"dissidence" poems
Nothing better than I chance to show you how I’ve froze over hell givin’ Beelzebub a chill,
Your fables hold little weight when you try to justify their existence as long as I continue dissect your deities,
Not that I am entitled but I can careless about how you explain yourself without the brain,
I’ve been broken and forced to put the pieces back together because I’m not ready to embrace the oblivion without a say,
Without of a chance to reciprocate what you didn’t do for me,
I’m telling you to **** yourself till I fill in your grave,
Get ready son for your vacant destiny,
I’m done with the mental constraints of your needs,
I’m fed up with taking a beating for the ignorance that breeds,
Your about to bounce a check that will leave you dangled at the neck,
Not a threat but I didn’t oppress the armed of ancestral resistance,
That desk can’t keep you from the reach of those who believe in unconditional independence,
And you know why you walk a thin line,
It isn’t because of those nickels and dimes you earn overtime,
It isn’t because you drive home to a white picketed life full of lies,
It’s because you know if one of us grabs a mic we might turn to the tide, the next chapter of this species existence,
Making you extinct,
You think daddy’s inheritance will let you pass any Bill,
But it only takes one to change the tone,
One to alter the course of ****** fostered governance,
Not suggesting a Reich’s renovation,
Or an imperialist’s intervention,
But an interruption to this Nation’s corruption,
**** your principals, **** what your father’s told you,
It’s our turn to mend this debilitated democracy,
To end this domesticated atrocity,
So sorry not trying to foment insurrection,
Just asking the children to picket your legislative lickings,
The documents you pen in order to silence dissidence,
But I’m not going to fear old men with millions,
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 1:29 PM UTC
Belligerent- at war, designating or of a state recognized under international law as being engaged in a war.
Decadence- A process, condition, or period of decline, as in morals, art, literature; deterioration, decay.
Belligerent decadence,
may I reproach your horrible
agenda?
Fore-score wasn't a play on
words. These years have passed
as unwillingly as we've
accepted your rule.
Hyperboles creating a sense
of dissidence, because judging
anomalies is a task better left
to the proficient.
Maybe now their decadent
dissidence may materialize.
Belligerent decadence,
is it for you that sympathy
now grows sour?
Sour enough to please a pigs
trough. A malignant canopy
erected for weary heads,
yet finding relief means
resolution is what's being fed
to hungry bureaucratic slave
hands obsessing on getting more
for nothing.
Obsolete, ritualism has become
more copied than read. Is one
agonizing grin of disgruntled
workers creating the back drop,
for proud men raising a trophy,
the emblem of monetary
perplexity.
Not enough make enough.
So belief can die it's painful
reminder,
"Faith cast as dice, when no
one believes there's a chance."
Belligerent decadence,
remind me to remind them,
the people you so rally to scourge;
that interpretation is not
better left for your eyes,
but theirs.
Remind me to speak in
rag tag metaphor so as to
dispel the wrench clogging
their system.
Remind me to encourage
them to explore further;
beyond their machinations,
so they again can see this
machines engine.
Maybe the clog is yours,
but like every circulatory
system may fall victim to
stroke like conditions so
shall yours.
Belligerent decadence
rise up fallen brethren,
falling faster than the
history of Columbus.
How long till we see
the incredible hyperbole
being played out so
deliberately? How long till
we seethe for proof,
the products of ignorant
disease.
How long till we find
life's anathema like genius
executed upon every casted
ballot?
The forsaken taking heed
making up the norm for the
moment.
Empty rants, mind slowing
products infect our once proud
carriers with poverty, and
disease.
Creative incentive tossed
upon the coals of cold furnaces,
define all eyes and see all
ears believe.
Then again if you haven't
given interpretive thought a
chance, belligerent decadence
will never vanish, but upon
this battlefield, your soul
will be brandished.
"Belligerent Decadence!"
Oct 27, 2018
Oct 27, 2018 at 8:44 AM UTC
Fallacies are everywhere
In my palace, gasping for air
Doves fly rumors of dissidence
They have a certain dissonance
Still I can’t break the code
Camouflage cape, I need your abode
Gas mask for the May Queen
But we lost her after the parade scene
A stronger hammer for the Queen of Winter
In her fingers count the splinters
Fallacies are everywhere
In my palace, up the stairs
The doves only bring bad news
Words of sickness, animus and lewd
They have a certain confidence
I can’t make out the consonants
Camouflage cape, I need your abode
Jul 18, 2012
Jul 18, 2012 at 1:02 PM UTC
Waves long for shores
Foaming for touch
Lusting for howl of wind
For night falling to knee’s
Of silence
Only in these thinnest moments
Do I find myself missing you
Lover of guilt and thorn
Girl dressed in abandonment
Singer of arias in the key of
Death
A broken cord
Hanging in dissidence
I was not listening soft enough
To make out the resonance of tears
Beneath the vibrations of moans
This is not another memory I will let bloom
As a black rose wishing it was white or read
This is just to say
That we loved like the bottom
Of the ocean
Reaching upward with
The tremble fingers of the sea
Jun 6, 2011
Jun 6, 2011 at 7:17 PM UTC
Brought from this morning
Tracing back days away from here
Where time won’t wait for understanding
Please hear me out for I cannot
By this time you still know my intentions
But I don’t know your direction
Where you’re lost, where you’re confused
Just take a listen through your window
For I’ve taken my words given my voice
Despite your choices, to me you still have poise
You just need to be aware of your heart
Your brokenness, with reason from these stories
There are no coincidences in our breaths
Every move, has meaning upon our days
It has been too long I’ve pondered
Disappointed, shunned and misconstrued
Maybe though that’s my limit to be a conscience
So that I no longer have this internal dissidence
Jan 23, 2010
Jan 23, 2010 at 10:45 AM UTC
a grey sky,
my lips pressed
to your lips,
unfastened hair,
in a moment
i am drawn
to you,
in love with
your legs and
your smile,
grey dissidence
of the approaching
storm,
thunder caught
up in the hills,
the roses start
to wilt in the vase,
the roses of the sky
have silent wings,
time knotted
like a handkerchief
against my skin,
i am hollow, my
legs desiring yours,
love the swift sea,
the amber forest,
blowsy silk,
the clouds,
drawn of water,
and i sink
jealous of your love
and your legs,
wanting all of
you to fall in
love with me,
lips pressed
together,
love, my love,
the ghosts
of the storm.
Mar 7, 2018
Mar 7, 2018 at 8:08 AM UTC
regional dissidence marked by ****** exchanges
tempered anger lends itself to psychotic episodes
and the children lay in gulley’s attempting to remain hidden –
shattered glass crashes onto unpaved streets
complete with ditches dug to expedite waste removal
as the filth of a nation runs freer than the citizenry –
enter technological gods bringing stories of prosperity
visions of democracy and unity begin to shape in the heart and minds
or so they tell themselves so sleep will find them –
battered emotions bubble to the surface of faces
pressed hard against stained glass doorways
fleeting images of food strewn tables and shoes un-holed
dance across impoverished and diseased brains
incapable of self-supporting, they line tourists spots
holding shabby signs and juggling rocks for pennies
brandished with the gentleman who claims slave freedom –
desert boarders separate families languishing for acknowledgement
true Americans generationally linked to the very soil
toil in agricultural hell as whites get fat
on the backs of today’s slave system
immigrant workers bury loved ones on the edges of factory farms
saying Catholic prayers to a corporate god
most well known for being the root of child molestation –
cartel kingpins hire babies to mule ******
DEA agents load them into vans destined for the inner city
As the forever war against minorities takes yet another turn –
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 10:46 AM UTC
Dear Father,
It is with an intoxicated, profound, and perhaps misled familial respect and gratitude
That I write you and I ask of you
That you assess your cavalier attitude
On your own life and widespread dissidence you feel
For when your recklessness kills you and I am to serve you leal
I would be disingenuous to gaze upon the eyes of all your peers
And not deliver an encomium weighted by your grievances and jeers
So if you must die, please give me explicit instruction that you have cured your lover's quarrel with life and it's inhabitants
If you cannot I will stress the points of your plight with an unrelenting adamance
With love,
M. Whit
Dec 29, 2016
Dec 29, 2016 at 10:53 PM UTC
Rising with resistance,
eyes glued shut attempt
to flicker with dissidence.
Floodgates burst with roaring light.
Grogs of apparent dust
roll from the tongue
as the throat swallows Velcro.
The brain and the heart switch places,
pounding with impatient adrenaline.
The internal rooster has crowed.
Stand up.
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 11:12 PM UTC
He turns his back to me,
A exasperated attempt to flee,
Those feelings which arose,
Those feelings of a rose,
Seemingly sweet aroma of scarlet,
Yet one touch makes a harlot,
Thorns protrude and penetrate your skin,
Against good nature to your kin.
Dec 5, 2012
Dec 5, 2012 at 2:27 PM UTC
The Aliens invented religion,
or at least the idea of a Heaven & Hell,
not sure the motives behind their invention,
but it seems to have something to do with oil,
and gold and iron and all the other precious resources,
that exist on Earth and are harvested, mined, extracted,
in order to pay people yeah you know Hue Mans,
so that those same Humans can pay The System it’s taxes,
anyways we’re distracted,
let us get back to the point of the matter,
which is that Aliens invented religion,
and before you refuse to believe the truth take a look closer,
they say Heaven is a place in the sky,
and that God appears sometimes,
out of the “Heavens” and onto the Earth,
in the form of a bright ball of light,
sounds a lot like,
God arrives on a spaceship,
sounds a lot like,
They want us to look to the sky when we worship,
now what about the forest,
and the hot springs from Mother Earth,
well according to The Bible under the earth is were Hell dwells,
and under the ground is where the “bad” go to burn,
and anyone that worships the Earth,
instead of worshipping the Church,
get’s accused of being a wicked witch,
is tied to a stake and burned,
see I’ve got reason to believe,
that The Powers That Be want us to believe,
that space is good and earth is bad,
and we humans are here stuck in between,
would make sense wouldn’t it,
plus it’d explain why we commit atrocities in God’s name,
why we ****** each other and carve out the insides of our Mother,
and why we can do these awful things without any shame,
how else could we enslave people and animals,
how else could we pollute the oceans and lands,
how else could we do all of this with a clean conscious,
and not even feel the least bit bad?
Yeah I figured it out it’s all all fact,
and the only reason you’d refuse to believe this truth,
is collective cognitive dissidence,
because if you speak out against the Space People,
then you’re considered a delusional citizen,
can get locked away for the things you say,
then force fed pills until all of your feelings go away,
so stop theorizing on the real reason for the Bible,
and get back to work so you can get paid,
and all of this may be why,
we feel a sense of alienation in this Alien Nation,
because The Aliens invented religion upon their invasion,
even though we’re not sure the motives behind their invention…
∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆
Breitenbush Summer Solstice 2018
New Book Alert: 08/08/18; THT2: The Mandala
Jun 25, 2018
Jun 25, 2018 at 2:46 PM UTC
**skeleton man
meets the dust
and rusts**
his white bone
is vacant of red.
**skeleton man
keeps a key
in his pocket**
It's a locket
That stores his heart and soul.
**skeleton man walks with a limp:
an eerily timorous skip
like some frightened child**
he's a ghost
That lives
And never dies.
**skeleton man's cheeks are hollow
and his smile is splintered
and his hugs are cold**
he's old
full of mold
he's decaying.
**skeleton man walks alone
with the desert dust
and the broken, wagon wheel
and the black raven's croak
and the dissidence of a million nights spent listening to imaginary voices in the wind forever and ever and ever and ever**
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 5:11 PM UTC
We don’t own as much as we used to; some of us wonder if we ever will again. Feeling bewildered and helpless is the new normal. We wait and watch, as all those clumsy, stubborn, beautiful ideas withering away on the vine; day in, day out. We all just want it to end, and soon.
A murmur. A rumbling. It’s moments like these where anything is possible. Hope lies, waiting, even in these days of utter and complete denial.
So, we’re calling an end to this “State of Affairs”. We’re calling an end to fear and paranoia and self-intimidation. We sick of those sitting in the chairs, watching the world spin, as if things weren’t happening. We’re done waiting.
We’d like to dedicate this to the desperate and the forgotten and the broken. This for the waitresses, the junkies, and the carpenters. The secretaries and schizophrenics and alcoholics. Those living behind enemy lines. Those who bring the war home with them. This isn’t for company men; men with families and a health-plan and a hybrid car they just “can’t risk losing”. You can’t trust a man whose welfare is just another cog, embedded into the belly of that same horrible machinery. No such man has ever lost himself in revolution. It just isn’t done.
This is for the memory of an empire, created and destroyed. Its base was built on traditions we no longer need, and values we no longer possess.
This is about those who’ve abandoned thoughts of hope and love, thoughts they so justly deserve.
Despite all this, the future remains the same as it ever was. Bleak, uncertain, magnificent. For all we know, we may be arrested tomorrow.
But we are here, now, so hear me: This is the end of whispered dissidence. This is the death of stagnation and dissonance and all that empty space. Listen close. We’ll not hesitate to sink the ship and **** the Captain.
This is for the hearts who’ve kept beating. Know that we never stopped listening. We're coming, and we're bringing change with us. This is for you. Try to be free. Don’t be afraid. I have seen the future, and I have seen better days. No matter what ‘they’ say, the end of the world will never come.
They stumble in their exaltation, rejoicing. They’ve stolen the crown. Praise be. As if that’s all that ever made a King.
Feb 8, 2017
Feb 8, 2017 at 10:42 PM UTC
A roar broke the silent dissidence of head shaking in a coversation
about America that I was in.
This voice railed against the country whose pride ran deep in her blood.
And with this voice, I agree.
But it did cause concern when she lumped the red, the white, the black
and the blue in with the rusty freighters and rolling hills that I've come
to love.
And the concern brought forth lessons from my own teaching.
Stories of 15th century frontiersman tramping around the great
wilderness, with nought even a flag to their name, for they had
rejected even that.
And memories of bloodline relatives that fought for the type of
independence that the declaration wasn't offering.
An independence from having unknown men, armed with bibles,
translated to the 19th power, telling them what's "right" and "just".
Now here we are today, lying in a grave that is no longer fresh whose
tombstone reads: Democracy.
All because we have not yet understood that a flag is not a country,
but rather a symbol of control.
And a country!
Now there lies something to love.
And it's easiest to love in the labored breathing of a mountain top view,
or in a toast from the top of a water tower overlooking the Mississippi.
It can be seen in the wave of a conductor as he pulls out of the yard.
Or heard in the hissing of his wheels when you have the moment of
realization that, "Yes! Those trains are actually going somewhere!"
It can be grasped in the handshake of a homeless man, who is not
unlike your forefathers.
A cast away, tramping about the wilderness with not even a flag or
a prayer, but two hands that are ready to work for change.
Aug 23, 2016
Aug 23, 2016 at 4:51 AM UTC
I feel the shutter of my curtains,
Stare into the Madness,
Where curiosity and dissidence
lay side by side.
My bed quivers in the early mornings
Light,
Pausing only to Juxtapose the desolation of
my
Sanity.
The floorboards beneath my very feet
Tremble as my consciousness
lay siege to the rational.
As if a sadist has purged the inner
mechanisms
of my Rage.
The stars stand still,
perhaps a welcoming message to my
overwhelming question.
Do we wander the world transfixed on doom,
or see that goodness and glory penetrates the
deepest of trenches?
The ceiling fan bumbles it's absurd existence
into my frontal lobe,
its tense relationship with the air,
Massacring it's way along the roots
of my
liberty.
Perplexing the cause for which I
have lost my thoughts to,
And cultivating the seeds
of
my
MADNESS.
Oct 28, 2017
Oct 28, 2017 at 5:48 PM UTC
You don’t speak for all,
President Butterball
Fallacies, fantasies,
Homespun homilies
Disingenuous dissidence
Worse than any immigrant
Look at the unsaid
Fears inside our heads
We ride a crash course;
An apocalypse horse
Stop this farce
Disembark
Feb 6, 2019
Feb 6, 2019 at 9:19 PM UTC
Bland colours on the walls reflect our hearts.
Cold drafts in the empty hallways inspire doubt in our already clouded minds.
A stream of words, uninterrupted through the weeks and months, never ceasing,
breaks even the strongest discipline.
Droning, numbing, abrading away all thought or whim, melding perfection,
that may never come, that will never fully avail itself upon the collective senses
Of the plenitude of “students” living and working between these walls.
The walls painted a uniform eggshell, urging to stay in the incubator.
The door stands as a gateway to another, brighter, complete, world.
The door, though with hinges easily opened, and a threshold easily crossed,
Has been lifted to a height unattainable to those who work alone, or in dissidence with others.
It stands as a gateway, but the way has never been as arduous, nor as complicated, quite as now.
May 10, 2018
May 10, 2018 at 12:22 PM UTC