"deposition" poems
Do you mind if I sit back and observe the process of the lords creation the subject matter is miraculous the beauty is elegant perfect in every scence my baby girl you stole my heart such a thief ain't you, thinking about seductive things we do sinners ain't we, naughty deeds but the intentions is good it serves needs
What pains me is that I have to let go to regrip your sparkling eyes again, got to move fast so quick that I don't miss the chance to clutch you in my arms again, heaven sent such a gift I cried when you was born I ain't even know you back then because, GOD made you for me I picked up your scent, I know from day one you was mine let us age old together bad and boujee like expensive fine wine, my kiss is possessive the beat of your heart is mine let that foreplay tingle down your spine, open wide going deep let me reach your soul ****** our achievement together it ain't *** it's love
I love you girl no *** postion that can top this deposition let me show you its deeper than *** I'm still into you watch me shift working overtime full time love baby moan out affection go on say the name, our body hum harmony can feel this body heat that steamy love, open wide in deep that creamy love that dreamy love, its deeper than *** the agony an orgams of how our love make our body shiver, I love you, I love you! I rejoice I could say this a thousand times it's deeper than ***
Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 1:13 AM UTC
I was foretold, your rebell ***
Nor love, nor pitty knew;
And with what scorn you use to vex
Poor hearts that humbly sue;
Yet I believ’d, to crown our pain,
Could we the fortress win,
The happy Lover sure should gain
A Paradise within:
I thought Loves plagues, like Dragons sate,
Only to fright us at the gate.
But I did enter, and enjoy
What happy Lovers prove;
For I could kiss, and sport, and toy,
And taste those sweets of love;
Which had they but a lasting state,
Or if in Celia’s brest
The force of love might not abate,
Jove were too mean a guest.
But now her breach of faith, farre more
Afflicts, than did her scorn before.
Hard fate! to have been once possest,
As victor, of a heart
Atchiev’d with labour, and unrest,
And then forc’d to depart.
If the stout Foe will not resigne
When I besiege a Town,
I lose, but what was never mine;
But he that is cast down
From enjoy’d beauty, feels a woe,
Only deposed Kings can know.
3.2k
she reads meat
eyes in a meeting
persistent of the trysts of leather
her steady trap-door arose
in her deposition
the latitude of her nubile degrees
Procrastinates his step,
Subtly overdubbing the scrawny pallid ache
In the etch'd skin, her color-by-numbers comes undone.
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 8:34 AM UTC
calm me with your hands
smooth my wounds a little more
i'm lost in this invisible highway
wandering with lots of baggage
while i'm stuck here hung up high by disappointment,
crucified by travesty depression love and sickness
everyday my stomach hurts,
my head burns
i can see the light coming
but i know i must not surrender to the light
that is disguised as darkness
and i must remember, as my body aches
the good times and not the bad
perhaps those times were too few
if i could start over i would
crawl out of a small claustrophobic box of death
and depression
and with my hands, come back into the womb
surrender to the fall,
with the mother of us all
looking over
giving birth to everyone
so fast, so short
i can't look past you,
your eyes staring at me
watching me be taken down
you must throw me into the sun
the true light, the true fight
i can try to see the future but
i'm truly blind to everything
and i know you try to help
but every word crucifies and burns
my aching soul
and as I feel like it's time to melt back into the ground
i climb back into the womb with my Ladder
and wait to be slipped back in again,
but all I can feel is your face
all i see are your eyes
everyone else doesn't matter
i've waited so long
i've been up here so long
take me down
take me down
take me down
take me down
take me down
take me down
take me down
and just hold me,
for a little while
because i am not the one who needs to hold,
i am the one who needs to be held.
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 12:08 AM UTC
I foster an incremental relation to the cosmos, enticed regularly by its indefiniteness and appeal.
Its evolutions, innate behaviors, and formidable sciences are recompense for earth’s meager discrepancies.
I often engage in the caprice to dismount much dissatisfaction by the constancy of riveting celestial events.
These beings possess no artificiality.
Its prophetic order, ornate and stupendous architectural facets have allowed a crescendo of dispositional hysteria.
Prosaic imprecations are deduced from its auxiliary wherewithal.
There is no contrition in immersing in enthrallment nor is there fickleness in trust.
Magnificent bodies orbit in finesse and probability, achieving universality and control.
Though these incitements are exponentially cheering, my origin is but connoted in despondency.
Usurpers and ill-suited vandals proliferated by the intemperance of the Ptolemaic discipline.
Rustics, miscreants and idle minds misdirected by less virtuous planetary derision.
My cognitive severity asserted by ominous consummation.
Oh how these preponderant truths confine me unfortunate.
Soliloquy is but an affliction amidst this era of anachronistic reign.
Grandiose passivity is intolerable at this time.
I plan to dichotomize my adamant fate from precepts and conditions anew.
The deposition of malfeasant kings will be sought.
Ploys I have already configured; propagation is near to instigation.
I will exhort my ascent to prime eminence.
The stars will sanction me to a rightful end.
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 8:49 AM UTC
doopth..doopth..doopth..
the intonation of a gavel
upon a felted block
order, orrrder,
i now call to order this
washday gathering
of the
metaphysical
analytical
socks
drawer # 1793
all rise and come to toetip
for the grand entry of
the great thrice darned heel
kazoos squeak the intro
to the ode to joy
an old grey golf sock is
ushered in to sit slouched
on the top of the washer/dryer.
he observes the following proceedings.
now to business
the agenda for the day
1. groove and the toe socks
table their report on the
systematic eradication of toejam.
2.the tradditionalists continue
the open discussion on,
wool versus synthetic,
for winterwear.
3.we have a vote scheduled
on the referedum matter:
do we allow sandals and thongs
guest status in this drawer.
4.the metaphysicists update
us on the age old conundrum;
"where do the odd socks go?"
at present they are devling
into the posibilities of
superposition of states,
as presented by
the schrodinger's cat theory.
5. the analytical group are meanwhile, surveying the remaining
evenless socks;
to obtain data on the pairless state of being
6. and finally, we welcome a deposition from the natralists;
with regard to use of bamboo
and hemp to allow for the wicking
of footwater, for a longer lasting
freshness of the base arch construction.
please feel free to attend one or
more of these discussions, contributions and /or questions
will be taken after the presentations.
i am also asked to inform you, that
the metatarsals group has a table of goods for sale, at the leftside of the wash basket.
items include:
new elastics and darning equipment.
books on special this meet are;
the ever popular
"how not to become a sock puppet"
and the tragic
"my life as a duster"
then there is the new offering of
"sox and jox:
the art of underwear
diplomacy."
and one last item of note:
a reminder that membership fees,
(of one clean toe clipping) are due
before next months gathering
go now,
enjoy the gathering.
and may the foot be with you
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 3:39 AM UTC
Mystery compels his curiosity,
and he's curious about everything like a child.
Revealing his ticking gears in a timely fashion.
He used to wear his passions and
his heart strung out on the sponge's sleeve,
But it only brought pain; deposition from grief
*So the gift I bereave to you from the ashes of the old me is someone honest and true, who takes chance's Pitfall into consideration. Scribing my words to you how a Phoenix sheds it's plumes. No more I love you's until I feel you saying I love you too.*
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 3:57 PM UTC
Manning this vessel aimlessly
On open sea that beckons me.
Yet which direction do I set my sails?
According to the wind, if all else fails.
Alas, scar-clad from my ruthless ambition,
Longing to free my shackles of inhibition.
Wishful aspirations of self-deposition, yet
Auspicious sights arising on the horizon.
Jan 19, 2013
Jan 19, 2013 at 2:31 PM UTC
"two birthday presents are better than one"
sayings of the wise men
*"and what an honor it is, and how could we be anything greater
(than all too human)?"
R.A.*
~
for Rebecca, a birthday gift
~
a message of notification,
comes early one evening, an agent provocateur,
a paparazzi peeping tom,
a cat burglar presuming the poet-receiver nat is
a rat-man out and about, galavanting around town,
dancing perhaps, seeing a Pinter play, a movie,
a lecture on string theory, an underground railroad rock concert,
reading a book of priestly poetry, or himself,
lost in a mesmerizing revery of poetic composition
her question, a statement of fact, a reflection,
one or all, all for one, this pronunciation,
a witness deposition re the human condition
the man is knocked askew in about
an instantly,
sitting before the voluptuous fireplace's crackling complications,
fire sensing the multiples of implications,
contemplating the failing honor of human limitations,
sensing the uniqueness of our successes,
a claiming race prize
for all of we humans
in her words
now how great is this knowledge that we,
all to human,
all too human,
need let this then be the first
thought/ message/ notification -
meditation of our every day
that we honor ourselves first,
our upstart blessing,
in order to honor our world
and its bedazzling human creativity
~
We find our poems in many different ways. Of late,
I keep finding inspiration from the messages that many of you send to me, re the poems I choose to publish here. So I repeat my disclaimer, "any message you send can and will be used as a poem."
Jan 14, 2017
Jan 14, 2017 at 7:28 PM UTC
I don't like being "happy"
Because happiness is only momentary
It's an erratical state
It can last days or it can last for minutes, either way it always ends too quickly.
And then your kind of thrown into that limbo of sadness and melancholy
There isn't a light at the end of this , because your not in a tunnel
You're just there , you're not even stuck because this isn't a momentary state
We're cutting out the ******** ,lets be honest
Life *****
Situations ****
Family ****
Friends , if you can call them that........ ****
There's no such thing as stability,
there's no haven,
there's no safe word
, there's no pause
There's no stopping it
That's just how it is
Its that eternal numbness that just seeps it's way in
as poisons and suffocates the mind
until everything is just ,
grey
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 5:16 AM UTC
I replayed in my mind the events of that night not believing I could have ever lost sight. You see, the objective was clear through the blur of the tears your touch subsided all of my fears. So, as it stands now...in the heat of the moment I let down my guard. Now looking into your face has gotten increasingly hard. This contention sent waves that left a haze in place of where you used to be. Like a tree in an oasis that wilts over time our love thrived on the waters of what was divine...but has since dried. Can we go back to the night of that act that left us both in a position of intense deposition? is there a way to recreate what we once had at stake; this love that had seemed to be both of our fates?
Mar 29, 2019
Mar 29, 2019 at 1:48 PM UTC
Vanity!
Vanity!
Vanity!
All i see is vanity!
Wether i cease to breath
or i go on breathing
all there be is vanity!
Whether i choose to write
or i withhold my words
in my thought from my pen to book,
all there be is vanity.
Whether i choose to live
or i embrace the golden path
all i see is vanity.
All there be is vanity.
Vain is you!
Vain is me!
Vain is the world we live
the deposition of God in us
is the point we hold.
For all is vanity.
Aug 10, 2013
Aug 10, 2013 at 6:36 AM UTC
it felt like trying
to get away with homicide
except
i was guilty
for keeping something alive
repressing ardent feelings
holding back words
locking them in a cage
like wild little birds
but my mistake
was leaving something
out in the open
forgetting the evidence
the body, this poem
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 8:30 AM UTC
The most tragic losses aren't the ones that come with fanfare, with reason and justification to grieve, to seek retribution, to go mad and reject the truth.
No, the most tragic losses are the ordinary ones.
Painfully ordinary, they are.
No death, or suffering, or clear cut blame to lay.
Just the rending of a heart, in silence, in stillness, in slow motion.
The most tragic losses don't burst upon you, no, they step, carefully, meekly, into the room, and steal all the oxygen and light from it utterly, and excruciatingly slowly.
They eat away at their subjects.
They **** but leave no trail, no evidence to pile up and charge against...anyone.
One day, they have simply taken over, become everything, choked all else of its life and beauty.
One day they are just all that is there anymore.
Ever catch a glimpse of an old man's eyes, and see something hollow there?
That is the most tragic loss.
It sits and stares into him, and he sees not your looking, nor anything else.
He sees nothing beyond what has settled before him, that bores into his soul, that clutches cold clawed fingers around his heart
Not suddenly, not shockingly, but tighter by an infinitesimal amount each day over rolling years like waves.
It doesn't have a face,
Doesn't have a name list or a deposition of grievances.
It is beyond definition. We only see its reflection, there, in his eyes, as it holds him.
It exists so completely that it doesn't, except in its image mirrored in a human heart.
That is loss, of the worst kind.
The kind that is forgotten, unmentioned, unimportant.
The kind that consumes lives and evinces hollowness.
It gives no permission to be destroyed, no right to fall apart,
And yet we crumble before it, day by day, into our morning cereal.
And bite by bite,
Our ashes taste like living.
Dec 29, 2012
Dec 29, 2012 at 7:23 PM UTC
Just a voice
Inside a void
Of lustful emphasization
His mother quick
To silence him
Before the deposition
In fear of recognition
Of her actions to be held
Accountable for raising another
**** stain like herself.
One time stand
Engraved with blood
Stamped across his head
The quiet voice
Inside the void
Spoke louder as he fled.
"You ******* *****
You wasted me
I never had a chance"
The tiny voice
Inside the void
A Victim
Of romance?
Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 2:44 PM UTC
Constantly changing
Like constellations
Through
Seasons
We see son’s
Of our fathers
In the stellar
Configurations
Scientifically
Debating
The reality
Of make-believe
As humans
We strive
To find purpose
I propose
The deposition
Of myths
Are dispositions
In need of disposing
This poses
The belief
That science is all we need
I suppose
Rather
Postulate
Our posture
has change from
Hunchback
To upright
Because
We’re in the right
Direction
Abstract
Ideas
Such as love
Take a back seat
To concrete evidence
Of necessity
Your conception
Of love
Was simply a misconnection
In the synapses
Of your brain
You truly
See me
As a proper mate
For continuation
Of our primates
******
Isn’t conceived
As such
With our fellow
Beings in life
Our nonsense
Perception
In meeting
After death
Is laughed at
In the kingdom
Of animals
If evil
Is ever
The right decision
I guess
Injustice
Can be found
In justice
If righteous
Is ever
The solution
To abuse then
I guess
In retrospect
I can respect
Retribution
Evolving
Into the final human
Is a slow changing
Progress
Mutating
To survive
In the environment
That becomes
Harsh
With our further
Proofs
In the lack of use
For love
The marsh brings
Reptilian
Tendencies
Spewing venom
With split tongues
Awaiting
Full separation
Usurping serpents
Urging the up-rise
Of our final
Being
In love’s insurgence
Hisses
Drown the
Sounds of kisses
And signals
The sign...
We finally evolved.
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 5:23 PM UTC
Good Nyet, Soon
Sad late night Tweets
Staged comings and goings
To and from the tower
On Fifth Avenue
Red hat, white hat, ducks ***
Hair-do, sinister Kubrickian sons
The daughter of his darkest fantasies
Pay no attention, shiny surfaces blind
Us to henchmen nominees
Foreign creditors and deals done
In the shadow of onion domes
The Constitution assaulted, old girl
****** and humiliated as if
She were Miss Paraguay or
A high end St. Petersburg call girl
No, keep your eyes on the prize
Investigations and charges
Corruption in high places
Discovery and deposition
Congressional hearings and maybe,
Just maybe, our old pal impeachment.
Jan 15, 2017
Jan 15, 2017 at 4:30 PM UTC
Be wary of them,
Be wary of their cunning ways,
Don’t be fooled by their cheerful deposition,
Cause behind all those facades,
Lies a cruel heart.
At one glance, you might miss it
As they have a way of luring you in,
So much so that your instincts may fail you,
But fear not, as time will eventually tell.
In time, it will all be crystal clear,
In good time, you shall see
For everything eventually reveals itself.
Apr 26, 2020
Apr 26, 2020 at 3:32 PM UTC
Sometimes, I still wander up to the attic.
Once devoid of purpose, I find that it now acts as a trove,
providing some temporary sanctuary from my gale.
I convince myself that the walls can sense my own fleeting presence.
They know I won't be back for a while.
They tolerate my evanescence as I begrudge them their captives.
Revisiting - never to retrieve, but to deposit just one more thing.
I am sure I elicit some suffocating fear
of being unearthed again (and again).
I am more than half-tempted to make a break for the door
as if I were the coward responsible for the deposition of every hunk
of life or death that now form the walkways in this room.
But then, this is not the maze - I know and I have known.
I am the only labyrinth here, yielding no trace of a thoroughfare.
I am left smacking into walls more menacing
than the one I will continue to stare through.
Corner after corner after corner,
each its very own long-dead end.
Mar 17, 2016
Mar 17, 2016 at 11:37 AM UTC
Oh Death [Lorraine B] photos and posts.
All users. APAP latest videos. download
secure storage. [...]; 1. Issues - special skills
Building Read Asia. In the eyes of the Lord.
Find products. He died at home. medium,
Origin The wisdom of the creator? 1000; Tools -
Yes there is now no need for the care of a few
footer image. Sort [...]. And he was grateful
that this growth will be a happy marriage.
"Prosper b Lottery's" Ishmael consideration.
in the past? many persons in the groups to be bad
of people; (By looks to be happier reasonable]
rarely from the higher ground of the vibration
at the same time. See other apps. [...] Education
Level 1; "Presidential membership five cities.
The fast gateway; [...] 1 ❍ state codes. "No, no;
no || ❍ ❍ ❍ 1 1 1 - - - It does not! this could
not be found with Save. 1:1 This is the beginning
and an end. Lori is really bi.pi. *** is the ...
... / Hello, hello? More research ... ... ... and dinner;
One of her great-granddaughter. [Therefore]
[Formal education] Deposition of **** and to
prevent the error of the exposure; drinking large
drink bottles, great; The trembling increased
trembling; Which was one of the trials on the other
hand should be emerging; And it will be correct
meaning forever; The gods of ancient medicine
Medical And it grew dark cinema to see you spell
Lori, Lauren and Laura 1 1 1 directly ❍ ❍ ❍ ||| | |!
Oct 17, 2018
Oct 17, 2018 at 4:51 PM UTC
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Priesthood...LionQuest
COUCH ALLENS
12/13/17
to samikoku
Priesthood LionQuest…
Ultra-Gifted…New tonques audible
Utterances to an Expected EnD; Under a deserving
PRAISE…; Quantifying of every deposits=SovereignPRODUCTS
….;7SPIRITCHANTS….;SQUAD-IN-ARKCORPORATION MERCHANDISE THE SPIRITPROGRAMS IN THE INVOCATION
INSIGHTS-IQ TITHING EXPLOITS….SURPLUSINTERESTS
….THE FAITH RENDERING DECENT
….MENUINNOVATION THE PRIORITY OF MANY EXPERTISE
…PILGRIMSFACES REPLACING-ISSUES APPLAUDS.
Visibly decorated in the confronts overwhelming-nutrient…;
STRONGGOD Proven translation into HEAVENSBUOTANCY…
Recurring “Genetic-Going’ in the reality PUSHDIVINITY…: Unveiling
The universality of discipleship mightily in the EMBODIMENT OF
GODLY “Stocks-Attributes” The voted all virtues votes at infancy of
REDEPOSITES TAMED EXCELLENCIES OF AUDIBLEDOUBLE OATHS…;Quantifying believers deposition of interpretations…;Aided in the all “Potential-Pattern-Potency’ The Ego 9 SPIRITPROOF/ SailingColors/ ViSIONANALYSIS/ RHEMA REACHING ****** DEEPNUGGING DISCOVERIES IN THE INDISPENSABLE TESTIMONIAL…;Reception rescues Advisory in GOSPELTHRILL
CHOSEN THE CORRELATIVE-FORCES…;RESOUNDING THE GOSHEN
CONTINUUM/ YIELDING INCREASESCREATE….;
BOSS-BREATHES PREVALENCE....'
YOUR HEAVENS ACCUMULATION-GUIDANCE,
SESSIONS 'STAFF' A WHOLE ROYALTY CROWN CREST:
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Jun 13, 2018
Jun 13, 2018 at 8:57 AM UTC
while figuratively hunting
and pecking around me noggin
force hum theme to write about
lo and behold, the solution
stared me right in front
of my little **** nub nose with gentle clout
cuz, as an avid bookworm, the dictionary,
I enjoy expending hours
to drink up etymological history
relating to the origin and
historical development of words
and their meanings.
with no shadow of a doubt
and most times, this animatronic,
the technique of making and operating
lifelike robots, typically for use
in film or other entertainment
dogmatic, enigmatic fugee dooby
brother beastie boy
(actually a mwm) dislikes to flout
his abilities, hobbies, interests,
as aches hike kant imagine being treated for gout
a disease in which defective metabolism
of uric acid causes arthritis, especially
in smaller bones of the feet, deposition
of chalkstones, and episodes of acute pain.
Boot lemme return full circle
to thematic core curriculum aye started to aim
and express gratitude
to the ghost of Noah Webster,
who gets credit yet also blame
if some snide haughty guttersnipe,
some slovenly individual feels snubbed,
and hence, living personage, said descendent(s)
of oblivion, whatever unknown
man or woman to living persons
stake a valid claim
that his/her many generations removed
heir (Harris), and or heiress ancestor (proven
with tangible researched reportage,
then cited with countless
prestigious explorers of English language),
that a daunting scrivener perhaps
even a courtesan or rich dame
rightfully ought to receive the fame,
thus such living relative might
upend the huck cult personality be game
to dare challenge secure historical niche
ambitiously held by Mark Roget (1779–1869),
British physician, natural theologian
and lexicographer. It was released
to the public on 29 April 1852.
The original edition had 15,000 words,
and each new matured edition
of the Thesaurus grew larger.
Dec 7, 2017
Dec 7, 2017 at 12:55 AM UTC
What are the ingredients in the ink of this pen?
Circle around, and I'm sure
Somewhere in there
My life and death.
Because I draw myself into the day
Unsure of where I'm pulling from
Explodes the universe into space
And only in this swelling space
Could you ever see my face.
Intrinsic ink, one kind of deposition
Something I do but nothing I forever
I, consistent in no way, shape or form
I
Am all arrows, pointing nowhere in different directions
So dance! make up a human life
I have human eyes that dream of unbridled paradise
I have human hands that work the field in front of me
I want to utter precise truths and unite the tribe with alpha-love
I want to spin stories and touch dissonance with a fevered mind
Love the world from raw to polished
The height of the animal,
That is what a human does.
Feb 17, 2019
Feb 17, 2019 at 2:56 AM UTC