"debunk" poems
allocation of supreme alliteration illustrates perpetual contemplation and concentration that dictates a maligned mastication of federal incarceration of elongated complementary probation leaving you cuffed and based on baseless accusations conducted in aboriginal abbreviations masked task force concluding a course of brevity conducted in coordination then coordinating and copulating condemnation for a homeostasis of thought bought scolded eroded and shot inefficacy perpetrating cultural holocaust irrelevance somersaults galactic static of mathematical bombastic smack addict glued shut in a craft attic floral resurrection gartered section of ****** selection she moves fluid through unaltered perfection of cosmic bypass past the point of extemporaneous infinitude reciprocating fortitude of sinews congregating fabricating visuals of vitality soldering axonal membranes on the cerebellum and cortex simulation of sensual vortex demented fusion more blessed I am that which stands to understand the incomprehensible unconsidered options of racial conflicts the screaming round of unaltered copper fiber severing life from the living only now can we debunk the years
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 9:01 AM UTC
Wicked nether-land. Nether world, white, askance. Capitulating mangroves, verdant trees spliced with hyperbole, onomatopoeia, and manilla envelopes; her world is stuffed with secrets, she listens to gorillas cracking mussels a kilometer away, near a rill. Never she thought. Nothing that could provide....providence. Mangled heliographs sprayed all over the everywhereworld.
"Don't be S.A.F.E.," she whispered. A bouquet of gorse, cistus, and pimpernels squished in her small fingers. She climbed her way through the pedimented stairway, then collapsing on the porch. Legs spent, and spread out upon the desiccate grayed four by four planks of the portico.
And as time elapses, the shuttering shake of the hemlock, which writhes through her skinny nimble dactyls, upwards straining the heart as its toxic bends appendages- crisp cerise lumens bend on the Titanium White walls, where only shadows bend time. The hour, still nine. Every adornment, furnished with red and its hues. Not purple, periwinkle, or any masked enhancement.
These are the symbols that reticulate splines, that curve temperatures, perverse hemispheres and debunk worlds. Upped antes, verbs that terns flirt worth, birth words. Ooh. Aah. Camera. The forest wraps her in its verdant pasture, where at last the moribund tamarisks disperse.
While at the plateau she is quiet and longing. Arms astride, dangling. Vaunt with highs and bliss- a kiss of withstanding pleasure serves her the cure for a lifetime of whining. This, yesterday where her body rattled through crooked vines. Square ships toasting her vocal melancholy in the sweet-waters of Time. So that all of her ripened limbs could grow, no more sheepishly than the magic she knew as a child. Stress free. First among the Earth-words, verbed-up and made jealous by pronouns that encompassed her joy-brimming hide. Closing down her voice and hugging her from behind.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 4:44 AM UTC
This is not a poem, a poet wrote some white lies about Israel and I want to share the truth that we’re not told by our media’s.
Remember, we can disagree about things and still agree about a lot of other things.
If you search, you can easily find this information.
Most of it comes from Israel media.
Israel already had over 10,000
Palestinian prisoners locked up long before the Oct 7 when the genocide begin.
Men, women and children in their prisons with no path to freedom.
Not to mention the open air prison that the Israeli’s kept the Palestine society trapped in for the past 50 years called Gaza. Committing human rights violation against the indigenous people of the land.
The biggest percentage of all the people that were **** on Oct 7th, were killed by Israeli’s killing their own people because they were ordered to follow the Hannibal directive.
I suppose you’ve never heard of that, no? Then your news source is limited.
Last year in Israel, their high court decided that **** and torture in their prisons, being committed by the Israel army was no longer illegal. Most of their society did not want these prison guards to get in trouble for torturing and ****** the Palestinian prisoners.
All those things you claim some unnamed source told you, have already been debunk by many credible sources.
Hamas did not do it, Israel rapes, cheats, lies and kills indiscriminately. They own our leaders using AIPAC lobbist who have Trump by the *** (They own Epstein’s library)
AIPAC is the reason you believe lies. They own media and congress.
Their propaganda rules the networks.
And just in the last two years, Israel has started war with Iran, Lebanon and Syria.
And of course their genocide happening now to the people of Palestine. I don’t understand how anybody support them. But I’m not a superstitiously impaired Zionist either.
Jun 27, 2025
Jun 27, 2025 at 12:29 PM UTC
We had a really fat bird in the morgue last week;
We had to put two tables together
Just to accommodate her bloated mass
And the funeral director said
She'd need a specially reinforced coffin
And a flatbed truck instead of a hearse.
By the way, I think I should debunk
That legend about fat chicks appreciating it more;
She just lay there, like all of the others,
No sign of gratitude what-so-fucking-ever.
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 12:14 PM UTC
Nigeria 🇳🇬
A lot has happened to you since 62
You're a year older, and still most of your kin hates you
They forget how they may not exist without you
Yes! You are on the brink of hell,
To say your name has been marred with gutter
An act from most of your children
You have suffered the injustices of men
We hear cries of your children in the North
Thousands of hooligans in the South-West
There is so much bad blood in the East
The Middle Belt doesn't know her role or who to follow
Your name has been berated all over the world
Your currency, at the brink of death with the stock market
Stolen funds for those who can grasp it
Banditry for the suffering Masses
Illegal mining, yet no one is talking about it
You have suffered bickerings from people who want to _Japa_
A fluctuating forex makes it no easier
They blame you for their atrocious behaviour
They sometimes forget how fertile you are.
Nigeria!
From East-West and North-South, you have suffered injustices
For decades, you have been subject to malicious governance
Battling all levels of inflation, subjecting your people to abject poverty
Yet the rich get richer, and the poor? More Jejune if you ask.
At 63, I want to fight. For your children and kinship
Fight for your soil and regain your strength
Battle with these injustices and insecurity
Bring down inflation and take back your crown
Debunk all forms of evil committed with your name
And fight for a better 64.
Nigeria is great, Nigeria will be great
Nigeria is our father's land.
Happy Independence Day, Nigeria 🇳🇬
Bellah.
Oct 1, 2023
Oct 1, 2023 at 3:59 AM UTC
Typically, statistically impossible events
are often called miracles; for instance,
when three classmates meet
by coincidence in a different country decades
after leaving school, may be considered
miraculous. However, a colossal
number of events happen every moment
on earth; thus extremely unlikely coincidences
also happen every moment;
Events that are considered impossible
are therefore not impossible at all —
they are just rare, depending on the number
of individual events;
It was British mathematician &
Cambridge University
Professor John Edensor Littlewood
who suggested that individuals should statistically
expect one-in-a-million events i.e., "miracles"
to happen to them at the rate
of about one per month.
By Littlewood's
definition, seemingly miraculous events
are in actuality commonplace;
The law, framed by Littlewood,
was published
in his 1986 collection, A Mathematician's Miscellany;
seeking among
other things to debunk
one element
of supposed supernatural
phenomenology
& is related to the more general law
of truly large numbers,
which states
that with a sample size as large
as the totality of reality,
any outrageous thing is likely to happen
Sep 1, 2018
Sep 1, 2018 at 2:06 PM UTC
So here's another story, of hyperbole and glory.
The words of a soul at 24.,
But the game's not done, it's just only begun.
Let's just even the score!
If life's truly a garden,
Then it must take **** to grow.
Instead of letting the top soil harden,
It's time to reap all that I sow.
Won't struggle to tread water,
While being caught in the undertow.
I'll float and tread, not fish food fodder,
I won't let my weakness show.
So if this is to be my destiny,
And I'm bound to this by fate.
Then take from me this soliloquy,
Cause I no longer harbor hate.
It's draining always fighting within
Internal conflict and silent debate,
But through dialogue rebuild can begin,
Because so many others can relate.
The haunting truth of misguided youth,
We feel weak in fate's cruel hand
But through these cries we debunk their lies
Side by side our friends we stand.
Feb 14, 2017
Feb 14, 2017 at 9:45 PM UTC
Here I sit.
Clutching this ***** little transfer slip
As the darkness sips the light
and the sky's absorbed by dimness
I ponder in the nightlight
As my self-knowledge reels,
A database of feelings
but which holds the most appeal?
A choice of voice
with little indignations
of different vocabulary
stopped by writer's block syndrome
Cork a drain
Unplugged and let the hounds run
After the ********
After pilfering caskets
Who know their own fear like a monkey knows these branches
snap
Trip wires over wiretaps
Who's the fool now?
and whose shoes must you fill?
When the working dogs debunk the formerly favored gods
and ham sandwiches for the ill
Except those who prefer vegetation to the pleasure loaf
Expressing superficial favorites came down a bit
from last year
After hipsterism destroyed all previous conception
of what "cool" is and does
So soak another moniker
'til the loathing and the faithless
destroy those of us with names
and replace a kid with numbers
Can you reconcile that?
Or count lies 'til they pass as facts?
In politics
Deprived of all that whatchacallit
Respond a lofty little miss
who won't take bribes or bacon bits
who's tripping all the time
and uses fresh air for narcotics
I see her
The same albeit as she spies me
I ask her as a comrade
What in confidence she accumulates
As little life and dictators
would sell me but in reverse
A pause
She responds,
but does so gently
And in a softer tone than she uses with the game-players
Four words one chooses not to forget,
"baby, beware of naysayers"
In fever dreams
The city sleeps
and wakes with a dose of DMT
Daytripping inconclusively
Is yellow to you as it is to me?
For a people of productivity
surely feel no joy.
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 1:26 AM UTC
There are days where the world makes me draw a blank, where nothing fits and all I do is think all ropes struck split-ended and torn no paths cross no links and certainly no endings. A trail begins and the hill drops down steeply low below my groans and moans of pain and distraught - I'm forced to appeal, to let them go. Jump! Jump! And I draw a blank.
Sometimes nothingness stares back at me; looming over me and my thoughts - overbearingly present consuming my mind until there's nothing left but this stark stinging sound scratching in my ear
I’m forced to itch an itch I can’t reach; unfulfilled and tense I’m annoyed and aggravated, in agony and anguish.
These days, which seem to last weeks, cut deep into the abyss of my memories;
who I was supposed to be. A dull glow of an image I traced in my mind steadily peering over my hollow body haunting all the squeaks and creaks of my joints.
I'm spooked by my naked brain bubbling pointless noise.
I lay lazily through my creepy trance as vines that held me tight debunk from my nerves. Painfully they un-tie my paralysis and I let my lungs pound the roof of my mouth with ghastly chokes of cursed air. Hours of mindless screeching.
I'm free!
My breath eases up
and my soul finally gets to explore
the deep universe I see
when closing my eyes.
Aug 7, 2025
Aug 7, 2025 at 1:10 AM UTC
*"Every existing thing is born without reason,
prolongs itself out of weakness,
and dies by chance." - Sartre*
What is easier, life or death?
Some people think this is a simple question.
And I'm sure for some it is, a straight cut to one side or the other.
We know so much about human life and so very little about death.
Some would call it an "easy" way out from the constant struggle of existence.
But how many of you here on this world wide web are truly embracing your struggle today?
Are you following "the plan"?
A plan?
Birth, growth, assimilation, "education", indoctrination,
out of the womb and into the classroom,
graduate and start your career,
retire and die.
Isn't everyone proud.
I mean, think of all those soothing, sedating systems
put into place to make your life easier to avoid.
Much like the screen you stare at now.
I've, as they say, "suffered" from depression my entire life,
and as one of those chosen people,
I'd like to debunk the myth.
The loom of death breeds a lust for life
like nothing else I've ever encountered.
You appreciate every little nuance
and at the end of the day
you're grateful.
Unlike so many "happy" people.
But you also know the utter meaninglessness of it all.
And it makes it that much harder to swallow
when everyone doesn't realize the opportunity they have
every single day.
Most are complacent, content as cattle, lined up and waiting
for slaughter.
Until they're looking death in the face
and wondering what the **** they've been doing all this time,
in this line.
But I do not look at those other chosen people who've cut the tie to the physical plane
with judgement, pity, or shame.
Their bravery shines.
Everyone deserves an out, because so often people stay in out of selflessness,
out of attachment and obligations, to friends, to families
but will you deny them forever?
Give them their peace and think of their great example often.
All of life is risk,
you're always on the cusp,
every day could be your last.
Death is the final frontier,
an adventure unknown,
and wanderlust is strong in some.
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 3:19 AM UTC
Diadem of dreams keep him keen,
In the lost world we walk,
We debate the last Holocene,
Then we split, came the fork…
Lonesome fingers, slip emerald thread,
I stare yon window,
Knitting some spell, helps me forget,
Drink lavender tea to grow.
It tasted bitter in the Winter,
So sweet when in summer,
Lukewarm come last November,
I can’t drink it no more.
They call me Lavender, loved ones,
You tried to debunk why,
Until you kissed me under the sun,
Love can make you so high.
The day you picked my last flower,
I was not a maiden,
You took from me ancient power,
My heart simply waned.
I took to the stars, took to the cards,
I became the Hierophant,
I looked to my sun, to my Mars,
To my Moon and Venus.
I’m imbued with the Crone’s wisdom,
With a new mindset so,
To understand conflicts new and old,
I’m healed, stronger, a Being of Amour.
Speak with me, drink flowery tea,
On the phone, speech may hurt,
Together, it’s ten times as sweet,
Call me, Lovely Lavender X
Feb 15, 2021
Feb 15, 2021 at 12:33 PM UTC
You don't see many medallion men
I wonder at times
what happened to them?
I watch movies
eat popcorn
scorn *****
and once
off the Horn of Africa
in a force nine, I
was washed overboard,
thought I was toast,
but the coast guard
on the least guarded shore I know
saved me.
That paved the way for God and me to come to an understanding which was
he understood me and I understood nothing
which again I understood having been an understudy
to a life of no study.
it was good he knew that.
Woolworth's went too,
like a paper shop it just blew away
but the high street's a low point on some graph
that the merchants have made for a laugh
it doesn't make sense
you can't spend pounds and pence
when there's nothing to spend them on.
I'd prefer battalions of medallions
and shops by the score
an army of high streets and
two armies more, but even the
Army and Navy can't save me
and they used to be good for me,
God you see
takes precedence
dislikes things like
impediments
experiments
and all things that
debunk his
glorious
magnificence,
likes to be called
his eminence
I
still can't find many shops on the high street though,
it's a miracle that
I don't understand.
Nov 6, 2016
Nov 6, 2016 at 1:50 PM UTC
The world gives birth
to Monks, Locksmiths and
mocked Rockstars…
All live on Earth
to debunk false myths
and cockblockers!
Mar 5, 2019
Mar 5, 2019 at 7:20 AM UTC
My low horizon caused me to miss the big scene. A glittering bauble sitting high in low places.essence.
Ding.
Drug.
Poem.
Debunk
Oz.
Stop loss in training.ask
Zero.eBay, ssh.ahhhhhh.Poem.
Echo.Echo eco.Edo.do pose.pretty.da.da.
Rorschach.
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 11:35 AM UTC
Don't they all want to believe it
wanting to be venturous and bold
well little kit kits
it's hell to get here
Wear cuts still bleeding
scares that never diminish
so do you really want to be
like me... venturous and bold
Come if brave and full of *****
see hells that you can't debunk
know my wings still bleed
for the sad bigots you are
All around do know me when they meet me
be aware I am not one of you
for I fight wars cold
venturous and bold
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 7:22 PM UTC
The Random Woman, your Holiday's young
Bid her Watch at this timed Cuddle promote
Knowing you, our Pride of the Flag has sung
By her Grin foretell such Hero connote
And what did you do? With a Hero's Lump,
Tongued her Gestures lame and tagged it Humble
If, by right your Mimosa's space debunk
Turned the Dollie's plans to Knit you, stumble
She was just being Nice. With you bestowed
The Banner of her Country's Hope agree
Which, at least a pawn, a Rose-Bud you owe
To subtract her Friendly Grudge and be free.
She means you well. Shows her flip of her hat
A Model. Period. And be where it's at.
Mar 16, 2013
Mar 16, 2013 at 9:25 AM UTC
In the quiet
I hear the mumbling sounds of muffled words
The voices of strangers
Not close enough to understand
But the vibration
The tinkering richness that comes from spoken word
Flicker across the drum
Quick
Like sounds of life outside a car window
It vanishes
He hears it too, shooting off
A rocket across the bed
His soul green eyes flinging off the light of headlights
Ears stretched wide
It comes again
My mind straightens up
The body ridged..
Hoping to hear that mad sound again
Wanting it to make sense
Like so many t.v. shows
Debunk the mystery..
It does not return..and only the goose flesh
Plus the sentry movement of yet another feline convinces me it was real..
Oct 2, 2017
Oct 2, 2017 at 2:30 AM UTC
Love
Knowledge from college
Cannot explain
What love is
And the process of pain
Pop music knows nothing
About Love
We must debunk
Psychotic ramblings
From junkies
Love is liberation
Love is giving not taking
Love is not enslavement
Love is liberation
From the chains of
The 'Me' generation
Sean Hunt
Windermere April 2015
Feb 15, 2016
Feb 15, 2016 at 12:22 AM UTC
As I sit here in my bed,
I think about life.
The daring natures
that are thrown at us from afar.
The temptations entice us.
Like predators,
they hunt out our fatal flaws as if it's just our human frailty to give in to such nonsense.
Leaning closer to such temptations with curiosity dripping from your eyes,
you cant your head to one side.
And you become mesmerized by the demonic allurement.
These forces attract you and involuntarily haul you into their fallacious lies.
Now you've been brainwashed,
and don't know right from wrong.
These lies indoctrinate you,
and teach you their tactless ways.
There's others all around you,
but you don't seem to notice them.
When they try to help you,
you become oblivious to what's going on.
You rarely let others in,
only when the cacodemons take a break.
Others try to debunk the situation for you,
but you see nothing illogical.
Only when reality hits you,
do you become scared of what it's done.
You pretend like nothing happened,
and the vile temptations realize they still got you.
They start to reel you in again,
starting where they ended off,
pretending like nothing ever happened.
As if you never tried to escape.
But....
each time they get you back,
it becomes harder and harder to abandon them.
Jan 5, 2024
Jan 5, 2024 at 10:49 PM UTC
Elevate me, bring me to a separated plane,
That would culminate my thoughts from somewhere between spiritual and deranged.
But ok, debunk yourself from stable,
From making magic between the tragic epiphanies; reversed serendipity to cradle.
This traffic of ideas tesselate the snake train,
Elaborated in definitions of tapestry and fake names.
Wallflower, with no protest to bonemeal,
Kaleidoscope of diets from eggshells and chlorophyll.
Hmmm, this brain food's a drug inducing misdirection, that holds no compass but somehow still sheens a cruel reflection.
Of course, consolidated losses, juxtapose the crosses,
Sway the form of faith to a diluted array of traits. +
And when the gullets a game for gross concoctions,
It's obvious isolation and failure seem the only options.
But anyway, with a sober mind still intact,
I could follow lines of letters from loosely to exact.
Clearly there is no sure thing, especially when the puppet contorts to the willful rhythm pulling at his own strings.
Look how far we've come, from willing to unable, that would shatter any semblance of cards still on the table.
Oct 20, 2017
Oct 20, 2017 at 2:52 AM UTC
unkempt neck hair
dancing in the fan breeze
pleased by the sight, I push up my sleeves
and seethe while sieving the encrusted cheese cloth
elderly resin glands scratch like sand
and the blandness of the disease seems to squeeze
any meaning from the motion
ocean waves graze mutant toes as wind blowing
snow globes throws devotionally challenged
prose writers into a delightful tizzy
thin lizzy in the background sounds like
barking dogs at the drown pound
and unwound knitted sweaters look better
when wetter than investment bankers at the swankiest of parties
sour smarties in plastic hats use poorly ventilated ski masks
basking rashes in priceless sashes bat eyelashes at lasses during mass
and the catholic priest has ceased to crease his pleated trousers
mouse traps snap shut in front of the bunk beds
her trunk of junk likes crunk juice on Tuesdays
and I sit, drunken, trying to debunk 9/11 –
Oct 7, 2015
Oct 7, 2015 at 5:22 PM UTC
In my mere existence,
I have developed
my own diseases
One of them
sprung from my
fiction
fixation:
It happens when I begin
to “know” someone.
Being a human of extremes,
it’s either I’ll
exaggerate
or
underplay
my perception
of a person
Basically,
it’s entirely
my fault
why i’m suffering
from my own delusions
Of course,
all this time,
I knew that
I’m just
into the you
I made
inside my head
but you can debunk
me
if you want
Aug 8, 2014
Aug 8, 2014 at 1:40 PM UTC
Note this my cohort,
debunk what junk crusts your eye
Dig up memory of that first trespass
Loyalty sworn to innocence why?
Note this disease given between my thighs
Come by seek now dolor of blistered
Note condemnation, impressive tongue-lashing
Note my enemies' constant rehashing
And how must I rehabilitate rapture?
Like lamb offered in sacrificed slashing
Yet given my pride, note my superb devotees
Partiality given as they come and go with winter's breeze
Note winter's cold and me on my knees
Between two thieves strung and nailed
Note glory of how love tried but failed
As lamb of sacrifice last breath exhaled
Apr 16, 2016
Apr 16, 2016 at 9:21 PM UTC
And it seems to me I'm on a completely different frequency,
Out with my blood and insecurities to be told silently the belong back into me,
So here's another night made under the name of pain,
Another night to take what's left of my pride to make,
Another mortal, useless piece of song,
To take away the pain for another day.
Then another try in another day,
To try to debunk what the voices say,
That my words won't claim back someone's stay,
But they proved to be right in most ways..
I'm rolling over,
To cry in the corner,
Remorse is hitting harder,
And I'm falling over and over.
I'm rolling over,
To try to not be a loner,
But hope's hitting softer,
And I'm losing over and over.
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 4:20 PM UTC