"desecrating" poems
I am a cereal killer
Devouring Life is a thriller
Snap, crackle, and pop
I make the flakes drop
Stalking salubrious crunch
Murdered for breakfast and lunch
My appetite for Trix is voracious
For my Lucky Charms, I am gracious
Mud & Bugs haunt my soul
Desecrating Grape-Nuts whole
Yea, I'm Nut n' Honey and Cocoa Hoots
Krispy Kritter Krave Fruit Loops
I'm a cereal killer
Yet a community pillar
Can't comprehend why it's a crime
Unrepentant, I'll massacre cereal every time
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 10:01 PM UTC
Violating a placid spirit
Memories transgress
desecrating the sacred.
Memories are
the dark side
of a full moon.
Memories are unsatiated desires
couched on sorrow
entangled in time
a perennial wrinkle on the soul.
Memories are trespassers
possessing neural atrium
wading saline sockets
slithering in to throbbing veins
tiptoeing to hollow spaces
burying all under their eerie weight,
Memories are an inescapable affliction.
In fragmented mindscape
Memories are violent winds
littering the past.
Lurking behind aches
in ethereal garbs,
Memories are assassins.
Or sema
of a swirling dervish.
Hurtling within, Memories
is an avalanche
pounding the abyss
choking the void
one gasp at a time.
Memories are
nameless apparitions
fused as shadows
to the very being.
Memories are an assault
on identity and belonging.
Sep 28, 2018
Sep 28, 2018 at 6:23 AM UTC
It’s the way the sun bounces off the gravel and the smell of wet moss mixed
With the edge of old cigarettes and tree sap,
It’s the gap between memories and fuzzy impressions
Of past existences mixed with recaptured instances
And empirical proof that my childhood existed.
In the way light moves heaver through the air there
Until branches from the walnut lift and you can hear scrub jays,
And the echo of cans that rattled
In perfect belonging with the march of smacking sandal shoes
Chasing along black pavement toward dirt roads
And children’s kindred spirits running after water.
The heavy sent of fresh fallen rain on old pain and yellow
Paint and trumpet flowers that play silent music
To the ears of a young person discovering existence
Exploring persistence and resilience and
Coming forth out of darkened nights with the
Resurrected brilliance of the maimed sick and twisted
Soldiers of life from these former generations.
Never has a place existed as hell and heaven
Like this museum of familial dysfunction.
I stand here at junction between, panic struck sadness,
And the will for the gumption to say goodbye
To a past with dwindling survivors
And sour memories. Praying a thank you to dark space
For the fond thought of their wrinkled faces
And a grandeur lesson of all that I want not,
And for the first thing my life to stay in one place
For the duration of its chaos.
Sweet wicked, loving woman ,
The remnants of my childhood will die with you.
I assume I will hide my tears in your memory.
My past my memories myself, I hate the parts I love
And fear a kind of numbness at the loss of you
At the loss of this chunk of myself
And of all the things that will slip my grasp
When so much of my life is confined
To the constantly desecrating atmosphere of my mind.
And when I turn to find
The first cornerstone of my existence,
My support and experience I will
See only shadows and the pasts of real things,
And I will miss you.
Nov 6, 2012
Nov 6, 2012 at 9:00 PM UTC
I am but a leech, desecrating in lilly glossed waters;
Clotting beautiful beads, like bracelets, across wet flesh.
Desire is a horseman in this world, coming to close the curtains on the day.
Why stop? For lashes from the scepter that was to guide us?
Fractured and rotten; yet we still cling for a taste of a crumb of the life once held within it's dead trunk.
Death. But an old friend and a forgotten enemy greedily tickling this slicken frame.
Fingers float tempting whispers to my every nerve and I long for my senses to set ablaze in those writhing clutches
Screaming from inside for release that teases and tingles like the ****** that never comes. Shaken and slightly shrunken
Light blazes at the doors, searing and scorching the very flesh that holds a withered frame
No longer seeking escape,
I slither back to the darkness I seem to have forgotten was home once before
Jul 9, 2022
Jul 9, 2022 at 7:07 AM UTC
The size, do you see it?
That nefarious beast overwhelming
But suddenly the beast is overwhelmingly gone
It's absence, it confounds me to the very bitter end
I search and I search
Till my fingers fall away
Then inside of me, the final searching place
And there, as I peer inside, lurks the hideous beast intrinsic
Desecrating the make-shift temple of my unclean heart
But then, a fulminating voice from above:
Reach inside and pluck him out from your unclean heart
Snarling, the beast lands on the leaves, and cries out as he falls
Through the earth and through the fire as he is finally ruined
Sep 25, 2012
Sep 25, 2012 at 1:26 AM UTC
Shall I take my life away
Strip the essence of disgust
From a beautiful aroma of life
Shall I envy no longer
The tears that seem foreign
To vacant hollow depths
Soulless windowpanes that echo
The pain of a thousand voices
Yet I seem to struggle
With these tornado winds
Ripping through my heart
Desecrating the holy lands
That once flourished with Love and Innocence
Now Godforsaken
Shot down in the middle of night
Crashing burning into hallowed grounds
Aerial assault bombarding
Leaving ruins and corpses
Thirsty for the spillage of my blood
Carving rivers into my wrist
Breaking dams in my veins
Letting the ****** tsunami rage
Drowning myself in its depth
Godforsaken
Now I shall die
Simply because I'm pathetic
Always thinking I can save the world
With six lines or outstretched arms
All I'm doing is setting it up
For its inevitable failure
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 8:36 PM UTC
Vindictive viral inception,
Sneaking in my thoughts pretending
ta be the Ego inside o’ me
No!Free! Digo me,
Quickly
WHEN,WHERE,HOW, WHY? come the questions
“No answers” quoth the clouds as they transfigure by.
I am done defending why
I don’t think I need to take my slice of the pie.
Take a look; exclaim ow, oh my
I got a piece of SKELL truth in my eye
Sincerely instead of me, so trickster
this shadow amphetamine
But my light is gone
A denser Vibration I adorn
One of Absorbtion,
no reflection ever
since this inception
…of attachment
…of suffering
…of another love
So in love it tears me apart
So in love it wears my heart
so instead of being asleep
I’m desecrating thoughts, tainting delete.
Making others worry and weep
as I sweep my gaze
From external to internal
infernal extension
referral to station
impatient inflation
we stand together in the dirt o’ the nation
so in love I seem to flirt
So in love I always hurt
I read the text on the screen….and **** NO!
It can’t mean…eye look, I scream.
Shock sets in, while I’m translated in the hug of a friend.
We lock eyes and she knows why…
Darkness sets in and she helps me cry;
tears from near realized fears,
tears from the suffering
desire steers.
My boy is in trouble
I’m in a hurry and on the double
STAND BACK
PLEASE SLACK
this information noose is too tight to bareback…and my throats so t.i.g.h.t I can’t taste the air. This isn’t fair! What a cruel affair to send me into such disrepair.
Mental suffering burns like a flame, so I use cigarette burns to tame
the Pain in my heart…………..fading away.
My body cools off and with a different pain I can face the day.
So often I pray for the day where my loved ones can stay in zion with me, oh wait hypocrisy risin inside o’ me
please state, the ideas deriving me, Caged in my psyche, found the lock, but lost the key.
gotta get outta my mind, gotta get outta my body
opaque and dense, and way late for defense
Wee wait in such suspense for LIFE to dispense, of us and our love.
WhyohWhydotheseideasresideinme, if i leave my body will i be free, they think you justgottado1morethingtosee.
I just hope to god they don't try again. I just can't take that part of the plan....
Please live. and be glad for it.
Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 at 11:02 AM UTC
Sixteenth of September,
six days after my sister was born
was the first time I remember it happening.
Body in my bed, I knew that was strange—
I had always slept alone—
but I didn’t know if it was wrong.
In school the next day
I looked around at all the girls,
I wanted to ask if this was normal.
I was twelve and I could not be sure
my body belonged to me.
I read horror stories,
compared myself to them and said,
you have faced a fraction of the full range.
I said, you were complicit,
he never told you to be silent.
I am seventeen still reading
article after article and I think:
my father is not evil,
my father does not deserve to be behind bars—
who will feed my family?—
but I think I would feel safer if he was.
I think about one night
when he asked, “ does it feel good”
and I felt myself disintegrate.
I am not sure he heard what I heard:
does it feel good when I am making your body,
in which you will stand
for the rest of your life, unlivable?
Does it feel good when I am desecrating it,
when I make it unholy ground?
At the trial of our sins I will ask
God what my body is, and He will say
“it is a trust” and I will point to you and say
“then he has broken it.”
May 25, 2020
May 25, 2020 at 4:35 PM UTC
We are all but
hanging
from
a
thread
as our lips seal
behind thick black string
flesh made raw by shards
of heavy rope
ensnared by echoes of all
opposing voices
seem to come from
all sides-
but are, rather,
those of the
loudest protesters
out of sheer frustration
that we still find
ways to shine
in our music-
angry, spoken word,
**** RIOT
rant filled
in our art-
graffiti on your capital
desecrating your
male saints
streamed through your
safe airwaves
******* up your
perfect hegemony
livening your
boring missionary
bedrooms
bleeding in your
just-washed white
sheets with my girl
friend and her boyfriend
In our poetry-
CAPITALIZED, misspelled,
profane-fuck-out of syn
tax
without filter
in red paint
on sidewalks
in newspapers
on bookshelves
in magazines
on flyers on
our lips in our
hearts
screaming
crying
laughing
soaring souring
soar-
ing
Mar 21, 2012
Mar 21, 2012 at 4:19 PM UTC
Somber rasps,
from neon flickers; cosmic elapse,
while late-workers drink the moon's wake,
subtly alive - blood-bolt captions on their weary eyes,
by feel-good bar lights,
solemnity; desecrating gemini,
grisly wonder germinates in vapour-shaken minds,
fissures - pigment-bleed from harsh-glare,
crystalline pecks - tension resolve,
absolution; static melt over slate
silhouette slink - frenzy cult,
blink- she swells into the night,
aluminum-thump - frigid airs send urban-rush,
past in whirring monotony,
hall-stretch labyrinth - she was home again,
rusted clink,
cogs whine again; like clockwork,
she hadn't touched the front door yet
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 4:22 AM UTC
They slip through the cracks
In and out of every pit
Until with ease they arrive
Where Fools sit...
In grotesque embrace;
Questioning deafly till
They're blue in the face
Doubt spins round
Desecrating the air
And manic eyes blink
With glassy-eyed stare;
Murky mirrors reflect pale
Shadows of mens' minds
Mockingly peering down nose
As they sweep truths from under toes...
They slip through the cracks
In and out of every pit
Until with ease they arrive
Where Fools sit....
Jul 2, 2011
Jul 2, 2011 at 1:38 PM UTC
and the little white girls walk in
with their school sweats on,
smilin' all precious innocent like
with hair that never goes awry.
and the dictionary is tellin’ me
words ive been using for years
never really existed, and then
i look’d up existential crisis.
and the cold wind turns tan’d
skin pale as blood recedes to
more important portions of a
body preferenc’d warmer times.
and the words i have to say
i want to erase without a second
notion, but i cannot for fear of
loss of thoughts not yet conceived.
and the knowledge of having been a
mystic misplaced, once recess’d
to a span of sleeping lives
allow’d to be found incarnate.
“ . . and even if, crazed, he ends up
by losing the understanding of his visions,
at least he has seen them!”
content’d the loss of action to thought.
Dec 13, 2012
Dec 13, 2012 at 11:44 PM UTC
What kind of man is this
To report his mother for begging him
To abandon hateful folly?
What son is this, so depraved,
Would shoot her in the public square
With jeering blood-seekers cheering?
What kind of god must this man seek,
To end the life of the one who gave him life,
To what end would such a god demand obeisance?
Perhaps a god this is,
Whose thirst for blood would raise
The dripping flags of war
And bathe the world neck-deep,
Up to the horses' bridles in gore,
But he's no god of mine.
This god is not the One
Who sent His only Son
To give His Life in the name of peace,
To save His friends and love His enemies.
This god is in rebellion,
Denying his own creation,
Lying to himself,
Reviling peace
Because it bears the image of
The One True God.
Enviously manipulating,
Beguiling the children of Eve,
Desecrating the human form,
Dividing the human race,
Heaping doom upon doom,
Calling damnation on himself.
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 8:48 AM UTC
I feel we have the same depth.
I measured it.
It is exactly 2 feet, 12 centimeters and one apple.
Sometimes two apples.
Depending on the weather in New Zealand,
And the size of the kiwi crop yield
divided by the length of a fault in Japan.
And how that effects the cherry blossoms.
Make a hole in a book without desecrating it.
I bled on a book once,
Not what I meant.
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 2:45 AM UTC
Still learning what to say
What to feel and what to wear
Deranged and damaged goods we are
Like madmen running naked wild
Like old men trying to play with fire
Deranged and damaged goods we are
A Generation in a haze
All our dreams have been tased
Too many noises all around
Too many hearts broken abound
Running and jumping
We're just desecrating
The flesh and blood in the fire
Screaming and shouting
We're just all repeating
The anthems of denial
A generation in a haze
All our dreams have been chased
Too many noises all around
Too many hearts broken abound
Like psychopaths defile
Like those in pain who smile
Deranged and damaged goods we are
Like demented empty shells
Like a living regret
Deranged and damaged goods we are
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 12:44 PM UTC
Three wives or at least two
But I'm one of the few
The few that believes in monogamy
So I'm sticking to my marriage with poetry
Yes, I admit to a couple of affairs with words
But that's a crime my wife can easily wave go
Like Sarah having her maid wooed
Though desecrating to her matrimonial room.
Make it rain all day
Rain poems that makes heart stay sane
Pain and bitterness interwoven into poetry
Yes sad but the joy therein comes after the read.
Let there be a deluge
So much without a place for refuge
Let the poetic flood wash away pollutants of this awesome world
Let the poetic purification begin now.
I pledge to transformational poetry
I write this insane world back into sanity
Recreating my own space
Letting my pen and mind decide the pace.
Peace out of chaos
Addicted criminal gone pious
I call that "Poetic magic"
Mar 26, 2015
Mar 26, 2015 at 8:47 AM UTC
I found an old box
of disposable latex gloves
and became
entranced
aroused
foolish
I pulled them on,
becoming breathless as their fibers
closed tightly around my fingers
shaking
I raised a hand
to my throat
and let it caress
and clamp
tightly around it
the other hand
smoothing into my stomach,
together they moved
and groped
and pulled
tracing memories
of latex gloves on my body
desecrating my temple
praising my goddess
freeing me of-
- I ripped them off-
exhausted
breathless
ashamed
I wanted more
I wanted to ask for more
I wanted to run back and ask
I was still his sub his slave
I fell to my knees and worshipped
I was ashamed I felt weak
I didn't care
I wanted more
Jun 1, 2017
Jun 1, 2017 at 11:08 AM UTC
desecrating the bathroom floor of a home that’s barely my home with blood or ***** what’s the difference? it’s not even my bathroom. my bathroom is one flight up. a boy I barely remember is talking to me & somehow I’m talking to him back, or am I? feeling dizzy like a sunburn with plenty of ***** left to go around still in my throat, plenty of food still in my stomach. 15 liters of food in somebody’s stomach could make that person’s stomach explode. sometimes I have dreams about stomachs exploding the way the sky does just before nightfall, like it has a virus or something. a girl walks into the bathroom & I’m still sitting cross-legged on the floor of this stall wanting to throw up but trying not to, a plastic bag next to me, and an open wallet, purple water bottle. every bit of me wanting to tighten up like a small dog. I picture bruises opening up across the backs of my legs. I picture grandmother commenting on the size of my stomach when I see her tomorrow. my grandmother has wrinkles deep as the belly of a pregnant cow. something about the way I interact with my grandmother reminds me of the skeleton of a dead bird. like the dead robin I saw walking to the bus stop from my house, on broadway, next to the old synagogue; dead robin reminded me of a ****** up crying infant & I wanted to bury it like one. (a girl walks in on me in the bathroom & I squeeze up, hush up, she sees you, it’s too late, swallow your skin.) everything these days reminds me of a ****** I saw once on T.V. with some boy I can no longer remember the name of.
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 12:41 AM UTC
Lyrical Poet of Greece
flowing like gentle breeze
Born in island of ******
like dawning sun she beautifully rose
As the time flew
desecrating winds blew
leaving mere fragments of work
one complete but mere sixteen lines
So little is known for certain
Yet it does not discourage me to pen
Let this poem be a spark
let your curiosity leave a mark
She crafted words into a mystic Shape
once read there is no escape
She wrote of fragile personal moments
of her daughter and her female friends .
Even Plato acknowledged her beautiful lines
He even said these following lines
"Some say the Muses are nine: how careless!
Look, there's Sappho too, from ****** the tenth"
Solon an Athenian ruler heard her song
and wanted it to be taught along
when curious faces asked Him why
he replied "Because I want to learn it and die".
Her Face was was minted in coins
Portrait painted on vases
Syracuse honored her exile
by erecting a statue
showing words could transcend
her gender in the people's eyes .
Mar 5, 2016
Mar 5, 2016 at 11:13 PM UTC
The words do not scream
It’s the inner turmoil
Which blasts out the words
Fired like missiles
Landing on opponent’s heart
Desecrating the feelings
Why such vitriol
That can burn everything
Another war of words
For words come easy
To wipe out precious feelings
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 10:41 AM UTC
He crossed the line
Entering my life
He ignored my resistance signs
Avoiding all my female land mines
There were no explosions
There was no protection
He crossed the line
Desecrating my sacred shrine
Nov 16, 2020
Nov 16, 2020 at 4:06 AM UTC
A calm winter night.
The street lights at the window sill did not seem to embrace my room as I was seated beyond my desk.
The unlit screen still seemed bright for when it carved its image in my eyes,
The glass display shattering in millions of shards piercing through my paper skull.
An etymology of communication, the relation of electrical currents through my crevasses,
The empty eyesockets in my skull ridden with blood, pus and ink, oozing out of my empty casket on what remained of the abandoned framework in the chair, corroded to unidentifiable bits of gore
A steaming pile of putrid mass desecrating the serenity of the chamber,
decorating the walls with mould and algae
A murky portrait indeed.
Tangling vines carress the oxidated heaps of sticks and bones, they feel it, they long for it
Mutilating the sheer remains of contorted steel and ivory as the ink chants its final tune.
Nov 15, 2017
Nov 15, 2017 at 8:00 PM UTC
Some people drink, some people do heroine and some do crack, some hurt themselves, some use other coping mechanisms, some smoke cigarettes. I used to see no point in these things, I used to see no point in drowning your pain and fears in things to avoid your tears. I never understood why people try to forget the things that hurt them by doing things that hurt them?
Until you left, until you came back and asked me why I smoke. You asked me why I do something so stupid something that hurts my body. You asked why I smoke.
I couldn't tell you it was because of you, I couldn't tell you I smoke because I don't wanna face the fact that I... At one point... Saw no point in drowning pain in things that cause pain... I couldn't tell you I smoke to avoid the realization that at one point in time you made me feel so high I didn't need drugs, and now, you make me feel so low I need drugs just to feel normal.
Now you asked about the cigarettes, why I put the cancer stick between my lips and inhale it's desecrating fumes and ruin the lungs that used to breath you in. And I can't tell you again, it's because of you.
I can't tell you that the thought of you makes my hands shake like a beggars trying to hold onto his last dollar and the only thing that slows them down enough to grasp the present is that cancer stick.
I couldn't begin to explain the strange notion that I put the cigarette between my lips to muffle my voice so it doesn't sound the same as when it spoke through my heart to you.
That my clothes still reek of you and the only way to mask that once sweet aroma is to cake it nicotine, tar, jet fuel, arsenic, ammonia... I could keep going but I don't have the time to name the 4,000 chemicals I'm letting **** me, and yet keeping me from killer thoughts. My mind reels from ...THC and nicotine... I know it sounds obscene that I'd let you get to me to this degree and potency, but you don't understand the impact you had on me I fact I don't even think you took me seriously, but maybe that's why you took your leave.
You asked me why I smoke, but I didn't have the heart to tell you it was because of you.
You told me you don't love me anymore, you told me he was better than me and he didn't hold the disgusting habits I'm tied to. I couldn't tell you, when you break his heart like you did mine he'll hold them as close as I.
I couldn't tell you it's always because of you..
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 11:05 AM UTC