"darwinian" poems
…*in every visible character man differs less from the higher apes,
than these do from the lower members of the same order of Primates*.
Charles Darwin, 1871
The Other claims descent from apes
then acts like a violent monkey.
It pillages, it loots and rapes
performing as Satan’s flunkey.
Its actions bear the mark of Cain;
brandishing cameras, smashing things.
We feel its proto-human pain
yet dread the urban woe it brings.
It tries to justify, with words
its primal carnage, childish rage.
With anthropoid designs deferred
it struts the Darwinian stage.
The higher primate government
rewards them well in ripe bananas
for wrecking their environment
(jungle as well as savannas).
Their mate selection (naturally):
a semi-simian solution:
intercoursing sexually,
to hasten their evolution.
The wombs enlarge—they drop their young
then text their friends while getting high.
They swing from tree-tops, fling their dung,
while down below the humans sigh.
Sep 17, 2015
Sep 17, 2015 at 7:00 PM UTC
The American said: let's drink the words.
She was so right.
A loquacious gin & tonic
An acerbic Darwinian daiquiri on ice
A French martini disrupted not stirred
A mojito muddled in abstinence
A Belfast bomber & brimstone
Love on the Rocks with perpetual dissent
*** on the Beach with a dash of chilli & lime
***** scorpion splashed in ironic ascension
Dark *** stifled by the sting of a disturbance
Love scented petals infused with tequila worms
Salubrious shots of Sambuca
Absinthe toasted in lunacy flakes
This is my bar.
Choose your poison wisely
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 4:34 PM UTC
I love the majestic ugliness of the Eucalypt;
Aesthetically more appealing in its twisted, gnarled appearance
Than any uniform northern conifer;
Infinitely more adapted to the unforgiving antipodean climate
Than those idealised European deciduous living monuments
Still transfixing our collective view of how a tree should be.
Those dropping leaves allowing scenes beyond;
Those tendrils of bark denoting Darwinian fitness;
All tug at the heart of we new Australians,
Conflicted, as we are, by sensibilities born elsewhere,
But borne, nevertheless, into an Ancient Eden.
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 3:29 PM UTC
Creatures, minions,
Fish evolved to amphibians,
Funny how one could turn into millions,
Words and idioms, Darwinian to oblivion.
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 2:42 PM UTC
i.
if you attack the darwinian
supply & demand...
who the hell is going to be
homosexual?!
you just attacked hetrosexual
males,
i don't feel like paying politician's
taxes or making children...
thank you, no, bye bye;
women never sang of beauty, they
merely shouted about it:
a father's hands in weeping
crafted a fountain
of the son's clouded approximates
that gave unto us spring's joy
whether that be an abundance of water
or colour.
ii.
if i can't laugh into the night,
and think of the muse,
then i am endeared by your
want of sleep, as a vitamin loss;
oddly enough there are only 1.5mg
of potassium in 100ml of water,
and old ladies
think there's a concern for potassium
imbalance when you drink too much
coffee,
and have to drink excesses of tomato juice
to balance the "books."
Dec 13, 2015
Dec 13, 2015 at 9:58 PM UTC
Before I could be taken to Mount Moriah
before a ram could be found to replace me
before I was a redeemed first born
the ram was left unsacrificed
the redeemed was lost
and the first born
became the last.
And all the martyrs who were lost before my birth,
are still lost despite it.
I have become a singularity
a new word in an old Darwinian lexicon
an irregular verb
without plural
or future tense
unique in every respect and definition
save all who would follow after
and not be of me
or ever could.
Aug 29, 2016
Aug 29, 2016 at 6:39 PM UTC
A room.
Need to displace to move.
Arrangement of places you’ve been
******* you in like some Kansas twister that swept you off your porch
just after you open the door for the first time today.
I awake from a dream.
I don’t remember what was said.
Clumsily laying letters over felt footsteps.
A semblance of something too big to tell you.
I cannot move it but I’ll say whatever to mean it.
A body subject to the wind
ringing against the world, accenting the edges in sharp cries
like a dinner bell that never rests.
How’s the sky taste Major?
You think Bowie really cared for karate?
Only superficially because in some perverse way it was a form of art.
A Darwinian heyday exhibition for the human condition.
I’m alive ************ let’s keep it that way.
In every way.
Don’t want to be too narrow.
Need some space to move.
The past that comes to us now,
first came from our future.
Even the ones that wilted under the shadow of satisfaction.
Even the objects flowing through this wicked light show of so much contained in three tiny axis’
Please chart your love according to x y and z without dimensionally reducing the picture.
Don’t worry darling I’ll wait, remember it’s there we first met.
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 9:44 AM UTC
Your blatant onyx stare transfixes me
Plunged into a deep dichotomies of guilt and persecution
Naked under your primordial gaze
Liberation pulses to my core
The passion floating in your eyes is more then have the drones I know
The tendrils of your long grandmother feet
Wrinkles dictating the violence you consumed
As you lay collapsed between holes in fences
The grip on my notebook tightens til its painful
Our staring contest has turned deadly
Meanwhile the one in the next cage is creating a disturbance
Tracing circles with his finger tips as he swings
His tale attached to the conical world vision
You are not like him
your toenails turn black as a tarnished weapon
Maybe it is you that has adapted
My eyes look vacant in your reflection Of shock and conniving references
Your movements contort logic
Teleportation from within
The steps would break me into fractures
So ill-suited to this wild world for which you were born
Nov 30, 2010
Nov 30, 2010 at 9:28 AM UTC
Paper ***** flew around the classroom
masquerading as a cricket ball
Hit as hard but managing to hardly go anywhere
The chaos in the class would soon end,
as the diminutive figure will walk in, book in one hand
Prying eyes trying to catch the laggards
shuffling back to their seat and
pretend to be very obedient and behaved lot.
The pinch, the hit on the arm with ruler, or the words
will bring about absolute silence,
masking the transient pain and shame,
that will soon followed by snickering comments and giggles
from those who escaped this time by their agility or luck.
The pencil boxes will soon start to play multiple roles,
like the actors in a play on a tight budget,
Transporting bits of papers with probable clues to the
questions put forth, the wrong answer to which,
could lead to repercussions of varying degree..
Like standing outside like a flagpole,
but failing to act as a deterrent to us incorrigible lot.
Lunch time will be like an oasis in the day of claustrophobic pedantry
where the darwinian principles will be set to test,
hands drawn towards the most delicious tiffin boxes,
the rightful owner of which will be lucky to even find a morsel
But however mundane and monochromatic sometimes those time may be
Looking back its was all worth it
when we could pick after 3 decades later where we all left off
and engage in hours of debating, leg-pulling, sarcasm, enlightenment
not withstanding the boundaries of time, space and temperament.
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 7:40 AM UTC
As a newcomer
To this premier
Website for
poesía,
I
Get
Motion
Sick
Ness.
From seeing
The disdain
And despise.
Seeing other
Poets young
Old, couraged
Bold, happy,
Molds in
Their prime. Get bullied by other bullies.
By fanatics who ****
And maim, while their
Heads are held up in shame.
With a halo of pain
Murdering one
Another.
I seemed to have forgotten
Aren't we sisters
And poetic brothers,
Yet giving hatred
For hatred!
Not healing
Its
Wounds.
I believe in a powerful
God who loves, not based
On a theory of Darwinian
Baboons.
Message not clear
To
You. We are indistinguishable.
With the same red flowing through our arms.
Hearts that beat
With homes
Alarms.
Some drive cars
Others can't afford them.
Some have high class suits
Some are poor,
Some handle food
Some open doors.
Some journey
I want to explore.
To the point
The
malefactor and villain
Is not the ones you
Choose to
Make smaller. You only make them BIGGER
As your size
Capsulates as a pea to the wind.
Your the same you killer of poetic flame!
YOU ARE THEM.
So stop Killing
With words
Of no
Knowledge.
Start shaking hands
Saying good Job
Poetic muse
Of earth wind.
As you slay
And think -hey-
Maybe today I won the fight.
Always
Remember
You ****** yourself
Slowly
And that piles
Night by night.
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 1:51 PM UTC
*i wait all weak for the newspaper sections i read to arrive,
the magazines of sat. and sun.,
the style section, the culture section, and the news review,
things that matter to be honest.*
i wonder why people want brave ethnicity,
they want the long ships the arabs do
listening to viking metal,
the vikings want peace and quite,
but with global capitalism
and the defunct national socialism:
if only the jews weren't involved
the single pathology, all those able and nimble,
we get no ethnic bravery,
we only get citizens and astronauts,
the only exploration geography is empty and vast
space, and since we're using fossil fuels
we're exploring and destroying at the same time,
like the olden days: plunder and pillage mechanics,
but we're waiting for the other exploration
dynamic, where almost everyone is involved:
turn an autocrat to be paired with a tsunami
or an earthquake and you get panic,
pair the tsunami / earthquake with democracy
and you still get panic...
pair it to a theocracy and you get theories
like evolutionary history with the time scale all
too wobbly extending too far, people
think of gooey eggs easy in 5min,,
but monkey to man in 5 minutes - where's
the adaptability issue concerning?
the darwinian per se dislodges man's
adaptability concerns - historically it was going
to be either Stonehenge or the Giza pyramids,
darwinism dislodged man's adaptability
to future concerns by favouring debate of past truth
and whether mathematically speaking:
the geometric beginning of x, y, z, was
a will to live from the standpoint of (0, 0, 0),
denial of denial creates a propeller, kantian
given 0 = negation.
instead of being as darwin stressed evolutionary beings,
we've become historical beings,
with 24h news reels, with celebrity culture,
trying to piñata nazis... japan conquering with karaeoke
singing... loss of story telling...
with intellectuals trying to pinpoint and in an arena
of plagiarism agree a historical date
where dialectics is impossible... because something
is cited, circa, and the circa defines one person being
wrong and the other person being right...
evolutionary analysis made us so overcome by our history
we're trying to live a single day out,
but in 24h news reels no important historical event will take
place... i call it historical insomnia...
as a scot might say: eh maytee,
das est shovel of ***** (linguistic allegory: shy kite)!
Jan 19, 2016
Jan 19, 2016 at 7:22 PM UTC
earlyish
in the mourning
the moon
begins to rise
to the
dirtiest
consorting
in the room
between the thighs
forbidden fruit
from a filthy city
that ruins lives
so the troupe
snipped ribbons
ripped ties
flew the coupe
and found suit
elsewhere
Hell
thought it was provoking
when they
caught em
smoking loosies &
tagging in
elementary school
bathrooms &
peeping ****** movies for free
mercy me, a perturbing
flea ridden circus
ballyhoo at
high noon
just
look between
the alleyways
like pearly gates
adjacent to
& facing toward
the gallow stage
saved for traitors
& may I say
these are unhallowed days
triple x files.
furious grady stiles
walked the
daily eighty miles
to the liquor store for
his quick pick or maybe just
a curious
eye sore for bored out tricks
on the nearest corner &
the queerest gory ***** flicks for
a nickel a dime a quarter
&please;
- mind the camera -
hammer
sickle
sanskrit
star
prison bar
stripe
flock stickered on
the flickering light
mock bicker then its
quiet on the farm tonight
doesn't seem right
the sicker sheep seek
sleepless nights
in the street
took Darwinian flight &
a diving leap
to diamond minds
thicker fleece &
meaner teeth
drinking on cheap forties
sneakin up on sweet
***** mother glory
lordy.
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 4:27 PM UTC
The funny thing about memories
is that when you find an effective
tool to blot them out, say a bottle,
A bottle of whiskey, a bottle of Valiums
a bottle of white out, they adapt and
change like some Darwinian monster
come to fill your mind and heart
to the brim with ink like longing.
Jan 5, 2013
Jan 5, 2013 at 1:16 AM UTC
*the controversy swirls
creation opposes evolution..
does new dialogue suggest
new truth in sight..?
those creation days with
evolution eons backdrop
seem as quantum jumps..
yet within those days
find sequential building..
an evolutionary microcosm
in our genesis..?
then in evolution's depth
some leaps appear
fossil record blanks..
quantum microcosms
in darwinian time..?
perhaps a middle gestalt
quantum evolution..?
third eye discovering
new Light...?*
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 13, 2013 at 11:35 AM UTC
early morning and
we will make it fast
with the words and
training awakened
thought. of Heaven,
of Hell, of destruction
concerning elder proph-
ecies and speculations on
the existence of man for
the past couple aeons.
and prevalent forces flow
through energetic lines of
muscle mass, each a heart-
string of the wholly vessel
not yet turned carbon. and
now we repeat of prior state-
ment of I the Destroyer.
consuming of the firmament
so that the rest of the yeast
is thrown into some Darwinian
existence. (of which, I probably
eviscerated actual meaning)
consume, consume, and move
onward towards a larger chunk
of the firmament. and early mourning,
early turning on of the greater light
that is the electrical charge of
this vessel's circadian rhythm.
and moving on, moving back into
self-reticence. and i give myself,
i give myself alone. and please,
oh please, destroy me of what
i once was of a past life.
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 7:30 AM UTC
i.
Creation's not of mistake, nor of
Natural selection, we art not of
Darwinian theory, nor of
temporal direction.
ii.
We slumbereth neath the
gipseian bleujaday, captured
By the great painter's hand;
King and queen of the mid-
Night crave, wax of glim's
On crystal stands.
iii.
Eurasian ether, creational
Blend, the mountain's do
Shaketh, when heavesia
Commends.
©Brandon Nagley
©Earl Jane Nagley ( Filipino rose) dedicated
©Lonesome poets poetry
Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 9:03 PM UTC
Does love have a purpose?
I can see by the look on your face
that you've never asked yourself this question.
Are we drawn to one another
by benevolence or want?
Is love selfless or self serving?
Are we pawns on a Darwinian game board,
the slaves of genes, or eggs and *****
And what if you and I knew the answer,
would you still love me, and I you?
Jan 22, 2011
Jan 22, 2011 at 10:43 PM UTC
My virginal shoulders could only support so much thought,
Before they succumbed to that virulent, green Iblis.
Sons will be what they are, and what they are taught:
A morality drawn to the image of Darwinian fitness.
Casted in His image, but then caught in the net,
Stretching chained hands towards freedom, just to see it sublimate.
Never a seat at the table, but always a back for the Debt.
And to be born of this blood is enough to incriminate.
Shoulder blades tremble, just at the sight,
Of the burden born from that first gasp.
Left with no map, friend, or eyes in the dead of the night,
But have no worries, He loves the first to the last.
Goddamnit! My knees have collapsed and split,
You sit unattached, removed, indifferent on my chest,
But it was you! You are the one who started all of it.
And when names were called, and the cards were down, you just up and left.
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 9:26 AM UTC
Place where what you believe and what you do take separate roads
Atrophy of the mind... consuming confusion condemns
Ready to rear its ugly head
An anamoly by definition; it does not fit like
Darwinian Judeo-Christianic fanatacism, gay priests, holy ******
Only making sense in reality but never in theory
Xray her mind and you may find a holy ** hoping He'll heal her
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 12:43 PM UTC
"do you have what it takes?"
-to simply put it, no.
i am a failure in darwin's eyes,
a freak to show.
there's no spark of flame in me,
no catalyst for innovation.
i just lie in a sort of dull pain,
lost in translation.
not quite meant for this life, maybe there's another.
the sun flares up at me, and all i want to do is duck and cover.
i am the moon on a black night,
when there are no specks of silver or wisps of angel breath to accompany me.
my light is not mine, i am not a child of clarity.
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 8:33 PM UTC
Foolish beetle, rolling a ball of waste,
Do not you know your feces has no worth?
What a waste of the precious gift of life
In light of bright white stars and vast blue seas,
There is so much more in the world than dung,
Alas with indefatigable grit,
Perhaps a curse of Darwinian perfection,
You pack and push your single earthly thing,
From place to place. It is the only life
You know or have been taught to know.
And though I want to pity you, small arthropod,
I too know how it feels to wander on one’s own,
Wondering why and when the time to quit
Amassing an incessant ball of ****
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 8:04 AM UTC
What is the evolutionary benefit
of loneliness?
How does a
Darwinian thinker rationalize the
disconnect between intro- and
extroversion?
Our world is generated by
our need to feel as though
we are together.
Not alone.
Not solitary.
Not separate.
Not disparate.
Still alive.
Still here.
Still breathing.
Still seeking the heartbeat as it
thrums through our souls
and echoes across a pillow into
the eyes of a dispassionate and
apathetic lover.
“maybe love is just muscle memory
a body next to a body
you just react how you learned it the first time.”
An empty bed full of two people waiting
to believe, maybe love is just that.
An empty bed next to an open window as curtains
flutter and we plummet past the 23rd floor
together.
Hand in hand we fall through the surface and
become a tuxedo with tears and bells standing
in front of strangers without faces reciting
lines from ancient vows written without words
in the air that floats
between us.
And it goes Dearly beloved.
Barely beloved.
Barely here.
Why do we pretend?
sorry
And it goes, Dearly beloved,
We have gathered as a people around
the need to find another with which to
fall tumbling through a woven tapestry
of inaccuracies, ineptitude, an incision to
free us from our search.
And it goes, I, the seeker,
take you, my apathetic, beautiful witness--
to have security in knowing I am now tied
to another. Not unique, but made
to hold until our until our bodies run out of time
and our sense of humanity waves to wither
to dust to nothing to death to dust.
And it stops--we transcend ourselves
into melting wax and darkness while stars poke holes
in our blanket of lies when we lay for our
final sleep. We rarely go together, and when
there’s time, we search again.
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 9:22 PM UTC