"decries" poems
There's a flower in between the rocks
Undesireable unless one seek the flower
In cravices in the shadows of ***** towers
Procure trade on whims of nameless men
Openly or in disguise she thrives due to
Demands, in decadence of her world
The underworld enslave her soul
Like the geisha in *******
Decries a social stigma
Imposing upon her
Remove her off
The streets if
you will
But
She
Will
Come
Back sprouting
Amongst people and rocks
Enticing yet perceived as weeds still.
Feb 5, 2018
Feb 5, 2018 at 6:51 AM UTC
You need sunglasses when your staring at me
Cause the light I emanate scars the retina of my enemies
There is no cure for the blindness you will endure
A pain perpetuated by the ignorance so perniciously procured
Squared against an inevitable death I easily steal your breath from the barrel of my Smith and Wess
Watching your hollow tears bleed on the canvas I project
a cataclysmic disaster wrapped up in a dismal death
We sit here at the pinnacle of our lives speaking in shadows
Masking our mouths from what we oblige
Stop and listen to the earth as it decries
The subtle architecture of this worldly demise
So as we kick back and sorely reside
I’ll be the change in the coming tide
Caged inside tortured flesh I search for rest to keep the human condition suppressed
But all I find each time that I design a new quest I become a servant of death
Invigorated by the test I stretch my consciousness to tear the limbs off your chest and beat you senseless
I won’t stop there, I’ll slit the throat leaving you without hope and then drown it in Everclear
While I may seem like a cynic
I’m not through with these gimmicks
Lacerating your heart with the bones I striped from your tendons
I’m not an advocate of violence but
Sometimes the pilot of peace needs to be reached by setting loose the destruction we inherently seek
We sit here at the pinnacle of our lives speaking in shadows
Masking our mouths from what we oblige
Stop and listen to the earth as it decries
The subtle architecture of this worldly demise
And I’ll hide my words with silence
And I’ll no longer become violent
Just another subservient machine lost in a sea of tyrants
I won’t be blunt here I’ll keep dropping metaphorical bombs onto your ears
Until all my peers understand the imminent plan that needs to be adhered:
Stop short cause change is impossible to purport
Don’t dream cause it’ll get shattered with a corporate hammer
Stay sinking in a world that raises a stagnant banner
Assimilate with the overzealous overweight materialism that manifests in the minds of the poor and is perpetuated by strip malls and ******
Mar 20, 2010
Mar 20, 2010 at 7:21 PM UTC
Drink Mead
Red like blood
My forefathers
Or so they told me
No warrior here
Valhalla decries me
Hiding in shadows
Would you call me Loki?
Too tired for these metaphors
Young man
Little plans of mice and
Worst laid, underpaid survivor
Going in tomorrow
Renewed ansgt amongst the fire
Oct 5, 2015
Oct 5, 2015 at 3:41 PM UTC
A baby cries
and
A mother sighs
so
A belief dies
but
A husband lies
~
A teenager tries
between
A ****** thighs
whilst
A demon terrifies
yet
A tablet nullifies
lying
A politician decries
innocently
A child catches fireflies
~
A hater will despise
forever
A Vicar will eulogise
religiously
And life will never apologise.
Apr 18, 2015
Apr 18, 2015 at 9:50 PM UTC
of the wind that speaks multitudes
abounding creation that decries its mournful existence
fluidity of a falling leaf
dwelling of inhabited space
posterity of the pompous
calming blues describing the waters of high noon
reflecting on perspective
qualms of my imagination
nightingale flush
internal beauty of the highest decree
flaunting tact
simple pleasures of breathing
caress my hand, i’ll touch your hair
the blue of mine eyes shines unseen in the night
erstwhile noticed of syllabic manifestations
furtive felicity, comely for the homely
murmurs of softness
love is in the air
i spy, with my little eye, a pond, rotting with life.
a sea, devoid of meaning, as seas are
triangular pencils scratching away
out-dated calendars that hang on a peg
papers that bind us to our word
word that is bound to the papers
thought that is trapped in letters
letters formed into words
assembled into phrases
spoken from the mouth
bingo is the lingo
burning brightness of blithering baboons, begone.
smiling is more than showing teeth
gone are the days of yesterday, tomorrow is near, and yet, never here.
the present of what is that now was but is again
oh, do you ever wonder about the life of an italicized comma?
Dec 12, 2011
Dec 12, 2011 at 11:11 PM UTC
I was found on my solace at its solstice-
In my prayer-
Thee heart breaking-heartbeats decries;
Uttering voices-doomed to enchanting yodel of the nights' blues.
I am deeply in pain in this earthly scintilla,
Alike sweet ole rhymes in my sonata.
Singing melodious for my inamorata!
But the suns and the moons call it quits,
Within me, inside of me..
I can't complain no more!
It's now and never..
Believing the goodness, to say the least.
Though in this broken world- still-so-exist.
Realness of somethin' ne'er cease to amaze.
Enduring thy half-moon,
Taken aback to cloudburst boon.
More-so to torrent- thoughts, serenely-outright.
How near and dear o'er this silky-cheek to your smite!
So eloquent, so breathless!
Breezes a smile that is everything to me.
Encouraging manifesto that you told to me,
Like "A fully-bloomed-flower is an answer
and a turning-point to a struggling life!"
A tale of days for love's sake
And the good-times-
Sweetness,
Sure swells.
With all my heart whereas Love spells,
Earnestly, lying in wait up to Heavens!
Down-with me here to-my home Cali-turf-now!
Mar 15, 2013
Mar 15, 2013 at 9:46 PM UTC
Flick
"Heads"
The boy decries!
His sister beams at the call.
Heads it is and now it is he
Who would have to fetch the ball.
Flick
"Tails"
The word echos in silence.
A chance of hope lost
Somewhere among
The lies and violence.
Down in the gutter
On his knees he begged,
Pleading to a shadow.
Gunshot rang for the dead.
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 7:43 PM UTC
Intelligent believers of democracy,
Let me inform you with a great surge of emotion that I am a candidate in this election
I beg you, request you, beseech you to make us win with great majority by casting every vote of yours for our symbol
I don’t have to recount the great services rendered by our logo in houses, by-lanes, churches, temples, offices, hotels- why, in buses, hospitals, monasteries, cemeteries, and every nook and corner of the land
About its great desire to fill even the stomachs of those little children who sleep along the roadside, with no one to look after them
Our sign cannot ignore the mothers and sisters who work in factories of sighs, with only half their stomachs full. That’s why even after being totally spent, it resurrects itself again and again.
Its social sense which decries that even those bodies on hospital beds, half-burnt, should get justice.
Wont the dead have unquenched desires
Just like the living?
The greatness of our emblem and its universality which embraces unborn babies, the living and the dead, without any consideration of caste or creed or ***
About its reproducibility, the sense with which it can raise or lower itself as the opportunity demanded, its will power which helps it work with a passion, its power to please, its divine gift to give peace and happiness
What about its readiness to sacrifice even the last drop? It thinks only about giving! Please do not fall into the traps of the other signs which are never satisfied whatever it got, and which are ready to split any moment.
Let me ask you, have we come first in anything? China is standing like its great wall..let me remind you that if everyone tried together to raise our symbol to great heights, we can at least come first in population
Please do not let go of the chance to win, listing unpolitical arguments like headache, hunger, hatred etc
Our slogan
Contentment for everyone from children to old people
A land where milk flows
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 12:40 AM UTC
Dear Swinburne, how fell you if Death felled himself?
Did the wind not last, had the running sun stumbled?
What knocks the stone from the clifftop shelf?
What rocks the sea still since the high tide humbled?
If all that remains remains all that that dies
And immortal soul lies forever relieved,
What am I left that your lyric decries
But bereaved?
The same words grow from your garden grave
Where the thorns of the wrought lead roses jingle,
But rocked by the roar of the wild wave
The words disperse and forever mingle.
Time can unravel the thorns and the weeds
And the wind and the sea and the sun and the rain,
Unravel Death and destroy his seeds
And remain.
I pray that your song stands stable and true
Through the covers I turn, on my lips when I sing
As the first day your meter upon the page drew
And your rhyme first ascended on nimble a wing;
If not, let you molder with meadows of roses,
As lovers are buried by solitary men,
Till I, upon every couplet that closes,
Read again.
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 11:44 PM UTC
I wonder like thunder
Storms in the night sky
How it all came to form
Above mountaintops high
How the jungle has lungs
And with each breath it thrives
Teeming life in its infinite
Strive to survive
And as I pass it by
And it passes me by
I think only of what
A sublime place to die
Despite how much I try
To describe my goodbye
And believe there are gods
Who would ever reply
To my doubtful decries
Only to be shown why
I am here, I’m alive!
At least...
Most of the time
Sep 20, 2018
Sep 20, 2018 at 11:30 AM UTC
I wander through the world
a smile on my lips
around me the aura
of the irrepressibly young
my steps are light
although the shadows pool under branches
my path is washed wonderfully
with the warmth of the sun
An older man approaches
he spies me and with shaking voice decries
"Where would you go, young man
with a step that be so sprightly
thy countenance that shines so
Do you not see the shadows that gather?
life is serious, young sir
and to to be squandered so carelessly"
He grumbles and mutters
the well worn tracks in his mind
carrying old thoughts
"Ah, youth is wasted on the young"
I reply to him, as i must
this upright providence of a youth well spent
"Oh come now Grandfather
why should one look at the shadows
when we can look at the light?
did you not step so lightly once
smile at the world with boldness
have you not seen both
the darkness and the light in life?
Why then, do you choose
to see the shadows of the world?
It may be true what you say
youth may well indeed be wasted on the young
though you seemingly must agree
experience is wasted on the old"
The old man cannot deny my words
this paragon of age
he fades back into the shadows of my mind
and i
i continue on my merry way to self destruction.
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 9:30 AM UTC
You’ve left us in a world that’s ugly and cold
Filled with pain that won’t be assuaged.
Alone in a place with no compassion or grace,
We wait for your sons to come of age.
Our only hope of ever seeing you again
Is hidden deep in William’s smile.
Perhaps he can share all the love that we bear
And make all the sorrow worthwhile.
The profiteers have crawled out of the woodwork-
They infest every conceivable nook.
Hawking Diana-clothes and Queen-of-Hearts prose
Their avarice bleats everywhere you might look.
Am I any different, wanting my words
And those of my peers to be placed on your grave.
As I yield to the tears that will haunt me for years
I mustn’t be one taking more than you gave.
It’s curious watching what was known would occur
Actually unfolding before our eyes.
Any piece of the action gives such satisfaction
That we become subjects to drama and lies.
But we turn our backs on the items they sell
And refuse to play ball with the vultures
Who will not go away thought we weep with dismay
And wonder what happened to culture.
All the words from our pens are no match for our loss
And cannot diminish our sadness
As we plod through the days stretching into the haze,
Searching for some bit of sustainable gladness.
How can you possibly be not in our world?
What’s to become of us now that you’re gone?
Where are we, after the loss of our laughter
And how will we manage to just carry on.
We need your feeling, your beauty, and soul.
We need to share in your living.
You made us better by breaking the fetter
That taught us the value of compassionate giving,
You were the teacher and we avid pupils.
Sometimes we were slow, but eventually learned
That life is for caring and happiness-sharing -
Gifts received are greater returned.
You were the gift of the twentieth century
To a world undeserving of such
With red, weeping eyes, that world now decries
The loss of your magical touch.
ljm
Aug 15, 2017
Aug 15, 2017 at 1:17 AM UTC
Each subsequent process of cell division
I.e. mitosis sans the biological parlance
Erodes chromosomal cap
re: telomere if u can envision
at some juncture senescence prevails –
apoptosis no chance
To prevent this natural degradation
and the alternate decision
Per opting to bail from etching
chronological age – averse at a glance
To this mortal male,
who decries that death breed’s frisson
Thus disallowing healthy discussion
once end of the figurative dance
Delivers the curtain call on existence –
where grim reaper jeers with derision
At attempts to thwart cessation of life
whereby scientists seek to en-hance
Longevity – even exhuming the grateful dead
and experimenting with incision
To rewind expired meter fostering
demise without spectacles
after staying alive – with lance
A lot chock full of chemical concoctions
to revive corpse as the ultimate mission
Yet, any effort to transcend
genetic bulwark
engendered from bulge in pants
In tandem with merging with ova –
based on each coupling favored position
Ought not be tampered
with lest havoc t’will be
rent asunder and rants
From rabid quest per course ala collision
Inscribed within DNA blueprint
from extinct cousins of uncles and aunts
Prepping monster
to burst from Ray Kurzweil laboratory
Whereby to halt recalcitrant
zombie spells FRUITION!
Jan 22, 2018
Jan 22, 2018 at 5:01 PM UTC
I have not had a balance,
from the dousy lonely spot where you left me.
many have past me,
hours and days have gone by miserably,
Beating me bands of mockery
I have not had enough of your thoughts,
my heart decries for you night and day,
my imaginations have built you a garden,
you're all that's in my dream.
On my bed i am with your thoughts flooding my memory,
i awake with you in garden of roses,
Then to reality i open my eyes
And you are never near me.
Only in my imaginations you've built a garden.
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 10:51 AM UTC
Pennilessness shadows black
unemployment endless track
rails tie-er less lee when dumbly staring
overdrawn account issues
another clattering smack.
Income pleat undergraduate degree
contributed to the role of a sporadic employee
time to acquire handy dandy blues clues key
lost within vacillating undermining spree.
Mental state can be a precarious widget-like thing
directly at the whim of financial sliding swing
self-destruction demonic ring
courtesy of pauperism
delivers the destructive poisoned scorpion sting.
Immortal force of please hear my cry
provide support while
under the sheltering sky
steady (just out of reach)
sought income bolster up high
mirage vision brings transient delight
to this great (former
Civil War Yankee) supreme guy.
If no breakthrough I do not foresee
charity not for profit (but only prophet) I will bee
and this blurb carved outside my cave-like hovel
many moons and break of the day find me
imploring existential vagaries this baby boomer
sans middle-aged man who hankers to be free
thus though aye to be a schnorrer
who scrounges parking lots for scattered change
yet...decries blubbering the beggar's credo
write out a check and mail to me.
Philanthropic persons
may rightfully balk and get irate
at such brazen plea to squelch
ma pecuniary financial state
yet where the crossroads of mine future
most likely crop up which
would cause far a tete a tete
meanwhile, stoicism bids me wait...
For Godot, Curly, Shemp, or Moe
the stand-in for a Stool Pigeon
or even an odd antagonist
or protagonist dreamt
by Edgar Allan Poe.
Jan 20, 2018
Jan 20, 2018 at 3:48 PM UTC
Some say sad eyes
which they surmise
must have arised
and been incised
by pain
Some say kind eyes
I prefer what this implies
Yet it still decries
What's inside
Yet again
I'm sure they may both be right...
But these are the eyes
I cannot disguise
These are the eyes
In which my soul is contained
So please don't see wise
To see them and apprise
me of my character, and theorise
on what underlies
For it is inane
If the judgement is a guise
and simply improvised
A means to advertise
interest or curiosity, replies
you can ascertain
if conversation you catalyse
conducive to exorcise
unjust judgements implied
by what you have spied (it wasn't just my eyes)
and arraigned...
Apr 5, 2020
Apr 5, 2020 at 6:57 AM UTC
moving and tripping gently to your side
my face oblique, sweetly set, decries.
direction set by pointing intention
if there's passion it's of my declension.
meekly set and paler than a daisy
defenseless some man incited tupour,lazy.
you are easily rolled by part made bold
absent lust . closed. resist ****** cold
barriers hold until scent comeliness
my gentle sincere words do espress
fluid accompaniment of hands
brought together applause in lands
where acorns ride on veiny rods
and lovers smother the others sobs
May 14, 2016
May 14, 2016 at 6:25 PM UTC
I shudder to think, for your poem decries "being under anothers power".
Yet, are we not born by the power of another, grace, and that of our mother?
Is it not our solutioning with the Earth becoming more concentrated,
The power of another, that realizes us becoming, potentially, you, me?
And when the vitality, rigors of youth are supposedly betrayed by the wisdom
Of middle-age, are we not also more so for that, our doings not more real?
And when old age seemimgly takes our senses, not the sixth, our muscles,
But ..., the sinew, our bones strength, but the marrow's, do we not still be
More so, alival instead of survival, outstretching an arm to lend a hand,
By the power of another, betwixt an Earth, Sky, with a Sun, a Universe?
Aren't we also to cherish life no matter what, strive to be alive, thrive?
And after we, "Do not go gentle into that good night, and rage, rage against
The dying of the light" (Dylan Thomas), will we not finally, again, join in
The Cosmos' eternal 'dance of spheres', it's cacaphony, symphony, as stardust
Sprinkled from above or petals dancing on the breeze, by the power of another?
May 9, 2018
May 9, 2018 at 3:09 AM UTC
Heart's quiescence defies hope's recreance.
Resigned to singular endeavor,
Connection's Desert Delver
decries society's conformity salve.
Bearing burns by breaking-
Ashes pile on the ground.
Sep 18, 2019
Sep 18, 2019 at 4:50 PM UTC
A moment of truth
a century of lies
The left hand deflects
what the right hand decries
A little bit pregnant
the ending begins
A monster gestating
—and living within
(The New Room: December, 2023)
Dec 3, 2023
Dec 3, 2023 at 3:04 PM UTC
I am a prisoner,
Locked up within these four walls.
I can't escape now,
All on my own waiting for the fall.
I do, I do, I do write....
Darling dont go because I want you,
I can explain why cause I need to be,
To be with you....
Time is of a mystery,
Decries an obligutary pleading to a longevity in life of who, where and what may become of it!
Some are lucky,
Some are not be known!
It's not what you know,
It's who you know,
That influence of your wellbeing giving you structure and belief,
Not costing you a pretty penny or to become a thief!
In this moment in time,
Reflection takes an art form of imagination but no takers just,
That life of procrastination!
The people you meet upon that humble street,
Either extra's or destiny spectre's,
Nine times out of ten nothing changes that co-exists and arranges pain!
Or that one in a million that follows that path where dreams are made of!
Three more lines of frustration, that dither and delay obliterates and forgotten, That life of procrastination.
O'Reily 24112019
Dec 18, 2019
Dec 18, 2019 at 8:46 PM UTC
Lackluster life lived
as each subsequent day,
a carbon copy
of the one before,
though far from
being clinically depressed, this boar
ring guilt ridden Capitalist decries
mass consumerist paradigm
satiating the *****
rub bull Lady Liberty, where more
disinclination arises, per
crossing upcoming birthdays corridor
January 13th finds
increased repugnance being part
of materialistic culture club
as hellacious tore
char, implied societal behavior
expects blind submission
subjected to glore
re: us lee spouting
hallelujah nauseating your
every five senses to accept
point blank, Nee pay adore
ration, asper goyish gaiety bon jure
blared, foisted, and
lobbed upon every
man, woman, and child of society,
which imposition, this
outlier doth deplore
as an avowed antiestablishmentarian
to thee very core,
of my being, who
experiences continuous ab ****
rent theoretical strings
of disappointments pour
ring down (like confetti)
from on high, viz directly
linkedin as nonconformist eyesore
from cradle to... when,
me cremated ashes get scattered,
though right now... still technically
alive, at least... I think so
(despite not yet),
being gratefully dead...
nearing three score
years, yet upon
my demise wherefore
welcoming relief against
(feeling like the oddball),
shares his glumness
weighing me down, where
every step an arduous chore
his compunction being open to explore
living off the grid, or
alternatively joining thee dacor
oven intentional community,
cuz he seems severely mismatched,
where vast material consumption,
especially accentuated with
holiday season heavily pitched
to spend every
last red cent, (and beg
borrow, max out on credit, or steal)
to splurge for
expectation to endure
the helter skelter frenetic
Black Friday and Cyber Monday
fire sales kindling
a bonanza galore!
Dec 11, 2018
Dec 11, 2018 at 8:42 PM UTC
Beyond genius
the spirit flies
Beyond genius
the mood decries
Beyond genius
no courses rowed
Beyond genius
all time disowned
Beyond genius
the map refolds
Beyond genius
a world untold
Beyond genius
the critics gasp
Beyond genius
no serpent asp
Beyond genius
the telling stops
Beyond genius
no on—then off
Beyond genius
all sight and sound
Beyond genius
the square is round
Beyond genius
no lies are told
Beyond genius
what’s new is old
Beyond genius
the heavens sing
Beyond genius
—that final thing
(Villanova Pennsylvania: August, 2015)
Jan 25, 2019
Jan 25, 2019 at 12:28 PM UTC