"decimated" poems
i see the words floating on
message boards or perched
upon the lips of jocular hypocrites
double-standards that demand
sensual chastity and virginal sexuality
in endless iterations of irony
the concussive
monosyllabic words
slung like stones
cast like arrows
****
*****
*****
all labels for
women possessed of
the courage to pursue
their own passion
once upon a time a
Nazarene insisted a ********** had
more integrity than a rich
statesman throwing self-serving parties
so tell me why so
many Christian politicians
propagate patriarchal notions of depravity
in blanket attempts to regulate
the bodies of women
if being anti-choice was really
about preventing abortions
why do rich right-wing conservative
Republicans spend all their time
and money picketing free clinics
when the solution lies in comprehensive
****** education universal healthcare
complimentary birth control
and comprehensive child support
don't dare use the reprehensible
rhetoric of pro-life unless you're
at once anti-war
and anti-death penalty
riddle me this
what pray tell is the
difference between a jealous
religious misogynist
and a secular sexist
it's rather simple actually
while the former bases his
slut-shaming on the edicts of
a two thousand year old letter to
the Corinthians inconspicuously
sandwiched between a celebration of
love and a section on speaking in tongues
the latter’s learned behavior is
birthed by a hyper-masculine culture
grounded in dominance
either way we await the day
when wild women raze
these ideologies
with torches before
rising like phoenixes
from the ashes of
decimated passages
dismissed by intellectuals
as archaic and outmoded
deaf blind and dumb to
the vestiges of modernity
that sap unscientific
philosophies of their potency
and render them utterly obsolete
in their wake
these proud women
erase the hate
from words like
****
*****
*****
and reclaim equality
with a far more
comprehensive term
feminist
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 11:50 PM UTC
I am a fortress.
I have withstood wars that should have broken me.
Burned down and decimated by the mindless,
I rise up from the ashes.
I stand with my body, eternally.
I am strong.
My thighs are battle grounds trodden down three times round
and they're blooming new flowers,
mending from those who fought over them far too long,
my thighs have super powers.
I am soft and sultry sweet,
full of vulnerabilities.
Nature proves if anything that this will never make me weak.
My eyes once snuffed out are blazing brilliant brightly now,
rivers of tears have been filled in,
replaced by peaches and cream and skin.
My arms are solid protective forces,
my hands, tangible whispering caresses.
I wear my broken bits on my *******
puffed out chest with pride,
for I have nothing to hide.
My feet take me to and from all the places I've ever gone,
and my mind,
my mind, it tries. It tries so ******* hard,
and my heart cares so much that it shows
in every scar and battle wound,
in every mark that was ever taken as a flaw by boys who never saw
that without the storms I wouldn't glow the way that I glow,
every boy who told me to 'go with the flow'
like I couldn't learn a **** thing for myself.
Still, the lessons people preached did teach me a thing or two,
just not what they usually intended,
my face doesn't face up to face value,
belief is most beautiful when suspended.
My eyes see lies better than my thighs do,
yet resilience sees to it that both are mended,
but if there's anything I've ever learned that's true,
you should never leave anything open-ended
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 7:35 PM UTC
You were my gift,
Soft, sweetness, little one,
Eyes of moon and ocean
Hills of creation, of shadow
And bread. In your nakedness
I fled the earth and bathed
In starlight and dust at the end
Of the forever of the sky.
In that silence,
Of exploding cosmos and vapour,
I fell, feeling in your smiles the suns
Decay, I felt light beyond
Its barrier, and was decimated
In the gravity of the neutron
Blue of floating eyes in separation.
Your faraway orbs were lost
To me in the frozen dark energy
Of shunted light and the cold
vacuum of space.
It was my birthday
And you were set on leaving.
It was my birthday
When I nearly died.
Jul 11, 2012
Jul 11, 2012 at 11:45 PM UTC
I sat in history class
Must have been
My senior
Or junior year
On the screen
Came horrible things
Emaciated
Decimated
Human beings
Numbers tattooed
Bodies burnt
Gas chambers
Stories so cruel
Years after we read
Anne Frank’s diary
But no one really had a clue
The pictures
Were part of a documentary
Made to remind us
Of human insanity
Skin and bones
Broken men
Barely left standing
Human suffering
I couldn’t help but cry
But behind me no one else did
And then I couldn’t help but wonder why
No one else felt the same sadness in it
Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 6:26 PM UTC
I've spent a life creating fortune for those who've either never seen nor deserved it
Decimated by wanton want for more, or decaying senses wrought with desolation and desire to simply be known, I've caused strife within myself for the sake of others being fulfilled
I've spent so much time creating, ready to give myself to a world that's only seemed to cause destruction to my own soul, and take from me the things I needed most, even if merely conceived through empty wishing
I crave to bestow this strength and wisdom to one who would call my heart home; to be equal and stand as one, through synergy and servitude toward every sense of well being, respect, and care
I do not ask for more, I request nothing but trust and honesty; my affection, admiration, and loyalty lies upon the eyes that see me true
I do not expect love, nor frivolous diligence, I simply wish to no longer misplace my purpose, my admiration, or my faith unto anyone that would never see me, or never care to desire such staunch resolve within their heart as well
Dec 29, 2017
Dec 29, 2017 at 3:12 AM UTC
My friend and I talk about it
Neighborhood got decimated this year
One after another the corners of community are gone
We touch the elder memories
as one might touch a head in blessing
as loved ones pass
We linger longest over John
Found dead after ten hot days
by other-worldly hazmat crew
flanked by cruisers
with their special, yellow truck
and zipper bags
...found 'im
glasses folded neatly on the night stand
in his jammies
all tucked into bed
No one thought it strange
that strange young guy would die
already decomposing in his head
Lost
among his personal effects
his fleet of rusting cars
and half-assed projects
Deck tacked to garage
his herds of “pets”
Easy to pretend he wasn't really there
between jail stints or some imagined threat or theft
of crap
haunted by the shadows of his persecutors
caught in motion lights
and cameras' blinding evidence of
jungle-jumble and malfunctioning alarms
going off in the wind
Everyone's out to get his stuff
We could dismiss him--
mostly
sorta
...except for times
he mowed his grass at night
or hand-built “the lunatic tower”
just for mom
from scavenged scraps and
hammered hours
power-sawed
through the housing codes
and horror
of the neighbors...
...Such a special spectacle...
******* crazy-- John!
He was enough for one day at a time
like when
he flung that threatening bolder
on bilco doors
for percussive effect
"Get off my fuckin' property!”
(not using his “inside voice")
“Next time, that'll be your head!!
He announces his intent
to not get mad, behave himself
to call the cops on me instead
Fake-dialing
While his mother screams in dread
“John is off his meds!”
My phone is set to speed dial
911
____
“How did we miss this?
How did we not miss him those quiet days?”
How we miss him now
How quiet
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 4:18 PM UTC
Technological zombies,
faces buried in phones.
Laptops attached at the hip.
Imagination has run dry,
video games have become the creativity.
Stone-cold hearts replace love and compassion.
People hide behind their computer screens.
Alienated from society.
Superficial people forcing their way
into big businesses.
We are the mindless, thoughtless.
Social structures crumbling,
and hierarchy destroyed.
We are the technological zombies,
brains decimated by electric power.
Oct 9, 2012
Oct 9, 2012 at 9:49 PM UTC
My garden once was green and lush.
Until on mass there came a mush
of leaf munching slimy things.
Vegetation annihilating thugs…
…an invasion of Spanish Slugs.
I’ve tried to stop them but I can’t.
They’ve decimated every plant.
In my shrubbery they dine like kings.
Sombrero wearing baronets…
…proudly clacking their castanets.
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 11:45 AM UTC
I am worth being valued for existing
Not only in the moments
That I become relevant, necessary, or useful
For lustful, celebratory or inspirational insanity
I am not a lollipop or an exotic destination
Stop exploring me *************
Because you salivate over this Hispaniola
Beautiful island desecrated and decimated
How many beautiful spirits will you make savages
How many pure rivers will you **** blood on
How many conquests will you claim a stake in
How much balance will you disturb and subjugate
to the trauma of your transitory exploration
There's no impunity for conquerors
Who taste, plunder, disguise disapproval in their apologies and move on
There's no impunity for conquerors
Who pick and choose who's worth
Of validation, when, & how
There's no impunity for conquerors
Who play with men and women
Hierarchize their prey
But fail to acknowledge
Their man-child whitewashed
Hidden agendas & rigged market values
Conquerors haunted by the trauma they've caused
Will not be absolved by the revolution
Neither will the revolution be the breast
That heals conquers who are traumatized
By the realization of their own fuckery
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 5:29 AM UTC
A fragile shell of what once was,
decimated beyond comprehension.
Shards of a old life slipping away,
into the silent empty space.
Memories of loved ones,
eluding desperate hands that reach and seek--
For what is buried beneath the dust.
Submerged in perpetual darkness,
the stars have lost their light,
the moon has lost its glow.
Every infinitesimal shard of your very essence,
is engulfed in the empty space.
The empty space that exists outside time,
awareness,
and matter;
Hides in the desolate corners of your mind.
A invisible fog covers your soul,
stealing it away like a thief in the night.
And you are left unreachable,
a blank page in a book full of blotted ink.
The ones who loved you with every breath in their lungs,
surround and overwhelm with tear filled eyes.
Utterly helpless as you disappear.
Years pass,
and
you
Fade.
Vanish.
Evaporate into the empty sky.
Dead to yourself.
Dead to the world.
Dead to the ones who loved you most.
And though your gone, an empty space lingers in your wake.
-Esther L. Krenzin-
-Roguesong-
Nov 11, 2018
Nov 11, 2018 at 9:21 PM UTC
I, naive
I believed that the break in the clouds
Was the end of rain
Thought those rays of sun weren't burning
I was lying
Myself in the grass,
Asking if the tulip chutes in Anatolia
Were the same sinking green I feel now
Where were we?
Love for a thousand spaces and bottling them into skins
Wanted to touch and know deeply all beautiful things
No you're not allowed, they don't want to let you in
That way, it's a distant place and means too much to understand
The biological and irrational
Crazed, sweeps gregarity above and within an aether-- like milky foam upon the waves
When I return home from excursions
I will be Ipanema
The soft locale, unabashed and known to no soul
Except empty elevators--
The lowly philosopher-king
Maybe then you'll think highly of me
Through the mixed feelings
Unable to handle
Straight through the socket
Ring of fire
Then and only then will you realize
That real life
Is more than just a zone or some local
Brewery on a Friday night
And every other Friday night
Ever thereafter--
You'll unlock the box of atomic intention
And listen deeply to her on the station
"Sade and Other Like Hits"
Slowed down for full potential
Letting your cochlea stroke themselves off to the tune of the universe
And the sound of air moving indiscriminately
Will give you
All this
Somewhere
almost fractal, imbibed
Decimated repetitively
There is a fragment of my voice,
Calling
"Love, how much I'd love to be. "
Dec 5, 2018
Dec 5, 2018 at 2:22 PM UTC
An Infinite number of Monkeys,
furiously typing away,
provided with paper and ribbon
would, in time,write Shakespeare's plays.
Off-shoring and Corporate mergers,
Massive layoffs, death and disease,
plus the lack of typewriter repairmen
Decimated those bard-chimpanzees.
Instead of that infinite number
these days I'm afraid it's just me
churning out corrupt Shakespeare Quartos
titled "Piglet, the Prince of Belize"
Nov 17, 2011
Nov 17, 2011 at 9:11 AM UTC
You were my gift,
Soft, sweetness, little one,
Eyes of moon and ocean
Hills of creation, of shadow
And bread. In your nakedness
I fled the earth and bathed
In starlight and dust at the end
Of the forever of the sky.
In that silence,
Of exploding cosmos and vapour,
I fell, feeling in your smiles the suns
Decay, I felt light beyond
Its barrier, and was decimated
In the gravity of the neutron
Blue of floating eyes in separation.
Your faraway orbs were lost
To me in the frozen dark energy
Of shunted light and the cold
vacuum of space.
It was my birthday
And you were set on leaving.
It was my birthday
When I nearly died.
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 5:25 PM UTC
a simile comparing my love to the explosion of a star as a supernova
have you ever seen a star explode?
do you know what a supernova feels like?
I've never seen a supernova, but I've felt one. I've fallen in love with the brightest stars and once they disappear, it's only a matter of time before it hits me. First the wind hits me from the outermost layer and I feel it but have no idea what's to come. Then the heat begins to consume me. It's hurting but I've not reached the point of rupture. And once I do my whole body collapses into the heart of a supernova. Watching the star burst into a million pieces all at once as if thinking about your own heart, feeling it do the same.
That's what it felt like loving you, you were a supernova that just completely decimated my world.
Dec 20, 2017
Dec 20, 2017 at 12:21 PM UTC
Cinnamon
winters the rolls.
If my past childhood memories serve me correctly.
Better than playing in the wettest Christmas snow
leaves a sweet kiss behind.
My lips follows, with an expected sigh.
To again taste one of many...
the many tasty treasures left behind
by the Elusive divine.
In that very moment;
where the sweet cinnamon lubricates
my feisty lips.
All is ******** history.
Isn't it?
And so I ravaged the now decimated sweet treasure
with many sinful bites.
Smoked a cigarette afterwards.
There was a no smoking sign.
Indeed, **** and cinnamon don't mix.
On the tiny red plate, where the cinnamon rolls once lived.
a few crumbs in its wake still exists.
Confusion is typical of this kind of ish.
When you lick the mooing cows hidden dish.
Written and Copyrighted (C) 2014
by Claude Robert Hill, IV.
Jan 4, 2020
Jan 4, 2020 at 4:01 PM UTC
Lizard King, on the bar, from rooftops
and over your legacy you took a swirling a ****
drunk on blood with a treacherous witch high off acid.
Grabbing your junk and exposing your genitals onstage
passing out, failing the test of life and yet making the grade.
You became and overweight bearded *******
weary and heavy like your poetic incoherent rambles
with a voice like Sinatra when you really wanted to,
like your average intoxicated uncle when you gave less of a ****
in the studio, recording frustrations while getting ********
Opening the doors to the eyes of delusion and distortion
the crystal ship sailed without causing so much confusion
as to who you are, who you were and who you aspired to be
the next great American wordsmith,
“Light My Fire” is a fine tune, please sing it for me,
without cussing me out, calling me a sellout and everything in between.
Breaking through to the other side of madness
wheels falling off riding by your roadhouse blues
some might say Val Kilmer made an even better you
a mirror image of the decimated natives of your youth.
Abruptly moved to France to be the next Pepe Le Pew
but instead took a ****** bath to the afterlife.
Some loved your talent, others thought you made a prettier corpse
so tonight I’ll toast your legacy of leather pants
frat boy good looks, ****** off rants, Raiders on the Storm
and checking out right after Hendrix you inconsiderate ******
I still love you though, with my heart crossed
dearly dearest quintessential *******
Jim Morrison.
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 2:57 PM UTC
To die of fire and born of ashes
how strange it must be
to be destroyed
by that which creates you
of course a woman is rendered as herself
by the ideas within her head
and decimated
by her own thoughts
and a man is rendered as himself
by the beating of his heart
and dismantled
by his heated blood
though neither man nor woman return from their destruction
I wonder if the death of the fire bird
is painful
does it know it will be reborn?
would this lessen the pain?
I would envy a man who was reborn again and again
but not a man who thought he died every time
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 9:29 AM UTC
I told myself a day from tomorrow,
that I'd stop this pity and get along with sorrow.
It sickens me and leaves me here,
UN-guarded and filled with a craving like none before..
the needle it sinks in my skin as I slowly am embodied into clay,
morphing into the different sounds and feelings that illuminated the bare room.
Staring into my own face,
looking at the face of death with no regret.
I walk on day by day revealing this unnatural smile of mine for all to glance upon.
Put out of sight,
out of mind,
I can't find myself.
In the sympathy of thought that nestles the moon,
I am hiding here because of what I will be soon.
The next drug addict or ******
H E L P ?
G O D ?
A N Y O N E?
No one is there.
Thy creator left me in a dark place,
where my mind could never set free,
could never escape.
This is my destiny,
my fate.
Hurry! Don't anticipate before your timing is too late.
Somebody call the mortician,
somebody get him here fast,
because soon enough nothing will last.
Just the foggy memories of my decimated path,
It lay tangled at your feet,
I'm your aftermath.
The anarchist ******
Mar 1, 2013
Mar 1, 2013 at 2:17 PM UTC
Ascent
The narrow passage arched over the gaping river
like a gymnast vaulting backwards,
gracing the ground with open palms.
I began to climb--
beleaguered on both sides
by insecure concrete obstructions;
I diverted my attention to the ascending road ahead.
I continued to climb,
like a slowly chugging roller coaster,
meekly scaling up the track
with subdued anticipation.
I sunk into the road;
the sky merged with my pseudo-perpetual path, forming the offing--
where it seemed the road ran eternally into the heavens.
I saw blue reach into black in the late afternoon's
fading visage.
Summit
Gliding over the mountainous ****
I stared over the horizon
where the sun was neatly tucked
under the trees--
silhouetted against the dusky sky,
looking like fingers reaching up into the void,
accumulating like earthly pillows to a heavenly face glowing brightly.
I watched a murky blue dip into a wet grass'd green,
then a traffic cone orange,
followed by the passionate (infra)red of two lovers' entwined,
climaxing in a jaundiced yellow--
tucked neatly like a layer of film
atop the silhouetted landscape.
Descent
I wished I had
descended the adret
of my ascension's perceived perpetual offing,
rather than this gritty one--
to dip into the horizon,
where I would metamorphose
into a dazzling array of colors;
feeling myself slowly fade away
into the impending night sky.
Tucked away for another day,
sleeping under the stars,
in the fingertipped forests
now obliquely reaching into their absent luminescence
but relishing the cool night air--
silently waiting for light
to soon again
breach their gloomy shells.
[Enlightenment lingered within the visions of my ascension--
I danced with its transient spirit at the summit--
to be decimated as the car lurched downward into mortality.
I saw what could be as I moaned into the
fading afternoon's dipping colors.
Who knew the descent was the hardest part of humanity?]
Mar 4, 2016
Mar 4, 2016 at 6:23 PM UTC
as the oak is always the acorn,
so the poem is always the word,
no matter, how decimated the tree,
no matter, how faded
the word,
inside resides, the tree, awaiting the catalyst.
inside resides, the poem,
awaiting the esprit.
always, the essence remains,
embedded...
always, is the outcome, foreshadowed...
etched in, by a code,
known, only in it's base intricacy by one...
the creator.
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 1:04 AM UTC
Have you been shredded
By the tenacity
Of your alcoholism
Yet,
Or will we have to funnel
More worldly atrocities
Into you,
Filling you to bursting?
The swish in your belly,
The boldness of your talk;
Decimated.
Let me be the one
To **** all you are
With my well-kept home
And all-American children.
Let me poison you
With my son and husband's baseball game,
My seasonal dish towels.
Let me tear your being
With my baby
Who doesn't even suffer a diaper rash,
With my laundered and ironed clothes.
Let me destroy you in domesticity,
A cold beer at the end of the day
And too many addictions
Kept hidden.
Let me dismantle your establishment
While I bear my blemishes under the skin.
Let me break your concentration.
Let me make you think
I am perfect.
Let me make you think
That my family is sound.
Let me convince you
That you mean nothing
To the world
If only because
My children will be more intelligent
and more well kept
Than the one you poisoned.
Let me be
The Stephen King novel,
Bruce Springsteen song,
All-American house wife
And let me be kept far,
Far away from You,
Dazed and Confused
And depressed and medicated,
You.
May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 4:07 PM UTC
Scornful Seed
On this stony shore I bleed for a lost people in highest need
Drowning in the access of privilege abused
From the awe of dawn till bathed sun set quietly we pollute
Our moral heritage decimated while we our conscience sear
A superior man of the bar trembles in anticipation of judgment
Enter the proud the brash untold misdeeds that scar the soul
Soon purist scrutiny all will detect guilt filled torment
What could have been? Serenity still as the moon
Old glory presides over a house newly divided
Space fixed ocean land coexist air tenderly the earth adorns
Nature abides souls of this republic were once to God undivided
Every pore and fiber of their being alive by his word
Assurance our spirit’s armor all enemies vanquished
Envied by the highest monarch individual men set to rule
This new pristine forest green cascading rivers splashed
Master piece of greatest design Puritans by hardship never mashed
With mighty voice and pen they confirmed liberty freedom self evident
Fairness and truth ruled by tempered mercy
Mob rule gave way to reason with in all it is resident
Our collected greatness could be viewed in one B.C. MR President
The price Concord Valley Forge Gettysburg to name a few
Our home land’s safest guard isn’t soldiers and armaments
Prayer the best weapon held by those who have heaven in view
Continued peace and restoration of prosperity is his to renew
Nov 24, 2011
Nov 24, 2011 at 3:45 PM UTC
Desolated in the rhymes of my mind
Isolated by the thoughts left behind
Many wayward dreams fill my head like a book
Rip them out at the seams, not worth another look
It's time to forget the past
Finally move forward, at last
Consecrated in the folds of my dreams
Decimated by the tears and the screams
So much disappointment lodging in my brain
Am I human, and if so, am I insane?
It's time indeed, it's overdue
Gotta live for me and forget about you
Impacted by memories buried deep
Infatuated with thoughts, losing sleep
The time has come, to look ahead once more
Staying sober of you, not like before
I'm through with the history
Ready for a grander destiny
Deep damage from all your savior faire
Detente, forced by the au contraire
Perhaps this vessel sprang a leak
Clean up your mess, I ain't your freak
Dot your vowels and cross your "T"s
The time has come for your release
Imaginary thoughts of you, now gone in the wind
Revolutionary ideas, now ready to begin
Picking up your missing pieces, shattered around
Never lying to myself again, you brought me down
I fell, it's just the ugly truth
Never again will I fall for someone like you
Time has come and gone for us
No more unum, just e pleribus
Many moments and many tears
Seems like a waste of some good years
Time to part and heave a sigh
Time to say that last goodbye
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 9:20 PM UTC
a hidden, sweet animosity
licks my brain into submission
whips and chains in position
tears my veins into visions
old scar incisions
with surgical precision
the mission is over now
how did I get left out?
conscience fades into haze
lost distances, emotions enslaved
I won't see her face again,
fall back into strangers
unless we pretend
we can exist or be friends
our love was pretense
expensive, and didn't make sense
but it slept in my heart
so soundly, so comfortably
we were never apart
so swiftly, so effortlessly
we fall all the way
back to the start
her lips were my paintbrush
our love was an art
the broken and the breaking
and the taking of trust
and the faking of lust
our hands fell apart, into dust
now buried in the soil
underneath the earths crust
planted here we will stay
out of reach, out of the way
to wither in denial
and collapse in decay
I can still see her, distant
and I can't look away
decimated I fall to my knees
and refuse to believe
I'm just one of the trees now
planted and broken
my limbs turn to stone
if I can't leave this place
then I might die alone.
turn back to me, see me
see the glint in my eyes
one final goodbye
one final first sight
in the middle of the night
I can't help but try
my eyes closed in stone
so I can't even cry
my heart has broke open
memories frozen in time
if you can't tell me why...
then please...
tell me goodbye.
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 4:51 PM UTC