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Sarah Kunz Nov 2016
Cadaverous crotchety gouged out eyes.
Scalped trite and malnourished minds.
Where am I? What has this land become?
My vessel is gutted galled and splayed out upon the enflamed remains of our democracy.
I try to embody the equanimity peaceful   qualities of the lulling Gandhi characters before me...
But ****, I am angry, jolted and saturated in shock in fear.
Being an advocate for the people so dismissively marginalized, is what brings substance to my life.
I look into the eyes of my mirthful clients and future students, my heart winces.
How did I allow this to happen to you?  
A man who so boastfully incinerates and debased the citizens of our land with his farcical vitriol, is no man at all but merely an unsightly shrew, cozily cosseted in his world of soot and pooh.
The bosky gorgeous land we inhabit sobs in noxious fright.
To be despoiled and berated as some "natural right" splintered and tainted to allow the green cash river flow into the dubious maw of the man with no dignity to show.
A man who preens such a degenerated mindset is only aptest to a society in shambles.
Our global haimish home yearns for the equilibrium from which it was born.
In such a seeded tumultuous time my heart is seeped in reverberating sorrow.
Let your love and purity coat your vessel, do not let this barbaric man permeate your soul.
Hold steadfast to the testament of our land
True revolution is budded from a web of genuine connection, not devise brandished weapons.
Don't shroud yourself in misery, break free and be prepared to encite love with your authenticity.
David Barr Jan 2015
I am captivated by the pattern of a tiled staircase where fountain pens scribe forbidden texts upon spiral bannisters which lead to debased psychological states.
Do we have permission on this stage of trajectory, to fire statements into unfathomable corridors, which surpass today into the realms of tomorrow?
Dark figures writhe in the thick fog of eclectic séances.
I have engaged in nightly astral flights down the streets of blatant innocence.
Are you standing on the inside?
Bring me back from what is deemed to be modernity and bypass my voltage where uncertain predictability is a predictable uncertainty.
Love too strong for
those who bear it
is a curse invoked
by a deficit of worth.

It is not enough to
seek validation through
a proxy designated
Heaven on Earth.

With no center of gravity,
no anchor in character,
obsession is the limit
of the capacity to love;

Projecting impossible
desires and untenable
expectations amounts
to blasphemy of.

True love may not be
forever or easy;
parting may never
be pleasant to bear;

Love is not merely
what's pleasing or comfortable;
love is a crucible;
love is not fair.

Those fleeting failures
and moments of error
are chances at triumph,
a challenge to change.

Breaking our boundaries,
ballooning outward:
love is inevitably
savage and strange.

Unbefitting to cling
to the bridge that enables
a star in its wand'ring
to cross the abyss;

To carry the ballast
of vast insecurity
over that chasm,
untenable risk;

Or swallow the poison
of foolish dependence
on whimsical paramours,
obesiance thereof,

To be hung from the neck
by detestable premises,
weak and debased
by untenable love.
To learn how to love well, we must accept everything it throws at us - including heartbreak and thwarted expectations.
Sirens fly, they touch the sky
Still the trough the terror times
Making these, far and a fool
I am the better kind
Low and shame, they cut right through
Memories will be improved

So far and they melt, on stranger waves
Just one day, I won’t touch the floor
Skilled at deceit, misery made the fool
There is no need, laughter won’t be moved
What is real and what is cruel
Alone with the still tides

So sick of all these, such assumptions
Laughter is what saved the time
Please assure me, as seasons pass
The field will wreck the hide
Lovely trees, so far from here
They stood side by side
Bathsheba Sep 2010
I
Found
The
Belladonna
In Nana’s bedside drawer
I slipped some in my pocket
To even up a score
Later
He came knocking
With that smirk upon his face
Yet another ****** night of being
Defiled
and
Debased

My
Lovely
I
Call
My wicked
Ways are always here
Taking you for granted
Having my way
Because
There is
Nothing
You
Can do


I set the scene
In such
An
Alluring
Seductive
Way

Fool

Thought I was finally coming out to play

Incense swayed
Candles burned
He drank the drink
Then
Tables turned

Vermillion visions slice through the stagnant air
Cleansing me of
Ignorance
Naivety
Despair

She doesn't know
That bottle of wine
That
We
Drink
That her
Glass
Holds
A Cyanide pill

So

This smile

She thinks
Is
For
seduction

Hides

The plans
In
My
Head


Something’s not quite right  
I have a
Strange sensation
Why am I experiencing
Hell
Fire
&
Damnation

Evil starts to slither on my heated skin
Maybe he just slipped me a ***** Mickey Finn?

Feeling now bedeviled  
I take another sip of wine
Bachus sits there laughing
Regal and divine

Where did this migraine come from?
But I am here laughing
As she drinks her fall
****, I feel sleepy

Could she have?
No!
She wouldn't be that shrewd
Women can't out think a man
So she smiles with me
Rubbing her eyes

I ask her to dance
It will be her last dance


I sense strong arms caress me
Music fills the air
Fluidity of movement
Lays my soul stark bare

I beseech the cold dark eyes of this man that I abhor

As

We

Slowly

Slowly

Slowly

.
.
.

Concertina to the floor
Paul Sands Mar 2015
no more rush for the factory gates

or bleary welcomes after whistle led race

no longer the shouts of “what shift you on mate?”

and befuddled replies “earlies, no, lates!”

the comforting throng of familial mass

at the end of each day that held no disgrace

when a days hard work meant a days earned pay

something they somehow forgot to replace

as our livelihoods fled to cheaper climes

and our citadels of labour fell rotting, debased
simplistic words written back in 2012 but still pertinent in the climate of fearfulness, spite and hatred our so called leaders impose on us
Stone hall with concrete walls
Perched with colours of the crown
Ripped down for united minds

Dole queue patriots hyped with delusions of grandeur
Camped upon corners, moaning ****** ******
Laying claim to title of white line champions

Still the law sheath batons
Sharing guarded desire
With debased brethren

So united the occupied stand
Defying foreign lords who oppress ancestral land
Awaiting the day the crown falls defiled
And high flies the green, white and gold.
no emotionally ecstatic experience compares
   to the seminal instance
   whence spermatozoa
   (from profuse *******) beget

the miraculous propensity
   to procreate despite the steep odds
   female fertility fosters potential impregnation
   fusing the hereditary debt

of feral, fiery, fomenting friskiness
   fueling fancy free footloose fornication
   prior to seminal fertilization union
   sans ova doth induce fret
full ness in tandem with

   diametrically opposed exultant sensations
   (biologically, embryonically, microscopically,
   et cetera) seismic shocks inject  
when deliberate intent arises to disregard

   applying prophylactics choice
   plying reproductive roulette let
which analogous fruitful uterine plain
   bastes the "cooking" egg omelette  

which impregnation upends cessation of "self"
   first and foremost asper desire to breed
wrenching role of "me" as operative
   of webbed world de jure upon
   consummating that most miraculous deed

necessitating yet for the fecund female relief
   from messy menstrual cycle
   she becomes temporarily freed
that perhaps a novitiate (or even a gal practiced
   in the euphoric family, she instinctually
   abides prenatal signals that heed

without feeling debased, harangued, lectured
   pedagogical, polemical, puritanical, et cetera blast
assessing copulation enjoyed gloriously,
   ineluctably, kinesthetically
   lectured by elder, especially cast

in thee reel life drama, that nine months
   til offspring utters initial whimper
   elapses exceptionally fast
emitting a radiant golden halo wishing

   to bottle confluence of hormonal secretions last
ideally fully awake to the birthing process,
   when juiced the first stage of maternity past
cuz every moment thee inconsolably

   (perhaps colicky infant)
   gets first dibs to suckle,
   which round the clock nursing
   consumes moments many vast.
She steps into the room,
Timidity and grace;
Innocence and caution synchronized.
She feels you watching her
And quickly turns away-
But it's too late,
She's been defiled by your eyes.

She's just another pretty girl
On whom to feast your eyes-
Another helpless victim to your gaze.
It doesn't matter what she wears,
It doesn't matter what she hides-
The second you set eyes on her,
She becomes your latest prey.

A slave to your senses,
You mother ******* perv!
I hate you and all your twisted ways.
A ******* of duplicity-
A ravenous, worthless curr-
Twisted in your soul
And ****** up in your brain!

'Cause you've got X-ray vision,
And you **** her with your mind;
Defile her with your very gaze.
You strip her down and play with her,
Debauched within your mind;
Violated, objectified, debased.
I grew up with nine sisters. I love them all so very much. Growing up with that many women, I learned a love and respect for women that is all but lost on my male peers. It absolutely sickens me to see the way they talk about, check out, and treat women. It burns me with a firey rage inside. And it kills me inside when I catch myself falling into those same thought patterns. So, this song is as much to myself as it is to the rest of the men out there. When will we learn to cherish and honor women for the wonderful people they are, created, like man, in the image of God? It breaks my heart.
CH Gorrie Sep 2012
battered screws stripped bare by
a hundred thousand terrible twists
from an unsteady, inexperienced,
or overly excited hand
nearly rattling out of their proper positions,
hanging rather loosely
to the last threads of their holes.
fan them as they dangle,
fandangle!
but a blue gust from beneath
the anonymous and unidentifiable bursts
the shriveled scraps of low-grade steel
from their brittle perches
and
then one,
two,
threefourfivesixseventyeightmillion
clatterings invade all audibility,
heightening --- accentuating --- underscoring
each miniscule soundwave
                                                until there is not much more than
white noise, crack-
ling like a ruddy transitor radio
i probably never had
but only equate it to for lack of
another more proper, perhaps more appropriate,
even more...profound (?) word, or, whatever;
hardware indignationum!
what abuses we dish these inanimates created by us for us!, and, yes,
i follow all syncretic trends to
their phenomenal (and fusional)
morphological ends. if i didn't, how could
i know the neutered from the neuterer?
attend to the screws;
the debased, bemused, once-bedazzled little bits strewn on the floor and
frazzled. go on,
get 'em up, up
off the ground.
“Fiat” in Latin means “let it be done”
Yes, a “binding edict” for everyone
So “fiat money” means “by decree”
THE approved money for you and me

“Fiat lux” means “Let there be light”
God said the words, God has the right
But fiat money by leaders decreed
Abuses that role - if inflating by greed

Dollars are printing by trillions, it’s true
And all decreed money is inflating too
If “by decree” - debased money we use
Much of its value we can and do lose

Now you can use a “money” that’s new
Not “by decree”, so it’s freeing for you
Bitcoin is money that plays by the rules
Safe and predictable - no one it fools

The money printing, controlled by a few
Takes from the rest - not much we can do
You can use Bitcoin, by choice - not decree
Let’s make the choice - so we can be free
This is Bitcoin Poem 008 at BitcoinPoems.pro and you can see it displayed on a background when you (copy and paste the link below).
https://www.bitcoinpoems.pro/delivery008FiatByDecree.html
Carebear Sep 2018
A final letter I'll write,
For everyone to read,
For when I'm gone,
I will no longer impede.

A gun to the head would work,
But then so would a noose -
Tie it, hang it, and leave it for later.
Oh no, this is too loose.

I wish I could unsee it,
I wish I could unhear it,
I wish it never happened -
And I don't want to believe it.

Talking to her,
It's all a blur ,
For during every session,
I weep through her slurs.

I have been debased,
I have been misplaced,
And every time I see her face -
I feel like an absolute.

Disgrace.
“We are the US government”
We can print out of thin air
Mister Sherman says aloud
Which should be quite a scare

But yet he says of Bitcoin
(Amazing that he can dare)
That bitcoin isn’t valuable
But created from thin air

Bitcoin has a cost to make
A cost that can’t compare
To fiat’s cheap and easy flow
Debasing the saver’s share

Thank you Mister Sherman
For making us all aware
Of your Cantillon privilege
Printing money from thin air

Study what a bitcoin costs
To make one - with work & care
And you’ll see Bitcoin’s value
Come join and get a share

Thank you Mister Sherman
For helping us to prepare
As our dollars get debased
Since they’re printed from thin air
You can see this poem on a background here - https://www.bitcoinpoems.pro/delivery054OutOfThinAir.html
Look up Representative Brad Sherman Out of Thin Air
Emanuel Martinez Aug 2012
When I die alone
When you finally come home
There will be no point
(Us) We'll be long gone

As kids we thought we could
So we left each other behind
Surely someone else would enter our mind

The pain we've pinned to the wall
But our love we said it wasn't real, we let it fall
Cowardly, debased we withdrew

All the while salvation we knew, not
Disappearing from each other
Can we alone hold over?

When I die alone
When you finally come home
There will be no point
(Us) We'll be long gone

Emaciated by our hunger and our fear
We forgot how to bare, how to fight
How to fly in love not in fear

Our gears were disengaged
When we lost our mind
Our lovely thoughts were caged

Moving froward, our past is lost
How much did our insecurities cost?

When my love has lost its host
And your mind, my heart's trust

Then I will die alone
When you finally come home
There will be no point
(Us) We'll be long gone
08/14/12
Arbela falls into the hands of the castes of the Etréstles of Kalavrita, plummeting like lightning and surpassing the scorched farmhouses of extraterrestrial Mosul, into its intrinsic compartments. On the other hand, there was the power of Maceo, his Syrian, Mesopotamian, Medean, Parthian, *****, Tibarian, Hyrcanian, Albanian, and Sacesanian troops were immediately found, they were scattered like Leviathans disturbed by themselves and their debased Titans, in all execrations not specified of this avalanche, so that they are carried by their leading dean, and donated to their physiognomy as limpid preys of misfortune to be foretold for them in the exile of their bravery. Later, once embedded in the crevices of its stenches, they would search in the foolish emanations of the Phosphorus (Morning Star of Venus), showering it with the glories of the morning and its distractions, exchanging the decomposed inert matter towards the Achaemenides, incontinent to be bordered with all the fascinating dawn. Those commanded by Maceo; the commander of Darío, brought a heart to be transplanted from a wise Dervish who had set out to install it after conquering the epic feat, and its conjecture. They believed they were seducing their attached lords who supported their disconsolate ones, but they brought through the substratum of character that moves the incessant squeaks in the bitterness of the hemlock sheathed in the Xiphos, toasting towards the twilight to mark the retreat between lights.

Etréstles saw a lost proscription on the battlefield, expelling it from the divine heaven of Arbela. By the conferred Vernarth is adhered to in this round by caressing Alikanto by the right gibbous of his steed Kanti, this would cause them to cross in the same line, and give a split oppressive kinetic curve for the hyper spearmen to vibrate with the spin of twist their contracted masses, adding field at the tips of the sky to the despondencies and the static Persians. Thus they fought together close to the infantry, in a famous order, plagiarizing the movement and linking the ribs of the Syntagma's ranks from left to right, to fluctuate in the forces of their graceful Falangists with anxiety. By observing this Alexander Magnus, he redoubled his heavy cavalry and also challenged such a concert in the maneuvers executed by Etréstles, calling it "Diabolical Office", since they traveled inseparably in the Runes of circulatory movement and in the cardiac system or Kardiá, reimplanting it in the spin of turn back of the infantry and the cavalry, but with the entire mass of their blue lapis lazuli horses…, wheezing from their nostrils!

Auriga says: "Your venereal milestones come to disturb the new beings, they come to occupy your organisms with arrows on their bodies deterred by the magical quiver of Artemis, with new incarnations and manly gallantries"

Etréstles jumps from Kanti, and represses some militias that were surrounded, and manages to see Vernarth, to the sound of the noise of his transmission reloaded on the intimidated enemy. At times, he would hold on to one of his executioners to resist the pain in his ribs. As he clenched his sword vigorously and resisted the suffering that paled in his face but increasing the size of his arms and legs, to unleash the great booming voice of Sheol, which led him into the great stupor of the resigned Persians, then a whole is clarified in the miscellany it was of the fervor and pain of the expelled souls, to witness the amount of their independence consumed.

The lightened atmosphere of emptiness in the tunnel of the Profitis Ilias was felt at the top of the surface, where the entrance acroteria of the Hexagonal Progeny stood and trembled. Majestic gravitational waves struggled here inverted, seeping from the volcanic base of Patmos in vertices of physical fields and elementary particles, very similar to the caves of Gethsemane, in the suggested stop of phylogenetic mechanics and the establishment of phonetics, all embedded and propelled by the particles impacting on them, causing mass opposition in the internal void of the duct covered by the Iaspis saddles, propelling unions in progressive waves and in viscous fields, very dense when generated by the Christi Arms and the Souls of Trouvere. These elementary particles of God were submerged in excited basilisks of composite particles in the dynamics of energeia, preexisting already cited and adopted by Vernarth in his last parapsychological regression where he collided in the Higgs Ipso facto field. In the areas W and Z, rather in the W of Wonthelimar and Z of Zefian as patterns of lights without mass in their vectors that were attracted by the tidal wave of their matter, where the viscosity is perhaps, the confusing darkness of the fossil material, mutating by atomic energy from the starvation of the Febo Shemesh, or false Sun of Leviathan in its collapsed asthenia. It was captive of a viscous moraine that collided with each other, exciting occupations of the empty field, already typecast in the Higgs boson, and in the Wonthelimar photons that it had to spare, to be prone to the binomial W and Z, in the energized tangent of the shallow elementary bodies transformed into particles with mass. The interaction of the particles resembled the quantum field of the Garden of Gethsemane, with asymmetric and rocky spellings, which supremely became immanent in the trinitarian energy that absorbed them in their arrest, concatenating the converted tendency of the Higgs field into a physical structure. quantum symmetric, therefore in a perfect trinitarian triangulation of elementary particles, activating equidistant from their uniformity to each other, in all the spinning spins, and in the three ataxic angles of Zefian instability on the way to its fourth Bolt. The static yearned for the tendency that propagated in a fourth Angle, but this time in the Hexagonal Progeny, on its six sides receiving the two equilateral triangles, subtended by non-massive forces, that is; weak in the charge of a photon, but if it had to cross the field junctions that were suitable for listening to the physics of God. We have to understand that all dogma gathers interactions with the Diaisthisi or foreshadowing field, that it recovers the mass of all this, or that ventures the idleness of some silent particles that make up its weight, and it's mass globality related to its material existence, sponsored by the proton in a cubic meter if it is accelerated. The underlying field here on Patmos will be one of superior physics from the Higgs or God Boson, for the granting of mass and weight in the empty wind tunnel at Profitis Ilias, resisting the necessary ineffective light from the apocryphal Phoebus Shemesh of Sheol (Hades and Erebo), to constrain the symmetrical balance of magmatic basality of intraterrestrial energy, providing the supernumerary of it, converted into Light for the reborn world of the Apocalypse. The carrier elementality of the Patmos particle, in its context of quantum physics, will be listed as the Apud Secundus Finale theory, to generate interactions in space-time, which reduce physicality and delay when attending to its credibility, in the face of supra-abnormal events and carriers of their hyperactive dogmatic apathy, under the understanding that the graph of their brain activity is a genius of quantum physics, provided with massless energy, which vertiginously adheres to the protons of their consolidated physical force, turning it into an inert atomic kinetic element, and in a dynamic one of physical solidity. For all the solidities of the wasteland of the Apud of Gethsemane, this will not be consecrated as a mystery, rather it will aspire the just act of immense mercy of the body compacted in the emotion of feeling gravitated, and accelerated, transfiguring itself into an atomic elemental impulse, which crystallizes Creative Faith, that is, the Vernarthian Duoverse! The Boson is massive, all the matter that is conducive to it will be poured by the verticality standard in creation, theoretically predicting in the tree of physics, whose conduit hyper live between the root and its foliage, and will consulate the effect of its origin. , for greater challenges of your divine experience.

Song of the Libyan Sibyl (bis): “the candles will ignite, the Iridescent eyes of the Mashiach will sparkle in the probable mortuary settlement of Vernarth in the oasis of Siwa:“ Oh my warm breath of Libya that flatters my cheeks, and my shoulders that they rustle in the light of Zeus's callused cerebral coexistence. I sing for you my Didaskein; treating or teaching the bewildered flock that confuses the messages that were born B.C., not having a reminiscence of Irradiation in the mastery of the continuous shift, as it does not contravene latent ignorance, but does find it satisfied and effulgent ...!
Codex XV - Apud Secundus finale
jeffrey robin Jul 2015
.                                                        .



                         )  

(                




^~^~^~^

YE read a love poem here and YE think

This poem could not possibly

Have been written by a woman !

( though thus it is made to seem )



The IMAGE produced is usually one

Of a SATANIC RITUAL

Like in the movies

EYES WIDE SHUT

or

THE STORY OF O

Of a debased and humiliated woman

( though she is made to seem PROUD of the role ---

--- as in our love poems )

In some MALE DOMINATED SATANIC

State of helplessness

Naked

Chains attached to her completely exposed

Shaved and man handled ******

Being dragged around as a *** slave

Thru the flames of hell

With everyone gazing on

( as we readers do ! )

In solemn and religious poses

of profound respect

For the proceedings ! )

///

WHY DO THE POEMS PRODUCE THESE IMAGES ?

//

Well

They almost always depict a " naked " exposure

Of a woman's sexuality

( as if that picture is all a woman is ! )

Crying out in some way

To a nameless  and undescribed

MALE DOMINANT FORCE

( SATAN )

or /// as desguised in the poem , an almighty

( YOU ! )

To whom the woman is seen to be

TOTALLY DEPENDANT on !

::

Crying out so pathetically

For

A text !

A visit !

A touch !

To produce for her

SAFETY !

OBSCURITY !

( it's just US and no one else ! )

A MEANING  !

( as if she can't create one  herself ! -- poor baby ! !

BUT (?)
MAYBE (?)

OH (!)

HE ...  !

IS HERE  !

( thank god for him
Thank him for god !  )

//

/:/

What you see in your mind

Is the emergence of a picture

Of a

Pathetic loathsome wretch

( coming closer and closer !!

Clearer and clearer !! )

Surrounded by flames

::

Screaming

I LOVE .... YOU !  --- nameless Satanic Power )

BELIEVE ME !

( religious words ! )

HELPLESS !

DRUGGED !

CRYING !!

***** !

( thinking

Only the next **** will ease the pain of this one ! )

""

The image approaches

Explodes into BLOOD

And ends in SUICIDAL DEATH !

..

Such a picture !

Such a Vision !

over and over and over again !

/..:

And on   // HOT ONES

you might read

10 or 15 of them in a row !!

100's and 1000 's of likes

....

THIS IS HOW WE LIKE TO SEE WOMEN !!!!

( and no woman complains !!! )

..

So who is writing these poems

( WE KNOW ONLY PERVS LIKE READING THEM )

//

The only possible answer is

SATAN HIMSELF

come to debase and humiliate the SANCTITY

OF WOMAN

and hence

THE SANCTITY OF CHILDBIRTH

and hence

THE SANCTITY OF HUMANITY

and ultimately

THE SANCTITY OF GOD

;;

and we

The BROTHERHOOD AND SISTERHOOD

OF POETS .......... (?)

...

We  LOVE it !!
Frieda P Dec 2013
trust is better left out in the cold
when temperature changes unfurl
tend to excel when your back is turned
silence is titanium in the voice of
those who claim to be your friend
let the foe in them be debased
their tongues sterilized for contamination
Tripp Feb 2013
Oh winding road, how you twist and turn
me nauseous and absurd.
Make me question, make me think
Make me believe something I don't want to be true.

I know the game, and how it is
usually played:
you test my soul,
I test yours,
then see who will win out,
who first will fold.

Will not race
down this windy road,
will not make haste
lest life itself be debased,
for even in this nausea and absurdity
The turns are awfully exhilarating.
Lorenzo Creaghe Jan 2015
debased heads crooked in the grey city winter
tiltinlikethestreetsisrollinyoudownintohell
sidewalk shufflinlimpinstarindodginhidin
holdin the eyescloudedpaincloudedlifecloudednothing

swayin on a thruway divider in rags and solitude
bentbackbrokenbackbentbackbroken
wearin nevernewshoes and holding a pushcartcane
filled with onemanstrashisthiswomanslife

my bornagainsinglemama sees thepooroldwoman
we pass in a gotbetterthingstodothanpityyou engine
she doin the teetertottersendmetumblinintotrafficpleasehappydance
in our eyes she no more than a label, no more than her vice

butthewheelskeepturnin
wegotmoreworktodolifetolive
andjustl­ikethatshegone
ifsheeverwasthere
brandon nagley Sep 2015
i.

Debased, feeling unworthy, I was a shackled, debackled
Seeking, looking, yearning, in all the wrong place's;
Seeing a billion face's, none I couldst connecteth to
I sought a spirit, an unknown so true, one to maketh me alive

ii.

Betwixt the contour of blood and gore, that this place hath spilt
Lava poured downward, no smelling perfume's, devil endorsed;
I bit mine lip's from the pinch of the blaze, demon's eye's glazed
None water, none rain, as tis this dungeon was a devlish porch

iii.

In shock, mine pupil's rolled to the back of mine bone
I felteth left behind, none amour', none more safety abode;
BLASTTTTTTTTTTT, cameth a flicker, a Cosmos shaking
The earth quaking, beneath mine toe's, mine being felteth whole

iv.

I cleped out this stardust cloaked Reyna's name, O' goddess
Whence thou cometh, thee is it, I've known from past living's;
I grabbed tightly, to her Filipino strand garb, as I felt the falling rain stain's cometh down her cheek's, Hi Brandon, I'm Mrs nagley

v.

Kilig hadst grabbed mine inside's, as for with her I took a ride
We spaceshipped to the milky way, I met archangel's of divine;
Here was none time, just ion's of delighting peace, west and east
I bowed mine cranium, as I kneweth she was mine wife, O' life.

O' angelic saving wife.........



©Brandon nagley
©Earl Jane nagley/Filipino rose/ saved mine life dedication
©Lonesome poet's poetry
Julian Aug 2020
Articulate Throwback (Amazing Rap that Doesn't Get Enough Respect)
Fielding an eclipsed Jack the Ripper Sun
Yielding dismissal garish, begotten The Matrix smokin’ gun
Wielding a firebrand skittish
Skills levied an intolerable tax by quisling quoted British
Stunting on heyday levity marksman of primes
Flogged for flagrant dragons sinking nickels and dimes aimed beatific sublime
Flowing like centripetal orbit  galvanized by riddled spirits dashed in secondary impetus of reason over rhyme
Littoral swank partial to Taylor Series of dedications Speak Now peaks livid with fumiducts of crippled sheep blandished for reach
Apologies invited always welcome for a kitsch debased by universal theaters yet united for Payable on Death singing the deceit of receipts impeached
Islanders flooding suicides punning that a sunken treasure is barbs smuggling
Otiose on ribald corsairs blinkered by the rhombos of speculation thunder itself about lightning starts wondering
Where a City by the Bay shining on a Hill of travesties of decay tanks for domesticated Negros that flashbangs got to slay
To the wistful shaken house music garnishing the prey of prayer on heavy pulls of quotable 415 hay-day
The wrinkled stray dog never  far from *****
Slapsticks against the tribunes awaiting for meteoric functions of a recessive allele of a dominant comet
Ludacris flickers dancing in dormant revelry because On Top, Just Let Go..I am honest and On It
To the milk of harvested stars glaring at tankers and garish broken FaceMash scars teetotalers scatter with Thursday crashing into glass shards
Black fame is a white epiphany of infamy designated by name
Of the craven coltish spinsters who market the crackling whiplash of sanity apportioned to the regaled insufflation of blame
Streaky on a jejune Diggity hapless hop of Kumbayas etched by Trailer Park’s scalding flop
Glorifying a Gangester heir to titanic humbled beginnings chockablock divested to Kennedy’s dead Candy Shop
Impressive rags of riches of counterfeit tags blundering with lazy LASER Tag of sharks too bellicose to earn a pitfall pittance of swag
Trippin’ by tripwires too flippant to be flippin’ on known graves sidesplitters of treecheese yaggots grimaced on madcaps of bottlecaps swimming in ether of money too happy for House of Pain rags of gag orders intrepid because some blood is Bad
****** drapes of tapestries too woven on Ducking Badger duck tape
Pretending not even a slightest twinge of celebrity faked is a tantamount affliction to Kobe’s escape
Time to rig the 7/11 notoriety of a caper drawl in Cape Town Blue Sky Action can barely offer scrape
Let them eat cake and heads roll like Nicholas Cage clairvoyant in mystique quaking like a Quaker parody rank-and-file rancid graveyard creep
Cuz the best in the Business evokes singes of Dre grazed persistence a Space Rover rather than a broken-down drive-by Vegas Cheap Holyfield Jeep
Forgeries in trigonometric time gone haywire because ******* of fools is delicious neutered ballistic wrong with elemental statistic
Armed to the Teeth because twinges of righteousness is strongly established because it elevates truces well-predicted
Reckon the self-aware hive jetsetting with Jive warbles of departure yet to arrive
“Talk” of those fewer in knowledge yet living an invented diatribe
Lil Dicky mumbling his churlish codling vendetta
Too petty on the game like a turgid Mariah Carey Christmas Sweater evaporating on benzo bleats because exaggeration is a measuring stick more prone to delusion than the vapid version of Eddie  Vedder
Ripping through seamstresses of time a delope from impoverished cesspool grime
Certainly not swinging with sockdolagers like Musk as UPS owns insider angles about BitCoin riches scoffing at #11 Sublime
I owe respect to an upstart prescience scowling hatched never against fragile egg-shell minds
He’s the predecessor to the Walter White of cesspool inveterate rivets in hulking pretense of a measured stick lying like Tony  Hawk on the grind drawling on videogame addicts lost to numbers like Wall Street bet on fractions divisible like Scarface on cardinal crime
Blip on the WHIP cackles of clever pasquinade owned by sizzurp of Red Wings demolished like Draper balking at the West Coast ****** of East Coast royalty etiolating on Life After Death because of a teased script of March 26th shining bright like nine-inch nails longer than an exaggerated Dicky loving pollution more than Sina Loa loves bricks
Mad respect to juggernaut Michigan flow, but when you henpeck a rooster fewer regaled Ravens start to sing like Tomorrow’s sung by Sheryl Crow
So attack the kenspeckel hiding like sobriety itching to revel
Even the greats are grating despite prestige owned like Steppenwolf inventing Heavy Metal
Yet the raspy dengonin certainly a curtain call for the moribund smooth competition genius but not square to my elevated level
Time to brush aside, politics is a Velvet Morning rather than an Everest scaffold of glaciers divide
Flourishing Eden of a Seattle worthy of treason on rollercoasters yet to ride
The contumely of charlatans berating brassage is a Lie Boring in Federal Way united against prejudices scowling because Qwersy Mencia is too fraught to enjoy the jeers of a tattered Pride
Past-Tense Quinn in his Chauvin Blue Suit is Queer on The Bends
For a better radio the shatter of the quaff is Damon on the mendlatch for the rights of heroism among men
Applesauce is scary when the cooks are too chary for emoluments of cherry-picked vanity inoculated because hackneyed hacksaws aren’t that scary
To a Rush Hour acclaim that owes a Martian a fair-share of the inviolable degrees above freezing that guarantees the Hang Seng
The cretaceous dinosaur livid in the Fields of Dreams lives to the honor of the author rather a subsidiary prosperity rooting for the same exact team
Credit belongs not to slot-machine jibes of Navy throngs because the sealed pedigree of a Potemkin stonewall ravaged an Atlanta March that Richard Sherman found himself wrong
Ripostes of wavered glory serenade Field’s Medal accolades jaunty with brimstone repartee for persecution of Sing-Sang jailed avuncular Dana Carvey
Crumpled in missives etched decisively by Popcorn paparazzi Lee Harvey Oswald Part Three dinging Reagan’s Drugs because belittled Batman and Robin Harvey Dent is on a defalcation spree
Limited by the gambit of orbit I flex space measured only by perception hourglasses mistake for Dewey Decimal ministry
Because mountebanks of the tramontane canard unscrewed by Donkey’s without the triumph of vindicated colts spew the unwarranted without the warrant of upright parlance
Deflecting the useless caricature of Jezebels they barely even know dancing with fisticuffs choleric with jaundiced illuminati chants of an age bracing for the venom of viper’s of gratuitous pretense in violence because the whittled conscience scourges footloose profligacy in dementia that owns probability rather than certainty but doesn’t stand a chance
A billowing toxic fume of a Trojan Horse of galloped complicity of headless horsemen too scared to even pinprick the average Brett Hume huffs like mad wolverines dancing with Buccaneers for the fidelity of bridled brides with a tailored or sloppy groom
Cowering behind plashy starlets dashed for authenticity too soon
The Red Robin Hood ****** of silhouettes of Caste system indecency is reduced to reductivism in peddled paranoia of Randall Graves confronting his deepest specious tomb
To rogue slipshod miracles of denuded ice for Christopher Reeves Wally World White in Simple Jack owleries of confiscated light they caper encaged Caspergers ergotamine flavored favor uptight
Glaring prince dashing Rusty with ***** for Hummers glazed with donut torus hummus swift with reverend repartee
Sunken sleepless abyss ghosts haunt for quaffs evanescent in backbone bliss incurring parted sight for nebbich sprees
Calculated by persnickety prattle brazen with bravado promontory sparked on the flames of an overhyped hysteria ablaze
Raisins aren’t the determinant of a blinkered starstruck page gilded to amaze
Formidable reform conserved against blasphemies of ****
Withstands the immutable geotaxis of inevitable backfires in limited scourges of scorn
Time to sacrifice the badge earn the primacy of trimleggers making a dash rushing for hourglass sand prominent in fiat flash
In a second a trampoline against a specious marvel is a sour remorse of a crusade turning into protection not found in autumn ash
With autarky righteous rain boogies against bogeys of golfers livid with sensational inane
Lunacy predicated on sensational maudlin labors of Genesis 3:16 birth pain
Incurred upon the toil of the lugubrious heights of teachers that defy tribes and stripes
Soldiering for God without even the slightest nefarious mercenary spite
Because Ledgers cannot be mistaken for legends because petty battles Abandoned Pools named were avoided for Nobel Prizes of moonshot fame never King Kong because 24k magic called the Hang Seng  game enter stage right
The thematic liberation of the freewheeler isn’t a combustion of truckers Ruckers allergic to chattered shame
But the time honored Sevendust defies blisters because a brave heroism leaps into legacy vaunted by cheery repute in winning hegemony against rigged fraud in frigid feral tames
I march to an inaugural chance without a chance of quick inauguration because Junetao is a duck-duck-go childish flicker against Amsterdam Vallon besides the church with a touching spectacle of solidarity beyond temporal Anacondas of deserved blame
An ally to the kitsch the prosperity of Nas is afforded to optimism never so fulgurant because of a bewitched Tik Tok twitch
As the true flock regards the true shepherd the guardian of wonder and the captain avoiding Yellow Submarines because Stayin’ Alive is a prophecy not a febrile contagion of germs pitching tents for flukes insistent on incident rather than honorable to Canada Dry on Strike for better than a bubble gum mumble rap of Lil Pump’s pruned humps for a ******* ghost rider rather than a profaned itch
But the camel survives because the needle doesn’t thrive in a world where God is always Stayin’ Alive to strike a pose for the voguest Jive
“The Seduction” lives and the corruption limps with glib bribery fibs because 2 Timothy 1:7 in autarky is a generous rhyme that  gives and gives
In endless crusade to beat like David the ***** of a poker miracle that stars in a showcase of a life of splendor eternal rather than a cursory kamikaze reckless fib
Its time for  abundance of life to be lived fully to truly find riches in the best possible life winsome in discretion to quake and yet remain immune to a Walgreens of Stonewall myth
Cast not the first stone against the immaculate Giant because everybody is shaking to Bond and Saint Joseph’s guarded wordsmith
Harri Jul 2018
I am a woman.
Or so I'm told.
But how can I be a woman,
When the me in the mirror
Doesn't match the me in my head,
Because I just can't comprehend
Seeing ****?
When I want to peel my skin off
Because it itches at the seams,
Of the stitched in expectations
Of my ***?
When the people all around me
Laugh and say “it's natural”
When I dare to express my discomfort,
And it seems I'm the only one
Who struggles with the day to day
Of existing as a “miss”,
And my name doesn't fit unless it's shortened?
So I strap down my chest
So you can't see it.
But still my face screams woman,
And my voice
And my hips
And that ever ******,
Mother ******* “MISS”.
I know my **** are still there,
Their discomfort physical now,
Not just a mental ache.
And every month I bleed,
And it's like my body's betraying me.
But the whole world says that's just the way it is.

I'm tired of the way it is.
I'm tired of your boxes.
I climb out of one
To be kicked into another,
Not a woman, fine.
So I must want to be a man?
I must want to join the ranks
Of the people that have disgusted me,
Debased me
And repulsed me?
Of the people making sport
Of the gender I have lived with?
No.
No.
I won't live with a gender,
With your ******* expectations,
Or your games
Or your stupid little boxes.
Pink,
Or blue?
I LIKE ******* BOTH.
I want hairy legs,
But not a hairy chest.
I don't want ****,
But I don't want a ***** either.
I want long hair,
Without assumptions I'm a girl.

I want to exist outside society.
It's broken.
Reece Jul 2012
I am a broken toy, discarded with the rest
The annual termination of symbolic relations,
One more on the heap

Purple coloured 'flowers' intermittently scattered
My flesh, forever debased
Yours, barely tarnished

This is hardly a new game to you
It's been roughly twenty-six months since your last true victory,
I came ever so close to being worthy of you.

Days pass, I mourn our partnership
Lachrymose daydreams of a lover so governing
I plead for transcendence.
From the soldier in Ancient Rome
To us, in our present home
And, in all the world around
We want money that is sound

Sound money is not debased
So our trust is not misplaced
Because the supply is bound
For money that is sound

Sound money’s authentic ring
Heralds the value it will bring
And you know when you have found
A useful money that is sound

Sound money will not inflate
Which is fiat money’s fate
Bitcoin’s code is quite profound
Creating money that is sound

Highly secure - and stable too
Open for everyone to view
King of assets it is crowned
Because it’s hard and sound
This is Bitcoin Poem 021 at BitcoinPoems.pro and you can see it displayed on a background when you (copy and paste the link below).
https://www.bitcoinpoems.pro/delivery021BitcoinSoundMoney.html
jeffrey robin Jul 2010
the random onslaught of
typical words and
topical themes abounding!

sustaining the conventionality
of thoughtlessly living psuedo-life
to the  full extent of our inability
to communicate truth with eachother

all the real words have been erased and  debased
as we accept the abuse
heaped upon us by professioal thugs
and the ad men they  hire
to keep us addled brained and
thoroughly confused

a state of mind it seems
that we find
most comforting
safe and of course
family oriented
pixar people insted of  those of
flesh and blood

or driving stock cars
round and round and round
and round and round
etc

******* instead of love

yes!

pornographically presenting
bare meaninglessness to
the un-world of  the dead

un-words being un-said

day after day after day
David Barr Sep 2015
Show me the forbidden petals of your dark side, where enlightenment pulsates with her superior intellectual reliance upon rationalism.
What are the parameters of absolutism and relativism in this age, where I have discoursed with austere figures of the debased brotherhood?
Can you wrap your fingers around the girth of societal modernity, and stroke the length of paradoxical sophistication where philosophical death displays her unfathomable depths?
I have found resolution to this mathematical perplexity amidst our blatantly secret desert storm, where the cosmological clock ceases to denote her tick beyond the circumference of our interior sociology.
Looking back to the future – what do you think of your first love?
As we gather in the sacred circle around ancient and dreamy wishes, the spectres of dark forests are worthy of homage on this calendar season of historical significance.
Limp, is the phallus of political rectitude.
There is something beautifully menacing about the sound of bass drums, especially whenever there is a cultural context.
Do you know why? Because, they are connected to the melody and harmony, where the fullness of ontology is climactic in its lofty debasement.

— The End —