"derisive" poems
embedded in the most tenebrous corner of my mind,
harlequin memories of serendipity,
dripping like bittersweet wine,
tantalize me,
begriming what was once an unsoiled canvas.
engulfed in my despondency,
I repose homely
until my mind's taste-buds
savor the saccharine flavors
of its own derisive thoughts.
aroused to say the least,
my mind's libido is now being satisfied.
I lie here,
welcoming all that my thoughts and epiphanies have to offer.
I am unable to disclose what's bestowed to me
but that's irrelevant.
My mind is here...
and open
and anticipating
the pleasing rush
of these thoughts that venture through my head.
The pleasure is overwhelming,
forcing my chakras open
as my ajna awakens from its long slumber.
I crave this foreplay
and I plead with the universe
to make it never-ending
but it seems my cries fall upon deaf ears
and I'm left open-minded
and unfinished.
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 1:06 AM UTC
twice by god's accidental interference,
our crash vehicles, super sized shopping carts,
connect, we are manger-penalized for unnecessary roughness
and disturbing the supermarkets peace
what better way to judge character than to examine
a single persons shopping cart contents?
hers,
all organic, milk, heirloom tomatoes, even the Chardonnay,
grown upon the farms of the island and vineyards on
the forks that shelter the isle from the ravages of the Atlantic
mine,
Hebrew National franks, yellow mustard,
very classy brioche buns, a six pack of Corona Light,
and funny colored, funny looking, rusted russet potato chips
with a tremulous smile, and an overly loud, derisive sniff,
pronounces me dead man walking sooner than later,
to which, I respond,
then, teach me, where shall we dine tonight?
later that night,
after a thousand kisses of her fluttering eyelashes,
she props herself upon an elbow and
in a tone sincere and caring,
extracts from the poet promises of
natural exclusivity
from now on, healthy, natural only, organic and pure,
from the soul soil of our shared habitat
her suntan skin, garden-digging hand, I clasp,
softly climbing on top of her,
announce with total genuine sincerity and solemnity;
I swear it, from now on, all my loving will be sourced locally
rewarded with a laugh and a gentle but hard enough,
garden to table (with her free hand), head smacking,
I noting nod, good naturedly
that both the laugh and smack,
as well,
*sourced locally,
sourced lovingly,*
which then seeded
this new only love jointly authored poem,
planted in our mingling blossoming crashing
bodies
5/29/17 i
12:43pm
May 29, 2017
May 29, 2017 at 1:06 PM UTC
10 sacrificial exhales
9 regret scented fingertips
8 matriarchal castigations
7 breathes corrupted
6 bummed ember tips
5 second hand coughs
4 derisive stares
3 relapses
2 lungs
1 heart
Parasitic paradise with death in hand
A gift to me,
self receiving
Toxicity imbalanced
This is worse than bleeding
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 8:49 AM UTC
Who do you think you are?
Said the Kodfather
In a derisive tone.
Me?
One of the greatest brains
In the world
Since 1950
Replied Swamy Downey.
Then
What about the other parts
Of your body
Questioned the Kodfather
With a wicked smile
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 7:01 AM UTC
He was always a quiet man,
never seemed to look up...
as if his eyes were afraid of
what it might mean to
see the sky
His gaze seemed neither
fierce, nor soft.
Neither attentive or lost
He would never look at you,
it was as if he was looking everywhere
except where you happened to be.
I never saw a smile cross his lips
I never heard a laugh escape his lungs
I never heard him curse
I never heard him yell
When he spoke, I could hear the dust
falling off his breath
It wasn't a monotone sound, but I imagine
he sounded like what trees or mountains
would sound like, had they voices.
He existed in the loosest sense of the word
He was an oddity and an enigma
His quietness and unobtrusiveness
could be somewhat offputting
Yet...he was often able to blend into
the background like a rain drop
in a storm.
You can imagine our surprise
when he stumbled into town one
hot afternoon, clothes looking like
he'd fallen into a vat of red paint.
Splattered. Head to toe.
In between his head and his toes,
cradled in his arms, was the
body of a young girl
He had found her in the woods,
he had said, voice devoid of emotion.
She had been lying off the path,
in a pool of crimson.
An investigation turned up nothing
The people, in need of a murderer,
settled on the only man they could.
The man who hadn't shed even one tear
over the death of a young child
The trial was a farce
The kangaroo court adjourned
Death by hanging
The man remained silent throughout
the proceedings. Quietly answering
the frothing prosecutor's questions
with the same demeanor as someone
would use when discussing the weather
He wasn't defensive
He wasn't derisive
He didn't plead, nor pray
when the verdict was announced
On the day of the execution
nearly everyone in town was in attendance
Most of them couldn't tell you why
The noose around his neck, he stared
back at the crowd. Stared through them,
as if they didn't exist.
When the rope snapped taut,
The man flailed as his body
involuntarily spasm'd.
When he finally passed,
his body swinging lazily
under the gallows,
I caught the hint
of a smile
Only for a moment.
I found it odd
That he would only show
a sign of life
as it was ending
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 12:18 AM UTC
Ajoke, daughter of moremi,
Beauty is a predicament in your lineage,
Your beauty bring out star at night,
Stars even told the Wisemen about it.
The beauty that runs in your blood,
Mama kola makes a lot of profit at dawn,
When men gathered to drink and speak of
Your beauty.
Each making a bet to have you.
Ajoke, your ęwa(beauty) is angelic,
Your tiny voice is mellific,
Your dimples is intoxicatic,
Your ostrich legs so charismatic.
But your beauty is delusive,
Think not that a derisive,
I must be Ilucinating!
Stop appearing in my dreams,
Come to my reality!
Jul 5, 2016
Jul 5, 2016 at 9:22 AM UTC
There are sounds
I truly hate:
One hand clapping,
Derisive laughing,
Babies crying,
The rasp of dying.
For us, these sounds
Raise sympathy,
For the hard of hearing,
A symphony.
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 9:51 AM UTC
Lived on one's back,
In the long hours of repose,
Life is a practical nightmare--
Hideous asleep or awake.
Shoulders and *****
Ache----!
Ache, and the mattress,
Run into boulders and hummocks,
Glows like a kiln, while the bedclothes--
Tumbling, importunate, daft--
Ramble and roll, and the gas,
******* to its lowermost,
An inevitable atom of light,
Haunts, and a stertorous sleeper
Snores me to hate and despair.
All the old time
Surges malignant before me;
Old voices, old kisses, old songs
Blossom derisive about me;
While the new days
Pass me in endless procession:
A pageant of shadows
Silently, leeringly wending
On . . . and still on . . . still on!
Far in the stillness a cat
Languishes loudly. A cinder
Falls, and the shadows
Lurch to the leap of the flame. The next man to me
Turns with a moan; and the snorer,
The drug like a rope at his throat,
Gasps, gurgles, snorts himself free, as the night-nurse,
Noiseless and strange,
Her bull's eye half-lanterned in apron,
(Whispering me, 'Are ye no sleepin' yet?'),
Passes, list-slippered and peering,
Round . . . and is gone.
Sleep comes at last--
Sleep full of dreams and misgivings--
Broken with brutal and sordid
Voices and sounds that impose on me,
Ere I can wake to it,
The unnatural, intolerable day.
2.2k
it grows now in the darkness
like a flower
like a rose
of the most deviant mind
frozen in the fractured moment
then she spoke fatal words
with the tantalizing scent of her perfumed track
it slowly grinds down the mind
one thick syllable of regret at a time
if i had only
if she had only
its deliberate
as is her silence
i know it in my bones
i can feel it eating
can feel each bite of the forbidden fruit
each derisive sigh while chewing slowly
each mocking shift of eye
each small sound effect of pieces cast off hitting the floor
like heads of executed maidens who dared
be near such a true goddess
can feel it eating from inside my veins
open them up and let the unnatural beast out
open them up and let me out
slow my fast fast thoughts
they have grown in the dark garden of the spun mind
like a tree of flowers
like a forest of roses
of the most deviant soul
frozen in the fractured moment
she leans her gaze over the top of her glasses
and smiles at me with her eyes
as she moves her hand across the busy rooms table
to touch my arm with her fingertips for a fleeting second
that touch sets me on fire
but its so wrong
in every sense
i keep the cold pie
in my vein
like a rose
of the most deviant mind
frozen in the fractured moment
to the world it flys by
but in here it floats slow and soft
like a knife slipping in and out of my tender
like a knife finding its home in my tender
i want her
i want a spike full of noise
i want a rose of a deviant mind
frozen in the fractured moment
lingering lingering
a short quick sharp pain
and its eating time
its consuming time
as it erodes the planting process of the thoughts
and stands above me shouting ever so loud
ever so dark
deceiving me with its silent deadly poisons
deceiving me with its soft hand pulling on my tight spots
the cold cream pie tastes deep and wide
full and rich
choking me
like a rose of the most deviant mind
frozen in the fractured moment
Aug 18, 2013
Aug 18, 2013 at 9:28 PM UTC
The door is shut. She leaves the curtained office,
And down the grey-walled stairs comes trembling slowly
Towards the dazzling street.
Her withered hand clings tightly to the railing.
The long stairs rise and fall beneath her feet.
Here in the brilliant sun we jostle, waiting
To tear her secret out . . . We laugh, we hurry,
We go our way, revolving, sinister, slow.
She blinks in the sun, and then steps faintly downward.
We whirl her away, we shout, we spin, we flow.
Where have you been, old lady? We know your secret!--
Voices jangle about her, jeers, and laughter. . . .
She trembles, tries to hurry, averts her eyes.
Tell us the truth, old lady! where have you been?
She turns and turns, her brain grows dark with cries.
Look at the old fool tremble! She's been paying,--
Paying good money, too,--to talk to spirits. . . .
She thinks she's heard a message from one dead!
What did he tell you? Is he well and happy?
Don't lie to us--we all know what he said.
He said the one he murdered once still loves him;
He said the wheels in wheels of time are broken;
And dust and storm forgotten; and all forgiven. . . .
But what you asked he wouldn't tell you, though,--
Ha ha! there's one thing you will never know!
That's what you get for meddling so with heaven!
Where have you been, old lady? Where are you going?
We know, we know! She's been to gab with spirits.
Look at the old fool! getting ready to cry!
What have you got in an envelope, old lady?
A lock of hair? An eyelash from his eye?
How do you know the medium didn't fool you?
Perhaps he had no spirit--perhaps he killed it.
Here she comes! the old fool's lost her son.
What did he have--blue eyes and golden hair?
We know your secret! what's done is done.
Look out, you'll fall--and fall, if you're not careful,
Right into an open grave. . . but what's the hurry?
You don't think you will find him when you're dead?
Cry! Cry! Look at her mouth all twisted,--
Look at her eyes all red!
We know you--know your name and all about you,
All you remember and think, and all you scheme for.
We tear your secret out, we leave you, go
Laughingly down the street. . . Die, if you want to!
Die, then, if you're in such a hurry to know!--
. . . She falls. We lift her head. The wasted body
Weighs nothing in our hands. Does no one know her?
Was no one with her when she fell? . . .
We eddy about her, move away in silence.
We hear slow tollings of a bell.
1.6k
Again I reply to the triple winds
running chromatic fifths of derision
outside my window:
Play louder.
You will not succeed. I am
bound more to my sentences
the more you batter at me
to follow you.
And the wind,
as before, fingers perfectly
its derisive music.
1.5k
Exuberant ecstatic rapture
Sardonic denigrating quip
Joisting up an oaken rafter
The cabin of a sailing ship
Lucid eloquent recumbence
Surreal retrospective grace
Endless ocean’s myriad turbulence
Infinity would set it’s pace
Imbue spontaneous induction
Exude efficient transience
Exhort the mystic symbiotic construction
For the course of our intransigence
Litigant ludicrous licentiousness
Coquettish audacious impunity
Lecherous libidos atrocious impertinence
Would pound id’s shore horrendously
Derisive subjugated nuance
Extol intrinsic unity
Nebulous wisps of shaded quiescence
With breeze and sky make harmony
Predilect effluent effusion
Tenacious taubla tapestry
Alleviate the torrential confusion
Acquire efficience for flights symmetry
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 12:39 PM UTC
this will be an off the chest one,
a long one,
a crazy (and) derisive one for
we
who once were
i
are now foregone.
we sit here
writing -
startled by the addition of
LOUD
music(?) to my library;
not my taste -
pink floyd
leaks through my
head phones from
the coffee shop speakers.
tea scalded tongue,
she did
warn me,
did she...
- a break,
thats where we
find
ourselves and
wondering what will come
of the fu-
tu-
re
furthur out from
now?
we quiet now,
find ourselves
lulled through
into
another plane
of which -
break end.
this year -
bitter winds find
necessitation in
her
fixation -
as last year
as next year,
til time
cedes.
we write with open head
and fluid mental
projection,
a reality
created
from each of ours
and one into
the next;
'our universe is
vast'
some cry,
of course we
know
it is.
tea no longer
scalds
(
to burn
the flesh away
)
as twangy
guitar follows
snappy snare,
tap tap
tip
tap,
blues wail
away.
- - - to take a ****
to take a cigarette
to take a lover - - -
lover missed,
though
so did the
****
currents retain
fluidity.
we're done.
Sep 30, 2012
Sep 30, 2012 at 6:59 PM UTC
•••
"on some days, I love you more than others,"
an early morning uh oh
IROLO
(instantly regretted out loud observation),
of the potentially ruinous kind,
spoken with malice towards none,
*and obviously,
no forethought,*
firmly but modestly muttered
over the modestly rumpled
courtroom battlefield
of sheets, newsprint, mugs
and Bocelli on low
smockingly,
(a slow spreading smile of mock),
she turns her gaze upon
the presumed guilty, querulous,
soon-to-be-ruined ruminator (me),
and asks with
disdainful derisive decisiveness
is your first cuppa too hot darling?
has your uncommon sense of non-sense been burnt?
t'is true I reply,
I feel the burn!
for am I not sworn
to tell the whole heated truth
and nothing but?
my love for you is simply
a mathematical additive,
progression series
every new day I love you
is forever
a mighty mite more
than the prior,
a smudged smidge of a penciled line,
taller than the
higher higher notated
upon ancient yesterday's doorpost
ergo,
ip so factoid,
and therefore,
by definition
on some days I love you more than others
•••
p.s. never have conversations like this in the presence of within-reach newspapers,
for they be
easy rolled and revised
into fearsome weaponry,
suitably for handy smacking"*
Feb 6, 2016
Feb 6, 2016 at 4:46 PM UTC
It is noontime, Senlin says, and a street piano
Strikes sharply against the sunshine a harsh chord,
And the universe is suddenly agitated,
And pain to my heart goes glittering like a sword.
Do I imagine it? The dust is shaken,
The sunlight quivers, the brittle oak-leaves tremble.
The world, disturbed, conceals its agitation;
And I, too, will dissemble.
Yet it is sorrow has found my heart,
Sorrow for beauty, sorrow for death;
And pain twirls slowly among the trees.
The street-piano revolves its glittering music,
The sharp notes flash and dazzle and turn,
Memory's knives are in this sunlit silence,
They ripple and lazily burn.
The star on which my shadow falls is frightened,--
It does not move; my trowel taps a stone,
The sweet note wavers amid derisive music;
And I, in horror of sunlight, stand alone.
Do not recall my weakness, savage music!
Let the knives rest!
Impersonal, harsh, the music revolves and glitters,
And the notes like poniards pierce my breast.
And I remember the shadows of webs on stones,
And the sound or rain on withered grass,
And a sorrowful face that looked without illusions
At its image in the glass.
Do not recall my childhood, pitiless music!
The green blades flicker and gleam,
The red bee bends the clover, deeply humming;
In the blue sea above me lazily stream
Cloud upon thin-brown cloud, revolving, scattering;
The mulberry tree rakes heaven and drops its fruit;
Amazing sunlight sings in the opened vault
On dust and bones, and I am mute.
It is noon; the bells let fall soft flowers of sound.
They turn on the air, they shrink in the flare of noon.
It is night; and I lie alone, and watch through the window
The terrible ice-white emptiness of the moon.
Small bells, far off, spill jewels of sound like rain,
A long wind hurries them whirled and far,
A cloud creeps over the moon, my bed is darkened,
I hold my breath and watch a star.
Do not disturb my memories, heartless music!
I stand once more by a vine-dark moonlit wall,
The sound of my footsteps dies in a void of moonlight,
And I watch white jasmine fall.
Is it my heart that falls? Does earth itself
Drift, a white petal, down the sky?
One bell-note goes to the stars in the blue-white silence,
Solitary and mournful, a somnolent cry.
1.3k
The well runneth dry
Words like sludge
Are painfully excreted
Through thickened and broken skin
Gone is the peace from this place
All semblance of sanctuary
Eradicated by derisive battles
Of witless wonders
Still, words try to flow
The beauty in freedom gone
The art in emotion
Hindered by fear of judgment
Joy erased to distant memory
Gone are the days of unbound expression
Missed are the times of universal acceptance
Words seeking approval are skewed
Honesty is painful
Truth is rare
Their union is all I know
And it is a punishable offense
Aug 2, 2015
Aug 2, 2015 at 4:50 AM UTC
I do not know that man, but he looks like an enemy of the people.
Not the strangest of strange assertions
I had ever heard uttered in these sessions,
And normally I may not have even looked up
To identify the speaker,
But as the voice belonged to a woman,
I chanced to raise eyes upward
Just in time to see an arm fully extended,
An accusing finger pointed at myself.
Understand, I had seen more than one of my peers
Dragged from these chambers
Without regard for decorum or ceremony,
And, in a state which was at least close kin to panic,
I saw visions of myself whisked away to a fetid Butyrka cell
Or thrown, bound and gagged, onto some Siberia-bound cattle car
When I heard a voice something like my own spit out
*I do not know that woman, but she looks like a ********** to me.*
My accuser blanched and sat down
To a chorus of catcalls and derisive whistling,
And one or two deputies in possession
Of sufficient power or powerful friends
Actually waved handfuls of rubles in her direction.
It may not have been grace under pressure,
But there are situations where chivalry
Is more indulgent than admirable.
Aug 29, 2017
Aug 29, 2017 at 10:58 AM UTC
Through different eyes we see the world.
I see the poor, struggling alone,
Limited by their circumstances,
Held back through no fault of their own.
You, however, are convinced
That laziness is the cause of their plight.
Denying your privileged life, you see
The situation as black and white.
I see climate change as a threat,
Affecting us now, but mainly hereafter.
Considering the whole matter a hoax,
You respond with derisive laughter.
I see people in desperate need
Of medical care that they can afford--
Care that's not a privilege but
A right leaving no one ignored.
You, too, believe in health care
But not as a right that people deserve.
With you it seems as though the idea
Of helping others strikes a nerve.
I acknowledge the importance of
Necessary regulations.
You see the government having
Too much control over corporations.
I see the need for high standards
For clean water and clean air.
To you such regulations are
Burdensome and also unfair.
People who make large amounts
Of money can therefore afford to pay
Higher taxes than the poor.
To me it just makes sense that way.
You are more concerned that the wealthy
Keep more of their money, which
Is a common refrain that we hear
Coming from the lips of the rich.
America's diversity
To me is beautiful, and yet
To you it seems as though our great
Diversity is a threat.
I want to strengthen our public schools.
When saying that, I see your hostility.
You want to strengthen the private ones
With little or no accountability.
Another giant issue that comes
From seeing the world through different eyes
Is the notion that what I call facts
Are to you nothing but lies.
It's not a matter of good or bad;
It's just a matter of point of view.
Based on all our experiences,
We see the world the way we do.
- by Bob B (2-5-17)
Feb 5, 2017
Feb 5, 2017 at 5:01 PM UTC
Gluttonous gapes and jibes jape and gibe
at a fine summer drinking wine
in solemn derisive disposition.
For 'tis summer!
and no wine tastes sweeter
than a glass of mockery, fear and dread
helped with honey-sweet spices and lead
'til the bitter wait
past the flooding litres and the sodding litter
into a halting cringing demeanour:
hatred incarnate, deathly pale and slaver wet:
the season's ending hangover get!
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 12:18 PM UTC
Exuberant ecstatic rapture
Sardonic denigrating quip
Joisting up an oaken rafter
The cabin of a sailing ship
Lucid eloquent recumbence
Surreal retrospective grace
Endless ocean’s myriad turbulence
Infinity would set it’s pace
Imbue spontaneous induction
Exude efficient transience
Exhort the mystic symbiotic construction
For the course of our intransigence
Litigant ludicrous licentiousness
Coquettish audacious impunity
Lecherous libidos atrocious impertinence
Would pound id’s shore horrendously
Derisive subjugated nuance
Extol intrinsic unity
Nebulous wisps of shaded quiescence
With breeze and sky make harmony
Predilect effluent effusion
Tenacious taubla tapestry
Alleviate the torrential confusion
Acquire efficience for flights symmetry
Jun 6, 2017
Jun 6, 2017 at 8:06 PM UTC
During a certain Christmas service
Or Mass as some are wont to say
The officiating priest asked widows
To step forward for a special prayer
Of blessing and favour, intoning
That God remains their undying husband
A certain woman sitting beside her
Husband on one of the front pews
Jumped to her feet hurriedly
To the bewilderment of the poor man
Who promptly pulled her hand
And reminded her of what the priest said
But the enraged woman, looking askance,
Swiftly brushed her husband's hand aside
As though loaded with filth, and retorted,
'Are you alive when you can't provide
The needs of your family, even at a season like this? '
Stunned and speechless, the man's jaw dropped as though
He was a church mouse caught prancing on the pulpit
And the congregation roared in derisive laughter
But from me to all husbands, 'Merry Christmas
And a prosperous New Year in the name of
Our Lord, Jesus Christ, the head of all husbands
And, indeed, all men.Amen.'
Dec 21, 2010
Dec 21, 2010 at 12:06 PM UTC
*Lanced hearts with sharpen'd derisive swords
praise in quest of soul with fortress'd intensity
humanity's depths of breaths & declination
flippant whirl around fury's surge
dance'd with indignity around posies
knelt before the gods in reverence
vivacious adoration of nature's beauty
languid solemnness dip'd in gravitas
bruised butterfly wings, birthing conception
satiated desires within abstract'd notions
language combined within torrents of gusto
floating on gale winds and simplex'd zephyrs
artful appreciation prais'd in kind
communion encompassing a state of being,
complexities of a poet's psyche*
~Amen
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 10:19 AM UTC
People
So confuse
Me
So people
Please
Confuse me
Continue to infuse me
With
Confusion and derision
Devise your little plans
Delire me to derisive laughs
And divide me this way that
People you all seem sad
Teeming with the bean bag
Are you really that bad?
Maybe people are sad
Now what?
Aug 3, 2012
Aug 3, 2012 at 5:45 PM UTC
Just wandering in my head
Amongst confusing emptiness
Complete isolation a
Kind loneliness that
Sings derisive laughter
Onto a burdened soul in
Need of placidity
Pieces of broken heart
Out of my control
Lost in my mind
Lacking gravity
Outside in
Consciously imploding silently
Knowing nothing certain
Jan 6, 2021
Jan 6, 2021 at 3:05 AM UTC
Exuberant ecstatic rapture
Sardonic denigrating quip
Joisting up an oaken rafter
The cabin of a sailing ship
Lucid eloquent recumbence
Surreal retrospective grace
Endless ocean’s myriad turbulence
Infinity would set it’s pace
Imbue spontaneous induction
Exude efficient transience
Exhort the mystic symbiotic construction
For the course of our intransigence
Litigant ludicrous licentiousness
Coquettish audacious impunity
Lecherous libidos atrocious impertinence
Would pound id’s shore horrendously
Derisive subjugated nuance
Extol intrinsic unity
Nebulous wisps of shaded quiescence
With breeze and sky make harmony
Predilect effluent effusion
Tenacious taubla tapestry
Alleviate the torrential confusion
Acquire efficience for flights symmetry
Jul 26, 2019
Jul 26, 2019 at 8:02 PM UTC