"crusading" poems
Go hang yourself, you old M.D.!
You shall not sneer at me.
Pick up your hat and stethoscope,
Go wash your mouth with laundry soap;
I contemplate a joy exquisite
I'm not paying you for your visit.
I did not call you to be told
My malady is a common cold.
By pounding brow and swollen lip;
By fever's hot and scaly grip;
By those two red redundant eyes
That weep like woeful April skies;
By racking snuffle, snort, and sniff;
By handkerchief after handkerchief;
This cold you wave away as naught
Is the damnedest cold man ever caught!
Give ear, you scientific fossil!
Here is the genuine Cold Colossal;
The Cold of which researchers dream,
The Perfect Cold, the Cold Supreme.
This honored system humbly holds
The Super-cold to end all colds;
The Cold Crusading for Democracy;
The Führer of the Streptococcracy.
Bacilli swarm within my portals
Such as were ne'er conceived by mortals,
But bred by scientists wise and hoary
In some Olympic laboratory;
Bacteria as large as mice,
With feet of fire and heads of ice
Who never interrupt for slumber
Their stamping elephantine rumba.
A common cold, gadzooks, forsooth!
Ah, yes. And Lincoln was jostled by Booth;
Don Juan was a budding gallant,
And Shakespeare's plays show signs of talent;
The Arctic winter is fairly coolish,
And your diagnosis is fairly foolish.
Oh what a derision history holds
For the man who belittled the Cold of Colds!
10.9k
The puppet's second awakening is a knight of crusading, evils boots I bet are quaking, especially when his sword starts shaking.
Though made of wood he's hardly bored, he's killing all the little lords. Royalties high but he'll bring them low with one fell swoop and mighty blow.
Arrows cut but they don't dry, fires good but you just try. He's got a shield it's good for blocking, you better be ready when he comes knocking.
All in all he's quite the lad, made of wood and iron clad. And with his holy cross of might he'll slay all evil in his sight.
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 5:02 AM UTC
I'm making a pub pilgrimage,
A malted Mecca trip;
I'm leaving all I love at home
Crusading with the Picts.
I'll be alone with all my thoughts,
It's what must needs be done,
To keep the demons off.
Publicans meet me on the steps,
On Sundays by the side;
This trip of three thousand miles
May **** should I survive.
My altar's elbow worn,
The finest oaken wood;
I'll climb the stairs on knees,
Hear bells, raise cups of cheer.
There's games of chance,
Some romance,
With songs and several fools;
It has trappings of Canterbury
In pubs all called O'Tooles.
There's Highland mead,
And broken bread,
With harps from inner rooms,
I'll have dispirited spirits
And revel inside tombs.
My cave awaits on my return,
It's dark and hard and cold;
But I know the light's within my sight,
If I move this granite stone.
I'll bring with me a scapula
To make those visions stop,
The relics that I sought,
Those demons of a sot.
Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 9:16 AM UTC
The Terrorist
Do you know
What terror is?
Terror rising
Like the threat level
News televising
Different views
Like
Christian or Hindu
Muslim or Jew
How many Satanist
Crashed planes in
Places containing
Millions?
Murders of a martyr
Muttering under his breath
Not before a jump
From a building
But before
Walking through its doors
Trench coat
Drenched in sweat
No words spoken
But the name
Of a God
à la God
Allah!
Alas
A last breath
And a final moment
Gives a button
A fast press
Blast!
Explosions
Cold as the
Look he gave
Before he left
On his quest
Like a crusader
Crusading a nonbeliever
Then crucify
If you try
To stay true to self
Well, take me
As I am
And know
I never claim to know
I worship nothing
That creates war,
Whether real
Or not.
Oct 4, 2011
Oct 4, 2011 at 4:02 PM UTC
I remember her
in old
photographs
she'd been
daydreaming
all her life
in her under-age
world
spinning
like a top
eternity
in her head
but recklessness
on her tongue
crusading for
******* summers
in Europe
and all that comes
splendidly hither
when laid down
by the embers
in the groves
close to
the congenial sea
I rightly recall
before the page
turning
electric particles
shooting off
as fireworks
in each of her
copper eyes
and how destiny's
curtain fell
with such
suddenness
that morning of
the thin blue line
Mar 16, 2021
Mar 16, 2021 at 9:22 AM UTC
Do you know
What terror is?
Terror rising
Like the threat level
News televising
Different views
Like
Christian or Hindu
Muslim.
How many Satanist
Crashed planes in
Places containing
Millions?
Murders of a martyr
Muttering under his breath
Not before a jump
From a building
But before
Walking through its doors
Trench coat
Drenched in sweat
No words spoken
But the name
Of a God
à la God
Alas
A last breath
And a final moment
Gives a button
A fast press
Blast!
Explosions
Cold as the
Look he gave
Before he left
On his quest
Like a crusader
Crusading a nonbeliever
Then crucify
If you try
To stay true to self
Well, take me
As I am
And know
I will never claim to know
I worship nothing
That creates war,
Whether real
Or not.
Sep 30, 2010
Sep 30, 2010 at 12:51 PM UTC
It might be the pungent steam from a ***
steeping herbs meant to bend its sippers'
minds to potent effect, or an unanticipated
digestive reckoning from that mawkishly flavored
brand of store-bought paste they pass as butter.
However the dough arises, their collective
recollection of storied events, lengthwise sliced
and ritually rehearsed, hops facilely on the ****
of a bucking and overtly nonsensical wind.
Tea parties with slippery perspectives
have been shown quite clinically to induce
heightened sensitivity in participants,
so it's prudent to set about tidying the facts:
The hatter, it's become clear, shifted one place
too many and disappeared with a trace -- leaving
behind his hat to nobody's great advantage.
Lacking a wearer, the headgear's reputation for
producing madness has rapidly diminished.
The march hare pulls off his change in a very
separate and seasonal way: the bunny's
bottom half somersaults its top to occupy
both his spot and the hatter's vacated seat.
The dormouse upon its latest arousal
is re-visioned to be small, but not much mouse
at all. He's plush with the long-in-the-ear habit
of a pink stuffed rabbit, which the crusading hare
furiously declares is most curious, casting
doubt on the vermin's commitment to "no room."
Alice remains foremost in tact and is given
a bonus of two spare feet complete with slackened
bootstraps. She keeps them and her other luxury
items well-sheltered behind a stout table leg.
The absentee hatter doesn't dare shame her
with a radio-show call-in decrying
the waste. She's generously agreed to
cover the medical expenses from his firm flop.
May 27, 2010
May 27, 2010 at 2:54 PM UTC
Tucked within the mountain of Promise, just past the forest of Truth. Runs a stream that glistens of dreams, and grants eternal youth.
Fairy's dance among the flowers, and sing a song of grace. Always adding into fable, another fortunate travelers face.
The stream glistens in the sun, and it's allure will steal your breath. One drop that passes through your lips, will save your soul from death.
Some will spend forever looking, desperate to stop youth from fading. Endlessly searching for this fountain, they waste life away crusading.
Be careful what you wish for, it's the warning the wind will softly tell. I'm forever blessed in beauty, but ****** for eternity between heaven and hell.
Mar 2, 2016
Mar 2, 2016 at 9:51 PM UTC
Behold merrily dancing eyes! moonrise-hued that delight in surprise,
Waterfall-cascading hair, sleepily stirring from a golden lair,
Heaven-glimpsed in leafy disguise, powerless to resist I surmise,
Elven locks frame an Eden-parterre, a majestic Springtime fayre!
Banished Winter’s-strife, unveiled a collective bursting into life,
Love, laugher and blossom hold sway, a dress-parade in full panoply,
Nimble Elven hands serve as nature’s midwife, their deliveries run rife!
This is no chaotic affray, but the Almighty order we never gainsay.
Their unbridled gaiety I watch in wonder, but I feel such an intruder,
Stiff limbed I shake off love’s-hibernation, a lifelong affliction,
Shall I be welcome I ponder, or will they flee in panic and anger?
Their joyous souls offer salvation, unleashed a grim determination!
A rapturous-smiled greeting! handshakes and hugs - our first meeting!
Blinkers-away restores my sight, from this embrace I must not take flight,
Alas! this is mere wish-dreaming, awake my face is aglow and gleaming!
This kinship-reverie serves to ignite, a joy and happiness so eager to excite.
Gone are doubt-swirling mists, hopeful lips plead to be kissed,
This alluring Elven-dream, lures me into passion’s fragrant-stream,
No more envy-bound wrists, as I fiercely battle loves-duellists,
Folly pursuit of Crusading esteem? no courage with a steely gleam!
My brow burns with the fierce rays of Summer,
My soul plunges into despair, with the decline and fall of Autumn,
My feet are mired in the cloying-clay of a sodden Winter,
But heart-contentment sings aloud with the uplifting beat of Spring!
© Robert Porteus
Jun 20, 2021
Jun 20, 2021 at 7:00 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
Crusading through veins like a chariot
Crescendo due, but wave fails to topple
'Till finally
Exploding heart leaves a lasting impression in the sky
Orbital beat progresses to white noise
Strata indistinguishable yet so familiar
Pause
Tunnel ends, precipitation returns
Old words, new meaning
Touched by context, light and shadow realign
Mood fitting
A gesture to ever-changing thoughts
Destination altered, switch rail
Distinct terrain yet of the same earth
Openly private
Comedy or tragedy, opinion divides
Aches unsoothed, request repeat prescription
Anticipation climbs, summit in sight
Air thins
Could this be the end?
Dec 29, 2011
Dec 29, 2011 at 4:30 AM UTC
Putrid sadism doth pulse through yer veins, wretched wickedness doth flow through yer heart.
I crouch and I watch, I stand and I squirm;
I run and I clutch, I jump and strike firm.
Crushing through the head of foul tainted charisma, bold yet unseen;
Crusading through the mouth of many a false word, existence contradicts the fiend.
I fixate on the eyes, evil gems fade till death consumes;
With one foul force down, the conniving fuck's gone, vengeance looms.
You now burn and you scream, the pain encapsulates my feel;
I feel profound and fulfilled, lit is the cigarette after my meal.
See you in hell I ironically thought;
For today I am the devil, and justice is bought.
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 7:26 PM UTC
Let us dethrone this ***** little clone,
put him back in the barn where he belongs;
next to the other dozen standalone stepping
stones collectively gathering dust to the dome.
A collection of crazies chasing overblown
daisies in a field of belated paraphrases.
"Three lines should get you going, Homie!"
Bite down, giddy up, breathe out.
It's savior of the species eager to embrace
the future,but skyscrapers rise like an
oases just to fold like Fathertime's wrist piece.
Where's your patience? Check the back pages.
What's a death race without 1st place?
Crusading sapiens pound their chest
while the invading aliens blend in with the rest
and I'm too pills past drunk waiting
for the impending blimp on your radar
to changling into a Deathstar.
Feb 19, 2017
Feb 19, 2017 at 11:19 AM UTC
In my mind I am a dancer,
Gracefully pirouetting.
My lithe body painting a picture on the floor,
Slender arm extended.
So enchanting that gravity gives up it’s hold on me,
and my leap sails like a ship among the stars,
and I might never fall.
In the mirror I am a fishwife,
Dully hawking.
My thick body smelling of the rotten wares,
Meaty arm extended.
So proletarian that dreams deny me,
and my eyes deaden like a ****** among johns,
and I might never look up.
In my mind I am champion,
Boldly crusading.
My strong body leaving a sea of blood upon the field,
Sword arm extended.
So formidable that fate fears to tempt me,
and my cuts fall like the wrath of God upon the sinners,
and I might never be vanquished.
In the mirror I am a *******
Feebly waiting.
My broken body seeming more useless everyday,
Emaciated arm extended.
So inadequate that movement massacres me,
and my lungs constrict like a boa around its meal
and I might never survive.
Nov 8, 2011
Nov 8, 2011 at 10:15 PM UTC
This ragtime band of crusading heroes, called upon to support the crux of contentious plot, designed to be ridiculed, ridiculed to be designed, holding the proportional strength of a thousand independents in their clutches as they march haphazardly onto silver screens, reimagining through a stencil the works of yesteryear, paying homage to homely men long unaccounted for, and damning the spark of imagination held at their conception.
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 10:14 PM UTC
Out of the corner of my eye,
I saw your feet peeking out from
Underneath the bed,
Dancing through the halls of heaven.
Out of the stained window pane,
Your grey eyes
Smiled themselves into my kitchen,
Occupying space on a vacant counter.
I know you are following me.
I spy your fingers crusading up the
Steps to my porch, each morning after
It rains.
I know your shadow watches me as
I walk up and down the same
Ghost-filled streets,
And wait for you to dissolve.
Oct 26, 2011
Oct 26, 2011 at 3:31 PM UTC
Which is my church with its green leaves, brown grass
and pine’s bark, all foresting in one motion.
I shall forest rituals of sacrifice,
but without Catholicizing faces drawn
from dark Crusading and my exiling.
Annaling to mark the sun’s solstice for Eastering
and holying days, the dew
coalescing upon the darkening and browning grass
at midnight and cooling air
arching constellations
and the mooning of the night: the cue
to lying for rest
by the small pool in this placing or
to strike, savaging at prey.
Owling as it does, darting as it does,
from a bed of branches, crying,
soundlessly shooting at a forest mouse, leaves
rustling for this night’s Nativity,
this one lifts its butterflying wings
like the soul’s silhouette
taken by an angeling force to heaven.
After owling, angeling, butterflying,
one must create Jesus as a verb.
Having witnessing these things,
limits are paining, as are knowings and doings.
The mouse must have been distracting
this owl from its offspring, thus it was Christing:
sacrificing itself for its children, thus fathering.
Seeing angels fluttering under the moonlight,
Hairshirting is my Church after living here,
after travelling through East of Eden in daylight.
Simplifying the Word---so heartwrenching---near
dawn or dusk, being as a penumbra’s cusp
I am Giotto’s halo in human form, keeper
of the haze, smoke, storm, and most of all, cup
from my own despairing.
Always there more to God than pain.
Churching myself is my work, thus by expressing
this foresting, owling, angeling, butterflying,
I narrate my life’s kingdom.
Only beautiful words for my Beatrice, Florence,
and re-Edening.
Jul 5, 2016
Jul 5, 2016 at 7:33 PM UTC
Time wasters
Talk circles around my rolling eyes,
Nothing escapes them
But the point
Which is now ground duller than their wit.
Once proud pinnacles of though
Cannot be distinguished from
Littered words crusading for air.
Sunken cities subsist on stale ideas
And move feebly into tomorrow
As they shake the claws of yesterday
Only to suffer today.
But new ideas breathe resurrection
As chaos polishes the rusted ring
And births a dancing star.
Nov 23, 2012
Nov 23, 2012 at 2:50 PM UTC
The whispering wind blowing in my ear,
bouncing off your voice, which I want to hear.
It distracts me like the cells on my brain discovering a new voice inside my head;
not letting me listen to your soft voice instead.
My eyes receiving the reflecting light
from the objects right in my sight
receiving the glistening light of your eyes,
unleashing an explosion of colors
that only compare to you and I.
The nose on my face gets a whiff of your scent
and like a hound dog on your trail, I find you
but the smells around don’t distract me
like the reflecting light
from your jewel-toned eyes.
Your taste has penetrated my tongue
and with it a satisfying sting
like the sting of an arrow
crusading through my heart,
and revolting the soldiers of love
so that they don’t care about anything else
but conquering your heart.
That’s the way you make me feel
but when I touch and feel
your warm soft skin,
it all seems irrelevant.
My senses don’t respond around you
they ignore me and just distort around you,
delivering a blow of abstract sensations
and giving me a hypnotic observation,
in which I get lost in your world.
My mind obliterated by your presence,
and when you wake me with your light,
our eyes get caught in an eternal dance
funneling my sight
into your eyes,
wondering…
"Why don't I do something?"
Apr 8, 2010
Apr 8, 2010 at 4:16 PM UTC
Wars are often fought in the name of justice,
but they are all waged to secure economic resources, and to give some internal worth to the crusading narcissist.
Mar 18, 2022
Mar 18, 2022 at 8:51 AM UTC
Tucked within the mountain of Promise, just past the forest of Truth. Runs a stream that glistens of dreams, and grants eternal youth.
Fairy's dance among the flowers, and sing a song of grace. Always adding into fable, another fortunate travelers face.
The stream glistens in the sun, and it's allure will steal your breath. One drop that passes through your lips, will save your soul from death.
Some will spend forever looking, desperate to stop youth from fading. Endlessly searching for this fountain, they waste life away crusading.
Be careful what you wish for, it's the warning the wind will softly tell. I'm forever blessed in beauty, but ****** for eternity between heaven and hell.
Apr 9, 2021
Apr 9, 2021 at 12:58 AM UTC
Out of the corner of my eye,
I saw your feet peeking out from
Underneath the bed,
Dancing through the halls of heaven.
Out of the stained window pane,
Your grey eyes
Smiled into my kitchen,
Allowing themselves space on the vacant counter.
I know you are following me.
I spy your fingers crusading up the
Steps to my porch, each morning after
It rains.
I know your shadow watches me
As I walk up and down the same
Ghost-filled streets,
And wait for you to dissolve.
Jan 31, 2011
Jan 31, 2011 at 12:43 PM UTC
Done blaming myself
Want to give myself love
That I deserve
Been fake
And treating badly myself
For far too long
Done being harsh with myself
I wanna grow
Although accepting myself
For who I am
I see the light in my eyes
I just woke up
Now I again recognize
My love and soul
I wanna give me the strength
I'm gonna need
I will be there for myself
From now on
Again
I won't be afraid
Of losing myself
Because
I'm here
I stop crusading myself,
I am still here
I see the light
In my eyes
It makes believe
I see the sun
And the moon
And I can breath
<3
Dec 21, 2018
Dec 21, 2018 at 6:40 AM UTC
Archers up, down below the arrows go
Kingdoms rise, deep deep below Kingdoms fall.
When the conquerors rose to claim the mighty throne,
When the songs were sang to the brave knights,
And the marching band crusading around town,
The innocent wail in shriek; "Mercy, oh king! Mercy!"
Mighty Powers up, may the force be with you.
Power commands, soldiers obey.
When the coverage is wide and loud,
When heroes return home to their families,
And the universe get bright and red,
A thousand women cry, they cry to be spared; "please don't **** me, please!"
Sons of the realm rise, bow down o' ye commoners!
Grace glide the above, battle struggles below.
When the affluent sneezes, it's the low that catches the flu.
When poverty is a disease and the rich have the antidote,
A million pry the streets, begging to be cured;" help, Lords,help!"
May 5, 2019
May 5, 2019 at 4:57 AM UTC