but it is still alive in your heart,
It is still alive in your words.
Humanity must be alive in our home.
Let humanity live in Africa as free citizen.
If you are guilty of his death what do you gain?
Jan 5, 2019
Jan 5, 2019 at 4:37 PM UTC
Running from the thunder
Hiding in the trees
Superstitious people
Your will is hardly free
Casting the unlikeliness
Of a loving killing god
Stolen from the pagans
By a crucifying mob
It's time to wake up
WAKE UP
Worshipped on the mountain
Forsaken down below
Superstitious people
Fearing for their soul
Casting their inventions
Making holy war
Pretending not to notice
The ****** killing floor
It's time to wake up
WAKE UP
TWM
ANOTHER SONG I WROTE
IN MY OLD BAND
HEAVY ALTERNATIVE
Sound like
Godsmack meets tool
Feb 2, 2014
Feb 2, 2014 at 3:51 PM UTC
i.
O' mine asawa, mine novel put away for millennia,
Brute man hast hidden thee from view, thou hast been burdened by men's crucifying, thy fear's art of lonesomeness; as many hast left thee, As I've known thine tears. I've seen and watched thy fear's, over the year's thine heart was bleeding.
ii.
Though whilst thou was leaking from thine wound's, I was keeping track on high, from the moon, and universal sky, from the nebula they calleth God's eye; I made plan's to cometh near. Thither below where I hadst none purpose, other than thee; I asked ourn maker to pusheth me into the sea of the great Pacific ocean, I hadst come with mine love, and incorporeal potion's.
iii.
Afore thine nativity, I hadst known thee a whilst, though as an angel thy falling to the atmosphere madeth thee forget thy memory; and divine self. Though I remembered thou, as thy soulmate from ages passed: I waited, with the great originator, I hadst beseeched him to seeing thee again; mine beloved, mine consort of other realm related. As Elohim kneweth thou was mine Filipino rose, mine all, and best friend: he granted me back heaven, as I landed into thy hand's.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley-Filipino rose dedicated
Nov 2, 2015
Nov 2, 2015 at 5:01 PM UTC
I look at her,
her sad eyes and juvenile wrinkles.
A face riddled with scars and red bumps,
interweaved with healed and unhealed flesh.
I wish I didn't care about what I see in the mirror.
I wish I didn't care about how my skin feels against my fingertips,
or what I see when I search for my reflection.
They talk about loving yourself
but how can I,
when all I see is a hideous monster?
I know,
I know.
There are sorrows much painful,
woes more pertinent than mine.
But how do I tell my mind to stop crucifying itself?
How do I diffuse these electrical impulses,
from my eyes to my brain,
carrying an image of my face and interpreting it as
unnatural,
ugly,
pitiful?
I wish I didn't spend so much time,
trying to wash this dirt off me,
trying to pick and probe at the scabs,
when I know it's a part of me,
arising from me.
How do I stop myself from judging my worth
as the sum of these scars
that lie skin deep?
Jul 1, 2019
Jul 1, 2019 at 10:12 AM UTC
I cannot fathom the scribbling in my brain into poetic queues as of now. I am in excruciating pain but I am liberated. I am dying on the inside but somewhere behind my rib cage is a thump. Less of a thump, more like a knock. The love of my life is tearing me to shreds and the universe is softly tapping its knuckles on the door. Through an addictive relationship I have discovered my origin.
I am a healer. I am an angel and I can do no true harm to a soul; I heal even those who are the radial balance of my suffering and bleeding. I have an expendable heart; it has been squeezed, sliced, punctured, chewed, stepped on, scraped, pulverized, shattered, cracked, drained, dried, bitten, and hungrily ****** on by the mightiest of leeches. I stand before myself scarred but glowing like the chest of a newborn child. Once again my pain has given birth to me. I am new, the world has not made me an ******* I refuse. I will love. I will care. I will heal and I will push through my crucifying pains of being leeched. I will continue to give what cannot be returned to me.
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 1:24 AM UTC
all eyes,
all on me,
all eyes,
hanging
all over me.
milk the silence.
fingertips trace the
splintered podium.
clear my throat,
once,
twice.
"We shoulduh' seen this coming."
great opener.
**"Our end was scored
by symphonies of sitcoms,
reality television, coffeehouse blenders,
and fanatical braking.
Our pride in resilience was the
spark that lit the powder keg.
Foreigners couldn't stop us,
for we stopped letting 'em in years ago.
Time couldn't stop us,
for our bodies are made of plastic,
and words don't dent us,
for our emotions are backed by
the most stubborn of metals.
We broke love when we were still young.
All us boys were aiming for quick fixes,
and all you girls were aiming for margarita mixes.
Ladies decided they wanted to nest around the
smoking age,
and if they were attractive enough,
us boys bit.
We all got divorced.
We all got into politics.
Some of us died for a country,
but none of us are sure why.
Some of us ran from debt,
some recorded folk songs on laptops,
some sexed their way out,
some drank themselves to death.
We shoulduh' seen this coming.
But we didn't, so that makes you and I, the idiots.
The smart ones had foresight,
and departed us early.
Now we idiots look to the murderous sky,
and wait."**
all eyes,
all on me,
all eyes,
hanging
all over me.
milk the silence.
i raise my arms up,
as though the crowd is crucifying me.
they want to finish their burgers.
they want to stroke each other's egos.
they want to pass the blame on some
distant land,
and stick boots up ***** and wave a few flags.
**"So civilization doesn't get to rust,
it goes out in a flash and is carried away as dust.
Mankind annihilates itself in a fit of boredom.
Get stoked for the funeral pyre."**
all eyes,
all on the ground.
all skin,
all plastic skin did melt.
all forgotten dreams,
all torn from hidden seams.
all the thin, the fat, the republican, the democrat,
all the white, the black, the chinese,
the arabs, the jews, the druggies,
the christians, the monkeys, mtv stars,
toilet seats, pamphlets,
all the newsreels, dvds,
collector's editions, suvs,
all fuse together,
all in one immaculate heat.
no one even got a chance to applaud.
Jul 30, 2010
Jul 30, 2010 at 9:57 PM UTC
Enlighten Me-
I’m always underestimating self-master bating-
Graduated-
At the top of fund frustration-
My motivation needs money relations-
The contemplation of money making has my mind at a constant hating-
My breaking patience-
Has my mind like a **** relating-
Regulations of all my banking-
See my bank account disintegrating-
I’m suffocating-making payments-Late fee statements-
Debit-Credit-Cash-oking
Debit-Credit-Cash-oking
Racking bills my back is breaking-my nerves are shaking-
Shaking more than I anticipated-
Now I’m here with a life to fear-
Writing till my mind is clear-
Writing till I feel what’s real-
Writing till I seal a deal-
Multiplying-
Adding-Subtracting-and dividing-
Signing more checks than providing-
It’s suicide I’m not denying-Rhyming trying its crucifying-
Clocking in before the sun is rising Grinding flying hoping griming-living life nine to fiving-
Its re-revising-Re-defining-Rectifying-
More so that I think I’m hiding-
Killing with finical violence-Violating my banks alliance-
Maxing plastic so fantastic now I need some re-advising-interest rates have a grown man crying-Million dollars seem so un-winding-
Now I’m whining-
Constant buying-
Gas rates got me into biking-riding-fighting-
Just surviving-any discount seems so delighting-winning lotto seems o-so-righteous-buy one get one is so exciting-
Boot leg buying I ain’t lying-
Being broke is constant rewinding-It’s reminding-so relying-over drawing is my new binding-it’s confining-so I’m finding-Making takings of my disliking-Making takings that are so dang freighting-dollar scratchers are so inviting-
But this realization is so enlightening-
Moving as fast as a bolt of lighting-
I’m asking you G-d to help me like this-
I’m feeling the pain and I think I might just-
ROB ME A BANK-
BY:
RICHARD ITSKOVICH
Jul 29, 2010
Jul 29, 2010 at 2:57 PM UTC
the boy enters when he knows
others will not be there
in prayer--their silent entreaties
to a god he is not sure
listens or cares
morning after mass is best;
the bouquets are fresh
he can smell them once
the scent of the early
worshipers fades:
the pipe smoke from the old man's
coat
the widow's perfume which lingers longer than the ammonia stench
of the holy homeless who is there
every day
Christ watches over this:
a white marble man bolted
to a cross, witnessing
this spectacle for millennia
long before this cold statue
was placed in this cathedral,
he was there, the slaughtered lamb
cursed to die again and again
that is how the boy sees it;
not a promised life eternal,
but the same death anon,
anon
the pounding of the stakes,
the blood offering: the old man, the woman, the mendicant
all crucifying him again with
each plaintive prayer
once their odors fade,
the funeral sprays, the bouquets
remain--cut, dying flowers,
a fragrant impermanence
with no expectation for life
beyond their time in the
vase--no imploring a godhead
for forgiveness
no demand for blood
and perpetual death
only a little water for their brief journey
in fragile glass
Jun 23, 2017
Jun 23, 2017 at 12:54 AM UTC
Sometimes I wish I was the kid in the corner,
blending in
but looking outside the lines
and if I ever strayed from
what's normal
I'd just disappear in
the blink of an eye
because
all we want is
to lay our hands on something real
and all I want is
to bare my soul to not conceal
looking-out, never looking in
Who I am,
Who I've always been.
Sometimes I wish I was the girl
everybody dreamed of
standing out not sticking in
and if I ever got sick of
what they wanted
I'd be just like a chrysalis
and shed this skin I've flaunted
for so many years
because all we want is
to lay our hands on something real
and all I want is
to be comfortable enough to heal
the scars,
this pain,
this cross around my neck
crucifying
all that I am
always looking out, never looking in
I know who you are
and who I've always been.
So, watch me as my walls
come caving in
I'm safe inside
I think I'll make it out alive
This time
I'm not perpendicular
I'm outside but
we're pretty similar
I've always known
Who you are
and who I really am
Inside, outside
I think I'll make it out....
Jun 10, 2015
Jun 10, 2015 at 3:25 PM UTC
Touch my banquet
it's possible crucifying pleasure
Instinct inspires whispers
of tormenting embrace
Confess your need
to fragment my illusions
Speak!
I can be found in all of this!
Leave & let me
believe in fragile reasons
Burn kisses
into my naked hidden world
Embrace secret rythms
that lie here poisoned
But meet me on your side
of the drunken universe!
Laugh cruel petals
my hour is haunting....
lavish your fancy dress
I exist only in solitude
....but the fever is in the living......
Jun 13, 2010
Jun 13, 2010 at 2:02 PM UTC
A stampede of oxen
stumping the head
Cacophonous Canaries
Crucifying the mind
Needles avalanche
Down the cerebrum.
Tranquility a scarcity.
The skull longing to be hewed
In half so it can breathe again.
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 9:51 AM UTC
His hands secured around her head for support
It's her crown
Significant to the bi-weekly ritual of
crucifying her like Jesus.
His body connects to hers, collapsing like the twin towers
it's her gown.
She wears it every now and then,
When the eulogy is written for the peacekeeper.
His tongue moves against her collarbones like it's on a ledge
trying to commit
suicide.
What a beautiful death .
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 1:42 PM UTC
I am trying to pick up a thin unforgiving object
with my over-sized,
disjointed creaking hands- again.
Plastered smooth,
flatly white and plain,
sharply contrasting the oaken ornate table beneath.
A pointed creation - filled from within by an impossibly pulled pin
n' covered simply
in slim thinly soft skin.
I want to tear it off
but my hands ache and cry out- soundless.
Time hasn't meaning anymore,
when you are gone and I am old.
Twice folded around inside,
the cocoon is layers of pressed arrested rough hewn life,
wanton against my finger tips,
that are bloated and gnarled with corroded bone
all angles
and absurdity.
Aged pages will be riffled raw by my papery epidermis,
squirming in earnest and fear of your leering senile words.
I want to tear it off but it holds like glue
And-
as I remember, you are beautiful
sold into sleep, bought in too deep
with twitching, itching delicious skin,
between golden strands that at times stand stiff with tension
caught hot underneath our bodies.
I choose not to remember as you are now
alone
in a crone crowded home.
Dec 13, 2010
Dec 13, 2010 at 1:35 AM UTC
my day
begins
at 3:00am
with hip-hop
thundering,
rain splattering
my window pane.
the witching hour:
my own, private
Galgotha. i forsook
god, now i'm ******
to hum the dirge
of doom, hushed
and out of tune.
this week in the news,
Sean Spicer swore
****** didn't gas
the Jews. apparently,
the irony of Passover
was lost on the fool.
if Pepsi truly held the key
to ending police
brutality, i'd be the first
to shake the Invisible Hand,
but that spectral fist
is too busy choking
the life out of refugees
to make time for a paltry
teacher like me.
as gas prices
sky-rocketed
and approval ratings
plummeted,
the ************
of all bombs
fell in Afghanistan
while tomahawk missiles
pummeled Syria
and predator drones
zoomed over
Yemen and Pakistan.
where do we stand, hands
stained red with the blood
of those we've martyred?
will we idly abide
an Empire crucifying
its imaginary enemy
on this insane crusade
of endless war?
our silent compliance
rings louder than the hammer
nailing our victims' limbs
to the cross of our indifference.
if there's one thing
i know for sure,
it's that art
makes this whole *******
joke a bit more bearable.
but how could we portend
to outlast this tragedy
when even ****
and the Last Jedi
are only temporary reprieves
from suffering perpetually?
what's so good
about this Friday
anyway?
Apr 14, 2017
Apr 14, 2017 at 11:09 PM UTC
As if obeying an unwritten law of doom,
I slowly raise my head from its stupor,
as if somehow my eyes might meet yours,
the weight of raising it saps all strength,
making weary the bones,
so here I sit in my quilted chair,
reciting dark verse and listening to the single chords
of a disenchanted violin,
trying to fit together the wrong shaped parts
of a cataclysmic jigsaw puzzle,
yearning for the light and shadows of my waning moon
as it drifts across the darkened shape of my window,
the cross shaped frame crucifying my soul,
yet within this sanctuary of mind,
all does seem calm and contented.
Aug 17, 2015
Aug 17, 2015 at 3:18 PM UTC
The seesawing sun of solipsy,
A satrapy of soliloquy,
Sol was once but now is she,
Sailed off into a darkened sea,
Sith some solitary soiree,
Goodbye my Sirius from Wi!
Oh solely solar solemn stigmata!
Sun’s sobriquet solitaire staccato!
And sonorous salute sonata!
Sing past swaddling clouds of terracotta!
A crucifying crescendo armada!
And endless stars in space of Satá!
Insatiable story of a Son’s redemption,
Who stole away the sins of man’s convention,
A cross and form at right ascension!
The astronomy and mythology of the aforementioned,
Whom but was pierced for our transgression,
The tale that lead to man’s discretion.
Jun 5, 2016
Jun 5, 2016 at 5:48 PM UTC
Just like I told you:
It was not Jesus the Jewish reformer,
the philanthropic teacher,
That caused my grief
- I had admiration for him.
My revolt was caused by
The Christian Jesus, you see?
The arrogant only begotten,
The "You must accept Me as Savior,"
The Jesus of Paul and the Evangelists,
The Jesus of the various councils,
the many churches,
denominations, creeds -
The Jesus that they created...
While crucifying His doctrine.
- fr
Feb 20, 2014
Feb 20, 2014 at 5:16 AM UTC
Your halo starts to fizzle
Like a vampire in the sun
We’re sitting in the darkness
And no one’s having fun
Up ahead the ceiling’s
Closing in upon our heads
Just like all the angels
Who flew from heaven’s bed
We try to pretend that
We can’t see their eyes
All the coward rebels
And their sheepskin disguise
Our souls begin to hitchhike
Without a help or guide
Along the holy road
That leaves us dumb and blind
********* cigarettes
Bodies languid
Laughing like idiots
Crucifying language
Oct 15, 2012
Oct 15, 2012 at 10:39 AM UTC
A second, minute, moment, a while
To get this **** into your thick head.
Nothing matters, besides status and wealth
it's all been done, it's all been said
The weak, the poor are used as stepping stones
We are examples of living, breathing, ***** drones
Only one motive; to move to the top of the ladder pyramid
To use the ones who are so dumb founded
For not a second think of the disabled or them flaccid
**** it! Do you not see what a vulture you are?
You abuse the the gift of GOD
don't think near, think real far
You forget to look down and see what's crawling under you
Asking, begging, pleading, crying, crucifying in front of you
You look the other way when you see a crippled or disabled cartoon
Who asks nothing, but an identity too
A cry for humanity, an outburst that lingers
Stop racing, or at least take off the **** blinkers
To see your place in life, and help the needy
Please your Lord, by not being so greedy
Take a moment, re-evaluate your life
Be thankful, be giving, be loving, and caring
Appreciate it all for all what's it's worth
In the end we are all going back to the Sands and pits of the earth
Recognize your wealth of healthy status
And Realize of those who suffer from this prestige
Do not get irritated, this is not just another speech!
Take this as an enlightenment, or even as a wake up call
When God questions you, your judgement would not try to low ball
So take away from this a lesson learned
Where your tombstone will repeat of your deeds well earned!
by MaQ
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 4:10 PM UTC
That was it
the **** bit
where love ends
where promises are broken
where kisses freeze
on cheeks or lips.
That was it
the tough bit
where cancer creeps
spider like
or slithers through limbs
as snakes through grass
and you die.
That was it
the hard bit
where suffering outweighs
the scales of prayers
and the child cries
for a loss
up the tall stairs.
That was it
the crucifying bit
the nails hammered in
the cross of flesh and bones
the heart plundered
for feelings and sense
the last farewell
no recompense.
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 3:49 PM UTC
the river runs through,
pristine waters crossing jagged rocks,
ethereal tidal hands passing on their grace.
the only constant sound in the seclusion offered by pines and spruces,
miles far from crucifying gazes and demeaning canards, not shushed.
well actually it isn’t so far from your place,
but it is from mine and eyes closed, it’s a world away,
with our shadows next to the other’s,
feet swinging in and out of the currents,
rosebud lips and green eyes trained on brown ones, no longer discreet,
soft blur filtered-images.
i was hailed from the flighty and the brisk.
and early on i taught myself not to rely on
anything or trust anyone-
people would offer you poison disguised as milk
and venom-dripping back pats.
but gladly i oblige to drop this excuse for a heart in your graze,
still baring splinters from the plaster walls used to hide my being from the world;
on close fists you can take away my reservations.
promises have always been incredulous for me,
lest I put my trust on dandelion wishes and passing blue cars for you.
the sun goes down and tinting skin in twilight blue.
we’ve stayed for quite long basked in the brook’s mystique.
for a while longer, we stay,
gemstones braided in your hair; a corset paired with my whimsical skirt,
siren-eyed smirks and otherwise illicit touches.
no hunter has come to reveal us in this dwelling place.
the water nymphs witnessed all that we’ve done while in their home-
it’s no secret that the hills and trees have eyes,
hush, for their sight don’t leer nor scorn,
not minding carrying this partial secret,
offering safety in screaming this love out.
now i’m back to drawing your place beside mine on afterwork takeout receipts,
scribbles from memory of the secret place,
and casting my hopes upon the prismatic sky.
the sun shows another day,
and my suncatcher capturing rainbows,
reminding me that our safe space awaits,
where the river runs through.
Jun 3, 2022
Jun 3, 2022 at 10:26 PM UTC