"designations" poems
Subway strolls to unending destinations
Runaway bride to subsiding designations
I stroll and begging aint my solution
A solve to the query not a conclusion
No ticket no money
No money no ticket
Train rushes from mile to miles
No ticket no money
No money no ticket
The pain rushes from my mouth
My pockets so bruised they hide away
******** society telling me how to lead a life
I lie, I am alive and bubbly inside, cant lie
Take away that submissive robot you knew
Train train slow down the pace
As I jump of the carriageway of slates
Train train lower my taste
As I forever I get lost in the rush of lust
Apr 15, 2016
Apr 15, 2016 at 2:50 PM UTC
We are more than
Our names
Our designations
Our reflections
We are more than
Our present
Our dreams
Our efforts
Breathing canvas
Of the fuel
And the fire
That’s what
Who, we are
You N’ Me
Apr 15, 2019
Apr 15, 2019 at 9:05 PM UTC
I, Kinmgo Kaput, Lord of the Three Grand Lands
that Sink Every Time there is a Flood;
I, Lord of the Queen of The All Basins that Deliver
Rich Harvests and Rice and Lentils and that rules
the Nether Rooms in the Mansions;
I, Pharaoh and Lord of All Kingdoms
that ever existed before my Time on this Wretched Earth;
I, Lord of the Rich Lands and Lord of Wood and Metal
and Lord of a Thousand Such Designations;
I, King, Emperor, Pharaoh, Son of Heaven
and Descended of Stars;
I do solemnly swear and declare
you a Nincompoop for reading this, wasting your time idly
looking at lines not worth the space they inhabit;
You, waster of time reading lines of second-rate verse
rather than feeding the poor
or offering your hours at the House of the Wretched;
You, waster of time reading poems and verse
not worth the alphabet the language inhabits –
You, I declare a Nincompoop
and may you waste your hours in the Underworld
translating the lives of Ants into clay tablets of verse
that disappear after each line you carve;
and may you, nincompoop who wastes such time reading such empty verse,
may you so waste eternity
And thus have I spoken and thus is it recorded on this wall,
the Solemn Words (no laughing or sneering there!)
Of Kinmgo Kaput, Lord of the Three Basins
That have been left Unwashed
by the Queen who lords over Home
Oct 2, 2010
Oct 2, 2010 at 2:57 AM UTC
The road to hell is paved with good intentions, my acquaintance of sombre excellence.
So, please do not be deluded by expectations from particular designations and social strata.
As teardrops drip from ancient clouds above multigenerational transmissions, I can feel those Celtic waves of classical death which resound throughout our hollow shell of existence.
It is just like malignant optimism, don’t you think? Coitus is always permissible, but it is not always beneficial.
Therefore, board this aquatic bubble and follow the current downstream at your ludicrous peril, whilst intrapsychic processes drive the train off socio-cultural junctions.
Feb 14, 2014
Feb 14, 2014 at 10:33 PM UTC
*O breath-bloomed beast,
O phantom pulse,
O sweeper, swift,
O shadow scars
Of destinies
And designations,
Of heart's desire
And desperation,
And despair,
Downward detours
To despair, the deep Danube
Of departures, I detonate
The dormant dynamite
Of decent death,
Now, seal the sea
Of my seeping soul,
Let alone the love
And sshh the sails
Of sorrow, that I might
Greet her tomorrow,
With a trellis of tears
And a smile.
A smile.*
© 2015 J.S.P.
Nov 16, 2015
Nov 16, 2015 at 11:30 PM UTC
I have nicknames and designations for all my friends.
You, not a ghost but a phantom, not a ghost because you are my friend, always, and I will always love you.
But a phantom, an echoed impression of a old friend.
Foggy, misty, silhouetted figure with a familiar outline and unfamiliar details.
Looking for the person you wee in the ancient days of my youth like looking for rice in a snowstorm.
Not trying to rekindle an old flame you see,
but trying to find the fire-words to light a new one.
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 3:31 AM UTC
Remembering hurt.
Designations of dirt.
Crawling, knee and nail.
Dessicated herbs.
Resignation of worth.
Stretching for the bag.
I've seen how this ends.
Up in smoke.
Dreaming delight.
Up in smoke.
Dreaming delight.
How long will this pattern run?
Up until the day is done.
How long will this pattern run?
Up until the day is done.
For any calm from halcyon,
I need
to burn
the herb.
I've seen
how this
ends.
Up in smoke.
(...)
Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 3:55 AM UTC
I gave up
and I gave in.
I caved from the pressure,
and most benign of stress.
I fractured,
I broke the plate.
My cornucopia of delicious,
has no nutrition for my soul.
Meekly I settle for meager.
Weekly, I’ll settle for less.
At least this way I can breath within-
-the full expansion of my chest.
This way I can safely save-
What little sanity I have left.
So to you, maybe I’m a failure.
Maybe it’s true, but monetary designations do not reign in my mind.
For love and life defines the greatest of wealth.
Nov 13, 2017
Nov 13, 2017 at 6:54 PM UTC
Yes, once it was red and full of hope
now it is black and full of destruction
beating slow now and immersed in discontented grey hate
this child of christ now steps out of the light of honour
for on his lips is the blood of the last dark trinity
with the cold hopes of lost designations of god hood
No more will the lies of ancient Universal Texts hold manner
for the broken hearted toy of summer dreams unrequited
rolls forth the carpet of time and opens the door to the last war
then dies again and again and again in ****** communion of lost causes
and surely no one could should weep for a child of war
as they leave earth's realm to live in battle for ever more
Tempus fugit and it played havoc on aged mercury
so now he takes flight with stained ragged wings
folds the last of lost space with dinner plates whist angles sing
then they look down and tears of sorrows they bring
like splintered rainbows given in lies for everyone's sins
there is no glory in lost hope and all that it brings
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 10:57 AM UTC
writing death-charged poetry
with little need
to search for signs,
for inspiration,
for it is abundant
and can take any form you like:
the mustard seed of parables
the gloss of autumn
a folding chair
a list of designations
anything that is brewed
verse jumping to memory
a quick appreciation of all that Jesus did
knowing that the lines should continue
an abstract painting
that finds a place in your soul to claw
fear
the shear numbers of morning glories possible
the fun of knowing that your philosophy
begins where other peoples end
an empty strip found in a fortune cookie
as it did last night.
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 9:12 PM UTC
*a russian looks into a glass of whiskey
aiming at a philosophical endeavour,
but a pole sniffs the same glass
for the nasal palette to blossom
akin to the tongue's, and looks elsewhere, forever.*
i own a book you won't even
buy on amazon.com:
voltaire's *elements of
newton's philosophy*
(after all his less respectable
works remain in print,
candide and letters of england,
worth a copper bust in some
courtyard, i'm sure) -
newton, yes, the guy
who related several
linear designations
of uncovered algebra
pinpoints in equations (
compost heap mathematics);
and i'll drink you
under the table, with your
last memories of the night
being my coherent speech.
Jan 26, 2016
Jan 26, 2016 at 12:04 PM UTC
They stand at their designations inputting the mindless dribble while their fires die out.
The words flow to letters.
The letters flow to lines.
The lines flow to numbers.
The numbers flow to nothing
The endless cycle repeats for the norm till their just drones of numbers and nothing.
Their nothingness becomes a count for change on paper and virtual.
This is the life of just another statistic.
Jul 4, 2019
Jul 4, 2019 at 4:31 AM UTC
awaken love in me
gently. fallible.
spontaneous.
alive.
laying beneath the sense of each
word is the armistice
of mind versus heart
of body versus stillness
of sound versus silence
of distance versus proximities.
this long-winded gasp of breath
holding on to gravitas
keeping things in their
designations.
or this desperate hum of quietude
yearning to be noticed,
concealed in immense portage
flowing to be bequeathed
to cupped hands and touch
a face callow. mild. tender.
like water falling again
and again in repetitions
memorized - permitting
desire to utter plainly rendering love's easy, breakable structures.
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 10:23 AM UTC
What I wish I was
And What I Have Been
A contradiction in terms
That disguised himself
In an intellectualist's cloak
A time worn wooden shelf
For all of my insidious memories
Decorating tacky shameless
Lighting for a cemetery
Making a mockery of
The designations of life's many fates
And my creed was based on the novelty
Of avoiding how to grieve
Crimson tired eyes
Postulating sleep upon restless nighs
For I expended so much time
Doing just a little less than nothing
And somethings, my brothers
They never change
I am so unequivocally deranged
My life changed
And what promised to illuminate my life
Encapsulated my only light with shame
As I breath
Martyrs and murderers
become the same
The leaves fall like they do
When their colors change
If that's how our lives worked
I would die today
Away from my lovely tree
Be swept away by the wind
Disintegrate into this earth again
Regret that life's not as simple
As I would love to forget
Find reprieve in a new life
I never found in the one I have in front of me
Mar 26, 2018
Mar 26, 2018 at 11:07 PM UTC