"degeneration" poems
Slavery
A moral depravity
A moral degeneracy followed by intellectual degeneration
A luxury and currution among the upper classes
Slavery
A world without the fundamental human rights
Revolting cruelty from the ****** outrage to brutal ******
Slavery
World of chains
World of hard labour
World of pains sorrow and agony
Songs of joy are sang in the world seeing the end to this hideous blot
Yet slavery still exist in the modern world
Described as modern slavery
Modern slavery
A world without chains yet psychologically we are chained
World without hard labour yet we work ourselves out to survive
World with fundamental human rights but filled with betrayal at the cause of justice
Slavery
World for the poor
World for the less privelage
World of reality
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 6:22 PM UTC
Her Name is Woman
~for Woman~
The body replenishes, even the signs of decay
that come for reparation,
Positive confirmation
her organism survives, alive,
tree circles yet measuring time,
Till a devitalizing time comes, when,
this cellular process concedes degeneration
Then the wondering shifts; new facts sifted;
now the reckoning is not a calculation of
Mortality but of her living immortality;
dive to divine neath her black cloaking, reading
Wounded word revelations, her own Bible stories,
giving nomination to Woman-name
The long shadows that her souls excavations cast,
costs of her stories individual,
Highwaymen robbed her with glass knives
but each remaining black hole lights a story, lost, but
Burning icy inviting, pulling us into book boxes inside,
compost of sheets of composed white clarity
Care not that each riddling reference is obliged to be
oblique, inexplicit,
Woman her name, all encompassing,
her views codified in lines of faith,
Woman, is that not
a mining, and a manifest,
of hidden birthing,
comforting us in warm shades of
Human courage
12/26/18 5:51pm
Dec 26, 2018
Dec 26, 2018 at 5:57 PM UTC
Attention apprehensive affliction
Becoming begging believing (in)
Chaotic collapses creations
Demanding demolition degeneration (and)
Epic enlightened endings,
Fake fantastic flows (and)
Greater glamour gore (inside)
Hedonistic homemaker hope
Indicating irrational inspiration
Joyful jittering jugs (but)
Knowledge keeping knees
Letting lovers lose (still)
Meaning maybe more (a)
Notice nothing nepotism
Opportunity oppression ordered
Popular pages prohibited
Qua quantum quivers
Revolving random rallies
Sadly still suffocating
Toxic tension talking
Until unique universal
Virtual vanity villains
Wanton winning waves
***
Yes! You yield
Zap, zing, zoom!
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 12:50 PM UTC
I'm born
Airborne
Forlorn
In war torn
Discord
My ripcord
I pull for liberation
Alienation aviation
Away from a station
Of no relation
Where their elation
Lies in degeneration
The fright fair
Nightmare
In sight there
Is a right scare
But light flares
From an illuminated theater
I dive into art
To fill my meter
I consume
Darkened tomb
Screen in room
Is where I loom
Inspiration blooms
From a sense of doom
My separation reparation
That will lead to veneration
My artistic fervor
Drifted further
Drifter's murmurs
Lifted learners
But gifted murderers
Shifted girders
Of shame and honesty
To my grave of modesty
Where they prey upon me
This plagiarism
Layered schism
Cratered rhythm
Of great decisions
Now I make incisions
With repetition
And the definition
Of words stolen from me
They're all I can see
And I can't get free
Or just let it be
Consumption disruption
At this junction
I can't function
A plagiarist
****** mist
Grips my fist
Makes me wish
I don't exist
I must resist
Before I miss
My chance at bliss
They're ****** me
By aping me
Making me
Shaking trees
Of bumblebees
With rumble pleas
On humble knees
Drinking antifreeze
Nobody cares
What's fair
They bear
And share
Blank stares
Up stairs
Of artistic compromise
Integrity lost in lies
They're not that wise
I hypothesize
My baby
Caught rabies
From Hades
Now ladies
Flock to a thief
Giving me grief
Beyond belief
In my coral reef
Sword in sheath
I drown discreet
Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 2:29 PM UTC
In my head
there
is
Chaos.
In my heart
there
is
Ice.
In my body
there
is
a Numbness.
In my bloodstream
there
are
Chemicals.
Anything to take me away
away from
Reality.
Away from the death
destruction
deforestation
dehumanization
degeneration
degradation
of this sick society.
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 6:25 PM UTC
the theory of entropy
A doctrine of inevitable social decline and degeneration.
or
A single toss of a fair coin has an entropy of one bit. A series of two fair coin tosses has an entropy of two bits. The number of fair coin tosses is its entropy in bits. This random selection between two outcomes in a sequence over time, whether the outcomes are equally probable or not, is often referred to as a Bernoulli process. The entropy of such a process is given by the binary entropy function. The entropy rate for a fair coin toss is one bit per toss. However, if the coin is not fair, then the uncertainty, and hence the entropy rate, is lower. This is because, if asked to predict the next outcome, we could choose the most frequent result and be right more often than wrong. The difference between what we know, or predict, and the information that the unfair coin toss reveals to us is less than one heads-or-tails "message",
or bit, per toss.[5]
~~~~~
**one bit per toss
one love per life
over time we entropy,
degrade our physic,
even our heart~need,
tho ever burning,
gives off less heat,
as the candle aged-consumed,
the eighth day canister of love oil,
the sole remainder,
slow level diminishes.
we keep on tossing the coin,
and with every failed love,
the need, entropies, declines,
the coin is worn down,
making tails-you-lose
the greater probability.
but then all it probably takes,
just another toss,
and bit you are
by the coin of the realm
that-once-discovered,
from her, this realm,
this woman,
you will never leave,
nor coin-toss ever again*
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 10:55 AM UTC
A Bountiful Sky for Foolish Old Men
early up, haunted-stoked~woked by a multilingual sky,
an impish childish creation of an immature god,
inconsistently incapable, of making up his moody mind,
whiny then smiley, cloudless besotted, morphed
into crystalline blue of a well behaved in Sunday best,
warming the souls of the begotten and the misbegotten,
the hardened and the poetic souls, tho he laughs at
himself, for he too is both, curmudgeon and a mr. softee,
whiny child in rapid aging body, wearing of discovery
of new places for to ache, pains that don’t fit med scales
of 1~10, unless it is the Richter Earthquake formulation.
despite all, his eyeballs seethe, immaculate degeneration still
allows the seeing of broad brush paint strokes of the team of
angelic artistes that do the detailing of the palette above,
how!
they, love their big bold brushes that sky swipe atmospheric
residue into 31 Baskin Robbins flavors, with swirls of caramel
chocolate butterscotch that make the man’s complaints whisked
into who-cares-a-damn anyway ice creamery reverie and all
that other stuff disbarred from the aborning morning clarity of
“good morning ole man, where’s my coffee” diurnal tuning that
the women hums, reminding those in the earshot crowd of one,
that s’mores and chores, tasks and at lasts, dogs need walking, gardens watering, cushions plumping, evening dishes moving from dishwasher onto wallpaper-covered shelves, geese-away-chasing, and loving poetry
by a poetoftheway scribbling…
8:01 AM Frieday, Jun 30
Jun 30, 2023
Jun 30, 2023 at 8:32 AM UTC
We are the disconnect community.
We think, therefore we are.
We blink, therefor we see the
ticking, flicking florescent FIVE HUNDRED.
A personal "connection-collection" of mine.
500 pieces of redefining human identity as bees in a hive.
Buzzing. Whirring. Chatting.
A world can be displayed on a single screen
of ticking, flicking florescent FIVE HUNDRED.
All tuned in.
*All turning into hive minded creatures.
Degeneration at it's best.
For the most advanced generation,
We are zombies disguised as cyborgs;
carrying our hearts literally out on our sleeves.
For home, I'm told, is where the heart is.
And though books say it's in our chests,
One look and tell you "Homepage" is handheld.
And with the world in the palm of your hand,
the rest comes fast, calm and easy.
Like breathing,
But without feeling.
Invisible networks bond the inner workings
Like an ultra-cranium.
Or a hive, dangling precariously over the valley.
Lives, carelessly unaware that a bow can break
when it forgets it's roots.
Like jumping in puddles in rubber boots.
The difference between what's easy and what's simple.
The little girl on Youtube who can't flip a page of a magaizine because all she know's are HD touch screens.
Learning to type before learning to write.
Obesity, skyrocketing to a sun we barely lay eyes on.
One by one, we stop hooking up, and get hooked up to the trending crazes.
Hang up. Telenophobics praised.
E-mail and texts.
Social skills wrecked.
Eye contact replaced with descontent looks.
Pirating crooks
Torenting video games, DVDs &books.;
The 25th of December is more for toys than the son of God.
You can't remember the last time you went fishing with your dad, because you've been too busy playing C.O.D.
Unplugged is savagery.
but escapism with a drug by any name is just as inhumane.
Just as fatal.
For all the blinking,
and thinking,
chattering,
babbling
500 redefined "friends",
Can you easily feel alive when it's more simple to call us dead?
Do you know all your neighbors names without checking online?
Can you understand relationships, as they were meant to be?*
We are the disconnect community.
Cut out "unity".
Leave the rest for our virtual home page address.
Aug 18, 2012
Aug 18, 2012 at 2:36 AM UTC
for pennies, an app
to do the heavy lifting,
rhymes, pentameter,
all the quatrains ya ever needed
strained fever, emotions rampant,
insufficient and unnecessary conditions
for poverty poetry evocation,
even autocorrects insipid
really bad tiresome love poems,
après endless generation (degeneration?)
who needs you
you think
no such animal
you be write
for the art of life
cannot be mechanized
wrote a poem,
a wistful sad lament
on mothers losing children,
a prayer, a yelling, a condemnation,
the app was,
on this subject
uncommunicative,
un étranger
of silence
in all languages
you can buy love
but you cannot buy pain
too costly and
3D printers
give you plastic, disingenuous
wholly unsatisfactory
for a lousy $1.99
I'll write you customized,
supply the situation,
a few descriptive phrases,
60 minutes later,
et voila!
am you app,
am your scrivener,
don't do roses or violets
but yes to
rhythm and blues
will take
PayPal
PenPal
but no credit cards
you may take my words
as you own,
take my credit,
but I won't take yours...
I am app human,
bring me your lush, winsome,
plain vanilla, tutti frutti,
all acceptable,
for where the real stuff
comes from
I have only mined
the surface,
the veins beneath
richness for the asking
Jan 23, 2015
Jan 23, 2015 at 5:41 AM UTC
******* essay
who needz ******* academic riting n e way
i kin rite
im atriculate
ur jus jelly
******* *********
least i kin spell cuss words coreectly
**** of
Feb 25, 2013
Feb 25, 2013 at 9:00 PM UTC
How unprepared I was when midnight approached me by
Emission of vivid green neon lights
From the futuristic skyscrapers to my unworldly eyes
But more imposing
A suspended meteor in the sky
Upon the decrepit city which never stood
My arrival at Midnight City, my peculiar neighborhood
Thumping tracks and frantic sirens
Bombard tremendous fear in my senses
Amid the resonating pantomime that cracks throughout my head
Merciless cyborgs arrive from nowhere
And threaten mankind with unthinkable weapons
Their bleak empty eyes bring dogmatic order
As my escalated fears enslave me well
Inside the mechanical serpent that darts
With endless slick demented rails
On such a twisted mind, it begins to run
Confused and addled, I have no control of this matter
Only worries dwell my mind
The arrival of this mysterious force is my greatest baffle
Does this herald the degeneration of Gaia?
What is this complex machinery that enslaves all men?
Where does this designate human posterity and fate?
What was done for an act of retribution?
Does this unprecedented apocalypse null all human solutions?
In this dark tunnel, on a decrepit couch
The dauntless train begins to screech with endless laughter
As it tears tempestuously faster and faster
Until all unearthly fluorescent lights blend together
Thumping tracks and frantic sirens
Eighty-six notches louder
Alternating flashes of red and green
Fourteen seconds prior
A silhouette of a white demon projects from afar
As it begins to approach us, its image ever becomes so bizarre
Add a second of suspended silence of jest
Before we scream and ensue
The fatal crash
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 1:22 AM UTC
Her face is a continent
Her eyes are algae-brimming lakes swirled with sunlight
In their centre dark pools, you could dive for eternity
Tanned skin spans vast distances
And freckles mark capital cities
Her smile causes earthquakes but there is no one there to mind
Fine laughter lines form ridges that will later form mountain ranges
Degeneration will take over
Sharp cheekbones and smooth jawlines
Lose definition and second glances
A sea of fine hair, once a deep gold
Fades to grey and grows brittle with age
Time takes it's toll
It happens to all of us
But her eyes remain fathomless
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 5:27 PM UTC
Why cry
This is what
The world
Has become .
Accept
We are worse
Than animals
Who **** for hunger
Or for love .
The killer
Showed his
Baseless ego
Never thinking
How he would feel
If baited and killed .
A majestic creature
More powerful
Than man
Without a weapon
Laid to rest
Brutally .
Assasins ****
For money ,
Religion or politics .
Why **** Cecil
Free of all this .
Mankind
Bow your heads
In shame .
We have reached
The ultimate
Depths
Of degeneration .
Collection of Ms Kusum Rajapakse , Colombo
Jul 31, 2015
Jul 31, 2015 at 9:45 AM UTC
Aging a progressive and earthy condition
Beginning at the top of our life
Genesis of a lonely crusade
Aging...bone degeneration
Tired eyes
Lack of elasticity and tone
Drying
Wrinkles
Dark spots
Aging… origin of a journal
Ending with a final destination
Devolution of human existence
Declined memory
Decadency of cognitive knowledge
Agony of Aphrodite
Collapse of Eros
Unmoistened Venus
Aging as evident as irreversible
Irremediable condition
Impossible battle
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 11:24 PM UTC
I feel empty.
A black hole in my center,
taking all of my gravity,
annihilating my heart rate,
captivating it to molecular weight.
I feel hollow.
An irascible clout,
of unimaginable doubt.
Day-in-and-day-out.
I wonder--
Will this ever finish?
This plague of bubonic proportions.
A rage sung in monotonic tones.
I ask--
Have I seen this all before?
A red light, in hindsight,
despite holding on too tight.
Warnings of pure dread,
Heard over head,
The last true mouthpiece
spoken in tongues.
Freedom of assembly,
where there is no law,
of degeneration.
Divination;
or
a lack of.
I say again,
I feel vacant.
A hole in my soul,
where all I am,
comes tumbling out.
Jul 8, 2016
Jul 8, 2016 at 3:43 PM UTC
What Is More Youthful
Than Displaying One's Feelings?
When Sad,
Were Your Jowls Not Veined
With Tears As A Child;
When Mad,
Did You Not Resist
Tempering Your Wild?
When Glad,
You Couldn't Mask
That Expression, Beguiled.
Why Then, As Adults,
Do Emotions Have Ceilings?
~ The Sharpie Poet
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 7:44 AM UTC
here you are on my bed
staring up at me with your
olive black eyes.
fur that isn't really fur
has matted
yet its soft flicks
please the senses in my fingers
and nails.
Grubby.
You would seem like this to everyone else.
But here you are in all your glory.
White fur now the colour of stale tea
and the ribbon as pink as a baby's bottom is
soured by all those nights asleep.
The comfort of your odour and cuddle.
All this sounds silly.
I'm only talking about a bear.
A bear that has shared my existence.
There is no creepiness. It is a fact that my bear
has shared my bed.
But my bear has shared my dreams,
the true thoughts in my little world.
We're in unison.
And it isn't materialistic either,
to love an object.
And it isn't ridiculous either,
to love a bear.
And it isn't fair,
that fragility has got the better of him,
for what has my bear
ever done in this world
to deserve the torment of degeneration?
So now I sit here,
writing in front of you bear.
We share it all
but time has got the better of you.
You're not going up into the loft,
but honestly
soon you'll be off my bed.
cause that's life
and I need to learn that you're
only just a bear full of cramped stuffing
and not my thoughts and dreams.
Jul 7, 2013
Jul 7, 2013 at 1:35 PM UTC
you rattle my cage
and your heart has slipped
out of my grasp.
it's just a phase,
we kissed, but
it wouldn't last.
my existence is futile
with scars and
rotting stomach lining.
degeneration
i wear the finest threads
made of skin and bones
they came from the stars.
i don't remember what they told me
that night my heart stopped beating
watch the sun rise,
let us live again.
relentlessly loving you,
get out of my mind.
love is dead to me
i had a thousand words to say
but they have melted away
now
i held the blade
tighter than your hand
throw me to the waves,
bury me in the sand.
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 1:09 AM UTC
a statue the envy of Michelangelo
destiny unknown, the medium—perfection,
growing with age and process,
moulded by the hands of an unworthy artist
the sculptor a paragon of ambition to be,
with enamoured eyes the living stone watching me
a selfish chisel striking cruel and careless,
driven by a hammer of regret, tears resultant
unknowing confused questioning and blameless
staining the surface as sadness' garment
the err of inexpert hands curse by
marks impossible to be unmade despite
a love absolute for the victim of his craft
a father undeserving his son
mouth to match heart, hands to mirror soul
my failure
to see through promise made in
reply to infant breath
by youth's eye the world so meagre
my blessing to be king by innocent observer
a man, by title defective
an artist in whom little may be redemptive
words a patchwork of reparation
futile to hide errant strike, reclamation of relation
so daunting subsequent degeneration
your each tear
my sorrow's weight
my son, forgive me—
forgive
your father's abate
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 7:42 PM UTC
Thee Artiste Carvó's "Fartistic Wind"
A ****** seeps into Thee's loft and lispers...
"F-f-f-fartistic s-s-s-soul, I would like to be a fr-fr-fr-freak and ooze in your **** cre-cre-cre-cretinivity"...
Thee fartistic soul then cuts cheese, and says...
"If you are to reach true degeneration, you must first crap a work of ****
The ****** then begins to swirl round and round the **** bowl...
A can of trash then pervades the room and spills these words...
"Without a lisper there is no ****** without a ****** a lisper ceases to be"...
The ****** then collides with the can of trash...
A masterpiece of p-p-p-puke...
*Original ('Artistic Wind') by: Thee Artiste aka Logbrain Crappó
Reworked by: CrE aka Trollminator*
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 12:40 PM UTC
I clip my finger-
nails
listen to
pointless music
and try
to write a decent
poem
when will I
be able to call
myself a
“poet”
I refuse to
do it now
for fear of being
shot down
by the vultures
that constantly
circle over-
head
and in truth,
I don’t believe
it
I’m not like Hemmingway,
or Whitman, or Dickinson,
or Buk
I’m not wise,
I haven’t seen
the world,
I don’t know
anything about
anything
and most of all
I’m a kid
they’re all grown,
old or dead by the
time they garnered
any fame
and I’m sixteen,
a neophyte in a
generation of
lazy degeneration
but I am not part of
my generation, I am
privy to its problems
but stoic to its culture
I stand aside while
standing atop
I clip the final
finger, the pinky
of my left hand,
and the music
churns to a halt
I count all the poems
I’ve written
over five-hundred,
I chuckle
suppose I’m a poet
even if I’m a tad
untraditional
Feb 15, 2011
Feb 15, 2011 at 11:57 AM UTC
The sun impishly dances
across my desk
prancing between
flaws and scratches
evidence of time.
It dances
across my face.
Endlessly laughing.
It hides between lines
uncovers years
itself remaining unfading.
How can something so
unbending, adamant, true
exist among the degeneration
of everything
ever set into motion?
Its caress is taunting
ever intoxicating
unending.
Tomorrow will never come
never pulling the vial slowly closed.
To feel its warmth and company
is to feel God’s smile
a breath of hope.
Mar 11, 2012
Mar 11, 2012 at 11:29 PM UTC
there is no truth
only real
you can't take that from me
am i really
that insane
the light is not pretend
soak it in
pay attention
open your heart to me
are you really
telling me
my life is just pretend
feel it with
all that you are
you can't take love from me
can it really
go unseen
a love that's not pretend
a broken era
a generation
you won't take that from me
all i really
need is you
our life is not pretend
a dying age
degeneration
you gave this all to me
seperation
disharmony
at least until the end
Jan 10, 2015
Jan 10, 2015 at 6:08 AM UTC