"diametrically" poems
no emotionally ecstatic experience compares
to the seminal instance
whence spermatozoa
(from profuse *********** beget
the miraculous propensity
to procreate despite the steep odds
female fertility fosters potential impregnation
fusing the hereditary debt
of feral, fiery, fomenting friskiness
fueling fancy free footloose fornication
prior to seminal fertilization union
sans ova doth induce fret
full ness in tandem with
diametrically opposed exultant sensations
(biologically, embryonically, microscopically,
et cetera) seismic shocks inject
when deliberate intent arises to disregard
applying prophylactics choice
plying reproductive roulette let
which analogous fruitful uterine plain
bastes the "cooking" egg omelette
which impregnation upends cessation of "self"
first and foremost asper desire to breed
wrenching role of "me" as operative
of webbed world de jure upon
consummating that most miraculous deed
necessitating yet for the fecund female relief
from messy menstrual cycle
she becomes temporarily freed
that perhaps a novitiate (or even a gal practiced
in the euphoric family, she instinctually
abides prenatal signals that heed
without feeling debased, harangued, lectured
pedagogical, polemical, puritanical, et cetera blast
assessing copulation enjoyed gloriously,
ineluctably, kinesthetically
lectured by elder, especially cast
in thee reel life drama, that nine months
til offspring utters initial whimper
elapses exceptionally fast
emitting a radiant golden halo wishing
to bottle confluence of hormonal secretions last
ideally fully awake to the birthing process,
when juiced the first stage of maternity past
cuz every moment thee inconsolably
(perhaps colicky infant)
gets first dibs to suckle,
which round the clock nursing
consumes moments many vast.
Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 11:04 PM UTC
If I moved a muscle right now a window would break.
If I took a solitary step the tiles beneath me would crack.
Submerged in the oscuridad save for a small pulse of luz called optimism because that’s just how I was raised.
I know I can’t pretend to make an oasis
Because how well did that work out for me last time
The lightbulbs can yell and scream and punch the air
But nothing will make them turn on without a power source.
I can’t be breathing hard or else the candle stub I have left will blow out I have to
Guard it but keep looking for my next step using its meager light trusting
That the beacon I look for is not further than the reaches of my
Light that I will with the remaining shards of my life to keep on
Reining now is uncertainty that is
diametrically opposed to the concept that the sun is gonna rise tomorrow I promise so let me stroke your hair and shroud you until it does.
I exist in this limbo of heeding the hours that come. The ticking of the clock drudges yet I gulp every last second as it arrives.
I voraciously **** the teaspoon of trust I have left that the
Audience is just watching the plot arc to progress and that
The dramatic irony of some surety is just beyond the radius of the hardly illuminated path beneath my shuddering feet.
Maybe someday I will stumble upon the next candlestick or something.
Maybe someday I’ll find a working light bulb buried in the snow or something.
But here I progress or something.
Un día a la vez or something.
Grappling foot by foot for something.
Something.
Dec 11, 2021
Dec 11, 2021 at 5:37 PM UTC
That girl doesn't inspire me a bit, let me guilelessly confess,
the one that sits right there,diametrically opposite to my roving eyes,
in her cozy corner, shielded from the view of most others,
filling the seat exactly with her perfect curvaceousness,
she has false promises written all over her many allurements
for me (who else) bored to death, at this blighted moment,
triggered by scrolling account statements when all I love to see
are words, dainty pulchritudinous words, I can munch always.
In spite of my valiant efforts,to make do with what is at hand
and appreciate the poetic bit, her body language whispers,
as my existential compulsion demands, I couldn't move any further.
I do my best, try to caress her gently with my brooding eyes,
trying hard not to look duplicitous, but my eyes, curtained off
with boredom and drooping, easily lose focus, seeing this,
her eyes pop out,yet my arrows that lost verve hit sometimes!
Now, with enthusiasm renewed,she gives it a try,but repeatedly fail,
every shot she returns is a blank, such a cruel curse of cupid!
She is an impostor, tamed sheep cross dressed as a wanton she wolf,
the easy chemical repulsion, lectures to me on the alchemy of affinity,
but how can I complain, it's not a clause in her letter of appointment.
Oct 8, 2015
Oct 8, 2015 at 1:46 PM UTC
My living disposition leads me to assert that I am not dead!
Yet, my silence screams ancient transcriptions across geographical contour lines which are considered to be far removed from the metaphorical grid of contemporary societal norms, where the seductions of the vampyre and her haunting dynamics cast their eerie spells within this captivating fishbowl of galloping horses.
The Prince of Wallachia is able to explain.
Let us converse with The Count.
Whenever there is emphasis upon specific detail in this age of certain vanity, I find that, in 1456, I am truly bereft of valedictorian and flamenco odours, because this royal prince of acoustic arrangement has generated a harmonious expression which humbly corrects my intrapersonal assumptions across the mountainous regions of Transylvania.
Conflict resolution is therefore a mere figment of sociological and anthropological constructs, which fornicate with the façade of egocentrism and fabricates vain attempts to maintain social elitism within a blanket of darkness.
How do we find ourselves in the position of being so diametrically opposed to reality?
Dec 11, 2015
Dec 11, 2015 at 12:47 AM UTC
a
malignant cancer grows inside this test
tube today in longing abundance escaping
with our humanity equally adherent to this
cause of death in ***** where theater
diametrically opposed will cherish it again
with leprosy approx sort of this vacation
that's well in remission with heredity again.
.
Jul 30, 2017
Jul 30, 2017 at 8:21 AM UTC
I am diametrically : opposed to the closure of night shelters,those helping hands that reach out to the disadvantaged,the homeless and those who have been savaged by circumstance.
What cost,the chance of some warmth,conversation,the realisation that all is not lost?
But
'we've gotta picka pocket or two...' Tory blue and Labour too,both are guilty in the dock.
The judgement said, 'we only followed where others led'
We have a way today to pay and finance those in poorer circumstance,we only have to open up our hearts and give a chance to them,the Women and the Men who have hit the harder times.
I've been there,done it,read the book and it is shit,don't let the press steamroller you and make you believe it could never happen,it's true it could be you out there,
and I don't care who you vote for but I don't like you if you close the door on those less fortunate because you've got more.
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 11:45 AM UTC
There exists a mystical and quadruple representation of words, which is likened to a dictatorial Superstate, where translation is subject to that which is spoken, heard, written and read within the context of trans-national capitalism.
As we gaze from beyond the glow of the pulsating circumference, we can humbly acknowledge the ludicrous predicament of the many who are ruled by the few.
The parameters of this earthen citizenship may be somewhat characterized by embracing the perceived benefits of the system and a state of financially intoxicated anosognosia. However, as we traverse this metaphysical cataclysm where the majority votes of public arrangement diametrically oppose absolute law and that which is deemed to be reasonable; our compulsory co-operation self-regulates with a cardiovascular beat of semantic propaganda and monopolized dissention, where the relinquished rights of our revered forefathers have been re-written by coercive legislators in the name of socio-political equality.
The philosophy of meaning and political expression both buries into and removes her gorgeous face from the cuniform textures of Sahara catacombs, where we ****** relate and disengage from the **** with tyranny.
Sep 4, 2015
Sep 4, 2015 at 12:43 AM UTC
The spirit of the age projects a myriad of peculiarities which are diametrically opposed to the wisdom of our ancestral manoeuvres of foreboding contemplations.
It is sufficient for me to say, that I have rolled up my trouser-legs in metaphysical resignation.
Lest you forget, that the history of our posterity is shrouded in post-Edwardian etiquette, as she balances on the brink of relinquished community.
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 4:09 PM UTC
no emotionally ecstatic experience compares
to the seminal instance
whence spermatozoa
(from profuse *********** beget
the miraculous propensity
to procreate despite the steep odds
female fertility fosters potential impregnation
fusing the hereditary debt
of feral, fiery, fomenting friskiness
fueling fancy free footloose fornication
prior to seminal fertilization union
sans ova doth induce fret
full ness in tandem with
diametrically opposed exultant sensations
(biologically, embryonically, microscopically,
et cetera) seismic shocks inject
when deliberate intent arises to disregard
applying prophylactics choice
plying reproductive roulette let
which analogous fruitful uterine plain
bastes the "cooking" egg omelette
which impregnation upends cessation of "self"
first and foremost asper desire to breed
wrenching role of "me" as operative
of webbed world de jure upon
consummating that most miraculous deed
necessitating yet for the fecund female relief
from messy menstrual cycle
she becomes temporarily freed
that perhaps a novitiate (or even a gal practiced
in the euphoric family, she instinctually
abides prenatal signals that heed
without feeling debased, harangued, lectured
pedagogical, polemical, puritanical, et cetera blast
assessing copulation enjoyed gloriously,
ineluctably, kinesthetically
lectured by elder, especially cast
in thee reel life drama, that nine months
til offspring utters initial whimper
elapses exceptionally fast
emitting a radiant golden halo wishing
to bottle confluence of hormonal secretions last
ideally fully awake to the birthing process,
when juiced the first stage of maternity past
cuz every moment thee inconsolably
(perhaps colicky infant)
gets first dibs to suckle,
which round the clock nursing
consumes moments many vast.
Feb 11, 2018
Feb 11, 2018 at 1:11 AM UTC
You dissolute deputation
Of disparate dipsomaniacs
Disparately determined
To drive me, distance me
Definitely, diametrically
Dizzily daft, daily.
Ditzy, I determined to
Deftly divide them;
I defy them, deny them,
Don't deify them
But deride them
Stand beside them
And guide them
To wander away
Until some other day
Some other fool
Who, as a rule
Digs abuse and misuse.
It's not a truce
But an absolute demand
For their total surrender
So they remember
From December to December
I am not a lifetime member
Of the “Beat Me” club.
Aye, there's the rub
You thought I liked it
So you could spike it
Like a basketball.
But, my soul is not at all
Into anything you could call
Masochism or submission.
So, if your mission is
To collect acolytes and slaves
You'd just better save that
For someone sicker than I
And bid me a fond goodbye.
Jul 21, 2016
Jul 21, 2016 at 5:53 PM UTC
Trip Sitter Poem by Rob Sandman
We’ve all got a friend like this of course,
Istabraq, Seabiscuit the ould warhorse,
Snortin like a whale inhaling at the surface,
Smokes til just lookin’ at them makes your lungs hurt its-
Amazing grace while you’re off your face messed up,
They’re in the corner laughin' - not a hair mussed up,
**Not out of place in the place to be,
The opposite in fact a life saver to see,
Always at your back with a friendly shoulder,
A spliff, skins smokes-well timed glass of water**
Not immune or a ****** just seasoned,
When you’re lost-beyond all reason,
Lost the end of your sentence?-they’ve got it,
a well tuned part in the heart of the party chaotic,
The calm center of the whirlpool, Deadpool-
Quick with a line, not too cuttin’ but nobodies fool,
trip sitter, designated brain at the sesh,
A little OCD maybe, but nonetheless,
We’re all thankful with a full tankful
Its gas havin' a laugh knowin' you can bank full-
Confidence in your mates if you trip,
*But no mercy with the quips, quick! zip your lips
If you’re not in full control of the tongue,
They’ll be followin’ the slips and zip down your lungs
You’re a wounded gazelle on the plains and they’ll lunge,
Like a cheetah once you’ve taken the plunge*
I’m not talkin of only one person of course,
We all take turns as the tour de force-
goes round
**Like a Merry go round sound friends abound
While you’re bewildered the wildebeest takes the crown,
Don’t know about you, but I’m blessed with a few true-
Trip sitters babysitters life fitters diametrically opposed to bullshitters**
*Sideplitters with one liners that leave you gaspin’
For air beyond compare got the grasp and flavor
Best savour the moments-they’re all too few ,
Best friends are saviours who help you pull through,
So lets all give thanks to the big hitters,
Thanks lads and lasses I’m always grateful for me trip sitters!*
Jun 7, 2017
Jun 7, 2017 at 12:37 AM UTC
The coldness of my unleashed disinhibitions have gracefully succumbed to the wisdom of cosmological forces, despite my ravenous salivations for all that is vehemently forbidden.
As I bark inside the relief of this solitary pound of articulated and socialised liberty, like an expression of abstract artistry within an ethical mudslide; I continue to teeter upon geographical tightropes which span unforgiving terrains across the ancient divides of propriety, where the baron plains of deuterocanonical origin are populated by restless spirits with gnashing teeth.
So, if they could ever be personified, I could easily butcher a myriad of depravities which tangibly characterise my inner Astarte and Ishtar demons – although, such an event would have to occur after we have engaged in a myriad of abominations where raunchy and indulgent copulations shamefully expose our brazen wantonness to animalistic inclinations.
Never offer to tie me down.
Restriction diametrically opposes my socially skilled yet nomadic being, as it sojourns across a psychedelic array of vibrant gardens, and weaves through present pathways which are timeless in their being.
It just is.
That is the essence of ontology.
Can we ever effectively contemplate the philosophies of predetermination and predestination?
As I am not dichotomous in my thinking, there is a legitimate place for being an omnivore within the walls of our societal fabric.
Although I radically accept that of which I do not approve, the psychology of ambivalence has led me to raise questions around the validity of horticulture.
My clock has melted down the flamboyance of those multicolored mountainsides of being and nothingness.
Sep 13, 2015
Sep 13, 2015 at 1:20 AM UTC
You are a field of juniper trees, and your fruit serves as spice.
Bear the meat of your branches to sustain my flesh.
There is an idea that I'm the thicket and the mire.
I am a fen, obstructing the progress of civility.
You have your saving graces, like being late for work.
The windows and doors that break up your walls have purged you.
Talking to you when I'm dour is like tiptoeing amidst 88 keys.
I speak to you in scales and you reply in minor chords.
Diametrically I fear the morning may bring slight frost.
You are still; persistent with the coyly threatening.
And though one of us may be artificial, I was trying to be vague.
But sometimes I get so involved in the actual literal meaning in things.
When you enter, it’s as a fog would, a cloud come crashing down.
And I have failed to avoid the damage in your wake.
Mar 27, 2010
Mar 27, 2010 at 12:53 PM UTC
Where do forgotten stories lay?
Perhaps a quiet, bleak graveyard with blank graves
as nobody sings the words from these pages nor
nourishes the barren brown dead grass ground with any praise.
What happens to a love once extinguished?
A self-sustaining universe expanded so much
all the stars snuffed and smoldered--life choked out
as once burning heat now colder than the dark side of a glacial moon
echoes in a vast dark void of blankness.
Can two diametrically opposed beliefs exist in the same room?
Or does bloodshed have to follow
because mind-numbing decibel blasting arguments
turn both mad with bloodlust rage until the one stabbed least is left standing?
Is it better for people to give a **** or clean one up?
Where's the best place to visit for people
who are ******* fed up with the bureaucratic
red-tape dotted line terms of usage world
but don't give a ****
What's the difference between sports and Hollywood?
What happens to the truth when we've told a lie?
Is it like a battered and bruised wife,
bleeding from the nose with ripped hair follicles on the ground
or does it simply drink away the abandonment on the rocks to forget?
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 3:22 AM UTC
It is one thing to advocate for equality, representation, and unity.
Indeed, each is an inalienable, fundamental right.
But it is a whole new beast to lay waste
to anything that frightens you or that challenges your beliefs,
or that simply does not mirror your very own ideologies.
How heavy the hand of tyranny that now lays across our mouths,
yet how light our opposition.
Though I do acknowledge the delicacy of the issue at hand,
the fragility of the minds of hysterical mobs
who resolve to smashing windows in blind anger,
who ***** out free thought in daft castigation,
or who ban books even, it seems, like those monsters of history
to which they declare themselves to be diametrically opposed-
even in light of that, it is no excuse
to remain subservient to senseless autocrats
and the absurd legislations they bludgeon us with near daily.
To do this – to do nothing - is to lay down and die
without dignity, spineless and shameful,
though it seems that only myself and a handful of others
can recognize this. Indeed, how easy it is to glimpse from the fringes.
I, a man of only twenty-seven years, do not recognize you, America.
I long for the days of comfort (so far removed from them, I am)
when I could safely retreat into the lofty and quiet halls of my mind
to enjoy a self-assuring thought that only I created -
a thought with no real purpose but to occupy me for a time,
to entertain me in my moments of dull apathy.
Now I shudder in a cold and contrived prison of vetted words
and unnegotiated mandates where I am told
to wrap myself in our flag to keep warm, to feel safe,
that this is for my own good.
I do not recognize you, America, for this thing you have become.
Mar 3, 2021
Mar 3, 2021 at 6:08 PM UTC
Sacrosanct sacrifices
collide in a mirrored image.
There’s a dual grace in the anguish
as the High Priestess tears
a beating heart out —
It lures a half-crazed
Apollonian hymn from you,
harmonized to the devil’s interval,
for my repertoire of Dionysian dance,
attuned to ballet’s feral ceremonies.
On the lunar stage of ecstasy,
we sedate and ******
But how far do you dare to rival the muses?
“As far as it takes, and then some more.”
You say to me, in consummate hunger.
Or are we just fools drunk on nectar
in a tug of never-ending war?
Sep 1, 2019
Sep 1, 2019 at 10:27 AM UTC
1.Thorn
A thorn is nothing
but a wish stubborn,
with an earnest point
to make a deep impact.
2.Her Reality
The core of a nightmare
broke loose, is she,
dislocated in a space
on broad day light
ready for someone
with a yen, for day dreaming.
3.A borrowed Deja vu
He suspects his love life, in vain
is piece of a well orchestrated ordeal,
of some one regaled much in pain;
just a cosmic 'cut and paste' job!
4.Tiger's aesthestics
"A match perfect, for me,
you are a befitting target"
growled the greedy tiger,
as he sighted the gazelle.
5.Unique
Day and night act
so well as the opposites,
yet they complement
ad infinitum,without
any complaint,
and sans even a trace
of pride or jealousy.
Everything, even those
looking diametrically
opposite to untrained eyes,
are uniquely meaningful.
Sep 2, 2017
Sep 2, 2017 at 10:27 AM UTC
The distortion of rectitude maintains the guise of a charismatic persona, with a co-existing ulterior motive.
Searching for our lost soul is intensified by the diametrically opposed collision of ancient and modern pizzicato.
Listen to the voices as they forcefully project powerful messages into the darkened recesses of presumed enlightenment.
I have released my imprisoned being from this custodial fabric of presumed alignment, into the lofts of undetectable thermals, where soaring wings surf undefined boundaries of spatial awareness.
Cosmological democracy is the State in which our orchestral garden grows, light years beyond the doorway of the beginning.
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 4:47 PM UTC
Floating in an expanse, trapped in a room
the walls could be the ends of a universe,
or a martyr's doom,
and I count the atoms of its shifting embrace
it dances within sight, but ever out of reach
truer things have never been more curious
the walls are my castaway beach.
Endless journeys coil within me,
my mind is a boundless jungle:
the predators linger in hazy umbra,
while the prey lazily graze
with eyes diametrically opposed.
I am some sort of misshapen construct,
a being lost to himself, but a target nonetheless.
****** into the deep
from which secrets sweetly seep
I find answers to keep
demystifying puzzles caged by sleep
the malice in this wonderland
nibbles at the soul with perilous teeth
just to taste the suffering
of a man who's trapped beneath
beneath the undergrowth of the city
within the fissures of a sidewalk
betwixt the folds of a chewing gum wrapper
he is gnawed by the everafter,
the what if,
the may be,
maybe.
Perchance he truly listened to the bright void
oh, how it oozes soft, eldritch light
the essences of somber dealings with ethereal misfits,
whatsay he consumed the knowledge whose
questions
once consumed him?
We all imagine that he would be
empty of emptiness...
but is there such a thing?
Mar 4, 2018
Mar 4, 2018 at 8:38 PM UTC
If you focus on the pain
Mild sore aches or strain
Does it fade away
Enough for long as
sun does with shade
Measurements of mixed context
The more we sit inside
Idle minded led astray
Nature's chemistry in flux
Diametrically perplexed
Medication stimulating parts of the brain
May 5, 2020
May 5, 2020 at 3:06 AM UTC
Never has this nation stood as tall
As the day after its great fall
But now?
So many years after we've risen?
Not in ages have we seen such division
Divided we fall
and united we stand?
Have we somehow flipped
the values of this land?
That terrible day
mourning hand in hand
Has faded away
to competing demands
of Make Us Greats
and Yes We Cans
Now we stand opposed
diametrically divided
Wondering
if ever again
we'll stand
happily united
Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 10:54 PM UTC
The confluence of diametrically opposed leads to an upheaval of humongous magnitude
Aug 6, 2014
Aug 6, 2014 at 10:37 AM UTC
Diametrically opposed
We push and pull
Yes
Like a set of magnets
We are drawn and arranged
In such a way
As to offset normally balanced poles
Into an array of dizzying fractals
Playing off one another
In a symphonic harmony
That vibrates
With a disphonic ferrousity
Until we are drawn closer
And dance in the force of our love
Our attraction unlimited
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 11:06 PM UTC
from a single voice I breathe
symmetrical and perpendicularly
when
from me, two lines meet, and I diametrically oppose
myself, interpret lines as flares or
fires, get eyes of worry
fuzzy visions, I stare,
into a mirror and stare back at me.
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 8:27 PM UTC
There is such a conflict between ontology and task.
Being and doing collide in our ****** society where the earning of favour is diametrically opposed to cosmological principles.
Our identity is secure and is not to be ever found in what we think that we may do.
I really want to eat some bacon and eggs right now.
Do you know why?
Because olfactory memories trigger naïve preferences where footballs crash through open windows.
I have walked up spiralling stairwells, where moths flutter in ghastly avoidance.
Feb 18, 2014
Feb 18, 2014 at 12:15 AM UTC