"defusing" poems
A dream you told me of:
Defusing a time-bomb embedded in the womb of your dead mother.
I don’t know if you were smart enough to flip the failsafe
Or if you indiscriminately yanked wires out, like your dangerous thoughts.
A dream I told you of:
at the midpoint of their parents’ anniversaries, by the ruins of every immortalized
kingdom, she is wearing her mother’s dress and he is too.
“father wanted to castrate or **** me,” he said, conversationally.
they have so much in common. they live the tragedy of armchair **** fantasies,
tend to ****** their own genitals when lost in thoughts of the obstruction of
their desires. (which, really, is pointless
because they don’t desire anything besides fondling their own genitals.)
Blinded Oedipus does not notice
Electra’s concealed ******* dagger. A thousand years between them, yet they’re still children conceived of
Mitigated **** and blood sacrifice for the sake of sailing, and
Defined by deficit from the beginning; her crippled mind sang
to his hollowed eyes. Kinslayers becoming kin,
Entranced by the illusions of the other but really
Loving only the unmistakable reflections of their own sins.
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 11:45 AM UTC
Portals are the shortcuts we’ve always dreamed of using
They can help speed up many things that help all.
From the process of bomb defusing
To avoiding a rather large bar brawl.
Portals can also be abused.
Easy things like getting out of bed
And making your boss bemused.
And you end up sitting in your house full of dread.
Portals may be fun for great pranks.
Such as the infinite loop
And transporting them to a certain amount of planks
But a rather clever idea is to help them jump off of a sloop.
The portals can bring an uprising
Or they could be our downfall.
Feb 3, 2012
Feb 3, 2012 at 12:05 AM UTC
Saw it
Just for a moment, but it was there
Black and gleaming silver metal
Stalking after his shadow
Glaring at everyone
As though they had personally kicked his dog
More metal in his face than a bomb defusing robot
Mask of plastic and metallic fragments creeping up
Nearly reaching the bridge of his nose
Post apocalyptic video games had nothing on him
An urban cliche
Standing as we carried on
Unnoticed
Glaring just as hatefully at his own reflection
Ear buds blasting lyrical angst of an X generation
Without ever changing
Saw it
But just for a moment
Still unnoticed
He departed
A haze of misplaced anger
Black metal tunes, clicking metal
And the strangest face mask
I have ever seen
Mar 23, 2012
Mar 23, 2012 at 6:13 PM UTC
YOUR A ******* TIME BOMB!
TICK! TICK! TICK!
EXPLOSION IS NOW!
ALWAYS HAPPENS SO QUICK!
Broke my heart again,
Yelled at me again,
Accuses me of everything again,
Saying I am the worst of all men.
Why did I let you in?
You blow up my house every time.
Makes no sense.
No rhythm no rhyme!
You are child,
And you play every game.
Freeze tag with my heart.
TILL I GO INSANE.
You have made me hate my choice.
Yet I wouldn't change a thing.
Our song was a fine one,
Yet it will not sing.
YOUR A ******* TIME BOMB!
TICK! TICK! TICK!
EXPLOSION IS NOW!
ALWAYS HAPPENS SO QUICK!
I AM ******* DONE,
DEFUSING YOUR SOUL,
STAY THE **** AWAY,
YOUR SELF DESTRUCTING HAS TAKEN IT'S TOLL!
Jan 9, 2012
Jan 9, 2012 at 9:18 PM UTC
let’s run to the vermouth tree
let’s run up the bark
chipping off skin
showing smooth pane
you and me
you and me
just
you and me
you and me
we’ll be kings in our altitude
we’ll drink the sap
to makes us drowsy
we’ll take a nap
on the branches grand
like muscular thighs of amicable giants
planted right here in the sand
let’s run up the vermouth tree
and laze around like vagabonds
whose only inspiration is
to live
to long
and to live long
just like this horizontal wooden palace
which shall persist when we are gone
which shall resist broken innocence
for her branches always reach towards the sky
never regretting
or failing to try
its sweet earthiness
shall remind us
of the goodness of nature
as we drift to dreams
its sweet richness
fortified
reminds us of things
powerful
and magical
you and me
you and me
we’ll be befuddled atop her palms
held in her grace as we hang
as voluntary adornments
clinging on for love
returning home when the night’s to come.
until the setting sun greets us here
atop the cusp
flowerful smoke
defusing what’s become of us
while the clouds turn sad
at dusk
a must,
the rust
is true
and magnificent
and you and I
stay drunk.
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 5:46 AM UTC
this composition
(not this one)
but the p r o c e s s
a within discovery
so radicalizing
composing himself
this body, this breadth,
this work, of untangling,
slight light shapes,
enfusing, suffusing,
even parts defusing,
but all a
cold fusion,
of body,
of breadth
some, unguarded, tumbling,
some, guarded, jumbling,
all shockingly emergent,
most shocking
to himself, this
decomposing of
composing,
his body, his breadth,
t his process,
t his work,
t his hymn,
this of him,
body and breadth
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 2:38 AM UTC
I learned from boxing to keep my eyes on the chest of
My opponent; center focused; seeing all.
It also keeps your chin down.
It works when we argue, too. Defusing the situation
With humourous female disbelief.
Her anger drops with my jaw-
And we seem to be saved by some bell.
Then we laugh like during those very first months,
When all we did was
Anything but
Fight.
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 12:03 PM UTC
It is a declaration of cowardice.
I put my pen down and
Step away slowly
[Defusing the letter bomb].
They don't always turn the
Other sheet, you know.
Sometimes the poem
Writes back.
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 3:57 PM UTC
Is war coming? Are we headed for another crazy cataclysm?
My sons, draft age. Only now can I appreciate the pain
so sharp it drains the color from one's eyes, your reason
for living gone in a spasm of violence to be forgotten
never by survivors. This fear could become real as no movie
is surreal enough to distract attention from the certainty
you did not do enough to deflect man's trajectory.
All could be well in the end but history portends
a periodic bloodletting followed by a quietus
without mercy. What's the best that can be said:
he died beside his friends and buddies. Steady
on to your own inquest and rest. A perfect rest
that improves upon the inadequacy of your efforts.
What solace can be found in the remains of marriage.
So you better fight back now even if that means
war comes sooner. At least you're fighting back, but how?
Take a minute to meditate on purpose. Science
cannot save you, neither can religion. Abstaining
from violence with love, letting prisoners go, detaining
no one at the border, inviting Chinese and Russian
scientists to our shores, defusing your own anger before it detonates,
none may be enough to save your sons.
A war president needs war, whatever. A trained
and deadly warfighter. You become what history wants
you to become. You survive if you're lucky, if not
so what, your old parents will be alive only briefly to mourn.
Then they too go to their good graves and the pain dies down.
In the meantime a new generation builds a new space station.
Since the vortex will be ******* up the poor,
let's not let the rich escape untouched. All go down
together, no one hoards gold or gets away with fiction.
If we have to fight let's make sure we fight as one,
the sons of the rich side by side with the poor's sons
and their daughters. You want slaughter? Then
let every city and back road know the new order.
I would rather watch Lalaland ten times over than have
to write this poem. I can leave home and live
in a tent or bunkhouse, eat dinner out of a tin cup
and drink water from a wooden bowl, give up
music and most of my memories to save my sons,
to save the world and avoid this war.
But that rarely happens. One is lost and found in what happens.
Jun 3, 2018
Jun 3, 2018 at 10:09 AM UTC
The death of me, will probably be, self-inflicted or come unnaturally. /
My generation has metamorphosized to believe this ideology filled with lies, and grown to despise all things good, all things right/
Holiness is but a mythically unattainable virtue only seen with wise eyes/
And me with my wide eyes open couldn’t even see past sunrise/
Many times I hid behind my Christian face/
My black skin speaking tales of my Christian race/
But then straight after church my rehearsed day begins/
Go to see “that” girl and write Haikus on her skin/
A 3 bar poem about why she’s the one/
Taking hours to come home before the day is done/
The death of me will probably be this doomed society/
Digging pits for their own graves with their words of blasphemy/
Drugs lay waste to what remains of their minds/
Trying to convince them that God exists is like defusing a land mine/
Who am I to try and help, I’m still suffering the same/
Can’t even control the thoughts flooding in my brain/
Had to write this out just to try and stay sane/
Thinking is speeding up now, I’m like that electric train…/
And then I see it/
Tomorrows generation smokes drinks and takes drugs/
Looking everywhere for things to fill the void left by love/
Searching everywhere except above /
They are scanning the sea for a raven not a dove/
This is todays tomorrow, where the truth isn’t believed/
And the generation of that time will choose to live disobediently//
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 5:42 PM UTC
my father
once told me,
a man becomes a hero
not through a show of strength
but through his grace and wit at length
for herein lies his warmest most accepting embrace
defusing his coldest darkest impulse to even imagine an arms race.
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 12:45 PM UTC
aware of some
things, aware
HERE am I
there you are
near and far and nothing
in between, why
should I care, beware…
It's me,
in this world, it's me,
making up my mind, to live on,
to live on
to leave behind me, for you -
a way to go,
if you really wish to follow, if
you truly hold the hope of ever
being better than right
now,
now. Right, not wrong, right now.
You know.
You think you know, right now,
with no miracles, no little things
to see, with no joy felt shared,
with no sorrow shown in tears,
with no feet a dancin'
up on tippy toes, just a spinnin'
in time,
like a planet or a star, loopin' life
in time,
from somewhere inside, center
of heavy
of hard
of dark and cold… dark and cold…
singer… singer singing wordlessly,
la las and mmmhmmms, so so so
lighten up,
lighten up my will to be worthy,
lighten up my will to be care free,
lighten up my will to be loved, by
strangers who imagine I have
loosed some good in some shape,
loosed some good held out of sight,
strange as not cognized, coknown,
to me and you, the other end of these
lines left to prove, a second
thought… if you make joy, peace remains
enjoyable,
no mass converts to energy,
my taken peace, my inspiration never
expires, each time I miss, I miss nothing
I hit
on another decision
to make.
I laugh, and let out long rambles, through
brambles familiar
to creatures built low
to the ground
at the human
being being being more than…
Partaker of the programming.
Snipping
Re-ligamental knots, religious at-here-
ence sense so common to all here,
re-
filtered feeling manufactured, here
in living words translatable, peaceable,
easy
to use while defusing the confusion,
and allowing angelic angst ambitious umph,
committed, chance fret naught,
take the shot, think thirty aught six, BANG
Big,
nothing like the game, recoil
that's what's missing… recoil,
kick,
to remind you what Newton knew.
Not Issac, Fred Newton, from Weedpatch, Ca,
a few miles this side of Bakersfield…
He, comes up around Thanksgiving,
in the spirit now, since he's dead,
he looks at me and grins, so big.
For me to live, that turkey must die.
old fisher of men, he knew, he'd say
a man's remembered, for the shot,
no turkey ever is,
that's something
to be thankful for.
Nov 19, 2024
Nov 19, 2024 at 2:43 PM UTC
The smell of fresh rain,
perfumes the evening breeze outside;
a soft scent carried along by the clouds.
The coloured blush of flowers still
open to the gentle beat of raindrops.
Come with me and be still;
be calm and languid, supple and
warmed by the glow of company.
Let me strip you of your wet clothes.
I can see the light has waned.
Embrace me before you crumble;
arms outstretched,
a reflex to stop you hurtling down
to your knees.
I can feel you, a cold lake inside;
freezing over.
You say you are tired.
So tired of seeing me morph,
into your soldier.
I take up arms at the first signal.
But I don’t mind being in uniform;
at the first sign of your need.
Because I do love you,
in all your shapes and transfigurations.
In all your depths and dark pockets,
lighter days and mysterious vanishes.
I know this is true, I do love you.
You say you are a burden.
A burden you are not responsible for
manifesting on rainy mornings and
shady afternoons.
You are unpredictable; as gentle and ferocious
as nature.
But I don’t mind.
I tackle the excitement, mount the climbs;
I love knowing you can awaken from your
stupor, can ensure you always return to where
you deserve to be.
Bathed in light, laughter;
capable of all the things the true
monsters roaming this life can be, do, feel.
If those devils are entitled, I can make sure
you are too.
I wage war on your enemy; that nasty essence
defusing it’s toxicity.
It may take more of me than I have ever
donated;
more energy and strength,
more resilience to push through dark shadows,
fighting through imprisoned demons,
pulling away from sharp nails and dirtied hands.
But you don’t deserve those shackles.
Not everybody can do this;
can constantly seek new ways of breaking chains.
But don’t go to sleep believing I can’t.
I already have broken them,
many times over.
Or you simply wouldn’t exist today, at my feet.
And neither would I exist to fight for you, as I do.
Aug 2, 2016
Aug 2, 2016 at 7:59 AM UTC
In the tower, as a prisoner surrounded
by walls of flesh and blood; to etch upon
the walls, my innocence and guilt; how
my mind was mistreated by all who had
mistreated their own; what was I to expect
from a life that offers nothing except pain
at birth, life then death; what principles
are offered except riddles by those who
do not care to hear the warnings of
freedoms scattered before them like the
blackened eyes of serpents whose bodies
continue to writhe though separated from
their own minds by the sharpened axes
of each generation that will see the truth
only in ways that make them feel whole
The holiest time of captivity, when our old
wounds gather together; when we know
we are all of these, we begin to speak
calmly of them, proud of what we know
of our strength in the faith that the sun
will shine upon us no matter the clouds
that have gathered, defusing the dewy
stars to make shadows warning those
who laugh at the bravery of peace and
the truth no matter who may speak it;
for darkness is always reserved for fools
who can only see today as if the sunrise
is afraid to be the one who forgives first,
while we, in the sight of a cross for life
and a stone for death make the choice
to live for the harmony of love as we
were taught; to share the whole of our
existence with those who once made
us think of hate
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 10:20 PM UTC
I sympathize with you.
Never have you thought
Not to experience this way of life.
You are well adjusted
In a maladjusted paradigm.
I sympathize with the shallow extent
Of your imagination and humbly I accept
The token of our silent agreement.
While you mope, drool, ogle
And taste success with the tip of your tongue,
I will be knee deep in the trenches.
Dodging light speed arrows,
Defusing air bending whistling apples
Thrown from afar
In the safety of paper walls.
Built to repel the mirrored image
Yet pale enough to distort what you see.
I humbly accept the quest you have entrusted me with
To seek and return
With the noble self you abandoned in the forests;
When you grew tired of discovery.
Should I return with the gift as promised,
Then I have failed you.
For I have given up my search
And named the last I saw and felt as that I sought.
By the grace of the most high,
The hidden observer;
Lost to a ripple of self inflicting wounds guised as judgement,
A lever as light as a feather,
"By the grace of the most high,
Should I not return then I have failed you once more.
I have failed to find something you thought you lost,
Yet still resides within us all."
Jul 15, 2016
Jul 15, 2016 at 1:12 PM UTC
Do ya think they have humor in heaven?
St Peter playing jokes at the gate?
Making them wait, so they'll be late?
Wings backing up, at high rate?
Do ya think there is humor in hell?
The Devil full of sarcasm, satire?
Defusing his hate, and his ire?
Setting his tenants and demons on fire?
Humorous in his desire
Ya know he'll never retire
Do ya think God laughs at us?
Guffaws of mirth, and spasms?
Maybe even some *******
Watching us play, laughing all day
as assembling ever more humor
from atoms
Jun 13, 2018
Jun 13, 2018 at 9:52 AM UTC
Silence always comes before the storm
One silently builds with steam
Until out explodes a storm.
Eyes glare as the emotions settle like rubble
From the "norm"
Inspiration fades while he sits in silence
Waiting for the hardship of long hours
And limited means...
Until their problems are mended
No one wins.
We are connected by life's energy chain.
One falls
One by one
So does the masses in equal blending.
Defusing a storm before it hits
Is a hurricane prevented from happening.
Stand together with the one
See past the rough exterior to see crying eyes
We can all use a hand to keep the flames from hitting anger's TNT's wick where it lies.
Dec 11, 2016
Dec 11, 2016 at 7:44 PM UTC
I had a bomb in me that only I knew how to detonate and had little knowledge about defusing.
You learned every fragment of me and managed to crack my code.
I was deliberately okay with that,
Believing
that someone had finally figured out how to completely shut it down.
But boom!
you didn't.
Now blood stains and splatters
are on the wall,
And I am in a thousand of pieces
I know not of which to follow.
Jul 24, 2016
Jul 24, 2016 at 11:04 PM UTC
Blood of plum
drips from my chin
corrosively sweet
warm summer
infused in sinews
of sunshine solidified
and crisp water
from serpent tongue
licks my toes
black stars shining
through the birch
breaths of the tiny
mix with wind of the mighty
a broth of vitality
brushes bare flesh
entreating sweat
to erupt
silken pores too tender
to touch
solar nectar
drains
drenched drapes
stained with the juice
defusing from
a mouth filled with wonder
Jun 5, 2018
Jun 5, 2018 at 10:14 PM UTC
Following the unfollowed
to follow fellow folks, felons
as I, guilty for spending life
hunting followers who may scent
flourishing fables made of fabric
filled with formidable potential.
Zestfully fleeing mafficking faces
futzing in mass lobotomy, quaffing
media fraudulent sloppiness,
fallacy of a system fearing freedom
of free thinkers unchained,
through fault of failing legacies,
Left behind by phantom slaves
and modern enslavers, as confluxes
of frantic consciousness abandon
the flow to fly high the abysses
of the unfathomable unfazed
by the fuzzy foozles of those defusing,
The fragility and clumsiness of jiffy
flickering governors baffling
enlightenment and solidarity, blocking
the path of the unfollowing where flesh
is bygone for fleeting feelings to enflame
future fundamentals,
Essentially shared,
by an evolving united and mirific
mystifying humankind.
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 5:17 AM UTC