"dictum" poems
Put on a clean shirt
before you die, some Russian said.
Nothing with drool, please,
no egg spots, no blood,
no sweat, no *****
You want me clean, God,
so I'll try to comply.
The hat I was married in,
will it do?
White, broad, fake flowers in a tiny array.
It's old-fashioned, as stylish as a bedbug,
but is suits to die in something nostalgic.
And I'll take
my painting shirt
washed over and over of course
spotted with every yellow kitchen I've painted.
God, you don't mind if I bring all my kitchens?
They hold the family laughter and the soup.
For a bra
(need we mention it?),
the padded black one that my lover demeaned
when I took it off.
He said, "Where'd it all go?"
And I'll take
the maternity skirt of my ninth month,
a window for the love-belly
that let each baby pop out like and apple,
the water breaking in the restaurant,
making a noisy house I'd like to die in.
For underpants I'll pick white cotton,
the briefs of my childhood,
for it was my mother's dictum
that nice girls wore only white cotton.
If my mother had lived to see it
she would have put a WANTED sign up in the post office
for the black, the red, the blue I've worn.
Still, it would be perfectly fine with me
to die like a nice girl
smelling of Clorox and Duz.
Being sixteen-in-the-pants
I would die full of questions.
2.9k
“and have the richest fluency not only in its words but in the silent lines of its lips and face and between the lashes of your eyes and in every motion and joint of your body.”
Walt Whitman
<>
having recently been on standby for a permanent-entry residency visa
to over & just beyond death’s door, Walt’s prescient prescription strikes my broken breastbone even harder much, than the persistent
periodic pains confirming the breaking and the healing
of this man’s mending of the human centric poetic *****
for this warped heart mine, now rejoicingly rejiggered with some threads and wires to deliver a new but fresh bloodied wisdom,
begs me, eggs me to torrent word streams, but Whitman’s wisdom cautions a new slowness, the wisdom of mortality’s hot breath urges careful consideration of every letter that my second chance, consignment shop flesh, eagerly embraces, to both prescribe and proscribe inside-insights tween the deafening sounds of eyelashes beating synchronized to the revived heart rates rapid renewal and
last second-chances….
torn tween minute torso sensations and the running silence of
a new battery’s internal rapid intervals, the silent timing gaps tween beats leaves-just-enough-space to ask over and over again,
from whence will come my richest fluency? (1)
at 300am, I lay carefully caressing and chewing well each transitory
thought, absent the former energetic ability to just spill,
though highly desired,
now requires, like me,
steady re-piecing together
the steady drumbeat of now-nearer-my-god-than-thee Titanic reflections
demands a slowing rapidity
this I thought before and now ken, even and ever better, that our primary endeavor shall always be the giving, the disbursement of the act of love…for therein lies the healing of each, and wet eyes,
make necessarily concluding this poem about nothing and everything
and I comprehend Walt’s dictum:
my very flesh is a poem,
every sensation a lyric,
every breath taken and returned to the atmosphere
so unconsciously
are my oldest
and newest
3:00 AM poetry companions
Aug 18, 2023
Aug 18, 2023 at 4:41 PM UTC
. tiky torches, and not football hooligan red flares?! i want gnashing teeth.... the red worm... i want the crude.... waiting feud!
you, don't, make,
dictum, in, this,
part, of, the world!
nein!
you, can, have,
your women!
but, not, the, ego,
of males!
**** you, and your
colonialist past
rewrite!
**** you...
dr. dre, ******
so no, what becomes
musicological
click-bait?!
****** ****** yo **
******* term
gets... owned?!
like *vomito *****
making reference
to the black plague?!
you do your ****** bit,
i do mine...
and we meet in the middle...
and then...
we crash and burn...
for whatever it's worth...
now catch me petting
rottweilers...
heavy headed
craniums...
ready to bullwhip
a gnash of a raiding bullish
cranium head-butt...
just, gagging,
to perform,
the jaw-swapping gnash!
sure... big, bogus,
jaw dropping crude...
of a count of teeth...
but...
i'm itching...
itching to fasten onto a feast
of a fist;
not in eastern europe, ******
you come here...
you play by our rules...
the whole
anti-rap...
the whole
hip hop scene of Warsaw...
no, not really...
i'm not exactly
part of either, "scene"...
god...
i haven't even allowed myself
to use edgy words...
girl worth a *****
but to succumb to motherhood?
i'm a heavy drinker,
i'm not exactly the moralizer;
wrap up, clean the shit-show...
and forget i even
managed to circumstance
a narrative.
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 10:48 PM UTC
oh what sustains this mind
a mind that teeters
on the edge of a spiral vertigo
that sways and rocks
in an unease of palpitations
attempting to escape
from the brutal insensitivity
of the granite faces that occupy the streets
a mind of hallucinated perceptions
with a constant stream of imagery
that finds a difficulty in the self negotiation,
the articulation of its inner geography
where a frightened availability of disturbance
in the vocabulary of its chemical graffiti
leaves speech vacated on the tongue
where eyes are pushed to see
a discord of sympathies for different dimensions
that has one disassociated, cut off from the immediate
living in an inner dialogue
of rebellious and unconventional preoccupations
a self alienation that heightens
the poetic colouring of the imagination
causes a ************ of the mind
that makes me cripplingly aware
of the abyss at the heart of my inner disquiet
makes my toes hover on the jagged edge of the world
yet I jump choosing discovery over societal dictum
to do rather than be
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 9:00 PM UTC
fingers tapping against your thigh, music note mumblings. subtract everyone else and watch the feeling
m
u
l
t
i
p
l
y
disassemble and reassemble the ensemble and allocate your earnings as earnestly as you can without appearing overeager. overhearing a conspiracy between my lips and your neck. a secret isn't a secret unless you whisper it, so do it, make sure the russians don't hear us as they rush off to give reports on that look I just gave you, the one that is oh so telling. reveling in it. living in the revelation of your skin, pouring down your presence like honey, like sweet molasses dripping thick and sweet, simmering under the sun, glimmering in the water like a jewel, jealous and **** painful and dark and dazzling. beating only in anatomical hearts, out of tune, cacophony and cruel crimson, missing someone not something, left wanting and waning in the light of a lopsided moon, farsighted and fingers that prune in purple light rippling across the walls, willing to travel the planes of your body, embodied travesty traversing the sahara, dunes doomed to be swept away by the wind, breaking and kept away, each grain unable to touch one another more than once, gorgeous enough to be pain, staking your claim on misery before the misers bury it in their own backyards, backwards discovery, a convenient amnesia, believing ruses and runes to decipher in delicate dictum like tricking a language into translating itself.
almost too much of not enough.
Apr 23, 2017
Apr 23, 2017 at 12:14 PM UTC
The warm vapor of saturated streets
rise and give chase
While she
(a fading glow of plastic cups
and shady basements)
whispers street names
and grins...breathes
“peddle faster”
Gliding on the thickening wisps
of crushed coffee beans and damp asphalt
We rush to fill this empty house
with the fumbled hush of
clothes and carpet,
Showering the floor in lightning strikes
Until we
(a searing flash of static burst
and fireworks.)
no longer whisper
Crying out through open windows
Our dictum of passions
which run thick through the cracks in the sidewalk
and fast through the arms of the trees
to stroke the highest of their leafy tips
and flee.
And in that careful, breathless morning
there is nothing but the moments before and after
to stand as proof
that the brush of ridges and valleys
on our finger tips
Are not the illusion of dream
but tangible, feathered things
Tracing the seams of those quiet places,
both unspoken and unseen.
May 11, 2010
May 11, 2010 at 8:40 PM UTC
,,A trance ,probing "
"a dictum //
intricate,ruby mayb quite& itt comes
A-diction
" down the rAbbit hole" in time,
a-room built off crystALs&&the orbs
again again again again as
thiss keps coming in in-blocks/compeletly-A-solatire-
/pristine in,here , itt-wass , inn rapture.as it
,is, now,was liked pretty muchh
the behemouth my mann , done /repeatdly,
all-corenrs
forr everr it isbent
everytime,everytthing tht i cann remember
a lott off withering / whineingg,
lott off talks just mi-alone
and this i remmember
"she" is the sheep she said
, drifting /at angles/only lonely
all the bigg/pretty pearls
forr manny many more pages to come
she says it polietly
that it delves deep some place ,here
Jun 27, 2018
Jun 27, 2018 at 11:04 AM UTC
Questa canzone è su di te
To you
Mother Courage
I extend a cigarette
of shy anticipation
I want you to ****** me
to implement your closure
on the monotone
Duet For One
Raid my loneliness
in a hotel on Naked Street
Walk The Proud Land
of maple leaf melancholy
as you would the violated daughter
of New York Confidential
I'll diffuse the wind
of my depression
for your mourning candle
and undo the changing of
your name
No longer need you be
The Girl In Black Stockings
unless of course you want to be
Yes I want you to ****** me
but not to bear the burden
of a Miracle Worker
steady as you've been
on that unenviable pedestal
In the dictum of my
infinite malaise you define
The Last Frontier
Let me light your cigarette
Louisa
with which you would illuminate
the fog of my unbridled
Silent Movie
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 4:57 PM UTC
Obiter Dictum,
swollen backlash in pursuit of a belt,
momma I swear I'll never sag my pants again.
Victim of a victor system I refuse to be a victim,
I'm on the guess list of an addict refusing treatment,
allow me to use a well spoken perspective,
Death, inspire your deadliest of boom foreal weapons,
a new clear-er suggestion,
seek and destroy tested,
a radiant child radiating at his best but at best still they detest,
chop and ***** your loose or luke troop,
holy war is clocked at 12 past noon,
O biter christian,
oh lord forgive you,
seventy seven times seven,
this clearly says not for human consumption or misuse,
a door with no hinge,
a room without a view,
introducing bedlam,
hell is just a match made in heaven,
how many more words do I have to use to prove to you bloated youth,
tactically destroy any skyscraper presented over you, fa5v_O, for the truth.
Sep 17, 2012
Sep 17, 2012 at 7:09 PM UTC
nobody whose who’s
****** bleeding nothing’s
lost or found amongst
swing swung sounds
and rebound where
nowheres echo off violence’s
clamoring dictum: to each’s own
silent stammering victim
no bits limit the need to share
no stars emit light without due glare
no atom resists the urge to fuse
no one exists alone to choose
yesterday isn’t tomorrow’s
friend forever, yet
if not, one today might wonder
when rain wasn’t
more than lightning’s thunder?
Feb 15, 2012
Feb 15, 2012 at 3:47 AM UTC
I like to wander to places
Places full of letters,
Places full of words,
Places full of stories.
My eyes are burning with passion,
Letters swim across, in front of me.
They pull me in, never letting go.
I'm trapped in a story I cannot fathom.
I am a part of a story.
A story filled with emotions,
Lessons, reasons, and seasons.
Yet, I am only on chapter fifteen.
I am a character of a story.
A character who has problems,
But caring, appreciating, and understanding.
I'm still trying to find a place in this world.
My life is a plot.
I will never know what would happen tomorrow.
The tranquility of time scares me.
I don't want to be afraid anymore.
Our story is unpredictable.
We are in a book of life.
A dictum of peace.
A tiny spark of hope.
Don't close your part of the book yet.
Something good is still happening.
Never ever regret.
This isn't the end.
Nov 16, 2013
Nov 16, 2013 at 9:29 AM UTC
Somewhere along the line the illusion will lift off of you two as well,
This is not a hate poem,
Although it is real in its dictum,
There's no ill will directed,
It could be just careful denial,
Seen as death and pain incarnate,
Really it was a good day,
And it is the truth I say,
This is not a hate song,
but **** em,
Hearing your circular coughs,
Like being force fed garbage,
Maybe this is a plea,
For an escape plan,
Perhaps a want of new beginnings,
I'll stay as long as,
It takes to see you two crash and burn,
You two make it so easy,
To lose track of my place,
Like an endless vertigo,
I felt creep up over my sockets,
Fog is clear and now all I have to say is,
**** THEM,
Everything points to something,
I'm happy mine's pointing away,
We all hold a gun my "friend,"
And yours are pointing at each other,
It is just a clause to a want,
saying so is something entirely different,
Because I work and slave to shape this,
While the two of you sit back and,
Exploit what it meas in a devilish laugh.
Nov 16, 2012
Nov 16, 2012 at 12:48 AM UTC
A medley
in dictum
as foreseen
anglicization collect
beat swimmingly
with intrigue
in literature
and euphemistically
tell realization
that further
eyewitness in
plurality with
fealty in
foreign affairs
here that
schlepp peace
with ferrety.
Sep 9, 2016
Sep 9, 2016 at 5:37 PM UTC
We are all demagogues in a world controlled by despots,
A world where we have grown afraid to denude the powerful
And sequester the impoverished under the sheets,
A fear to stick it to the man rather stick with the man.
Although it begins with one life, it ends with countless casualties.
For our definition of what we believe is right, differs from what we believe is good.
The foundation of good, for it is no universal language rather a universal dictum.
With lessons unknown to all, simply comprehended by some.
For only a handful selected by God occupy the hole the devil burned through.
Leaving the delicious gift of persuasion on earth, awaiting the tasting intentions whether good or evil.
Convinced by all with set beliefs while thy axioms remain unknown.
Mar 7, 2017
Mar 7, 2017 at 8:30 AM UTC
Physician's are able
accord-
ing to some dictum,
Themselves "Heal"
at command, even
with their own head
and ******
One.
As for intellectual property,
you have none, of either
except that which you steal from us,
sorry I can't blame your parents, you fool,
Here is to hoping your teacher sees through
you...
whether or not you are in school, all this proves is
that you are a tool eaten through with rust, do to
lack of use, bet if you workout, steroids are your "juice"
and if you do it to get attention, you have a
penchant as one previous plagiarist said,
he just "wanted to see if all the poems, written got read"
and if it is to brag to some girl, whose feet you are not
worthy to look up even it they are at toad height,
it is lights out goodnight and no chance to succeed,
so let us hope you leave, because if this is mockery, callin,'
matters not, you missed the punchline, because I don't joke.
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 10:51 PM UTC
Travelling down a broken, dark highway,
delight bending.
Cops pulsing behind us,
in the rearview,
creamed by streetlamps;
the cars
whittle to bad stars behind us.
No hot humans allowed on the road
tonight,
and it's foggy in the dashboard,
the dictum of the reepers.
Aug 31, 2012
Aug 31, 2012 at 11:47 PM UTC
I'm the forlorn cigarette
you once placed so fervently
between soft lips;
Now I lay cast between
the cracks of the sidewalks sidewalks sidewalks.
Anticipating a
Slow Death; growing claustrophobic--
ensconced in my callous/caustic confines.
Trampled into the concrete crevice by
hastened footsteps;
My desolation denotes the sad dictum
that is my denigration.
A slow digestion of a stubborn body
created like the concrete to be trodden by wandering soles
stamping out their fleeting existence.
Dissolute, wishing to burn;
I long for your taste again.
Feb 16, 2016
Feb 16, 2016 at 3:50 PM UTC
Will someone ever understand me?
As simple as it sounds, the word ‘understanding’ is an uncanny term. To expect understanding from others is like a screaming paradox that uninvitingly and inevitably gives its RSVP. Definition of understanding varies from person to person. While some term ‘compatibility’ as basic understanding, others think understanding as a means to gain affirmation. Both interpretations sound alike but in fact very much like bibliophile and bibliomaniac. It gets peculiar as we proceed.
Why in this world do we need affirmation?
It’s profoundly queer to ask for acceptance. Do we really need ‘approval’ for our existence? We’re not illegal. Illegal things require approval. Drugs require consent. We don’t need to prove why we should be accepted. Giving heed to such a peculiarity is equivalent to symbolising yourselves as illegitimate. You have a birth certificate. You’re a registered citizen of a country and you have a house to live. You go to school/college/ work. You’re normal. Believe me, you’re not a felon.
Why don’t people fulfil our expectation?
Major Irony Alert. Expectations being fulfilled is, I believe, one of those rare miraculous occurring in our lives. When people get it, they find the solace hard to digest. Just when they are faintly ready to accept it, they change the course the things by doing deeds to blindly adhere to the balance of sad and happy. And when the ruination has been already done, they crave for it. Dear fellow beings of earth, stop expecting. It’s purely a hypothesis. The permanency of the damage expectations leave behind needs no explanation. It’s one of the most obvious and self-explanatory dictum on this planet.
People around me crave for being accepted. Girlfriends incessantly complain about their boyfriends not understanding them and vice versa. Parents lament over the ignorance their children. Children whine about the gap between them and their parents. People spend humungous cash to buy endurance. The reasons for such acts, I don’t reckon.
There’s an old African belief that hovers around the truth of being singularities. I find it deeply humbling. Why ask for plurality when the sole purpose for our creation was to be singular and fulfilling.
The purpose for this entry is to some extent not defined to what I believe. It is not meant to mould you. It is meant to be analysed by you. Critique it. Make your own moulds. It’s just what the existing needs.
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 12:04 PM UTC
I would prefer my solitude and gift of self , answerable to Randolph and no one else ! I soulshine alone with the Earth , Wind and Sky as my trail with undying love and affection for all creatures .. Plastic ************* I've long since melted , molded into splendid candles that light my quest for guidance and direction .. Surfing the bell curve free of the pack instinct , armed with abundant memory , opposable thumbs and a mountain of creativity !
Nov 19, 2015
Nov 19, 2015 at 2:34 PM UTC
What is your story? What say you, curtsy, wile and whisper -
You, the everyman, blank face in the crowd;
You, the stranger on the streets, decked out and dapper;
nay We, who exist in the life of the life gone, forgotten, that Time enshroud?
What pictures do your eyes behold in visions past and present-
drawn to memory in intangible ink yet indelibly lustre?
From whence the dreams do you evoke in daytime quiescence
or cascading phantasms painted on pitch-black canvasses unfurled in slumber?
What paths have you taken, to gloom or glory
and upon which pedestals have you stood in crowning echelon -
when once upon a mountain peak, above clouds, you stood proudly -
or taking solace in sidewalk shelters with no home to go to thereupon.
What words should escape your lips in all manner of dictum
or wisdom and deceit for all intents and folly?
Words in coalescence like beads on strings, the essence of rhythm
threaded by tongues in guile and unwitting poetry:
What say you, as but a flower linger and wither
in the winds of Time; a mere flicker in the lives of stars?
What prose should speak your story, hither or dither
in unwitting poetry - nay Unpoetry! - as the Everyman exemplars?
Alas Unpoetic, the story of us all in bloom
told in unwitting poetry and archetypal analogue.
Alas so unique the lives we lead from conception in the womb
should by perchance end with a humble epilogue.
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 11:41 AM UTC
"By this all will know that you are my disciples, if you have love among yourselves.” (John 13:35) This commandment is The Messianic Dictum. Sometimes I wonder upon how far aloft my flight my zenith may lie. What dost the apex of my pilgrimage bear?
We all have a future. Love is the ultimate religion. Why? Because “It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never fails.” (1st Corinthians 13: 7, 8) When we love, we taste eternity upon our palates. Love is the elixir of the soul.
When my life is over, I hope to gaze upon the visage of those who I hold dear. I want to know that I’ve made a difference in the lives of those encompassing me. We all carry subjective burdens, subjective blights. This suffering is the commonality of all creation. Whence we ail together, The Catholicon of Ancients exalts us as one.
The Faith of Dreams is a worldwide denomination, within which we need fellowship. The Universe is our temple, our Cathedral of Dreams. Beneath the firmaments, we all have an abode.
We are all Sparks of the Divine. Fulgurant lovelight glistens in each one of us. The most bedarkened soul can house a diaphanous blaze of light. In light, there is darkness; moreover, in the night, there can reside light.
Dreams can still serve a purpose to the entity inhibited by a worldly lusting. Ultimately, desirelessness is catalyzed by cathexis to the Deifically Divine. We must cleanse ourselves of corporeal desires until we wax holy. “I dream; therefore, I am,” said the sage. If this is true, the substance, the essence, the elixir of life is in upon the Dreamscape.
In truth, any temporal expanse spent in The Chrysalis of the Astral is commensurable with augury. A dream is celestial summoning. Therefore, persevere amidst hardship, borne of tribulation is prophetic fulfillment.
(Se' lah)
May 16, 2020
May 16, 2020 at 10:57 AM UTC
*
BELOVEDz made the LOVER realize
The importance of LOVE
Now I'll live
My BELOVEDz song:
"Don't worry, YOU my LOVER...
What has happened to YOU is LOVE
This is the only dictum of God/dess
This is what all religious scriptures preach
This is the first and foremost
The only commandment of All Mighty
Quran, Bible, Geeta, Granthsahib, Tripitaka
Proclaim the same words
Asking humans to LOVE
The God/dess has only blessed
Humans with only one wealth
That is LOVE
This is the biggest thing
That humans have within them
That is LOVE
LOVE awakens sleeping humanity
LOVE ends cruelty and brutality
LOVE kills hate and indifferences
LOVE brings back wonders & wanderers
To seek LOVE-soul within
LOVE creates awareness out of ignorance
LOVE melts arrogant stone of "I" and EGO
LOVE illuminates the dark fates and destinies
Only that person is called human
Who can AGAPE LOVE
A BELOVEDz unconditionally
A Christian, Muslim, Hindu,
Sikh, Buddhist or an Atheist
Is only called so
If the one can LOVE someone
So don't worry...
For YOU are LOVING me
My BeLOVEDz LOVER"
**That's what my BELOVEDz sang
Now I'll live
My BELOVEDz song...**
*
Dec 5, 2017
Dec 5, 2017 at 11:46 PM UTC
Who visits this wild land sees,
in the vision-bright eyes of birds and beasts
where grass, wind-bent
and weather-dried clings to high cliffs
for dear life as granite shelters
no more than hovering feather and rabbits
who stay close to their hides.
Where eagles keep day-watch for movement
in heather of bobbed tails, or white
hopping ears in habitual
cocked wariness then like a knife of forked
light the predators fall.
Fern-fattened fur leaps or freezes
in prey-fright,
eyes glaze and stay frozen as falcon attacks.
Such is the dictum
of law and order among the creatures
surviving in wilderness
yet persist in a fierce kind of freedom.
Who seek for behaviour
in those being true to themselves owns
that this island has places
where human-less only nature controls.
Feb 10, 2017
Feb 10, 2017 at 1:36 PM UTC
I will follow You:
From warm Equinoxian rain,
To Solstician pale sun.
Nov 20, 2016
Nov 20, 2016 at 7:55 PM UTC