"dispassion" poems
Genial poets, pink-faced
earnest wits—
you have given the world
some choice morsels,
gobbets of language presented
as one presents T-bone steak
and Cherries Jubilee.
Goodbye, goodbye,
I don’t care
if I never taste your fine food again,
neutral fellows, seers of every side.
Tolerance, what crimes
are committed in your name.
And you, good women, bakers of nicest bread,
blood donors. Your crumbs
choke me, I would not want
a drop of your blood in me, it is pumped
by weak hearts, perfect pulses that never
falter: irresponsive
to nightmare reality.
It is my brothers, my sisters,
whose blood spurts out and stops
forever
because you choose to believe it is not your business.
Goodbye, goodbye,
your poems
shut their little mouths,
your loaves grow moldy,
a gulf has split
the ground between us,
and you won’t wave, you’re looking
another way.
We shan’t meet again—
unless you leap it, leaving
behind you the cherished
worms of your dispassion,
your pallid ironies,
your jovial, murderous,
wry-humored balanced judgment,
leap over, un-
balanced? ... then
how our fanatic tears
would flow and mingle
for joy ...
5.3k
Enraptured in
a fevered spasm,
Captured in the
mind's phantasm,
Swimming through
the ectoplasm,
Pouring from the
roaring chasm,
Hidden in the
soul's recess
A subtle, gentle,
warm caress
So jubilant, it
doth redress,
The hindrances which
so suppress,
The progress of the
spirit's wellness,
Showing things which
words can't tell us,
Giving gifts, which
none can sell us,
Do you
hear the
bell that's
ringing?
ringing
from a
distant
shore?
It resonates from
mammoth spheres,
In orbit, shedding
countless years,
Through aeons of
causality,
And boundless
temporality
We see how worlds
arise and cease,
We see how yearning
lays the fleece,
The wool over the eyes,
deceiving, cool
Dispassion's peace
relieving, our
Great webs
of pain and sorrow,
Darkening,
to light the morrow
For as all things
must come apart,
So suffering's,
great work of art,
is merely but
a transience,
receding slowly
in the dark.
Jan 6, 2019
Jan 6, 2019 at 9:15 PM UTC
You are the body of Siva, having sun and moon for twin
*******
Your Self, I surmise, O Goddess, as a new sinless Self;
Therefore, by mutual complementarity, this relation
remains one of common reciprocity
Between You two, participating on equal terms of
transcendent bliss.
--Soundarya Lahiri
you wandered into the cave
of this spiritual heart.
the moment you entered, these
eyes flew open--and glowed
nocturnally.
black, the color of dispassion--
moved with you, till it realized it
moved and was broken.
even after perfectly seeing the
hell that is desire, desire thus!!!
you conjured this, you called out into
the wild...and now i call back!!!
i couldn't resist you, because you awakened
the realization that there's more to be burned.
your hand found its way across
the cave walls...never was a touch
so familiar.
you create the time it takes for
five fingers to hold every hand
ever formed.
if it is i've understood the energetic exchange,
and you have not...manifold the cave.
how unfathomably deeper the
depth, and i must love you
relentlessly for making it there.
i have forever to wait out your
mind.
eyes closed...tears of ecstasy
cutting down a face of ash.
Jul 14, 2018
Jul 14, 2018 at 12:13 AM UTC
The yonder above is forever bruised and opaque
Reigning over glum faces
Complexions washed with a bloodless shade of dispassion
Robotic, disengaged.
Material desires are quenched with vast shopping centres
Credit Cards hold on for dear live
As every last drop of sweet money is rinsed from that plastic rectangle.
Living beyond our means
Whilst simultaneously refusing to give up on Sky TV box sets and liquid lunches.
Hooked to our phones, but not for telephone communication
Rather, for self validation
Defined by the click of a heart or pathetic thumb.
The once friendly communities
With blood coursing through their veins
Are husks of their previous life form, gentrified beyond recognition.
Filtered faces with protruding spines and modified features
Infiltrate mass media
Corrupting the definitions of success and beauty.
Plastic personalities reign supreme
Vacuous minded socialites profess women’s empowerment begins with the flaunting of skin
Rather than the possession of a strong mind.
Many bury their heads in the sand
Residing in ignorance
As mass genocides and civil wars manifest every second.
Or worse, they read the TORYgraph and THE ****
Believing immigrants spawn white genocide
And white conservatives suffer oppression.
Pffft!
I have deep contempt for those behind these ***** tabloids
Murdoch and his monsters
Orchestrating lies and bile
Destroying lives or scaremongering the impressionable
Committing the most savage, sycophantic crimes
In order to extract Monday’s headline.
I do not suffer fools
Especially those who make up the tapestry of dystopia
A failing age of doom.
Feb 11, 2018
Feb 11, 2018 at 12:00 PM UTC
Dawn will soon be embraced
for treasures beyond the curve
of the earth now brought to hand
wanton actions then expressed
the mold is broken and then reformed
sensuous defined by each one
far-flung stars gazed in sleep
Scorpio waiting for a chance
when emotions churn within
private dreams foretold the way
those secret urges beyond the veil
brought to waking in the light
morning risen to exclaim
what the night hid away
the slumbering to be roused
or should arousal be the term
for dispassion put aside
in response to nature’s urge
vocal ***** and stirring hens
or reversed and transposed
now awoken from their sleep
ask for strokes to greet the day
more than enough to awake
achieve release not found in sleep.
© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180930.
Sep 30, 2018
Sep 30, 2018 at 5:07 PM UTC
Passion is excessive effort
when you gotta leave you bed
All my thoughts were once on fire
then I strangled them to death
I see this world through a thick lens
of blinding apathy
Not because I couldn't care less
just because it helps me sleep
It's a clinical indifference, baby, bask in your dispassion
Clinical Indifference, let your lethargy become your guide
Action is a senseless venture
When you can't perceive an end
All my words are now required
to solicit emptiness
I see a stranger in your eyes
who I have known for years
Not cause I couldn't care less
it's just companionship breeds fear
It's a clinical indifference, baby, bask in your dispassion
Clinical Indifference, let your lethargy become your guide
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 3:19 PM UTC
Like a squiggle in your eye; blink,
and
I'm
gone
because I am all lipstick smudges left under carefully-pressed lapels, or Sharpied innuendos scrawled on bathroom walls in dingy bars.
A souvenir from one ephemeral moment, a fleeting tryst of dispassion (from my side at least); before I am scrubbed bare and raw.
DON'T YOU TOUCH ME, for I am so tender.
Thrown into the wash;
you can clean me, but the stain remains.
The scent of sugar, sweat and shame.
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 5:32 AM UTC
put down thy pen,
it is in disrepute,
smash thy tablet,
crack its glass...
house the mouse,
don't be an ***
genus human,
you have been
antihero morphed
anthromorprophesized,
****** simply, replaced
you poem prophecy
returned,
stamped,
Unneeded, Unread, Unheeded
you have been excused,
you have been recused,
jury, a chamber of inconclusive noises
dismissed,
the judge will digitally
write all
from now on...
submit your selected tags
for laughs,
a different poem returned to you,
by a digital "humanist"
what do I crave?
give me your youthful typos,
let me literate critique
the good, the bad, the
trite repetitive and especially
the ugly
poetry,
the kind only
humans can write
so I love or hate it,
your literacy,
with impassioned dispassion,
the kind no machine will e'er transcend
pull the plug on your random alphabet generator,
Eliot of York,
or you might find yourself
upgraded into unempoement!
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 12:54 AM UTC
I am searching for red blooms on this fragile ground
And awake every morning accepting the agony
Split
Ruined
Wound down for another agonizing transformation
You are the first
My love continues for you on this dying earth
Situations flooded with dispassion
I hope you will remember me
You said we lay naked
But only for me to study your crystalline arches
And to purge myself from the cruelty of this world
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 1:47 PM UTC
He waits for nothing
trapped inside vendettas of the past.
To compensate for all the pain.
Collapsed by storms, aghast.
Mouthing words into the plated
metal microphone.
Omniscient spy who gawks upon
his wretched monotones.
Patient Dr. Jekyll sits still
with longing looks.
While Heyde is toying endlessly
amongst his fellow crooks.
If only neither played a part,
and both were but a dream,
No plague of silent conflict
would crowd his every seam.
Within the realm of tragedy,
is where his soul endures.
Ty; intrinsic predator
searching for a cure.
And as his restless measures
of feelings coincide,
and harmonies escape his lungs
while beats start to collide,
The distant Dr. Jekyll protrudes
from vacant sleep.
Commences to erode a quiet
conscience, from the deep.
Sudden need for elsewhere
is all that Ty can see.
Every fiber recognizes
where he needs to be.
And suddenly the microphone,
who knows his every pain
is sitting lonely,
mesmerized
by silent noise again.
Ty is but a victim, sullen thoughts
that make him sick.
Never can he compromise,
when all his habits stick.
Forever now ambivalent,
confused and losing time.
Ty knots his laces,
bats his tears,
a façade: pressed and fine.
Ty's dreams are crushed,
disintegrate into the offshore sand.
When all at once he notices,
his life is in his hands.
A straw that Jekyll used before
is laying on the ground.
Heyde is shaking shamefully,
but cannot make a sound.
Ty looks upon the dreams he crushed
and searches for his will
its lined up right in front of him,
dispassion in a pill.
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 12:05 PM UTC
Your liquid mercury eyes,
drawn to the sight of a hiccuping heart
half-exposed through a ragged chest,
brought me close and held me there.
Despite that proximity,
in the end not even my own heart
was cold enough to solidify those
mercurial eyes of yours,
and you slid right between my fingers
forever, leaving only a diseased heart
and renewed dispassion.
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 11:39 PM UTC
There is a freedom in delusion,
It is artificially flavoured and cheap-
for anyone desperate enough to buy it.
Like this, there are many more copies of the originals.
It is the promise of Love,
The dissapointment of failure,
and the bitter taste of regret.
Yes, there is a blind happiness in the act of faith;
believing in the shadows reflected on the walls of the cave.
A hard truth to accept- the lies you tell to yourself
as you go to bed and succumb to wishful dreams.
Another day wasted-another mind twisted.
The vitality of grass and the prattle of the birds ceases
love fades away, as does the vigor of the summer.
Words once fluent, now cease to forced murmurs of dispassion.
There goes the first leaf of autumn-
in the cold harshness of the creeping wind.
There is honesty and pain in recognition,
Deceit and grief at the eyes of imitation.
Yes, there is a temporal taste of forged happiness;
A comfort in the fabric of deception.
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 5:08 PM UTC
*You wouldn't just leave,
that was never gonna be enough for you.
You wanted to drag my soul through the pits of misery,
have it's beauty carved on glass...
...because you knew just how easily it could break.
You wanted to take every part of me there was to take,
just so you could rip me to shreds...
...leaving me in pieces
that could never mend.
Little did you know that I was already detached from my being...
...the moment you thought you were becoming one with it.
That I was so estranged from the person you knew...
...because I was already becoming someone you would never get to know.
You took all there was to take,
not because you had that power over me,
but rather
because I gave up what was no longer necessary for my existence.*
Feb 16, 2018
Feb 16, 2018 at 4:46 PM UTC
As the sea is dolorous
My soul is untamable
As the moon perpetuate the sea
One can make me conclusive
But who can bottle that be?
The sea may reverberate
My affection may extravasate
The moon dispassion the waves
Of my life's precipitation
Who can prevail against me?
As deep as the sea
Is my love and my heart
As the moon faultless the sea
I need someone to quiescent me
Who can rival me?
The sea is so atramentous
As is my disposition
The moon luminosity it's light
Can someone genuinely love me
And make me whole?
I need a camaraderie
Like the moon and the sea
Commensurate and exhaustive
Come find me
If you dare
I'm lost at sea.
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 12:57 PM UTC
He traced his fingers down my spine
my bare skin crawling with desire
I knew it was just ***
and I knew he did not love me
and I did not love him
but I still yearn for those moments
laying in my bed
with his skin on mine
in a state of utter dispassion
May 24, 2013
May 24, 2013 at 3:18 PM UTC
The world is a vast playground and we're like children playing games
in the acquiring of many ephemeral things that we have given names.
All those sense objects usually just blind us and often lead many astray;
by great effort and dispassion sometimes we escape to see the real day.
_________________________________________________
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 2:47 AM UTC
Stop cleaning up around me
I cannot and I do not
I’ll sleep with her if you want me to
Me and fluid and machine
I’m not laughing aloud
Nina Nina Nina
Coming in but a lot of the same name
And madly
There’s a lot I can’t like
But I’ll have a better imagination window tomorrow
The ceiling flan blades tangle
And I am on a wave of symmetry
We are We are We are
Rebalancing Las Vegas
It’s a development from another evolutionist
And it’s currently alive
I’ll check back later to see if I
still love you
You visited the portable stage
How was the weather in Cancun?
Counterarguments with the same hundred girls
I noticed it anyway
I’m heading home with indebtedness
So therefore
You should at least punch me a call
I realized yesterday that
The public does not exist physically
It’s located within
Also we are photogrammetry
And strategically significant
As microbes
I’m talking in the studio
Mainly to become desensitized
Did you get that disability from extreme passion?
Or did you get that dispassion from extreme ability?
Thank you, Thank you
You’re stuck behind me now
This is another sentence and if you like anything in particular
You need me
This evening I think you actually got my hopes up
When you said everything was up and running
When I supposed what you ultimately wanted was
Everything
Did I have this “Everything” to give?
To hear you slurping everything from suspension
I think the craziest messages just talk
May 2, 2019
May 2, 2019 at 1:41 AM UTC
The stepchildren of passion
bear the selfsame fruit of their
parentage...disowned by their own volition,
till becoming...incrementally dying
aspirants of dispassion.
I think of St. Francis, St. Francis
I think of you often.
Aug 2, 2015
Aug 2, 2015 at 11:34 PM UTC
studied dispassion,
go about
the roundabout
of practiced ordinary living,
fully aware,
there are no open exits
currently available,
leading back to when,
all exits
led only bright forward
consensual distance
spaces tween
registered vehicles
but no longer
registering bodies,
legally maintained,
by all
outward appearances,
minor kisses
in a habitual habitat,
perfunctory
of the functionary,
"I love you's"
traded before
shutting off the
permanence of the
finale of the
now dimmed bedroom light
diminution
by the minute,
covertly clarifying
the ex-mission critical,
cutthroat ended
by consensual distances,
silent no speaking
empty spaces that
cannot be closed,
or
dispossessed disposed,
the sensual, desensitized
been down this
slow mo lazy path,
to slow ruin
before
the quick road to
The End
the questions
air hung but
unasked,
the words
unspoken,
they,
the ultimate
****** weapons
inevitably found,
getting at long last
a final hearing,
judgement reached
at the
reenacted scene
the finale resting place,
*the grave of spaces,
consensual spaces,
the gulf of no love,*
the pre-partum dénouement
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 8:18 AM UTC
Punished by the sun
in a desert of our love.
Slipshod the sailing stones,
how dispassion speckles the playa floor,
salt pans dissolve motivating force.
I'm a man returning to his ground.
You're a woman seeking refuge
in the cracked crevices of my rib cage.
So far below sea level,
where does love go from here to survive?
Perhaps, Chloride City
and the grave of a James McKay?
Maybe at Bottle House in Rhyolite,
the "Queen City"?
Either way, this sensation has become an unsacred mirage:
the watering hole, a leadfield,
with which we can only look back from.
Praying the sulfur in the sky
passes on from this place,
before we turn into something sodium, something akin to
Lot's careless wife.
Jul 8, 2020
Jul 8, 2020 at 9:20 PM UTC
I have been near enough to death
to know it well
its unwavering dispassion
its unflinching reality
as I breathe into her
and hear the sound of empty lungs
it has ripped all the curtains I had sewn
all the false smiles and pat answers
a lifetime of rehearsed dialogue and robotic gestures
I was now naked before myself
and the lies that became me
now face me
and dissolve
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 11:41 AM UTC
I used to be beautiful,
Glossy,
And warm with the glow of untouched purity.
Propped up on my stand, for all to see,
To admire,
To desire,
But not to play.
I can’t remember feeling before feeling the touch
Of your hands,
Rough and warm.
Beauty be ******
I relished the newness of your grasp on my curves,
That first rush
As your fingertips glided down my polished body.
It wasn’t long before you found my strings,
And joy turned to fear-
Furiously yet gently,
You loosened my taut wires,
And a motion of sound filled my once blissfully hollow form,
And what came from me but an alien, lyrical cry,
Flying from my strings as your fingers danced across them,
And to my horror,
You smiled,
As you watched my misery unfold.
This sound,
Unheard before now,
Rang out my fears and my naked desires for all to hear,
I couldn’t stop you,
And my soul could not be stifled,
As you forced out of me a bitter song,
A tearful melody,
Of hopes unfulfilled
And a vital *****
Stolen and unreturned.
One hand round my neck,
The other pulling most painfully at my delicate strings,
You played me.
You monster,
You kidnapper,
You mad musician-
Take me home,
Put me on a stand,
In my case,
Hide me away,
Let me go.
Release me from my tiring song,
In any way you must.
Master,
End it,
Before there’s nothing left,
Before I’m dust.
I already lament the death of my beauty,
My once unblemished wood,
Now splintered,
Dull,
Warped by your unforgiving grasp.
And still my strings you play,
Relentlessly,
And with cruel dispassion.
Ravageur,
Finish my song,
And don’t play me again.
If you must,
Destroy me,
So I can’t sing anymore,
Feel anymore,
Destroy me,
Obliterate me,
Shatter me,
Break me,
Against your counter,
Your headboard,
The wall,
Until I’m scattered across your floor,
Oh, **** me,
Player,
Anything to be silent again.
Mar 1, 2018
Mar 1, 2018 at 1:21 PM UTC
Cloudy days make me
feel like I’d be better off
thinking and feeling with dispassion—
stripping all of those bright and buzzing inklings
down to their logical black and white bones.
Colorless, I stare at what’s left of them—
dull pencil lines and some ***** eraser dust.
Nothing to build on, nothing to respond to.
There’s nothing left which stirs under my skin.
Now, just this empty notion someone put here.
I don’t like it or trust it.
I can’t make sense of it.
Only a familiar voice assuring me
“it’s better this way.”
May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 5:07 PM UTC
Again this compassed
Done with this feeling
Last with this bargain
Away with the dealing
Belated and lagging
Broken records play
Same old song, away
Screeching are sound
When you stay around
I am afflicted anew
Withdraw, my savior
Long past due
The bills are pilling
My thrills are dying
Dispassion growing
Heartbeat sinks
Inside the pit, the fire
Let the burning flow
Heaven sinistral
Purgatory sleeps
Only wakes on earth
I refuse to affirm
Which no one will know
I refuse to hold on
I will only let go
Jan 11, 2017
Jan 11, 2017 at 2:09 PM UTC
i grew up in an evangelical home in the burbs. i now like to think of this brand of belief in christian doctrine as the sorta "star but humble upstart" ---- a shy new jesus on the block. not very showy with ritual. not too brimstone-y with rules. but nevertheless it is terribly aggressive and convincing in its apparent passivity, summoning up a tactical confusion in the believer that petrified the will before it had a chance to bloom and raked in the imagination before it could body forth an inner-whorl.
the evangelical brand leads with a hidden, veiled threat of eternal damnation best served cold with kind eyes. these eyes, they grow mouths inside them to speak to you the truth as they see it. it assumes your consent already. it rips initiative from the realm of possibility. it rents you a god, a "real living god" amid a scarcity of eternal life. you are sold. you must be. it trains a deep, serene dispassion that enslaves any shred of emotionality. it grips ****** life-affirmation with thousands and thousands of self-induced mental strokes against the backside, moving into position various leather tentacles tipped with acute tapered bones that seek out, lick, dig and pull up a guilt that beats subcutaneous, stuck to the very core center of the hard white tissue holding up humanity itself. you are fallen now because of before, or so it goes. it is the worst kind of violence. it steals who you are and gives you back a cheap copy that tells or suggests you hate, with a vengeful love of course, these original pieces of you that keep cropping up, keep emerging through nice smooth paved suburban sidewalks, still wanting, still desiring -- new words worming through old written ones.
it starts with a lack, and it wants to color you in. "you are not good enough" it sez. "you need something" it warmly alleges. "don't resist, let him in" it condescends with a grin reaching for the ear. it is a vamp asking for permission to eat your heart out with fork and knife, only to replace it with himself - all as you watch the procedure. it loves you to death.
tell it **** off, kindly. then shut the door.
Dec 30, 2015
Dec 30, 2015 at 4:27 PM UTC