"dispose" poems
Stumbling into ancient scripts, authored a decades plus ago,
ago being a modifier of time quantities, minute or large, unspecific
without an objective adjective additive, that faucets a stream of an interlocutory elocution of a batter of rooted emotional histories,
but not histrionics
fanciful words for dredged up memories, acute, but tarnished,
powered yet worn by a cousin of ago, a/k/a,
age
and yet
renews as of,
at this very second, as if it were a first, a tumult of visions, swelling of remembrances, embodied scars, and I weep anew but not
for me, as much for the resonating simpatico souls with whom
they even now vibrate with resonance of the immediacy of
If not now, When?
Aside: The exterior environment is noisy wet pelting of thunderstorms and ****** sheets of bulleting rain, piercing projectiles, but I am safe in the sunroom, sadly happy my dog is no longer here to shiver and tremble, cuddle and be soothed by steady stroking
But I am here, wrestling with this dredging operation, digging up
tons of sand that require dumping, and I ask, inquire, beg:
Who will take this detritus off my hands, once more, now uncovered,
now recovered, the soil is already soaked and can absorb no more,
the soul is already soaked and can absorb no more, the weakened
heart, damaged and occluded, suffer cannot bare twice the
outrageous misfortune
of unbared recollections, twice, or thrice, and I feel myself drowning in revisiting pain, **** **** **** these old poems, not nuggets, but boulders dropping from night skies, shot from a pitching machine, without letup, piercing of agonies that once ago
freshly desecrated and decorated my basic training in humanity.
Enough whining:
*I wrote those poems to
eject out those pains,
and I write this now, once more,
to realize that so so many still face
uncertain and unrelenting similarities,
doing their own sums,
and I wish them easing,
strength to compose and
thereby dispose of
the ineloquent
and eloquent
words of staining suffering*
3:30am
Thur
July 10
2025
Jul 16, 2025
Jul 16, 2025 at 5:39 PM UTC
Death is a perfume
That can be smelt
Any time in life.
For the odor is
Death telling us
That the string is
Now cut on this life.
The perfume of
Death invites many
To stay, to dispose
Of this shell,
To let the nature
Take it away.
The perfume of
Death is always
Around, as long
As those living
Pass and the
Shell does decay.
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 8:20 AM UTC
Warning: Use dis list in context.
You decide on which side you fall.
disappear
disregard
disaster
displace
disqualify
disrepair
disturb
dissipate
disability
dispose
dismal
distribute
distrust
disturb
discriminate
discuss
disdain
disguise
dishearten
disinherit
disown
disparage
disagree
disgruntle
disclose
discolour
dispute
disarm
discover
disassemble
disadvantage
disallow
dispossess
discontent
discontinue
disrespect
disincline
discomfort
disrepute
dishonest
disillusion
dishonor
dismiss
disobey
disjoin
disappoint
discipline
discord
discern
discrete
disfigure
disconnect
disapprove
discharge
disbar
disease
discord
disfavor
disengage
disassociate
discipline
discount
disembody
displace
dissaray
disembowel
discombobulate
discredit
discourse
disentangle
disenfranchise
disembark
discard
disburse
disbelief
discover
disable
disagree
disintegrate
dismay
dispense
dislodge
disclaimer
disapprove
dissatisfy
disrupt
dispel
dislike
dismantle
disloyal
disbatch
disrobe
disperse
display
disaprove
disciple
disavow
disconcert
disinfect
disorder
dismal
dismember
displease
dissemble
disunity
dislocate
distort
distrust
distress
dissolute
disassociate
distill
discect (?)
distemper
distain
distasteful
distraught
dissolve
dissonant
dissuade
And dis isn't de end.
Aug 22, 2015
Aug 22, 2015 at 12:06 PM UTC
Obsession is a gun.
It points right to your head, willing to shoot.
It either glues your heart together or shatters it through.
You feel ecstatic, yet you feel blue.
It's an addiction, you were brought to.
Nobody gets it, you feel alone.
Your mind is scratched with a name that repeats itself endlessly,
It hurts to your core, it's also your ecstasy
No you can't grasp it, they're fake, they're souvenirs.
And by souvenirs, I mean they're *******
You like it for a while, then put it on a shelf and in the end, dispose it.
It drains your time, you think it's real,
then in a month, you're done, it's sealed.
It starts confusion, you swear it's love,
you think it's happiness,
well, you are wrong.
Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 7:34 PM UTC
A morning dew sits on my dearest rose:
A shadow of evening's coolness stands still.
How gleeful I'd be to remove that chill—
That accursed blight, I yearn to dispose.
Not in my powers, no warmth from me flows
Not matter the measure of my goodwill.
Only the sunrise this quest shall fulfill
And light, my dear efflorescence expose
Always that morning seems ever unsure,
Yet surely it comes as the world still turns.
Finite be the hours my rose must endure;
Nothing this must be allowed to obscure!
For surely as in the sky our sol burns,
Warmth still exists for my rose to make pure.
~ D.B. Guy (1990 - )
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 2:17 AM UTC
there once was this guy named oedipus
of whom it was prophesied
that his mother he'd marry, his father he'd ****
at a place where three roads were tied.
his mother and father discovered their fate
and tried to dispose of their son
but he ended up in corinthian lands
and their efforts were all undone.
then a drunk guy ruined his happy facade
and to an oracle oedipus went
who repeated to him the dank prophesy;
he fled corinth, not taking a cent.
while on his sojourn away from his home
he encountered a party royale
which rudely pushed him off of the road,
and angered he slaughtered them all.
then from that blood soaked three-way path
he nonchalantly flew
not knowing that his father was
the man that he just slew.
he continued his journey until he reached thebes
where a sphinx held the city hostage
so oedipus solved the bird-cat's lame rhyme
and released thebes from its *******
as a reward, the people of thebes
gave oedipus their widowed queen,
unknowingly joining mother and son
in a marriage that was unclean.
after they ruled for twenty good years,
during which four children came,
a plague was induced by the sheltering of
the man by whom was slain
in searching him out, oedipus found
that the murderer was really he,
so long ago. the man he had killed
at the place where were joined roads of three.
but by finding this out, he also discovered
that his wife and his mother were one.
he gouged out his eyes after her suicide;
in her own bedroom she was hung.
as it turned out, oeddy exiled himself
but the seeds of his misery were sewn.
so he went to colonus and wandered around
and this is the end.
Jul 30, 2010
Jul 30, 2010 at 5:14 AM UTC
a silent metronome,
we know exactly when,
when sleep pleads us enter,
and when it bids us adieu,
when we growls for sustenance,
or begs for plenty of the mercy
of emptiness to cleanse our void,
when to compose,
when to repose,
when to dispose,
and when tempos dictate
lay down child,
fallow!
*but its greater feat,
when sounds the bells of alarm,
when need is greatest,
for arms embraces,
wet lips to refresh,
bodies to synapse,
eyes require delight,
when needs be greatest,
for that very first infant step
to what can only be ever felt,
but is otherwise undefinable,*
for another
+to make us complete,
a unity, an,
us+
Sep 13, 2025
Sep 13, 2025 at 7:21 AM UTC
I’ve got a history of one night stands.
Nights that end alone,
Adding up the lovers it all blurs
into an escapade of ecstasy.
Abusadora,
Is what is written across my heart.
So diseased, and devoured I can’t help the desire I have
to be touched, and consumed.
Eat all my words, envelop all that I am.
Let me take you in, and let you rot inside for the night.
False connections. Yet my body knows what to do next,
Just get undressed and let my insatiable appetite do the rest.
I left you behind, on purpose.
I had you leave my titillating circus.
No need for you to stay,
When I cannot even begin to behave.
I am my own best company.
Especially when I become what one would define as, Aroused.
So I’ll teach myself to remember
that history is often repeated.
I’ll dispose of the man that thinks he is worthy
Of all that is that makes me.
For there is no other sensation best kept
As the ones my own body does *****
Aug 19, 2010
Aug 19, 2010 at 3:03 AM UTC
It was the watermelon diet, he said
That's what killed me
A lie as ripe as the freshest rind
Listen to the man
He was there at my deathbed
Though he never cared for my diet
It was the watermelon diet
not some virus
That consigned me to the Gods
The watermelon diet
Why now do they doubt my exotic pallet?
They've turned a blind eye to everything else
until now
For months, I guzzled nothing but sweet watermelon
Fat mounds of flesh between my greedy cheeks
The sheer volume of water left me bloated
Before I shed an immense amount of baggage
What else could be to blame?
Enough of your questions and on to the cremation
We'll see whether watermelon burns immortal
It began in Africa- no lie there
And comes in seedless varieties
I never planted mine
Though I wasn't want for trying
I can still taste the bitter juices as I lay here in my crypt
An artful coroner smelt a rat
Or a chance- to prove his mettle
Never heard of any watermelon diet
This is Palm Springs not Papa Nu Guinea
A sample of tissue foiled our grand conspiracy
Same thing that got Rock Hudson
But they kept a straight face
Kept to the story, mindful of my legacy
I'm not just any ******
Takes something grand and elaborate to dispose of me
An immigrant farmhand once told me “watermelon cure the AIDS”
And I believed him
At least that's what I'd have you believe
End
Oct 26, 2018
Oct 26, 2018 at 8:52 AM UTC
I want you to paint me,
and leave your mark.
Use my skin as your canvas,
Make me your work of art.
I want you to draw on me,
make me your personal sketch.
Using implements as pencils,
With each mark that you etch.
I want you to colour me,
in your signature shade.
Rosey pink with crimson red,
Then bid it not to fade.
I want you to hurt me,
as only you can do.
Make me pay for your misfortunes,
Tell me i deserve it too.
I want you to punish me,
show me you’re not weak.
Dispose of your bad luck,
Make my pain your winning streak.
I don’t know how to love you,
if you don’t hurt me too.
I don’t know how to treat you.
I will end up hurting you!
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 1:11 PM UTC
sweet serendipity serendipity sweet
i enjoy the air rushed below my feet
love me hardly, a splendrous treat
sweet serendipity serendipity sweet
cool cosmetics cosmetics cool
the intergalactic hate makes one a fool
lust of the item, human as the tool
cool cosmetics cosmetics cool
boom boom tunes tunes boom boom
nothing but ignorance fills the room
dance and sway right into your doom
boom boom tunes tunes boom boom
cool cosmetics cosmetics cool
infinite love yes thats the rule
embrace thy brother dispose the tool
cool cosmetics cosmetics cool
sweet serendipity serendipity sweet
let us enjoy the air rushed below our feets
may passion alone lift us from seats
sweet serendipity serendipity sweet
Jan 9, 2013
Jan 9, 2013 at 6:14 PM UTC
I am left
in quiet solitude
knowing nothing
of where I am
save my body pressed
against this tree
and the bite of rope
so that I know
I am his naked ****
left here at his whim
bound tight with
rope cutting into
me as I squirm
in futile helplessness
bringing myself such pain
so that I know
I cannot scream
or plead for His release
however it should come
his gag has left me
silent and unknowing
with no sound of him who bound
me thus, naked, alone
so that I know
I cannot see
his blindfold gives me
only blackness and a fear
that it might not be Him
who finds me thus.
that hands that touch me
might not be His.
So that I know
I am his and
that I have given myself
to him to dispose of
as he pleases.
forcing desires from
the very depth of me
with arousal I cannot hide
So that I know
I must listen for footsteps
softly treading on the
fallen leaves around me
and straining against his
ropes will drive me harder
to mark my skin
and make me wet with need of him
So that I know
I want the kiss of
His lips or his lash
to caress me, the hands of
the stranger who will come
and give me what I want
while I am here, so helpless
while I am so tightly bound
so that I know
******* Francesca Anderssen 2016
Aug 22, 2016
Aug 22, 2016 at 1:03 PM UTC
Once again feeling lost and so alone
Time has passed and I thought I had only grown
I can't escape the past that seems to haunt my soul
I can't find a better half that completes me and makes me whole
It's just me, myself and I, trying to make it in a cold world
People looking down on me thinking I'm just an ignorant little girl
Everyone so judgmental because of all the lies you told
This feeling of being worthless I can't shake off and it's getting old
Let's make it clear I didn't steal from you, that's not how I spend my time
I simply just took back what was already mine
So stomp on me and try to dispose of the person I am inside
It's only going to make me ignite my flame and I'm going to shine
Bring light to the evil coldness of your frozen heart
Keep trying, I'm binding myself and all the pieces because I won't stay torn apart
I can fix myself and the damage you've done within
I'm a fighter and I'll keep on fighting because I know I have to win
I need to be myself, all of the beauty and darkness that I am will stay til there til the end
I'm in the world to make my mark and I can do without a friend
In pieces now but with just myself, the only one I trust I can handle the reconstruction
For I am not a daughter a sister a niece or a cousin, I'm simply the product of reproduction
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 9:41 PM UTC
Though in Prime Moment the Truth we discuss
The Third Great Angel flew to Intercede,
Playing her Harp which enwrangles the Lust
And gently reveal the Beauty-in-Thee
Yes, that Truest Virtue which no Malice accords
On Serving Patience a Letter was read
No more, no more for Condensation's Words
Are just enough to leave these Germs for dead
Not much for Command of Good English proposed
Was starting to tassle the Rumours and Wine
But such as you are yet too Young to dispose
A Lady's demanding Shell you design.
Pray take, this Harper knows how to direct
The Vitruvian Boy, waving for your Affect.
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 6:09 AM UTC
Goodbye
my one petal rose
Whose life devoured
the innocence around your crown
Even
the bees
fly past your pollen
on to better petaled exquisitetry
Your
thorns turned
brown and fell away
Left you defenseless in every way
While
more luscious
buds made fun of you
you cried not but inside you died
Goodbye
one petal rose
I'm the gardener
come now I to dispose
But worry
not my one
petaled perfection
Today you decorate the House of God
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 12:30 AM UTC
Come rest your weary
But lazy
Heads and hands
For just about a minute thirty
Under my shadow
That comes past noon.
Come sit on a stool,
Come sit on a bench,
Come lie down
On the cheese grater
And stare at the ridiculously clear blue skies
Of October.
I shall cause your mouths to overflow with words
As green as my leaves,
As tall as everything of me,
As harmful as my falling rotten fruits,
As deep as my root's embrace of the land,
And as cool and comforting as my shade.
For I am worthless
I only bear edible fruit
In the summer
When no one is around, and
My limbs tend to overflow to the halls and walls
So they severe it occasionally
And just dispose.
Ants create trails on my body
Traversing my height in spirals
So be careful not to come too close.
I am worthless
But for the times you spend with me.
Oct 13, 2013
Oct 13, 2013 at 11:59 AM UTC
It rained on my birthday
You would have known if you came
Such a grim day
But i couldn't complain
The clouds in the sky looked especially gray
So, i decided to run away
And dispose of all of my pain on the way
Apr 4, 2011
Apr 4, 2011 at 4:32 PM UTC
Weighing brutality's candour is taxing
Feeling the certainty, heavily dark,
Sonorous mutterings echo in twilight
Whitely, loquaciously, utterly stark.
***** ***** in a temperament simmering
Stalking through rage in a judgemental way,
Lurching for conflict from deep in the mindset
Locked in a skirmish of consequence play.
Searing white pain of brutality's candour
Reeling from obvious lack of control,
Obliquely collapsed beneath blue jackaranda
Flaccidly spent, I surrender my role.
Marshalg
In absentia
7 December 2011
Dec 8, 2011
Dec 8, 2011 at 12:15 PM UTC
I just feel Worthless
The feeling is Ageless
That just leaves me Breathless
I belong in the Circus
I throw everything in the Furnace
with the non-stop Searches
to dispose of the Heartless
for those who deserve to Resurface
I just feel... Worthless
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 10:21 PM UTC
As firetrucks pass
And crowds gather round
The smoke billows through
From the sky to the ground
The town just watches
And silently gapes
At the mansion that’s burning
Right past the big gate
It’s four houses wide
And three stories tall
With a narrow tin roof
It would be easy to fall
The paint was chipping,
There was rust everywhere
But that was all covered
By the smoke in the air
“Is the monster gone?”
A boy asks his mother
She caresses his ear
And whispers in the other
“I’m not sure, baby.”
“But I hope that it’s true…”
She doesn’t finish the sentence
‘…or he’ll come and take you’.
You see, in this town
They suffered quite a plight
Of a demon that takes children,
Steals them into the night
Also in this town,
On the hill past the gate
Lives a solemn old man
Er well, lived I should say
If you guessed he resided
In that rickety castle
Well your guess would be right,
Now was that such a hassle?
He moved in last summer
And that’s when it started
Parents waking to find,
Their children departed
Without much thought,
The town formed a mob
To track down their kids,
Revenge the lives that were robbed
The signs slowly pointed
To the top of the hill,
To the castle past the gate
And the mob grew shrill
“It’s that man!”
“It’s that creep!”
“Let’s take him down!”
“We’ll band together and drive him out of our town!”
But as you know,
Mobs can be hectic
Then there was fire,
That part wasn’t directed
No one pointed fingers,
No one placed blame
For, you see, their goal
Was ultimately the same
Dispose of the monster,
The man in the house,
And now they all watched
As the fire was doused
The body was covered,
All white with a sheet
He was gone, they did it!
Good job, what a treat!
That night, the children,
All safe in their beds,
Slept soundly and safely
Happy thoughts in their heads
Their parents were jubilant,
All worry-free
Their babies were safe,
So they sighed “Yipee!”
But then midnight came,
To that boy with the mother,
When she awoke.
She cried and she shuddered
Her son, he was gone
Not a trace of him left
But an etching that said,
“I’ll be back for the rest”
Oct 16, 2012
Oct 16, 2012 at 4:18 AM UTC