"dissemble" poems
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
The mason trudges on
night and day to finish
his masterpiece. Clockwork,
he waits like a prisoner
yearning
for the jurisdiction to
fall in his favor. Each
opportunity: he will steal it.
Adhesive to stone and
metal support:
This wall will not
fall. No, this one he will not
let dissemble. Opposing the
prior ruin, plagued
with age and abuse,
the once damaging blows
instead drive this puzzle together.
Attend carefully.
Every door slammed behind
to shut me out,
Each painful stab in your glace
lancing through my chest, into
the black cavity life has consumed
into me.
He will work
to layer his project, this
projection of my cautions, until
the last glimmer of light disappears
behind the last stone in the
last wall. Now a true prisoner,
my mind lies
in contentment.
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 11:50 PM UTC
I wrote something that I did not mean
When I write that, I feel it’s unseen
In real, I make someone else’s thought mine
Publicize it and leave others to opine
These actually are one liner’s lifted from popular text
I dissemble and exude that I take my life at best
I am the ideal of all humans in my words
For similar situation in real, I am truly reverse
My online life is most beautiful on earth
Whereas offline, I am rehashing in vain to cover up dearth
My posts are full of inspiration and energy
If you meet me in real I am full of lethargy
Why dupe to be a connoisseur and be a commonplace
At least quote the source, give true author some space
Be eclectic and original in expression
Write such that it’s never been done
Bharti
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 6:03 AM UTC
Pity the wimpy Democrats
They suffer in defeat.
Year after year they don’t learn
Like Republicans you must cheat.
Stuff all the ballot boxes
And monkey with the machines.
You’ll never get a **** thing done
If you keep the elections clean.
And band together solidly
With your chosen party.
Lie and cheat and dissemble
And act like a pompous smarty.
Never worry about what is right.
Just brazen it through out loud.
It seems jerks do the best
When catering to the crowd.
Buy votes from everywhere
Especially from big industry;
Big Oil, Big Banks and Pharma
Kiss their butts shamelessly.
Make sure all the factions
That are stealing the country blind
Understand you have their backs
And treat all of the poor unkind.
Go on tour and television
And make out you’re the good guy:
Dare the opposition to debate
Then Ignore facts and lie.
Remember the public is stupid
And doesn’t know what goes on.
Run a crew of cheaters on the side,
It’s what elections depend on.
But most importantly, you must be
The most obnoxious candidate.
Start early and spend the bucks.
It’s deadly for you to start too late.
Run the most famous people:
They must be Christian and straight.
No matter how you cheat and lie
Promise America will be Great.
Cover your butts before you start.
Plant a lot of baseless rumors.
Make baseless stories about their past.
Swear voting wrong causes tumors.
Do what it takes, Democrats
The GOP has no compunctions
If they could just get by with it
They’d beat you with truncheons.
Dec 4, 2016
Dec 4, 2016 at 9:02 PM UTC
Do you have to get high to feel more fly?
Soft *** stoner
I'm more blunt when I'm sober
Excuse me to the real dudes who use ****
I know how it be
But if you only smoke because it's trendy
Right now your life is pending
Because you not downloaded
You buffering
Losing connection
I can't respect it
Your life isn't hectic
You had to use other folks addresses
Just to get public school lessons
Never got a suspension
Detention because you wasn't paying attention
You wasn't throwing pencils
Or raising up dresses
Or erasing the "warm up" messages
Or guessing during benchmark testing
Word I heard you was a nerd
And that's cool
But don't have tape in between 'yo glasses then grow up to gain bad habits
That's backwards
Thought life was all about progress
You have a background which is flawless
But for acceptance
You start making exceptions
I do it for the breathless
And of my God I don't question
Exclamation
To all perpetuation
But hesitation
I don't condone perpetration
Why dissemble on some **** that isn't providential?
Everyone who practically had no choice now want a way out
Little *** kids you didn't even weigh in
How did you find your way in?
That's from real men being pliant
For all you cats who trying
Stop 'yo lying
When I'm around Amateurs come in silence
Like what's a scavenger to a lion?
About time for all of you late bloomers to become compliant
Aug 18, 2013
Aug 18, 2013 at 8:49 PM UTC
PleaseListen,
FIRST OF SEPTEMBER ...
I was taken to a room
Where the hour is always bright
The panorama is always wall
And the look of it is white
I was trapped in there
Dying slowly for weeks
Or was it hours?
Or was it days?
I fear
I cannot bring myself to care
For all the useless time
That I was left in there
It was interesting to see
What the others had left behind
I spy my Blackbirds feathers
I spy the Demons eyes
I spy a Soldiers tears
Swearing they aren’t mine
I spy the Singers ears
I spy the Liars chimes
So this IS the plan!
To dissemble us all by hand
To pull us at the seams
So that we become bad dreams
Sudden revelation,
Rebellions true form
Made me think I’d stuff my pockets
And take those pieces to their homes
I spy a meal that belongs
To a tiny Porcelain Doll
I spy a book that is for
The Boy who just wanted a home
I spy a box with a puzzle inside
For the Quiet Lad who solves them all
I spy a flower of wondrous design
To blind the Girl who sees only flaw
But when I went to reach for these
I found I could not move
My arms were caught in binding
Those vultures are not fools
It was when they let me out
That I realized I’d left some things as well
I turned about to save them
While I was being dragged to hell
In that room
Of torturous peace
I forgot her white dress
And I lost my wings
That's all I have to say
NowTake me away, KIERAN J. CROW
Nov 28, 2011
Nov 28, 2011 at 6:27 PM UTC
Why, Pigot, complain
Of this damsel’s disdain,
Why thus in despair do you fret?
For months you may try,
Yet, believe me, a sigh
Will never obtain a coquette.
Would you teach her to love?
For a time seem to rove;
At first she may frown in a pet;
But leave her awhile,
She shortly will smile,
And then you may kiss your coquette.
For such are the airs
Of these fanciful fairs,
They think all our homage a debt:
Yet a partial neglect
Soon takes an effect,
And humbles the proudest coquette.
Dissemble your pain,
And lengthen your chain,
And seem her hauteur to regret;
If again you shall sigh,
She no more will deny,
That yours is the rosy coquette.
If still, from false pride,
Your pangs she deride,
This whimsical ****** forget;
Some other admire,
Who will melt with your fire,
And laugh at the little coquette.
For me, I adore
Some twenty or more,
And love them most dearly; but yet,
Though my heart they enthral,
I’d abandon them all,
Did they act like your blooming coquette.
No longer repine,
Adopt this design,
And break through her slight-woven net!
Away with despair,
No longer forbear
To fly from the captious coquette.
Then quit her, my friend!
Your ***** defend,
Ere quite with her snares you’re beset:
Lest your deep-wounded heart,
When incens’d by the smart,
Should lead you to curse the coquette.
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the very sound of her voice
somewhere between
a warm summer rain
and inside a blue crystal jar
smooth translucent, atmospheric
like soft ****
swelling roses
tender touches
yet separated by oceans
her voice like hot tote
swaying me
feeling the contoured interiors
of soul's ache
a bending ridge pole
hearts break open
pouring
voluptuous milk
like a tapioca
its beads
bulging blood bells
drink **** lick eat
drown if you can
we speak
rocks in the throat
hello, how are you
im choking on desire
fine she says
i want to **** you
we start with a phone kiss
mmmuuuhhhaaaaa
yes, she says
take me open me up
pour me into your mouth
soak yourself in me
show me your raw hunger
i will eat your dark edges
I'm shaking apart
with tenderness
may i touch your ****
yes, she says
her ***** like wet silk
can beauty bring tears
mouths touch tentatively at first
and then mouths eat mouths eat mouths
and tongues become fiends
cherry red pugilists
bites excite
I'm in the mood to bleed for her
eyes smiling radiant
and souls rapture
hearts dissemble
and fuse
at a braking point
from
long hard years
of vibrant abundance
denied
trying to hold together
on broken wheels
now finding warm mud
to go bare foot in
to slide in
up-leaping
between the toes
to love you in
to roll around with you in
like fat little piggies
playing in butter
to fill you with slippery kisses in
and voluptuous caresses
that even our dreams can not apprehend
skin to skin
soul to soul
**** to ****
so eager
fire engine red
tongues licking tears
beautiful ******* to bury my face in
like baby eating cup cakes
making us whole
we continents apart
from each other
having never met
wow wow wow
yet alive again
what a phone call
we say
good night
sleep my love
later
later
tomorrow
oh yes
have to go
love you
more soon
please
yes
oh yes
kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss
then stillness
a cornucopia of emptiness
hollow husk
tomorrow may be we will give each other phone again
and the land will turn fertile green once more
kissing holding
talking ***** ***** *****
happy in loves fire
salvation
and the heart ever resounding
like tintinnabulating bells
Sep 10, 2016
Sep 10, 2016 at 4:20 PM UTC
here comes the crash and burn
here comes me keeping score
of every **** thing you've ever done
in comparison to me I think you've won
watch me unweave into a basket
of backseat insecurity
you're driving me mad.
I'm sorry for not being there enough
and I apologize for shutting you out
but when every word from your mouth
shouts "this is your fault"
it's hard to stay calm,
it's hard to keep going.
I took my last breath for you yesterday
and now I breathe much easier,
without the weight
of a thousand problems on my plate.
this is food for thought,
your universe is not as big as me
I'm as small as a pebble
and as frail as the dirt
but I can still become something more.
Dissemble myself from you
piece by piece.
I don't want to leave you with nothing-
but I don't want to keep on hurting
Myself.
I'm done trying for your sake
should've seen this mistake
coming around the bend again
but we're at a four way intersection
and none of us wants to go.
I'll guess I've make the first move,
to move on from being you.
to move on from letting you
love me.
it's a sad song,
on a good night
it's a long drive
with no goodnight
kiss.
I'm craving things
I don't seem to miss
and it seems I'm done
reminising
about you.
These memories
were good to me.
But the pressure was too much.
I threw myself under the bus
and I never looked both ways.
I should've looked both ways.
Jan 10, 2018
Jan 10, 2018 at 4:42 PM UTC
It is noontime, Senlin says, and a street piano
Strikes sharply against the sunshine a harsh chord,
And the universe is suddenly agitated,
And pain to my heart goes glittering like a sword.
Do I imagine it? The dust is shaken,
The sunlight quivers, the brittle oak-leaves tremble.
The world, disturbed, conceals its agitation;
And I, too, will dissemble.
Yet it is sorrow has found my heart,
Sorrow for beauty, sorrow for death;
And pain twirls slowly among the trees.
The street-piano revolves its glittering music,
The sharp notes flash and dazzle and turn,
Memory's knives are in this sunlit silence,
They ripple and lazily burn.
The star on which my shadow falls is frightened,--
It does not move; my trowel taps a stone,
The sweet note wavers amid derisive music;
And I, in horror of sunlight, stand alone.
Do not recall my weakness, savage music!
Let the knives rest!
Impersonal, harsh, the music revolves and glitters,
And the notes like poniards pierce my breast.
And I remember the shadows of webs on stones,
And the sound or rain on withered grass,
And a sorrowful face that looked without illusions
At its image in the glass.
Do not recall my childhood, pitiless music!
The green blades flicker and gleam,
The red bee bends the clover, deeply humming;
In the blue sea above me lazily stream
Cloud upon thin-brown cloud, revolving, scattering;
The mulberry tree rakes heaven and drops its fruit;
Amazing sunlight sings in the opened vault
On dust and bones, and I am mute.
It is noon; the bells let fall soft flowers of sound.
They turn on the air, they shrink in the flare of noon.
It is night; and I lie alone, and watch through the window
The terrible ice-white emptiness of the moon.
Small bells, far off, spill jewels of sound like rain,
A long wind hurries them whirled and far,
A cloud creeps over the moon, my bed is darkened,
I hold my breath and watch a star.
Do not disturb my memories, heartless music!
I stand once more by a vine-dark moonlit wall,
The sound of my footsteps dies in a void of moonlight,
And I watch white jasmine fall.
Is it my heart that falls? Does earth itself
Drift, a white petal, down the sky?
One bell-note goes to the stars in the blue-white silence,
Solitary and mournful, a somnolent cry.
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I tell you, you gloomy ones,
that life is beautiful.
Life is beautiful
in all its depths of
suffering and misery and pain
in all its depths of
striving and joy and pleasure.
I tell you, you nihilists,
one draws breath only once,
passes into and fades out of life only once.
Yet you are to tell us it is worthless,
this gift given to us all by chance?
I tell you, you Christians,
and all your compatriots
who hate the flesh and the earth,
who promise more life through
sons of virgins and husbands of children,
that nothing awaits after death.
"Memento mori!”
Why must you always
chime this in our ears?
Why must you fill
men with such anxious fears?
Many a man rules his life to this,
dreads and gasps and despairs to this,
prays that he may never come to this,
but you delude him on,
promising life after life.
I tell you, that
when we die, we cease ourselves to be.
Our senses stop their feeling,
our hearts stop their beating,
our brains stop their thinking,
and without those functions,
there ends a man.
So there are no souls
to greet gods in heavens,
nor any demons
to meet in hells,
only the ground we stand on,
and the caskets underneath.
Is this frightening?
Maddening, to think we must one day
cease to be and become nothing?
But death is not nothing;
Death is only a new dance of atoms.
When one thing tumbles,
it returns to the earth,
through one step or another,
to waltz and dissemble and collide
to make new things and again asunder.
With death, one only
plays one's part
on the grand stage of things.
Do not be afraid then,
of death;
do not let it frighten you,
that you will be
pointless, forgotten, or condemned.
Do not let it terrify you
into leaving your life unlived.
And so I tell you,
you gloomy ones,
you Christians, you nihilists, you sufferers,
remember that you must live.
Embrace life,
this shortness of time,
love every moment of your being,
in all its depths of
suffering and misery and pain,
in all its depths of
striving and joy and pleasure.
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 6:25 PM UTC
exhaust pipe dreams, gas encrusted
diamond rings
"maybe you're just taking it too personally"
words sharper than the knives
the edges perforated and willing
how can i not take something personally
when you are talking to only me
I understand that you don't know
who you are
but that is no excuse
to treat me
like a speeding ticket
you forgot to pay
i locked you away in my filing cabinet
after today
because not only did you
cauterize your fingerprints
but you erased your
name from my skin
it's like
you weren't here at all
finally we are no one
i am sitting in a room
plastered with
humans
yet
i
feel
so
alone
singular atom
one strand of DNA
not enough to
make anything
do anything
be anything
you made me feel everything
do something
and i did one thing
and it achieved nothing
second hand
counting backwards
cranking it's hours
until there is
only minutes
but even then
it's still 60 seconds
and each tick is a bomb
that has yet to detonate
if you leave
i will detonate
but you can't stay
or I will tie my body
to yours
and throw us both
into the water
letting the sharks
dissemble us like
an assembly line caught
in the VHS tape rewinder
film strung by branches
that I used to call home
shopping carts are the
planters to these trees
and sometimes in the
dirt I find reasons to leave
but you stomp them
out and they
starve
empty
and you look at me
but there is no remorse in your eyes
May 5, 2013
May 5, 2013 at 8:33 PM UTC
Now, there's no reason these nights can't
dissemble our daytime woes.
With bottles uncorked, we'll paint
friendly faces on daylight foes.
The ground's not shaking.
Your breath's just ragged.
Faces shine and cities glow...
but, come sunrise, we're flying blind,
while keeping our heads low.
Still I remember the time that
we chucked that radio
from that rooftop sinking to
street level, speakers played Manilow
Transistors scattered
Our footsteps clattered
Down the fire escape we'd go
laughing hard, police up in arms
alleyways lead us home
We wanted
to up and ******* leave
But we're tethered
to this place by our heartstrings
So we're always
celebrating our defeats
We wanted
to up and ******* leave
I'm off and running in circles
around my own lasting fears
You're off the wagon and just
rolling dice hung on rearview mirrors
We're contemplating
on relocating
back to those familiar years
but sunrise comes, we're twiddling thumbs
and hoping stormclouds clear.
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 3:01 PM UTC
criss·cross (krĭs′krôs′)
~~~
verb:
criss·crossed, criss·cross·ing, criss·cross·es
1. To mark with crossing lines.
2. To move back and forth through or over:
noun:
1. A mark or pattern made of crossing lines.
2. A state of being at conflicting or contrary purposes.
~~~
Oh Steve,
you nailed me
one mo' time,
to this cross of mine,
it's composition,
wood of linear mish mash, and the
nails, of a clear liquid substance,
drops of contradictory emotions
insight inside,
your practiced spécialité,
disarming the self-arming, harming,
we let our minds assemble reasons why,
in order to ourselves
dissemble
I keep hammering myself
unsure why, unclear the charge,
unknown the inevitable outcome
but the lines are continuously crossing, indeed,
but the intersections dissatisfying, in deed,
which is why theses words sores,
seeded by your words,
both burst and languish,
taking to the limitless limit,
of deep water oil exploration
unsure if I want to discover,
unknown if I want to uncover
the essential oils,
the caustic causing lyes,
that anoint these graying hairs,
blind his eyes,
both resting upon a furrowed, burrowed,
a puzzled forehead expression of
confusion about such simple line items as
life everlasting
out of bounds,
out of town,
writing poetry,
down by Richie Haven's San Francisco Bay,
listening to Norah Jones, wailing plaintive,
another Pandora perfect choice
"Don't Miss You At All"
am I stuck on an endless, repeating rifle
firing blanks of repetitious, line life patterns,
or worse,
forever trapped in the colorless
spaces between,
wondering if I can answer-handle
Stevie Nick's pre-vision precsion
pinpricking, questioning,
about the seasons of our life
*" but time makes you bolder,
even children get older,
I'm getting older too...
and if you see my reflection in the snow covered hills,
well, well, the landslide will bring it down*"
so in this out of state, out of mind,
drinking up these meandering ramblings,
experiential wondering not,
if
the summer sunshine,
only the
when,
it will return,
and the lines drawn upon my face
sun burnt,
cease their
meaning meandering
re life's line items such as
life everlasting
~
Market Street
San Francisco,
two thirteen two thousand sixteen
Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 at 1:53 PM UTC
Why are we by all creatures waited on?
Why do the prodigal elements supply
Life and food to me, being more pure than I,
Simple, and further from corruption?
Why brook’st thou, ignorant horse, subjection?
Why dost thou, bull, and bore so seelily,
Dissemble weakness, and by one man’s stroke die,
Whose whole kind you might swallow and feed upon?
Weaker I am, woe is me, and worse than you,
You have not sinned, nor need be timorous.
But wonder at a greater wonder, for to us
Created nature doth these things subdue,
But their Creator, whom sin nor nature tied,
For us, His creatures, and His foes, hath died.
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Don’t tell me you know me well enough…you don’t know what’s on my mind…you don’t know exactly when and how I breathe out all the frustrations and disappointments that I allowed to debrief my existence.
Don’t state your judgments as you can…you don’t know how detrimental those are…and you have no idea how it allowed yourself to become what I think you are…
Don’t analyze my ways…you can’t be self-complacent that you can dissect me as those vertebrates this world tried to comprehend. I am me…it cannot be analyzed.
I am no other’s canvass, so don’t draw conclusions by a mere sheer glance. You haven’t been in my world. So don’t dissemble to be cognitive of my approaches. Just don’t.
Jul 19, 2011
Jul 19, 2011 at 7:41 PM UTC
'Tis a broken song to sing, a bleak melody to ponder
The aching loneliness doth bring, wounds not healing any longer
Tune flows out like streams of blood, lyrics sharp and somber
A poet's hurt such as a flood, waves crashing ever stronger
Teardrops of the mighty flood, have now trickled to a river
Feet treading through the layers of mud, in their failing feat they quiver
A siren weeping ripples here, mourning love thou refused to give her
That broken song caressing ears, a touch chilling as a shiver
Her throat burns yet she goes on, soft enough to make the earth quake
The very ground thou steps upon, rumbling with her tragic ache
How doth thou turn a blind eye, she's been torn by thou mistake
Her very soul doth cry, while thou can hardly even shake
A storm 'tis passed tonight, though thou shall not repent
Siren sings beneath blue moonlight, of the love she doth resent
A lullaby to make thou tremble, deep beneath the twisted torment
No longer shall she dissemble, all but you shatter at the poet's lament
Aug 28, 2020
Aug 28, 2020 at 7:21 PM UTC
...A blue aurora full of brume, an atrabilious expression of grief
A haunting sight watched by the moon, sheltered by the cobalt reef
An arrantly perfidious man, where arrogance lies beneath
Distressing her and even then, apologies never escape his teeth...
‘Tis a broken song to sing, a bleak melody to ponder
The aching loneliness does bring, wounds not healing any longer
Tune flows out like streams of blood, lyrics sharp and somber
A poet’s hurt such as a flood, waves crashing ever stronger
Teardrops of the mighty flood, have now trickled to a river
Feet treading through the layers of mud, in their failing feat they quiver
A siren weeping ripples here, mourning love you refused to give her
That plangent song caresses ears, touch chilling as a shiver
Her throat burns yet she goes on, soft enough to make the earth quake
The very ground you step upon, rumbling with her tragic ache
How do you turn a blind eye, she’s been torn by your mistake
Her very soul does cry, while you can hardly even shake
She exonerates all you have done, furthermore she does beseech
Perhaps she’s lost but you’ve not won, alas her heart you shall not reach
A precious gem amidst the coal, enchanting those who wander near
The scene is stirring as a whole, dulling any calm presence here
A storm has passed tonight, though you still do not repent
Siren sings beneath blue moonlight, of the love she does resent
A lullaby to make you tremble, deep beneath the twisted torment
No longer shall she dissemble, all but you shatter at the poet’s lament
Sep 11, 2020
Sep 11, 2020 at 12:46 PM UTC
I was lying alone in the soft ambience,
Beer smells,
Stale warm tides,
Strange feelings,
Wide distance from paternity,
Horse screams from behind,
Glazed window,
Brazen below,
I reached for the morning,
Who's there?
Barking on the stairs,
Dreaming eyes beckon,
Hard, sharp, antenna release,
The wind began to speak,
"You think you can catch me?"
Assemble senses,
Arise the birth,
Dissemble memory,
Eyes of the earth,
The Bavarian leans against the quiet sunrise.
................................................
Nov 1, 2009
Nov 1, 2009 at 10:18 PM UTC
Freezing cells into place
Carved-out space
Most of the possessors are
****** queens
with unseeable crowns
and tethered gowns
The particles assemble, dissemble
And in their midst
Oh, how I tremble
-cj
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 10:16 PM UTC
Who has the keys to this Wednesday night?
I wanna ******* drive, I'll take the exit
off I-90
and these bloodshot eyes
they won't slow me down
or catch up until bar time.
Greyscale cityscape--it's blurred out size
can dissemble time
and make a smudge out of our plights.
Not asking questions.
I won't need to lie
if I just keep quiet.
Not gonna slow
me down.
Not this time.
Door to the weekend has started creaking
and leaking light.
But my threshold's high
and we're not on foreign ground.
Dim reflection in your shouting eyes
calls for some more time
so it's one more round
and keep running for a place that's high.
Not gonna stop until these blurring lights
and my X'd out eyes
can make a streak out of my sight.
No further questions.
I don't mean to pry.
So I'll just keep quiet.
Deal is, you've gotta
hide
me tonight.
Let's pitch the keys to this Wednesday night
and ditch this beat-up ride. Let's make our exit.
Torch these bridges,
flee through rainy night.
They can't stop us now
or catch up until bar time.
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 5:40 PM UTC
The first time I saw
Betty Grater swoon
and heard Ms Arnault sigh
in expectation
I knew I had found the answer
that all young men seek
Instead of good looks
and the scent of money
I realized that the tippled sound of Thomas,
the piston drive of Cummings,
or shroud and mystery of Rimbaud
could accomplish what fumbling
postures never could
They could make a button come
undone and stay that way
part a leg and have it
remain languid
see an arm brushed
and not pulled back
Ah, but women are not
so easily wooed
You see, poetry is but a beginning
once is never sufficient
and Cyrano found
he was forced to return
and return
to keep those fires burning
Soon you discover it is not enough
to merely sing another’s tune
and you must learn the art
whose muse is not so
easily tamed
So the new poems to Emily or Mary Lou
are steeped in ignorance, stumbling tongue
and emotion that knows only extreme
a Dickinson hodgepodge of flowers,
spring-rain and metaphor trampled
by testosterone expectation
And as these women grow
you discover the magic is fading
that they have learned these lures
and their virtue will not part quite so easy
Ah, but art is ever inventive
and for those hard to dissemble
there are the more obscure songs
of Baudelaire, Jefferson and Yeats
these will free even the firmest
of corset-strung objections
But to truly reach the promised land
there is need to create one’s own
to wrestle the evening with nature’s muse
and tease a line between the sheets
Then, if you've still a mind
you can glance to see
if her clothes have been shed
But the sad and beautiful truth
is that poetry’s muse will suffer no others
rarely will that graceful form stay the course
she will leave to find yet another
that can keep them
coming
May 17, 2013
May 17, 2013 at 12:28 PM UTC
Tonight I shall weep and toss in my sleep,
My puppy dog eyes will shed.
My heart will sink low, my body will know,
That I may have lost my head.
My fingers will tremble, lips dissemble,
Blood flow boil and delay.
My throat will be closed, mucus from my nose,
Back bone dissolved to decay.
My feelings are such,
Since the world lost its touch..
Since the men of the world,
Forgot all the good girls.
When music did die,
I asked myself, “Why,
Should the world go on free,
Everyone but me?”
But fate is its own mind,
Perhaps, one of a kind.
Fate is a person, of course,
Like you and I.
And with Time it gets old,
I suppose you foretold.
That they shall both die,
And here I shall lie.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Everyday the world requires new acts, whether they are heavenly acts, moderate acts, or evil, horrible, disgusting acts. It’s a shame the world knows only one of the three.
Dec 8, 2011
Dec 8, 2011 at 2:46 PM UTC
Look into her eyes where kindness keeps
Or else a jealous dragon sleeps
Her eyes will tell if she’s true and fair.
Are you saved or dammed? The answer’s there.
Her words may dissemble and lips oft lie.
Those curves may distract as does her smile.
No, her eyes are where true beauty lies.
The sooner you learn this the sooner you’re wise.
Aug 17, 2014
Aug 17, 2014 at 10:14 AM UTC
I have tried to give birth to a new and improved version of my vision
Exulting blips of exactitude and ambition
Flashes of pretension on a screen of pending dreams
Lacking mobility and projection
Inertia writhes
I'm mainly advertising trying to sell and intrigue
To those who have enough eloquence to persuade my predilection and schemes
Endorsing me providing lifelines and pure consciousness
Lacking the force of extorted themes and exulting worthiness
Cleansing my mind of the mocking bird's trash heap
Help me dissemble the falsified declarations and professions of fiends
I want to be pristine
I beg thee to teach and galvanize me
Endowing me with inexorable sight
Keeping me keen and full of bold might
I am willing to fight
Bring me to the surface of these turbulent seas
No need to mention my frailties and anxieties
All I ask is a breath from the surface of true realities
The urgency constrains my needs for rejuvenation and appreciations
For all those little beautiful things that once meant the world to me
Like pink carnations
Sleeplessness morphs into spells of insomnious hauntings
Stunting my contractions
It's completely and utterly exhausting
A labor deprived of true initiative and wanting
It may sound silly but everything is contradictory
It is these pains that leave me incomplete, ineffectual, and in paralyzing omission
Excluded and feeling great depths of oppression
Despairing and kept in solitary confinement
Suffering more than I'd like to profess
Distressing the matters that cave into my chest
An infiltration of insurmountable anguish
Abolished
Untouched by a shoulder or hand of accommodation
Is it selfish to push for this magnitude of isolation?
I crave cultivation
I want to grow into the Giant Sequoia
But the fires of self doubt leave my branches in ruins
Smoke signals sending sirens
A constant affliction
It's all my own doing
Contingency pleading for nourishment
Somehow knowing thee and ye could constitute for something of legends
Tell that to our reflections
Or maybe it's the fear of fire that terminates our pregnancy
Causing us to introvert instead of projecting
Withholding both you and I from mastery
Feb 16, 2014
Feb 16, 2014 at 9:12 PM UTC