"disbanded" poems
The spotlight is on the broken coastline
porous - like archers spilling arrows
into the vanquished hinterland.
In the ancient West Mercia
wooden bridges collapse
uproar, as the King's regiments
long disbanded , ghosts
into fading memory.
Our defenders, our loyal subjects
enmeshed into the wider fear
our citadels breached,
and where is the valour
the self reliance of our septic isle?
Aug 8, 2013
Aug 8, 2013 at 3:50 PM UTC
As these forlorn cadences await- unfold
To compose a disbanded vow
Yielding unto harrows of gates untold
Charms death to disdainful plow
Death is plowed to a forgiving halt
While silver moonlight and whiskey dances remain
Glittering gold in this crimson vault-
Feeble souls conjure grace as graceless minds abstain
Counterfeit conceits ravish this open cellar
As the night’s last dance ceases to a disgraceful plea
The dweller’s disdain is akin to my killer
And heaven yields blood to salt the earth for thee
Come away now with your anguishing defeats
Seek not a jagged spike as the heaven’s conspire and wake
Glory and gold may turn us black as deceit
But deception admonishes the dancers in their quake
Spellbound nuances of this reality await at every turn
Mourning and fighting the finality of this grave
Orchestrated knives are rosined like honey, beckoning our blood to burn
At last, a burning reckoning comes to ravage the brave
But refrain, oh killer- host of this crimson vault
Enlist a memoir for our sins
Recalling the pieties of our gracious faults,
Enough to make this blood go thin.
Oct 15, 2018
Oct 15, 2018 at 9:08 PM UTC
Consumer Culture makes me sick,
it burns like acid contained in
coffee cups the size of
your heart exploding.
Music that will **** your ears
for only a buck
because it is a song shaped by greed
alongside factories, with smoke stacks
acting as sploof tubes,
covering the smell of life
created just to be killed.
They have innocent eyes
an organism giving away its only truth
for convenience, for simplicity
**** your fast food,
**** your jellybean president.
Employment is conscription to join
on the losing side in the war on
your time and mind, The Double Bind.
You ought to love your country
but do you?
You ought to compete, go for the win
**** your friends, get to the top.
Do you know what the prize is?
One morning you wake up and find
that your game was a farce
and you aren't what you really are
but what you could of been.
Defend your limits.
For we are waterfalls, spinning wheels of imagination
shaping clay with organic inspirations
planting ideas in the fertile unconsciousness
Don't form beliefs, form a question.
Understand we are ice-9
collectively, we are the watering-system
We are the true god through experience mystic
disbanded stars that are the galaxies.
Properties of our composition suggests that,
you better let this water flow,
because if you don't
a world full of love
would love to strike you down
making you coo and swoon
over the symbols of a dream,
the beautiful sunflower riding a bike,
hitting a hacky sack perfectly
at the end of the day
a cup beckons inscribed with your name
are you just going to sit and stare at it?
Apr 19, 2011
Apr 19, 2011 at 7:47 AM UTC
When i stroke my pen
to write this,
I wonder if you imagined
that i'm a poet
As i wake from another
disbanded sunrise,
I wonder if you screamed
me out of this pessimistic vision
Everytime i would pedal
my bike during the hot summer,
I still think if i ever breathed
the air that evaded your lips
and while i do that,
Each time you make coffee
for the weekends,
I wonder if you guessed that someday you will have to share it
with a familiar person
of the future
Whenever the eyes cry salty tears,
have you sailed your deepest
thoughts on a paperboat?
Like finding me in the ends
of the world after the
midst of calamities
I guessed both of us may wonder,
in a sea of strangers
at a broken
streetlight,
Will we recognize
each other?
Aug 13, 2018
Aug 13, 2018 at 12:48 AM UTC
Maybe it was fate in the threads of that
skirt as short as temper and temperance
that ended the ellipsis breathing.
A dancer needs an answer
on life enhancers, dear romancer.
Your smile was more than good enough.
I drank of it, the cup of Christ that turned
my blood into whining moments of
insecurity.
Call security, you say, making the call on
what I am because I am transparent,
transdimensional, traversing the bridge
of your nose with my high-risk eyes.
You say that I am, and they cry.
As your hands ticked at your clock-click keyboard,
I waited, passed the time wondering the
difference between naive and navel.
Harm came like rain in winter, the words
of Zephyrus slipping from between those
amber lips, lithe on naked fingertips.
You take the names of gods in vain,
into your veins, let them convert only
the white blood cells. You'd crucify
me for vanity.
You accuse the recluse of abuse,
and it suits you, tailored because
hatred sized you up the moment you met.
The orchestra disbanded, the buds of May
have yet to burst, yet to blossom like you
say you always will,
but the spring in your step when
you walk away from the last word
tells me more than the chirping birds
nesting in your hair.
You remind me of Paris
on the walls of Troy,
thief of hearts and fool indeed.
Bringer of fire, brander of hell,
but only because you were already the
Tartarus Employee of the Month and
enjoying Elysium.
This is the
beautiful mystery
undone as her clothes and
naked as the day Rosemary Matron gave her
to the world.
This is the beautiful mystery
returned to voids as tangled as her hair,
the nonspace between the curls hiding
secrets and conviction.
This is the beautiful mystery
concluded, all the movements of
her symphonic body no longer to allure.
This is the beautiful mystery
answered, the riddle of the Sphinx
leaping from the pillar, a killer
not quite so strong as her eyes.
This is the beautiful mystery
laid to rest, buried alive in a life discarded.
This is good-bye.
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 9:42 AM UTC
Yes I saw the truth in the hillside freeway
In the grilled cheese sandwich
for sale on Ebay
With tortillas and butter they called me a ******
Because I saw the truth in the eyes of another
Who decided to feed me a line of such rapture
That captured my stature of pragmatic backed banter
Gathered the trappings disbanded, I could map out the standard
Wanting the pattern, the vibrancy frequented
Masking the latency, the reader obsequious
Addressing the nuance, ignoring complacency
Significance amplified, convinced of this elevated
Power to axiom, entropy celebrated
Wax to a fault with a message converted
While the layers of encryption serve to hold this position
A raw disposition, hoping to see beyond this decision
I can't see beyond the scope of the eye with conviction.
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 5:35 AM UTC
Tantrums Of Genius
Tantrums Of Genius
Stay away from The - Mart
and it’s shopping cart
with a bad wheel,
Write on paper with
disbanded,forgotten
outlawed cursive,
not staring into
a computer with pop up adds
and trivial social media,
Have Tantrums Of Genius
Sip on a beer
or some wine
and close your eyes
in silence,
listen to the thoughts
twirl in your mind
like a Van Gogh painting,
paying attention to detail
as the thick blue colors
swirl into each other
creating a vibrant sky.
Listen to Mozart
softly inducing stimulation,
master’s calling through
space and time
telling you
of their frustration
in finding anyone
to listen to their message.
Read Ezra Pound
and all the others
the poet’s
who had the knowledge
the insight
to warn you of
a place with no creation,
filled with people
without imagination,
those who never had
Tantrum's Of Genius
Feel the emotion
as you start to pace
the floor,and look
out of a window,
and for the first time
realize that you
are surrounded by beauty
and you have ignored
every flower
and all of the color
that has not been recognized.
Maybe with anger
or with regret
have a
Tantrum Of Genius
As the truth
softly show’s itself
like gazing into
a Dali painting
slowly discovering
what it is you are looking at.
promise yourself
to often have
Tantrums Of Genius.
May 7, 2013
May 7, 2013 at 1:53 PM UTC
*We're less than lovers
But more than friends*
Yet we had a great bond
That never descends
Don't know what happened
Why you abandoned
How it went wrong
Why we've disbanded
Was it something I did
Or something I said?
So many questions
Running through my head
Why did you leave me
And just let me go?
Why did you give up
And left me feeling low?
I don't need to have you
As someone who loves me
I just need you
To be here for me
It hurts, but I know
That you don't need me
She's the one you love
And she will never be me.
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 5:06 AM UTC
Tantrums Of Genius
Stay away from The - Mart
and it’s shopping cart
with a bad wheel,
Write on paper with
disbanded,forgotten
outlawed cursive,
not staring into
a computer with pop up adds
and trivial social media,
Have Tantrums Of Genius
Sip on a beer
or some wine
and close your eyes
in silence,
listen to the thoughts
twirl in your mind
like a Van Gogh painting,
paying attention to detail
as the thick blue colors
swirl into each other
creating a vibrant sky.
Listen to Mozart
softly inducing stimulation,
master’s calling through
space and time
telling you
of their frustration
in finding anyone
to listen to their message.
Read Ezra Pound
and all the others
the poet’s
who had the knowledge
the insight
to warn you of
a place with no creation,
filled with people
without imagination,
those who never had
Tantrum's Of Genius
Feel the emotion
as you start to pace
the floor,and look
out of a window,
and for the first time
realize that you
are surrounded by beauty
and you have ignored
every flower
and all of the color
that has not been recognized.
Maybe with anger
or with regret
have a
Tantrum Of Genius
As the truth
softly show’s itself
like gazing into
a Dali painting
slowly discovering
what it is you are looking at.
promise yourself
to often have
Tantrums Of Genius.
Dec 4, 2012
Dec 4, 2012 at 9:38 PM UTC
the desperado cowboy-poet awakes
anxious, needing-ending relief,
the craving greater than great,
he begs-raggedly, with Raggedy handily Andy words,
to all and anyone in the aroused surrounded vicinity,
give please give, of something to write
the bay, soothingly plays the would-be author,
"place me, look my way,
have I not droplets endless
from which you've drunk exquisitely,
so many more to fair share"
the birds twit and flit,
raucous caucus demanding
to be seated
by the tablet's keypad
to gain entry
to one more congressional natural tribute
the sky and sun organize a
joint session, extraordinary mission;
"we are the first of your day,
thus primarily,
we win the primary,
deserving in your recording of our
nomination as the first day's
sound and light show victorious"
sorry folks,
got a better tale to tell,
natural in its way,
titillating, and quite suitable
for reputating Au Naturel humanity
and it's a quirky, say hey tale,
morning coffee fresh,
a first word report from an
untelivised convention
of a different kind of congressing
awoke to find the:
*chauffeur in bed with the cook,
the Poppy, beside the sleeping Nana,
the poet, eyeing the lying next to him, tango dancer,
the classicist eyeing the sleeping moderne,
ditty ditsy Ogden Nash astride a Shakesperian sonnet,
the thinning gray line defending his bedded half,
from an invading horde of unionizing blonde tresses,
the republican with the democrat,
the conservative with the liberal,
heated discussions, non-neutralizing negotiations
conducting and watched by
peeping tom skies, clouds, birds and waters
pretending to fly flow past*
wow
now that,
is quite interesting
deserving worthy of a
disrobing disputatious disreputation,
very newsworthy and why not,
a poem all its own?
the bay waved goodbye,
the birds disbanded in silence,
quietly disenfranchised.
the sun and the sky hung around
pretending to be UN neutrality observers
wearing cute blue and white helmets
looking every where but not,
at the line of demarcation
the beggar, by his new impoverishment, enriched,
another love poem writ,
niched and pitched
one more itch,
so very well scratched
Aug 6, 2016
Aug 6, 2016 at 8:23 AM UTC
In the darkest of our valleys
By dark angels demented,
‘Twas once a regal temple -
Serene spring - tauntingly tormented.
A Queen in her Domain,
It stood there!
Under Lock and Chain;
A maiden so fair!
Lavender curtains laden;
On this Temple may flow
Along the Times of this Maiden -
In the ****** snow.
And every gentle air in that field,
Of Doomsday,
From the Black Rose’s shield -
Their aroma passed away.
Witnessing this Ominous blolly;
Through luminous windows -
Spirits sing in melancholy,
In the malicious meadows.
Upon this throne I bore;
A tintinnabulation of air -
Befitting glory’s chore,
Of this realm’s affair.
With many a jewel gleaming,
Against the Temple door -
The River’s light came beaming,
Sparkling for evermore.
A troop of Angels; on their duty,
At my doorbell, sing -
For the Silent beauty,
Who burdens the King.
Then, the Reaper came,
Along the Temple’s River -
For the distressed dame;
And the sorrows within her quiver.
Above this temple of glory,
Sagacious scenes bloomed -
Of the maiden’s story,
The clergy that loomed.
Now; Within that valley -
Through the reddened windows see,
Figures dancing delicately;
To her disbanded melody.
The river - now a pale white,
Is her decor,
Night’s sweetest silent fright -
And flows - Nevermore.
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 4:13 PM UTC
Hope, at times for them
Is a once-great passenger ship
Breeched and sinking fast
This vessel is one that sees the Mississippi,
Floats on it for a brief period
But has no idea that it's being dominated
By the mighty, muddy beast
In these instances responsibility
Becomes government reports that are long,
Arduous and too thick to be stapled
"Many people will die." they say,
"200,000 people will be displaced."
This incites the mantra,
Home is where the water is not
The ship that was a home is made of steel
Neither black nor white
Its grey, so grey that it is without true color
It finds itself trapped in the womb of the dense, delta mud
The people;
The brave, the bold, the idiots, waiting for their ship to come
Sit on top of their roofs,
Now islands where they can soak up Indian Summer Sun
For the abandoned, perseverance is a suntan
"THE WATER IS RISING PLEAS…"
Words spray-painted white on black shingles
The rescuers, government, American people
Are suddenly illiterate
Federal law states:
Energy (money) cannot be created
Nor destroyed
But the ship is gone,
The people are in watery graves
The City is a large crescent with greedy bites taken out of it
6 years later the laws of the universe are disbanded
Ferrel dogs rule the day
And love is never having to say you care
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 4:03 AM UTC
Men are haunted by the vastness of distance and time
and so we ask ourselves,
Will our actions echo across eternity?
As I dig deep, deep within my soul
I come up empty handed
The deep abyss has taken its toll
All my strength disbanded
As I tumble into a free fall
Questions loftily rise
Will I be reminisced at all,
After death closes my eyes?
Will my footprints be cast,
in cement so they may last?
Or in the sands of the seaside
to be swept away by the tide?
Will what I say,
be quoted or become cliché?
Or will it be erased from the chronicle
like all else that is forgettable?
Will statues of precious stone be built in my likeness?
Will my endeavours become myths of greatness?
Will stars be named in my honour,
illuminating the dark forever?
Will my actions ripple for light years and millenia?
Nov 7, 2011
Nov 7, 2011 at 10:16 PM UTC
You'd go to their parties in your best clothes,
you'd tell them secrets to better portray how you wanted
to be consumed; how you wanted to be seen in
the right light of entwined, callous mouths.
Though years passed and the canteen hall
smelled of stale jokes and worn-out references
your group stuck together by a conformed
sense of security and a scared mixture of secrets.
The bell rung hollow one last time as your
group disbanded into grey, lifeless figures.
The adults around you knew them as temporary
indulgences. You called them something warmer.
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 1:57 PM UTC
I met a man with lifts in his shoes
Watery eyes and a clicking tongue
As I washed my hands, disbanded
He gave me some dreamboat advice
And a house to go with it
He said to follow the money trail
Up an up an up you go
And freedom means never
Having to go to trial
And don't forget to stay
Underestimated
And always **** them with kindness
He lives in a pre-war clock tower
It's a family building
But he loves the twentieth century
His associates are beautiful
But in my dream they were made of cardboard
Cause he made my girlfriend cut her curly locks
And paint one wall yellow
But now my plain Jane has delusions
She can't stand mirrors
And claims he shot the angels on her shoulders
With an invisible gun
He said vanity is a perfect eight
As he rubbed his pinky ring
He knows the root of every game tree
Still he loves to test me
It gives him a shiny glow
Nov 26, 2011
Nov 26, 2011 at 3:11 AM UTC
~
when eve’ning calls
the day to end,
and steals away
beloved friend;
naught for holding,
naught for love;
only yearning,
for what was.
once where pillows,
cradled heads;
swallows tears,
wept on their bed.
once the soil,
on paths two walked;
turned to dust,
beneath a rock.
within each tear,
the salty sting;
a silent sob,
the daylight brings.
lips that spoke,
in loving notes;
that kissed each dawn,
with healing hope;
mem’ries now,
a silent voice;
whispered prayer,
a stifled choice.
these the trail,
of loving well;
leavings of
a lover’s tell!
~
post script.
“brother-in-law”... when a beloved sister loses her battle, what becomes of that title... do the words drift apart as the hyphens are disbanded? and what of the light that once added brilliance... is it forever fractured?
thirty-nine years is a trail long walked; a tale colored by hues both light and dark. a loss such is his, is to me inconceivable; i believe i would choose death instead.
~
Mar 17, 2019
Mar 17, 2019 at 2:21 PM UTC
Just below the cellar you can hear a gentle thumping
bumping in the midnight calling out to ask for something
Thumping in the hallways and the rooms of little girls
in the washroom and the kitchen just the thought makes my blood curl
It all must be of nothing I have told me many nights
only louder in the darkness till my mind has no such plight
Pleading with kitchen and panels of the wall, of the stairs that lead to darkness right above the cellar floor
Pleading for the bumping, to cease throughout the night
yet my pleading is politeness that responds with terrid freight
The thumping has grown louder, yet no one is stil awake
only I to fight this battle with the king for heavens sake
Spears and bones have knashed and yet a pulse can still be heard
I shall die alone in sadness, never knowing what was burned
Yet amid a morning sunset, with the calling of the crow
all the thumping and the bumping had disbanded from the thrown
In the midst of my confusion , I lay awake pondering illusions
Was it all a gentle dream
or must it all mean something more
Just above the cellar you can hear a gentle bumping
thumping in the midnight calling out to ask for something
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 10, 2013 at 11:23 PM UTC
Dark days just got darker
The future now bleaker
Our rights soon weaker
Temperatures up
Sea levels rise with
Judicial surprises:
Rights curtailed
Guns for sale
Executive privilege
Press repressed
Marches now riots
Meaner tweets
Free speech costs
Groups targeted
Families disbanded
Profiling preferred
Embryos policed
Emigration in order?
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 5:10 PM UTC
Leathery skin
furling by
the hides
of ideas,
to impart
the coyest
We are searching for dismantled cameras
with the flashy leitmotif disabled
in a disbanded cinema
And in the dark you ovulated, murdered
under the thickness of rough tree bark
Haul trunks of
a honky-tonk
dismembering
remembrances
rows of seating
Squalling, beautiful voices
throaty, tonefully sinking
in tune with imaginary keys
located in grey, clinking
between stained ivory tiers
and scuffed ebony branches
rending the reddest of heart-drawls
then plucking each riveted contour
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 12:40 AM UTC
After nearly 10 years
Of failing to acknowledge
Each other’s existence,
We are brought together
In the confines of four walls
That no longer stand;
In a group that has been
Eternally disbanded.
Our passions grew,
And continue to do so,
Like a tsunami, just before it crashes.
Our passions, a double helix
Of melody and harmony
Continued to intertwine
For nearly two years;
730 days, until my simple words
Dismantled the pleading silence,
And our passions unraveled.
The tsunami crashed.
I fell. Our passions became one,
Though paradoxically, it was
Completely impossible.
At that moment, a ship set sail
To a destination unknown,
And the raw power
Of the uncertainty is what
Keeps hope alive.
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 8:34 PM UTC
Don't speak of rainbows now,
Because if rain falls at night
No rainbow ever comes.
The band of seven colors,
Rainbow is a promise
That ends disbanded.
Dissipated in your
Empty words,
You half-blind prophet.
Rain clouds in your galaxies
You thought
You hid them for safety.
You did not.
I found them.
I knew, I watched
Your galaxies through the years.
The wisest seer I am
I chased away those clouds away
By my resounding light.
Believing you'll send the rays back.
But failing to read my own fate,
I am here on this brimming ocean,
Forsaken by you and your story of rainbows.
Like stars abandoning their place
On dimmed bereaved heavens
Everyone looked up to,
Hoped for each night.
This is the season of rain,
And when it rains it pours.
You left me here
When everything is cascading, falling apart
While you found your own harbor.
So don't speak of rainbows now
Because if rain falls at night
No rainbow ever comes.
Light must precede it
And only I can find it
Inside me.
But rain must fall still,
This season of rain.
Feb 1, 2011
Feb 1, 2011 at 3:38 PM UTC
Only been around for nineteen short years
But I've witnessed too many
Friends lives cut short by ****** garden shears
Little boys and girls
Who's legs have been severed at the knee
Been taken for a whirl
Around the block without eyes to see
The guilt I feel isn't natural
I just walk the Earth
I see dead people I once knew
Taken for the lone ride in the big black hearse
Something isn't right
When the wrong path is taken for granted
Didn't know the meaning of the fight
Or the truth behind the disbanded
Beautifully departed
Like the angels with the glowing wings
The one's who fell to the dirt
Coughing and spitting up horrible things
No one seems to care
When you're on the inside looking out
It's just the one's I can't bear
Because I've always been the outsider looking in
What I'm trying to explain
Is that the words I'm speaking
Have fought pain and been stained
By the happenstances of this big blue mystery
Why is it that the kids who go usually know?
Drowned and pummeled with the incendiary
Devices that cause your mind to go up in flames
Up in flames, up in smoke and no one wants to take the blame
Feb 27, 2012
Feb 27, 2012 at 1:16 PM UTC
P.1
The crowd sings a tune
Most dreadful
Malice
It is with steel
Cold retribution
Uneven fire
That he shall die
P.2
Formalities unsecured
Royalty disbanded
Speech said
Hostility silenced
Peace has come
P.3
A hairpiece
Eyes an unnatural shade of blue
Hands reaching for a god
Face unsure
Blade ready
Head severed
P.4
Without God
Tangible mercy
England is set free
Gold to ash
Mind to dirt
Heir to none
Apr 15, 2018
Apr 15, 2018 at 10:17 PM UTC
i speak hope that you may see through my lighter eyes.
through my spaced expression.
i surely do feel summer in my bones
i surely do feel like my world is expanding, as ***** and disbanded as my world may seem.
i know my state is temporary, just as it all is, but while i feel this, ill let it indulge
i will breathe in every last drop of this feeling until it is as dry as my bones
when i walk outside its amazing that i can feel the clouds wishing me farewall
the gut feelings are fading, everything seems yellow and grey
wont the chilly moon wish me a good rest of the year?
i am in dier need of a break
she is the only one i trust
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 12:18 AM UTC
Like a frozen stone
Without a glance being blown,
I got thrown away.
I was flying in silence,
Then, I moaned up without resilience
On a brick.
Through an eaves,
I fell into the stream's waves,
Unheard, unhurt.
Frozen imprisonment
Where the jailer is the detachment,
Not somewhat cold.
The spring is sobbing,
Its tears are smoothly rushing,
Pushing to a land.
Among stones standing,
Patience is suffocating, ending,
Drying crying.
Smooth hands,
Promising their hold never ends,
They disbanded.
In a new stream,
Me and solitude in a team,
But it's all fine.
Sleeping is the only way,
Not seeing when we're thrown away,
Again, again.
Oct 6, 2019
Oct 6, 2019 at 2:04 PM UTC