"devolve" poems
wants to be my friend, for I am poet-woman nineteen.
she is sweet but sad. super sad.
a good poet who wants to guide me.
but there/theirs is the odor, not faint, of wants wanting,
the pus of corruption behind the curtains,
the Wizard-ess of Oz's
special blackout curtains.
seen how easy, how her illusions,
my medium rare rejections,
morph into her delusions,
and her delusions devolve into
her conspiracy theories.
"SHE will be my mentor, poetess lover, teacher for no charge!"
my parents thinks it's great, she wants (to be) skin in my game.
my parents will find this poem accidentally, exactly,
how I do not want
to be skinned alive.
for I am poet-woman nineteen and still! now, long past
the point of being fooled, the point of no return.
and see no point,
have no intention,
of returning to either valley
***no more con the my mind into letting my body
be-fused.^***
that ain't me babe.
Jul 17, 2018
Jul 17, 2018 at 2:54 PM UTC
Rigid, ugly, painful intervals of burning in the pores of my skin.
A rough sensation in my heart, I missed her more than I cared for my own life.
At what point in time did my ancestors devolve me, when did my DNA first form this biological gap?
My instincts were supposed to protect me.
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 4:15 AM UTC
Human directives, veracities unverified
Bellies belching with anger, murderers
Udders dripping hate, foundling banters
Hunters striking the hungered, unfortunate
Glare sight to seek the truth, hold me lets sink
Tear motions and debates of inequality
My Dafur, the realm of the fur, demise
All armed in Sudan, the arid, a battlefield
Emergency alarms sirens from 2003
The indefinite complications and hunger
A land of the displaced, starving nomads
Hear me out in these non-dissolving conflicts
Guantanamo bay detention a prison vicious
A base for “war in terrorism”, reciprocal laws
Inhumane human interrogations persists
A breach, a revolt, the hunger riots devolve
Force-feeding, torturous measures applied
All undressed, humiliated, genitalia exposed
A Rwanda slain in divide and rule
Civil clashes, mashes, all trashed
Swaying war rapes, tapes, the raves
Machetes slashing necks and hands
A lust of power, a genocide slaughter
The Tutsi slewed and unsewn from a patch
Autocratic regime boring divisions
Territorial ethnic cleansing, a holocaust
The oppression of Jews, Romanis, Poles
Homosexuals, the disabled and mentally ill
Indifference pooled in pits and camps
The institutional social indoctrination
The honor and killing to expose shame
The violation and dishonor of moral fabric
For what is “good”, “bad”, fixated moral values
Buried waists and head, awaiting stones to hit
Confessional secrets of only what lays within
A torment watching witnesses, all dangling
Marxists calls ships to stow ashore
Masses kidnapped, confused in deceit
Invalid contracts awaits signatures
The white immigrants to be enslaved
All aboard, now abroad to revolve labor
Wage packages taken to pay for freedom
Humans bought and sold to be owned
Slaves yorked and counted as assets
Bounded to serve plantations and homes
A human, non human, a chattel, a slave
A debt ******* offended and *****
Untamed and made to obey a master
A falling global strings unturned
Tunes strumming hate, war and pain
Human trafficking, violence, inequality
Child abuse, civil conflicts, capitalists
Commercialism, zero hour contracts
For if we have no rights, I have none
For if we have no peace I have none
Jan 20, 2016
Jan 20, 2016 at 6:54 AM UTC
We use video games
To make video gains
Until the screen goes black
And reality attacks
We lose all our progress
In the deletion process
As we level up we devolve
Around the TV we revolve
The more experience we gain
The more moments we lose
Our memories forever stained
When this is what we choose
Our life inside a hard drive
Our life becomes a hard lie
We revel in being unwise
Rage quitting life
We enjoy strife
And avoid pesky light
When we live in the dark
With consumerist plights
We are all marks
Video games balance in a zone
Between game and art
The frustration starts
When art is confused for games
And games mistook for art
People take things to heart
And spitefully spew viper venom
If this is where games send them
Then why do we play?
We have no other way
To feel accomplishment
In a society that worships competition
Video games become the second edition
Of a life filled with loss
On our pixelated cross
We are murdered millions of times
Reminiscent of the millions of lies
That make us losers in the real world
Video games become our shiny pearl
The computer displays defeat
When our lives aren't complete
Because we need someone to beat
Not realizing our lives are conquered
By frivolous topics we've pondered
Our meaningless life squandered
And hope comes in the form of new releases
While inside our faulty headset is in pieces
Sep 16, 2017
Sep 16, 2017 at 3:13 AM UTC
"A patient man bides his time,"
Theodore tells the man in the mirror
Tomorrow, all the levees will break
And all the fables will be told
Of distant Decembers and forgotten fathers
Livelihoods will be threatened
And remorse will fall by the wayside
He watches as icicles on the awning
Melt away into puddles on the ground
"Warmer every day," he thinks to himself
He hangs up his scarf and overcoat
The way a simple man, with complex demons, is wont to do
And as his wants devolve into needs
And as all his anchors deteriorate to rust
Her smile unnerves a once-settled man
To think of the quality of glove necessary
To hold onto the wagon in this day and age
So Theodore pulls the door to,
Leaving Chopin's "Horseman" to gallop in peace
And in pieces
He watches her from across the courtyard
"Such sweet bliss in her footsteps," he sighs
And it seems to him as if the snow dissipates
Just from the warmth in her steady gait
Just from the radiation behind her brown eyes
He slides open the dresser drawer
A haven for scattered trinkets, odds, and ends
A place of respite for the weary souvenir
There, amidst all the corroded memories
Lies a corroded pistol, unspoken and unburnished
"And a lonely man drinks his wine,"
Theodore says, as intrepidly as he is capable
For there is a time when fathers stop teaching
A time when mothers stop singing
And a place where the sins stop searching
A last breath is deeply inhaled
But never again will find its escape
With a thud that echoes to Seymour Street
Theodore crumples to the cold wooden floor,
A simple man, finally free of complex demons
Jan 25, 2023
Jan 25, 2023 at 1:19 PM UTC
The bodied lilly fires in ashing haze
and from her amber embers I devolve,
into a weeping candle - churning maize;
an orb at night, alight to my absolve.
Remorse suffused with jasmine glazes woe
as moonlight trailings battle hue my grief
for left no infant child to mirror so -
my lover's petals, ceasing lines of leaf.
Nor have, I flare to scribe a marbled ode
that could so hymn or bear my love that shared
nor stone as cold as grey, be just; that owed
the flaming satin, fate had not so spared.
Then let this writ incense - her newly form
until my vigil dims; to death's reform.
Aug 30, 2018
Aug 30, 2018 at 2:54 AM UTC
when self-inflicted
or as counter,
the adrenaline is missing;
mind you the hara-kiri:
the sudden thrill,
the sudden attack!
it paces the heart differently
from a belief in a self...
the heart paces differently,
it's an entire revisionist sub-plot
of the book of genesis;
it almost makes Dante pigeon-shit.
that's the problem with suicide
it's hardly adrenaline ensured
surprising, the predestination of it
being all top surprising as motivational
to provide us a new Cain of the future...
rightfully i'd rather be stunned
into a shock of adrenaline by a murderer,
than by injection of overpowering myself:
the adrenaline missing in suicide
is the real philosophical issue...
the adrenaline missing due to premonition,
the lack of shock... suicide in philosophical
debate is pure chemistry:
to commit suicide is to devolve chemically
without the required boiling points or infusions
of: suddenly.
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 10:45 PM UTC
In a dark night
With a violet sky,
Stood a lovely girl
With a blue smile.
I wanted to ask
Why her smile was blue,
I wanted to know
If she was lonely too.
Then she turned to me
With her fading smile,
And she answered me
With a teary eye,
No matter where
Or who youre happy with,
Hapiness is just
Riding on the wind;
Just when you get it
You devolve in ease,
Then it goes again
Solely on whim.
So I stand here
With my weary smile,
So may hapiness
Comes without a cost.
I'm afraid this time
Even if it reaches,
My fears and scars
Will drive it to the wind.
I began to think
What then could be done;
Would the lovely girl
Again truely smile.
It then came to me
If I never leave,
Maybe I can hold
The hapiness she needs.
As I held her close
All through the night,
I could see that her
Face began to shine,
And through her light
I began to smile,
With her lovely shine
Came along a thought;
She was hapiness,
All that I would need,
With her lovely smile
I would feel at ease,
With my happy thought
Came along a breez,
Which then suddenly
Took her off her feet,
With her rising high
I began to fear,
For the me without
The happiness she bears.
I reached for her feet
But the heavy wind,
Threw me to the ground
Scaring me deep.
With the sun setting
She could not be seen,
It was then that her
Words began to mean.
On a dark night
With a violet sky
Stood a lovely boy
With a blue smile.
Mar 21, 2022
Mar 21, 2022 at 3:55 AM UTC
oh my baby
expectant seeds of memory
and truth do surge in unanticipated but ******
flows
surge and bring thee closer;
no, into my realm; devolve mysteries
resolve the unsolved, evoke and revoke my stain, my misery
be my home: forlorn as i am I stand proud
as your knight
and you my Queen.
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 2:07 AM UTC
A storm blew through early, left frost
etched, lit, glistening, on
a window's waking surface.
I sit framed by that translucence,
my daughter aligns, orders
mirroring matroyshka doll members.
I reflect on an essay*, how
poems are a symbol of will,
concluding a pact, perhaps
achieved in diction, image metaphor,
adherence to structure, rhyme, form.
Might these devolve to decoration? Or,
trace the transmission of "will to
commitments," expressing “intent”,
"weakly lost or strongly spent?”
Frost etchings fissure, shift, glint, slide
on their emergent effluence,
configure in gusts of cognition.
I sense a covenant in these lines.
my daughter adjusts her doll's placements,
the promise of one revealed in the other.
Copyright © 2004 Gary Brocks
——————————————
Attribution:
Stanzas 3, 4, and 5 are greatly influenced by my reading the Robert Frost essay titled *THE CONSTANT SYMBOL.
The short phrases in italicized quotes are direct quotes from that essay.
Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 11:18 PM UTC
I don’t know who I would be, without the darker side of my personality.
The painted desert of night allows me to explore the eternal moonlit forest of my life.
The beating compass of my heart, points in no particular direction.
I pace my steps on its rhythm, though the deeper I venture, the less I can rely on its repetition.
Neatly trimmed hedges devolve into bogs, witches to the west, sirens sing to me through the midnight fog.
The road less traveled stained with blood, a path beaten with hurried footsteps and battered love.
I take to the tress; beneath the wind-strained leaves, the monsters are now stalked by me.
Demons by day evade my pleas. Now, stuck in a dream, they can’t leave.
May 29, 2021
May 29, 2021 at 7:18 PM UTC
What putrefaction oozes up from hell
To poison aquifers of decency
And common sense? The crops of
reason smell And do not nourish the constituency.
What polar vortex drops from unknown heights To freeze the congregations of the heart?
The steeples topple, enmity ignites
And malice rips tranquility apart.
The times devolve. Security and peace, Once real estate on which a home could rise,
Shrugs off its immigrants, revokes its lease
And shows indifference to human cries.
A Lucifer of arrogant display
Has come to sweep benevolence away.
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 4:46 PM UTC
come to me,
my beloveds
with long nails
and squinting eyes,
spare neither
claw or hook,
delve and devolve,
critique and solve
the words of this prophet
scribbled on plastic
bus seats
give me
my due,
my comeuppance,
my downfalls
will me
to be better
or worse
if that be betterment
so eagerly
will embrace,
grasp, insert
your benailing fingers,
soften, grasp,
repoint thy claws
taking thy earnest joy
at pain inflicted
as my own
as long as you dare
just say something!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A bus poem
in honor of my invitation
my digital birthing
April 8th, 2015
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 6:31 PM UTC
Sleep deprived
Deranged just a little touch/just a little
Tip
Crack your
Knuckles work your bones
All around this town is shaking
Shiver/moan
All the ways we get horizontal
We get up to
Get down, always a little off
Always a half-second early, drop
Let it all fall off
Devolve your way to the light, little moth
We're so god ****** enlightened here
But you've got a long ways to go, always
Stagger long my wayward friend
Lots of beds but
None that feel like home
We get weird but
It ain't so strange
Tie your hair up in tangles like you've been had on the ground
Alley dirt on your ***
Dance your way to the front
Alternate between confident and terrified/cigarettes naked fall
Asleep alone
On some weird couch
While your best friend
***** your ex in another house
Forgivable, forgivable
Can't be mad at the poet/drunk but it's okay just breathe
Your way to the next day sit and look at pictures be jealous
Of the you you used to be
Shower like you're poison
Fill your car and
Head South Head South Head South
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 3:29 PM UTC
They talk a lot of *******
They don’t clear the streets quick enough when it snows,
And get out of hand if you are not in it.
Short, fat, bald, and smoking a pipe,
Under a street lamp,
After-hours,
They lie.
I wear orange trousers and plastic,
Blue glasses,
And I think I have the answers to poor
******* collection.
The Indian before me has,
Wooden beads around his neck,
And thick toes
Sticking out from open leather sandals.
The other has greasy hair,
Dark skin,
And is very hairy,
In a turban.
They may have better ideas.
Devolve yourself,
From yourself,
To lead.
None of them are women.
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 12:41 AM UTC
it's almost like saying:
atheism
and theism, or deism
or whatever.
it's rought comparison,
but that's the best i could ever hope
to allude to...
concerning the aye, eye, i...
oko: eye,
okno: window
oczko:
a little eye, typically
of a baby;
judasz / judas: the peeping hole
in your front door.
bilingualism is like
a mongolian horde in terms
of etymological
"struggles", i.e. introspections...
i can't even begin the platonic
assertion of form-morphing
that's translated into
darwinism of
monkey into an ape...
as someone who's into artistotle more
than into plato, because he's more
into shakespeare's dialogues than plato's...
i don't buy the platonic crap
in darwinism...
it would be, perfect,
if we were all reduced to monkey form,
and picked out one type of monkey
as our origins...
what, ******* point, would,
a shit-brick sized gorilla ever need to evolve?
a gorilla that could wrestle a tiger
and pin him to the floor, while breaking his jaw?
the **** is this?!
or right... choose a chimp...
but not a macaque monkey...
i'll just do what atheist
youtubers do... in terms of language:
******* imbecile!
pointless platonic imbeciles!
darwinism = platonism...
god, in the now, now, now...
now i should be exhibit (c) in a zoo...
or playing that ******* wormhole of a game
that's the sims...
eugenics didn't move it far along
the argument scale, that we needed
to play "god" while playing the sims...
there's nothing worth an aristotle in the framework
of darwinism...
darwinism is platonic...
it arises from the head, and the abstract,
rather than on the basis of the senses,
that said:
as one hindu guru said:
why aren't there more monkeys evolving,
turning into neanderthals?
the more atheists call others ********
we'll be swimming ad infinitum ad nauseam
in circles, concerning ourselves with
arguments, that... well...
are best summarised by a cat's
meow of concern for
the arguments in themselves...
bo'h- -ring!
oh look, retards either direction;
if that's what humanism has come down to...
seriously... if i were a gorilla... why would
i want to devolve?
so i can be subordinate
to beta-males' taxation rules of governing me?
punch the ******* in the face, and move on...
to me, aristotle would have rejected darwinism,
but plato? ooh hoo hoo... he'd be darwin's first disciple;
******* ponces.
don't bother questioning whether
poetry requires objectivity...
it's a non-objective form of expression...
as it was never supposed to be...
take your 1 + 1 = 2 elsewhere, and ponder it there.
Jun 16, 2017
Jun 16, 2017 at 8:53 PM UTC
With heads full of sorrow and hearts void of love the human condition falls weak and losses sight of any form of hope. cowardice replaces our acts of courage, our acts of kindness devolve to the depraved sight of gluttonous amounts of greed, and any chance to love others or ones self are lost in this thick smog of self doubt and self pity. Is this what it mean to be human?, If so, I happily cast aside my humanity.
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 12:07 AM UTC
the vacant hand fumbles along
attempts to occupy itself in mindless pursuit
breaking its toys and scattering others to distance
it worries the other hand with hard and sweaty massage
to no avail
the other hand retreats to its own worries
the vacant hand aches
eyes wandering too
they roam the room
wall floor ceiling
as if to find something new upon which to feast
as if to see is to be sated
the eyes heavy with desired sleep
but denied by this body
of restless pieces parts
the *****
think hard over every woman ever known
no matter how slight
its thirsty thought gasps like a man in the desert
for even a taste of sweet water
please just a drop or two
just a taste
the mind gripping its fever pitch self mutilations
stumbles along its random path
its thoughts glued to the passing images in half perceived memory
like a drooling imbecile
half laughing and half taunting the
silly's who occupy the insanity creeping into his soul
the path the mind treads
is well worn
been here before
round and round we go
like a punchdrunk prizefighter lurching
through the dim light
there is no finding way out
round and round we go
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 3:28 AM UTC
the truth is I don't find comfort in looking into your eyes and not feeling weak in the knees, it feels so good to finally feel something other than pain and regret. although my mind and my heart may be in a constant quarrel between " I can't love you" and "I can't not love you" i believe that loving you is inevitable. it can't possibly be my fault that your chocolatey eyes pierce my soul and there's no way I can help the fact that your happiness alone is enough to make my day. maybe this is just my role in society to play, maybe right now I just happen to be the girl who loved a little too much, and im not sure that I know exactly what that means for me or how it will devolve, but there's one thing I am sure of. I am sure that your ghost will live within the depths of my heart for a long time. maybe one day I will be more than just the girl who loves too much, maybe I'll be the girl who was loved just a little too much, by you.
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 10:59 PM UTC
Don't let me go
O Capitan of the starship Viscera.
You have yet to see me
devolve into a pink salamander!
You have yet to see me
fall to my knees and beg for faith.
Mar 10, 2017
Mar 10, 2017 at 1:47 PM UTC
Friend zoned
dethroned
no more primrose
visions of a future untold
so you complain
she always goes for the ones with no brain
well it's a no brainer
you have to save her
right?
no wrong
this isn't some bull **** love song
and you don't get to win the girl every time
by being the sensitive sort of guy
there has to be something in your *****
which give you courage to make the calls
the choices you've avoided
which would have let you down her halls,
but you never did
the friendship
was just too **** perfect
to try and evolve
so now you devolve
into beer whiskey and ****
oh aren't you such a knight
atop your noble steed?
you won't succeed
until you put the feeling
that your wheeling and dealing
will somehow strengthen some glass ceiling
but you complain
and ***** and moan
and say
"It's not fair, I'm in the friend zone."
when really it was you
who didn't own up to
all the things you were supposed to do
Apr 2, 2013
Apr 2, 2013 at 12:17 PM UTC
These are the clones.
They gaze at their phones and never the sky.
Never the stars for which they say they reach.
There's only lies in the truth they say they speak.
They were too weak to ever be them.
They fear the thoughts of her and him.
And so they bend to every whim of this.
The false world.
Where the very roots of life are desicrated and made unrecognizable.
They deny the circle of which they are a part.
The system of life that they so utterly destabalize.
Why? Why! Why!
Frustration builds inside.
When ponder, i, upon the clones.
I would that they all die alone! The very fear that drives them all.
And even they do not see this simple truth.
That fear is the very root of all that they do.
Why can you not admit!
Our ancestors were wrong! We are not the civilized!
We are the cancerous destroyer.
And in our destruction we devolve.
This is how nature's problems solve.
The more we change the world around us.
The less we shall, our race, develop.
This is evolution.
We will create and so destroy.
Untill our world is dull and void.
And then we to shall fade away.
This is the future they have made.
These clones that do so fervently pretend.
That we are more than dust in the wind.
A fear that we are here as animals are.
That type of thinking is far too bizzare.
To live as beasts among the trees!
The clones would rather watch tv!
The fear of death brings remedies
To natures balance called disease.
For every one they cure, another new one comes.
This is because we dont belong.
Not in such masses.
The clones are savage.
I would that they all die alone.):
Jul 18, 2011
Jul 18, 2011 at 9:26 PM UTC
devolve
whats it all been for?
frost creeps in
light no more
the warmth that paints your rosy cheeks
is just as fleeting
as a naivete blush
upon the cheek of a smitten girl
will the blue frills matter
as they burn in flames?
will the lace underlay flatter
your decaying face?
will reality reveal itself to you
on your dying day?
Or will you destroy the clock tower
before it tells you
that your time is up
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 11:05 PM UTC
A girl lays by her bedside staring out across the room to window to the world. She is transfixed within herself, her soul scattered, and her heart isolated. The last tear drop slides off her still lips as she clenches her eyes shut.
She attempts to fall into sleep in hope her dreams carry her away from cruel shadows.
She is awoken by a continues thump, her toes numb and her cheeks stale from tears.
Daylight streams in trough the rugged curtains. She is briefly blinded and then stunned by an overwhelming sensation. As the hazy world around her is brought back into focus, she looks down and finds what appears to be the word "LOVE" written on the palm of her left hand. Charged with a burning passion, she jolts up and finds her footing. Through the garden, she is lost in herself. Gently, her fragile finger tips brush against ancient stone figures entwined with plantation of humble vine and flowers. She dances with an electric essence. Free from the pressures of a once unfaithful world, she has discovered a blissful universe within herself. A hazy figure reveals himself from the shadows. A servant to a well deserved cause. He steps with ease towards her, his kind eyes in pursuit of beauty. A sense of security fixes itself within the girl, she is helpless to herself.
The two converge hand in hand as they illuminate, then devolve into the suns rays.
Apr 26, 2012
Apr 26, 2012 at 5:00 AM UTC
my baby....
expectant seeds of memory
truths do surge in unanticipated but ******
flows
surge and bring thee closer;
into my realm; devolve mysteries
resolve the unsolved; evoke and revoke my stain... my misery.
Be my home: I as I am stand proud-
as your knight-
and you my Queen.
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 3:40 PM UTC