"disobedient" poems
‘I am…’ 'Or am I’? Who can say?
‘A posteriori’ leads the way
For the extra and the ordinary
Axiomatic sway,
In the gravity of corollary,
‘A priori’ interplay
Ataraxic overlay of anxious automation,
As the innocence of dissonance delay.
Practicing semantic contemplation,
In willfully prevenient interpolation,
Civilly disobedient in expediently seeming disarray,
Forecasts in vague extrapolation
Contrasts the millennial contagion
Already underway,
Filling nihilistic voids with particles in waves,
To interpret dreams of Freud to free Oedipus’s slaves,
A degreeless scholastic who never misbehaves,
Simulated humanoid dramatic in the affect that he craves,
Inflating linguistics in acrobatic raves,
A thespian who plans conation with legacy engraves.
The probabilistic determiner of cosmogenous debates,
An apperceived inquirer of qualitative states,
Inspiring proprietor of dismality abates.
Challenging aporia as epistemic oscillates,
Stoically, heroically, ‘one’ who amalgamates,
Circling the infinite in hermeneutic calibrates.
An escaped prisoner from depressive disillusion,
Of an introspective extrovert who finds solace in confusion,
The personable recluse fighting an illusion
Breaking down the nuances of every institution.
Calculating consequence as time goes to infinity
Revolutionary commonsense of principal utility,
An opinionated adversary,
to the realist without evidence,
Theorizing in futility,
Stipulating every sense leading to the virility of the pretense that dominates community.
Divergently converging all the efforts we’ve personified,
Inadvertently submerging old traditions that unethically were codified,
Hastening the urgency for purging that which cannot be modified through the merging of the certainty that will no longer coincide,
Stationing the levies to finally stem the tide,
Of periodic enmities disguised to be necessities so blatantly deified.
Observing moral sentiments, perched upon eternity,
As consequential regiments are expounded universally,
To unstratify the residents indiscriminately
And identify quantum elements spiritualistically,
Changing collective behavior individually,
Socializing constructs in joint ventured logo therapy.
Nov 16, 2018
Nov 16, 2018 at 8:07 AM UTC
We may have a past,
But "stop" means just that.
I shouldn't have to pull your hands away.
Don't you dare ask me if we're okay.
You may have a hard exterior,
But my body is not inferior.
I am a push-over...
But a four-leaf clover.
And I will not stand
For disobedient hands.
Oct 14, 2015
Oct 14, 2015 at 6:58 PM UTC
Twists, rips, knots, love-filled locks.
Hair that embodies personality;
Wild, untamed, unkempt, yet beautiful.
Hair that embodies nature;
Disobedient, ever changing, free.
I will never regret these tree root locks.
They have taught me patience,
They have taught me to love even that which is not beautiful to everyone.
They have taught me that we are like the earth, we grow, and we die, and we blossom.
I never intended my snake locks to be for fashion, I wanted nature to teach me what it will.
And if no other lesson ever stays with me this one will:
Nature can never be tamed.
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 2:17 PM UTC
When darkness long has veil'd my mind,
And smiling day once more appears,
Then, my Redeemer, then I find
The folly of my doubts and fears.
Straight I upbraid my wandering heart,
And blush that I should ever be
Thus prone to act so base a part,
Or harbour one hard thought of Thee!
Oh! let me then at length be taught
What I am still so slow to learn,
That God is love, and changes not,
Nor knows the shadow of a turn.
Sweet truth, and easy to repeat!
But when my faith is sharply tried,
I find myself a learner yet,
Unskilful, weak, and apt to slide.
But, O my Lord, one look from Thee
Subdues the disobedient will,
Drives doubt and discontent away,
And Thy rebellious worm is still.
Thou art as ready to forgive
As I am ready to repine;
Thou, therefore, all the praise receive;
Be shame and self-abhorrence mine.
4.4k
I whom once ran from obedience to you O God.
Now receives the redemption from you Lord.
For you freely give your redemption to people.
Whom once were disobedient to you Jesus.
You give us grace and mercies everyday.
Even though we really do not deserve them.
Yet you love us enough, and sees something within us.
That we have not seen in us yet, thank you God.
Mar 1, 2014
Mar 1, 2014 at 11:20 AM UTC
I’m not dumb
I’m more or less irrational, I am quite passionful
I have little self-control and I do not yet know my role
I use slang and swear too much
I think a lot and like to touch
On things that have my interest
Basketball, music, dance
I like to take a glance, at women
But that’s a given
I am persistent, disobedient, and selfish
And yet, I have one wish
That’s to be rich, get girls and wake up
Then do it all over again
But then again it’s just a dream
I struggle with relationships because they never last
Then I listen to Drake and think about the past
But then again he is no God
He kind of puts on a fake façade
Now let’s talk about God
On the surface no one believes in him
But I believe people do deep within
I know God is one person I can rely on
And that he’s no one I can defy upon
So much pressure with my friends
And then he goes and lends, me guidance
This is me, I am a teenager
- Jj
Oct 7, 2013
Oct 7, 2013 at 8:52 PM UTC
You know what the stories say
About me. They call me silly,
Foolish, disobedient. They say
I should have listened to my
Father. Now he was a guy
Worth listening to: the one
Who built the labyrinth -- the one
That caged the bull-headed beast
And sent virgins, hopelessly
Lost, to their deaths.
He made me a pair of wings
And when he was finished
told me to contemplate my
mortality. And not to fly too close
To the sun. For the feathers
Were joined only by wax and days
But the sun was made of
molten fire and eternity.
How could I listen though?
When after so long
Penned in the cool, dim labyrinthine
Depths of his workshop, I was finally
Free. A soft warm shaft of sunlight
pierced me through and I was lost.
On my ****** flight, I was ecstatically
lost, rising madly to the shivering
brink of infinity.
Imagine me with my great white
waxen feathered wings circling
(Circling) (Circling) spiraling
Higher and higher to a crisis.
Oh I melted.
Then I fell.
I do wish they'd asked me how I'd have
Liked to be remembered though: Not
the merely foolish bull-headed kid
who refused to obey,
But the dreamer with wild eyes,
The one who once flew
too close to the Sun
And briefly,
(All too briefly)
Blazed.
Apr 18, 2015
Apr 18, 2015 at 2:27 PM UTC
The curtain frays at the edges
Unwinds, disobedient
Only to reveal
No bed (where one should be)
Dainty white muslin
Conflicted, floats
Away from the pane
More like a halo (than a shroud)
Here, in the cage of your mind,
Lies a mandolin
Hollow (with no music in its heart)
Towards another window
Its brother may lie
Born of nothing (but of itself)
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 7:51 PM UTC
i think im being gaslighted
‘cause i can’t remember why i
feel this disgusted with myself
whenever i’m around you
lately i stopped believing in the magic
of being disobedient of other’s rules
every time there’s pieces of my
belongings scattered and hidden
you with a knife ridge smile
and no sign of grieving for the waves
you stole away from me
i need to run away but i don’t know how
Jun 7, 2018
Jun 7, 2018 at 12:11 PM UTC
1
in the absence
of your rays
dear Sun
the fearful
created God
2
we trembled in our nights
in the wild
and you shattered the darkness
and you said:
‘Behold, Creatures -
Behold the Earth!’
3
I lie asleep
and you send in
beams of messengers
dear Sun
each with the same message:
‘Hey, lazybones –
wakie! wakie!’
4
by you
dear Sun
is life;
and through you
too is death
5
O setting Sun
do not drag my
heart down with you;
for it’s known in nations
where you do not shine as often
you ****** cheer and smiles away
till you come again;
do not let then my heart
dear Sun
sink with you
6
sun crazy sun
very disobedient and ill-tempered
unwilling to listen
to shine not too hot and not scorch the earth;
and show-off
and bad-tempered with its flares
7
see
the creatures of the earth
burrow deep
and go to sleep
in your absence;
and they come again
kicking and hungry
when you shine
8
I see you in the flower
that blooms it seems at random;
and I see you too
in the leaves of the lilly-pilly at my window
9
one must see the sun
or feel it
oneself
10
I think
you’re one hot blonde,
O Sun babe;
on this side of the universe
no one’s as hot as you
11
the clouds try catching you;
they are little children
and they think you are a ball
they can throw to one another
12
sometimes I wonder
in the loneliness of night
where you are
and then I see you
bouncing off the moon;
ha!
she rejects your advances
13
they look at the sun
but do not know how to see;
poets interpret it
as children play with clouds
and the holy ones attempt to
squeeze the sun into their texts
Oct 7, 2010
Oct 7, 2010 at 7:00 PM UTC
She plunges into the hot water
and begins to scrub. Brush and
soap on skin. She wants him off
and out of her. Undo him from her.
Unkiss his kisses, untouch his touches.
She breathes in. She reeks, stinks
of him. He seems to have penetrated
every orifice on her body. She pushes
herself under the water, holds herself
there, opens her eyes even the sting
brings no purification. She sits up and
holds the sides of the bath. Calm down
she tells her shaking hands and legs
but they disobey and carry on like
disobedient children in play. She tries
to think of other things. Think of
somewhere nice, some time once
enjoyed, some pleasure once had,
sipping of the best wine, greedy
eating of caviar or grape. But no.
Everything is focused on him and
the **** She rubs and scrubs until
she’s red and raw. Stop stop her
inner voice screams. Nothing is
what it seems. He pushes his way
even into her every thought now.
He seeps into every pore. The water
fails to clean. She sits there naked,
undone, brush in hand, hair in a mess.
This is not real she says, but knows
it is, she in the bath, wet, raw, sore
and sullied. Yes that’s a word mother
would have used: sullied. Tainted,
tarnished, degraded or as Mother
would have said: dishonoured. She
focuses on each aspect of her flesh
as if seen for the first time. What
you focus on is your reality. Who said
that? Does it matter now? Dostoevsky?
The Idiot, that book. Who cares who
said what. The water is no longer hot.
He is still on skin and in orifice in spite
of the rubs and scrubs and tears and curses.
No longer the innocent, no more the
sipping of wine or eating of grape.
Just him and memory of the ****
Jul 6, 2012
Jul 6, 2012 at 1:52 AM UTC
We found a new world,
yesterday.
Ordained with holy numbers
and d-a-s-h-e-s-
by modern priests in
blanket
white
cloth.
Pious, singularly
unromantic men.
Reaching for this sphere
it is into an unnamed sea
amid unmounted peaks
I shall fall,
a willfully disobedient
boy who drowned
with a hunger
that surpassed
all worldly sustenance.
Though perhaps it’s for the best
I’ll never walk its corrugated
G a s e o u s
surface,
for an epoch of chastity
would be corrupt
by my abrasive soles, my cutting
words, my fallible conscience
and mortal skin.
600 light-years?
I’ll save us both the effort.
©Thomas Gabriel
Dec 6, 2011
Dec 6, 2011 at 12:43 PM UTC
Backward-man loves his dog.
Ties him up before and after
His walks, likes to goad his pet
Too, speaking as the weather wails
And howls then dog looks down,
Sad on his master dumbfounded.
A chain is worn as it scrapes
The ground connecting dog
To his master. They both love
The sound of it hissing as it strikes
The concrete pathways, sometimes
Man and dog feel free, not a part
Of each other, the chain may break,
And fear is for forks in the road,
The rusty pockmarked grip of his links
Have always been there on walks
Ahead and behind though it makes
Things confusing as if in a dance
And sometimes they wonder which way
They might end up after all—
And when the dark and golden
Rope, as always, is finally tied
To some old fruit tree, the man
Is happy his dog has both sun
And shade, but also has joy watching
Dog beg for ripe apples he cannot
Reach. Some people might come
To think that dog thinks those apples
Are not for eating. Everyone loves
Fruit, don't they?
Backward-man built his dog
A house as cold as a three-
Storied barn, out of things
He could not afford, things much
Too good for dog to not care
About, maybe man built dog's
House for himself, he cannot
Really impress his dog.
Backward-man likes to think
He knows what dog is saying.
Barks and whimpers have deep
Meanings, 'world is a good place,'
Dog says, but when pooch says,
'World is cruel,' crying, disobedient
Whines gets him a serious kick
Out of old anger from backward-
Man. And man can be a hell-
Hound on his own, the way
He twists and unravels the things
He needs, like truth and food
And love— that goes without
Saying for backward-man hates
His woman, but loves his dog.
Nov 30, 2012
Nov 30, 2012 at 9:15 PM UTC
before going to bed it is to be checked thoroughly
if there lays any carbon-paper under the bed-cover
now-a-days some upstart pelicans become so
disobedient it can not be assured if they come
to know the whereabouts of the blood easily
from the copy of the heart
then they distribute the delirium of the high-heel moon
by writing cash-memos at the gate of the locked-out plant
the hundreds of thousands of white clouds
also drink the whirl-water of love
they touch to feel the freshness of the habitat
they touch to feel the can full of smiles
after the explosion they touch to feel
the bier of the deodar-birds
covered with tamarisk plants
Sep 29, 2010
Sep 29, 2010 at 5:38 PM UTC
A thick flood of thought clogs
lemon teeth and pools, crude
and salty behind lost red eyes.
Gouge them hollow! Darken the moon.
Brittle moans like a swollen beehive
loom tall, fifty miles behind the lost craters.
Hugs from pigs in blue,
they dance and loll around the flames,
a funky dark against their luminous fire.
Proud and bogus (and probably ******
bitter about foul books they never read,
statues made of fear in the groins of men.
Ruined: hurled into a crag,
torn and singing, trapped in loops -
No elbow room in black hole falls.
Snoring next to wives wrapped in shawls,
hugging her leather Buick seat,
praying to wake up gaunt and lithe.
They rise, mornings, clutching onto dreams
in which they fly through the cold gloom.
They scratch desperate screeds onto napkins,
bite squirming, disobedient tongues,
souls raw, chafing in their dank enclosures.
Animals! Bred to elect ourselves for slaughter.
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 4:20 AM UTC
Make me ugly
Touch me and let the sores sprout
And the hair fall away
Turn the dull brown of my eyes to milk
Knock aside my straight white teeth
Let the children run from my smile
I want to shatter mirrors
I want to punish eyes
People will cover their mouths in fear
And I will be the person under the beds
Of disobedient children
I will be shunned and hated
People will whisper monster under their breath
Others will ignore me entirely
And all the while no one will ever know
What kind of person is behind this face
Aug 17, 2011
Aug 17, 2011 at 3:29 AM UTC
O God ! O God! Why have you forsaken me?
Shepherds slaughter the fattest sheep.
They join and plot and mark the victim for their feast.
They have but one aim, to please the high priest,
Get postings to pastures with the wealthiest sheep.
We are special claim they and we
Are anointed by Jesus and stand for him
Beware of our powers which exceed the bomb
Our curses cause damnation fore'er
Afraid of the trappings, frightened by the robes
And stories of punishments to disobedient sheep
We cower in fear while they revel and plunge
Their knives and forks into our hearts for their feast
Organized religion has killed our faith
Yet we remember how You were slain
By organized religion which was the same then
As it is now
And repeat your cry
O Father,why have you forsaken me?
I have tried to live in your presence
And be honest in everything
I have put my trust in Your priests and Your Church
Only to find
That they
Secretly mock and plan to slaughter us
To fatten themselves.
Should I pray- curse them to eternal poverty
Of Spirit and temporal wealth
Let them wander in hunger
Till they realize
That they live with pigs
But Your way Lord
Is to forgive
And pray- 'Forgive them, for they do not know what they do'.
Help me, give me strength
to conquer my weak mind and ego
And forgive, and pray.
Sep 5, 2012
Sep 5, 2012 at 11:45 PM UTC
In a perfect world, we would turn from lust
But I’ve kissed the devil and lived
In a perfect soul we’d find glistening intentions
But I’ve sin enough to forgive
I hope that the Lord looks down on Earth
And still considers me his child
For long moments I've faced a deepening ravine
With long questions of unleashing my wild
Disobedient ways, to let them flow freely
And terrorize any purity left
Plunging down deeply into the abyss
My shell of a conscience bereft
Though prudence and virtue have always won out
The battle from time to time rages
And I fear the day when, if I cannot quite quell it,
Hope abandons for more worthy cases
So may my Father forgive me my ignorance
Each time that I prove I’m a fool
And though, on occasion, I may tempt damnation
Please save me from my own misrule
Sep 29, 2011
Sep 29, 2011 at 3:38 AM UTC
Her eyes seek mine,
but thrilled as they are,
both, refuse to leave the swell
in front of her blouse.
Mar 21, 2012
Mar 21, 2012 at 1:15 PM UTC
Poetry’s carved into her flesh,
intertwined with her ribs
and parasitic on her brain, the softest ***** now that her thrashing chest hardened.
It’s the thorn of a plastic rose, jabbing her distinct print, and
analogies crawling down to her jaw line,
sprawling at individual forks of two points; it was always only two.
Melodic qualities burgled her mind to
exist in ubiquity throughout her pores
and soiled strands of hair pinched with a tie ten centimeters from the root.
Poetry, disobedient and sovereign,
lived to spell a testimony
individual to her since no one breathed her air.
Aug 2, 2014
Aug 2, 2014 at 7:12 PM UTC
I never got to know who I would really be.
The day was pure, I went to play and lift me brown-eyed brave;
I never got to know who I would really be.
My cousin was not home, but his father was,
who offered to show curious me something;
I never got to know who I would really be.
Taking my hand, up we went into that shadowed bedroom;
I never got to know who I would really be.
There I cried and nearly died as breath and trust drained away,
and then he finished;
I never got to know who I would really be.
With all my four-year might, I barely stood,
trembling friendless for a lifetime,
waiting and wishing for the end of me that never came,
frozen by the echoes of his whistling;
I never got to know who I would really be.
My light and trust twisted numb, and I became,
in that sacrificial horror, unwantedly wise;
I never got to know who I would really be.
My nature heart and caring head left for other worlds,
replaced by unwanted imitations,
strange deliveries from the unknown;
I never got to know who I would really be.
The rest of my life unfolded in starker silence,
hidden tears, and lurking fears, later liberated
for short, surprised, and sublime times
by the fairest love of two women,
safe children, their adoring little ones,
and a few determined adventures now and then,
hinting of the lost;
I never got to know who I would really be.
But now I write it all, and from my defiant and disobedient depth
consider, when I can, what imagining did for me
and never came true,
to stand and say and show
who I have become anyway.
This is my private anthem to my beloved self,
though
I never got to know
who that boy might really be.
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 11:42 PM UTC
Listen...
If this goes down like the Christians are sayin'...
Ain't no one getting in and god knows it
That ash hole loves it
He's super into punishment
That and judgment
Those two seem to be his favorite
Bringing true enjoyment
So arrogant he wrote it down,
A confession in print
It's obvious no pastor is oblivious,
There's just a willingness,
A complete lack of acknowledgment
They preach benevolent
All I read is maleficent
All I see is a battlefront
A holy deficit
How he treats his creation,
Love and compassion destructively absent
It's an embarrassment
Secondhand, none from firsthand involvement
Unless you think abandonment is an accomplishment
Or fraudulent is some kind of complement
Yeah, I've read it
I wouldn't have taken it public
It's a narcissistic story of sin and atonement
Punished for the failure of a first experiment
Because one decided to be disobedient
Now ungodly pain will accompany pregnancy,
Fuuck the pregnant
Punishment doesn't fit the crime,
But don't question it
That's how it had to be,
But I don't understand that argument
Does the almighty have a limit?
They say no,
There's nothing he can't do
So,
This is exactly how he CHOSE to do it
And when it comes right down to it,
If this shiit I hear is legit,
Let's see if he can feel regret
Will we
Get any
Apology
For this kind of "heaven sent" treatment
Force it to admit to all of it
Even if it takes an eternity,
I'll have all of eternity to do it
©2024
Mar 16, 2024
Mar 16, 2024 at 6:36 PM UTC
i have kissed too many girls, who,
between leaded lashes
and bloodied lips, begged me not
to fall in love with them
Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 11:08 PM UTC
No distance is for reproach.
No gaps exist that can't rebuild
fallen bridges.
Silence was only to retain,
one such moment of perfect beauty.
That mother's perfect Day.
To be still is knowing the ways
of the Universe and its creator
as in walking side by side.
No arrogance ever known or intended
no disobedient streak no malice ritual performed.
only wrong medical advice the culprit.
my demise but I raise triumphant
motherhood against tirani.
Being voiceless was to let you speak. ignorance was obliterated by your wisdom for loving me,
and betting on my future.
My being afraid ended with your hello your songs and poetry.
I remain pregnant drunk in love
and joyfully thinking of you.
My mystery twin flame,
from beyond, still you fill me up.
Anxiously patiently I wait for your return your presence.
my powerful great fortune
talisman of happiness is only you.
sent from another world.
You are my one best moment
of perfect beauty.
I know I am yours.
I stood in awe voiceless in shock.
I feeling alive someone like you
cared for me for so long.
I walk in gratitude feeling blessed.
I return to your power house
of freedom true love and I grab what you give honor what you don't.
Accepting whatever blessing
or crumb granted.
without selfish requests.
I remain your faithful student
my first, last best teacher
best friend, husband lover and to my eternal joy the best father to our children in every lifetime.
You are my lover of life, giver of life
My one moment of perfect beauty
forever only you, my past
my present, my future my best poet,
my everything.
~~~~~~
All Rights Reserved
in memory of a great portrait
Mr and Mrs Andrews.
by Karijinbba.
Mar 27, 2022
Mar 27, 2022 at 4:34 PM UTC