"dissolute" 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
Broken flesh, infected in dissolute.
We tend to dispute our vision of the world seeing only black and white.
Our eyes decieve us blatantly concealing the harmonic view of a one race with different shades.
Philia filling my heart with philosophies of what love actually is.
Conforming to the emotions of our soul drifting towards carnality.
Seduced by the luring sweet scent that our desires tend to offer often leading to our spirits fatality.
A promise is yet to come. A sacrifice made for us with the Annointed One hanging under inri. We forget our mistakes are not irreversible and He gave us the chance to live with Him for eternity.
Agape. The love so beautiful its tangability pushes us towards Him even when our lifes are resisting. His love being the cure to my absence and His peace being the sustainter of my life...so who am i to barricade you from His real love.
Aug 18, 2018
Aug 18, 2018 at 8:43 AM UTC
stuck in a hollow room,
handfuls of pictures of
years, now simple past,
rain still bound, fallen,
the quietness of absence,
the eclipse of
your dissolute smile;
one day,
years ago,
I must have woken up,
and forgotten to stay in love,
or just realized,
I never really was.
Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 10:17 PM UTC
NOT ALL POETRY SHOULD BE ABOUT DEPRESSION,
LOVE, WIND AND TEA-CUPS - I PREFER TO BE
THE DONALD TRUMP OF THE POETRY WORLD:
SEEMINGLY ILLITERATE, OBSCENELY DISSOLUTE,
UNINFORMED, SOCIOPATHICAL AND FALSELY MAGICAL;
SOMEONE SAID THAT, 'WE HAVE A DUTY TO
IMPART KNOWLEDGE,' I DID NOT ENTIRELY AGREE,
NOT ALL OF US ARE SUITABLY QUALIFIED AND THOSE
WHO ARE NOT MAY PASS ON THEIR OWN MISTAKES;
A TEACHER MISSPELT THE WORD 'BOLLOCKS,'
AND NOW HALF THE TOWN IS WRITING THE WORD
BOLLUCKS INCORRECTLY; THOSE WHO CAN, DO AND
THOSE WHO CAN NOT, JOIN THE RADIO -LIKE CERTAIN
PRESENTERS, IT RINGS, WHO SEEM TO HAVE KNOWLEDGE OF ALL THINGS.
Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 4:18 AM UTC
When Winchester races first took their beginning
It is said the good people forgot their old Saint
Not applying at all for the leave of Saint Swithin
And that William of Wykeham's approval was faint.
The races however were fixed and determined
The company came and the Weather was charming
The Lords and the Ladies were satine'd and ermined
And nobody saw any future alarming. —
But when the old Saint was informed of these doings
He made but one Spring from his Shrine to the Roof
Of the Palace which now lies so sadly in ruins
And then he addressed them all standing aloof.
'Oh! subjects rebellious! Oh Venta depraved
When once we are buried you think we are gone
But behold me immortal! By vice you're enslaved
You have sinned and must suffer, ten farther he said.
These races and revels and dissolute measures
With which you're debasing a neighboring Plain
Let them stand —You shall meet with your curse in your pleasures
Set off for your course, I'll pursue with my rain.
Ye cannot but know my command o'er July
Henceforward I'll triumph in shewing my powers
Shift your race as you will it shall never be dry
The curse upon Venta is July in showers—.
3.4k
Why the ****
is seemingly everyone
so ******* slutty?
What the **** happened
to maintenance
of Integrity?
******
for the right words
or for the right look
or the right price
or the right Music
or the *right *****
the most important motivation to many
seems to be *Instant ******* Gratification*:
Please.
Such folly is childish:
Males and Females alike
seem to be equally Hedonistic
and selfishly manipulative:
What dissolute, reckless, selfish
Depravity of Sanctity
hath seized our Minds
with such wrathful, gluttonous, vain, lustful, and self-destructive
Epicureanism?
It seems to me
a Mind of Displeasure
recklessly seeks Indulgence,
and thus encounters overindulgence,
which then leads to overstimulation,
which in turn leads to depreciation,
which then manifests itself
as Debauchery.
Reputation
precedes you;
it follows you
as your social Wake;
Reputation
is the Name
for the Ripples
cast by One's actions;
Sometimes it is mere gossip,
rooted in vile, childish Spite;
but most times,
it seems karmic as ****
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 6:29 PM UTC
why i am an only child?
you have to ask the Polish women
who were forced to drink iodine....
1986...
Chernobyl...
it spread to Poland from the Ukraine...
a "rainbow" effect,#as my great-grandmother
recounted...
in the local park?
streaks... of autumnal trees
in their full bloom decay,
and the furthest green in summer...
a strange time...
why wouldn't my mother have
more children?
i guess, in fear of breeding a ******
pro-life, what?!
you raise them!
see how they turn out when
you're dead!
god's "grace"...
you ever curate the fate
of your grandmother?
well then!
now you know!
nature is ruthless!
man attempting to
overcome it?!
you know
what nature does?
i know what nature does...
steam-roller and...
somehow the most vocal speakers
are those daring to
question the feathers
of a macaw parrot...
substituting it with
fashion trends...
mort in concencus,..
vive in conscissio...
i might have been born with
a sibling...
but i wasn't...
the Scandinavian countries learned
of it,
from under, beneath the iron curtain...
and who can actually blame Gorbachev?
when the U.S.S.R. was made
dissolute?
and no war took the zeitgeist
garments of a pope's approval?
no cardinal red,
with Attila's river...
who is to blame,
the scolded transition period of peace?
no one unless my grandfather can
understand the peaceful transition
of the disintegrated U.S.S.R.,
into a Russian Fed.?
no one?
but the women of Poland
and the Ukraine? still had
to drink iodine...
and i am...
i am...
i am...
i will always be...
the long lost cousin of the Chernobyl
geblüt;
there is not concept of
a butterfly effect...
when it comes to the query of an,
atomic reactor!
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 10:50 PM UTC
1685
The butterfly obtains
But little sympathy
Though favorably mentioned
In Entomology—
Because he travels freely
And wears a proper coat
The circumspect are certain
That he is dissolute—
Had he the homely scutcheon
Of modest Industry
’Twere fitter certifying
For Immortality—
2.3k
True tangled Gordian thoughts entwine
Amid labyrinthine paths that wind
Sliding sledding serpentine
To assay value and extent
Braid a mind a shoreward end
Seeking weeping thrashing send
Infused with knowledge deep and sound
A consciousness cogitabund
Within the portals self confined
Disconnected judgements breed
Diffuse journeys often made
To darkened places
Where no light
Of vision lucid sparkling bright
Will penetrate and seem so safe
Writhing heavy leaden womb
Elusive dissolute abound
Reclusive and so moribund
But in the darkened space there seems
A distant tendril sparkling white
A reaching focal point to strive
To make that leap
Great grasping bound
Wrapping arms so safe around
Clasping forgone lines abandoned
Sublimating impasse upward
Strength of purpose
Welling forward
Great eruption spewing outwards
Lava flowed eureka moment
Spreading outwards
Flowing downwards
Cogent sentient live born
Brewed in darkness
Drinks the bright
With clarity and strength unite
Dazzling brilliant shining moment
Cleft asunder glorious light ....!
Oct 14, 2009
Oct 14, 2009 at 2:13 AM UTC
The years of my youth, my sensual life --
how clearly I see their meaning now.
What needless repentances, how futile....
But I did not understand the meaning then.
In the dissolute life of my youth
the desires of my poetry were being formed,
the scope of my art was being plotted.
This is why my repentances were never stable.
And my resolutions to control myself, to change
lasted for two weeks at the very most.
1.9k
i
lily says she is the very epitome of sad
her heart distant on some abstract crusade
the pain of man etched in purple braids
hung her black eyes lost to dissolute and
laid out before a death of finite rainbows..
that is just sunday afternoon girlfriend
i say,the cabbage white that circles our head
flutters and settles like the love fades
but will ride smitten the cosmos allows
indestuctable and possible to near..
no further abundant like gods own bow
lily my sister..
ii
all around this blighted globe
people are told to get go
mostly by fear and guilt..
so,
so they went to the new world
so called..
but now on the whole
for the most part
that is ****** too..
the moon is still too far..
hard to say
what to do..
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 8:54 AM UTC
if i could find words not in vain to describe her,
verses of her Virtuousness, i would sing
her humble approval in glances so fleeting
her song like a robin’s, beckoning the spring
our friendship, a gentle yet short affair
she, the girl with the golden hair
oh, how i would press softest lips to her own
should she give me a whisper, an answer, a plea,
and yet, from her halo of Heavenly judgement
not once has she cast a soft look towards me
a heart that is wounded beyond repair
she, the girl with the golden hair
through Holiest laughter, i smooth back her tresses
her eyes crinkle up in a bittersweet smile
i murmur, i love you, she tells me, i’m sorry.
we sit in the frost of december a while
warm breath on cold cheeks, puffs of hot air
from she, the girl with the golden hair
winter is breaking, and spring is long gone,
as is her gossamer, dissolute song
our friendship, a tender yet brief affair
me and the girl with the golden hair.
Feb 5, 2022
Feb 5, 2022 at 12:31 AM UTC
the half-life of a resolution
~for maaidah durrani~
“your words really spoke to me and
i deeply encourage you to write more”
<•>
any resolution
barely lasts to the completion of its
flyby, tower-buzzing,
razzmatazz appearance,
colliding with the wall called
not today a/k/a,
tomorrow
tomorrow takes the lead pole position,
the conditional timing prepositional,
the delaying exscual misanthropic of
but one more,
whatever, it’ll keep for 24 more,
holding out the pretense of hope
for the resolute dissolute
sure, for sure, tomorrow,
will dissolve regret
tomorrow will write of poetry
but not a poem,
tomorrow will swear my
resolutions will be enacted
or, at least,
erased and re-written,
the oldest first when
re-added to the top of the list
tomorrow
will honor thy request
keep on writing for I’m no fool,
1200 plus poems, I’m yet a novitiate
I will keep your request as
one I’ve can never
cross off my life’s list
but tomorrow’s resolve,
be a better man,
leaner, briefer, kinder, a better lover,
sadly
the list has overrun the white pad,
the blue lines refuse another resolu....
Feb 25, 2018
Feb 25, 2018 at 5:16 PM UTC
I am the sad widower, dissolute;
The prince of Aquitaine, by luck deposed:
My glistening soul is dead; its jeweled flute
sings perturbed melodies until opposed!
In the darkness of tombs, I am consoled.
Return, Oh Pospillo and the seas which doze:
The flower which pleases my heart has been sold;
And vines grow thick without the tender rose....
Am I love or Phoebus? ... Lusignan or Byron?
Still, I'm made to blush from the queen's embrace;
Although I dream in Neptune's silent place.
I have crossed the Acheron twice before:
Upon the Orphic lyre I've played by turns—
Saintly sighs and the awful cries of yore.
May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 9:19 PM UTC
Mirrored thought full breach horizon
Yearning drawing bridging cry
Intimate complete attraction
Now the moment true imply
Cast aside mendacious forethought
Resolute round purpose fly
Epiphanic thought emerging
Doubts foul gibbous banish say ....
Insp’ration resolute within here
Bursting forth bright intellect
Loosing dogs full purpose forward
Encroaching far reach treaded path
Resolute’ness biting grasping
Endless boundless seeming lost
Blazing purposeful grasp grimly
Energise strong inner soul
Capa’bil’ity strong purpose
Clear thought con’quering foul
Abandon dissolute mist darkness
Intersperse directive steer
Levelling where once lay mountains
Onward pushing prancing laugh
Voices raised fair joyous chorus
Ethereal reaching hands entwine
Yearning warmth transcending distance
Over hill and Moorland track
Understand where strength in thought lay
Accomplishment find perfect peace
Sep 8, 2010
Sep 8, 2010 at 5:15 AM UTC
I should navigate
perspiring inspiration along the lonely streets
which are bottled desolation
but I stay here,
where once the candelabra shot sparks up to the chandelier
and that in turn shed tears of light which danced along the the gloomy walls
in palaces where ***** were held.
Spellbound I am shunned
outgunned by the desperate and dissolute
who eye up my shiny suit.
I've got to get away
pass my day among those who have passed away
sat beside the tombstones of yesterday
but I stay here trapped by my fears
and the years slip through my hands.
From the graves come two choices
in loud voices I'm told to take hold
and hang on
then the voices are gone
there's just the fluttering breeze as it whispers through the leaves
and the trees are silent.
I brood acquiescence
nod my head and arise
wipe the dirt from my face and my eyes behold
all that was told
and it's empty
blank space.
I've got to get out of this place
but the candles burn low and then, where is there to go?
and again I am trapped by the years that are wrapped
and draped over my shoulder.
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 5:21 AM UTC
You dissolute deputation
Of disparate dipsomaniacs
Disparately determined
To drive me, distance me
Definitely, diametrically
Dizzily daft, daily.
Ditzy, I determined to
Deftly divide them;
I defy them, deny them,
Don't deify them
But deride them
Stand beside them
And guide them
To wander away
Until some other day
Some other fool
Who, as a rule
Digs abuse and misuse.
It's not a truce
But an absolute demand
For their total surrender
So they remember
From December to December
I am not a lifetime member
Of the “Beat Me” club.
Aye, there's the rub
You thought I liked it
So you could spike it
Like a basketball.
But, my soul is not at all
Into anything you could call
Masochism or submission.
So, if your mission is
To collect acolytes and slaves
You'd just better save that
For someone sicker than I
And bid me a fond goodbye.
Jul 21, 2016
Jul 21, 2016 at 5:53 PM UTC
there is a door
obscura
in my mind
a black ocean
that smears alizarin mist
between love
and the dissolute
i hear
a storm of thick whispers
a breath calling
in free fall
my malleable lover
plays voodoo poppet
carousel of lady buddhas
diagramed unholy ***** *****
with scumbag eyeballs
contort for eager ruin
an ornamental cadaver
bejeweled
in a lake of tears
give me flesh
smell my rich ****
bouquet of **** the *****
transfixed eyes of flames
spread legs wide
thigh spillway buttered
loving the snag
and strangle
of a silk tourniquet
watch me shunt
and glassy stare
a glittering doll shimmies
blood bauble
and flapping tongue
torrent of curving jaws
clever teeth
to tear
and lips to be torn
a cockeyed brain
drowning in
illegible consciousness
for foot slaves
in a sweat and ****
magick show
body of irresistible horror
in descending spirals
to love
in the grotto
of furies
imbued with prayers
that fill the spaces
in her throat
martyr of transfiguration
she falls as
dust falls
i depend on her
tapestry of shuddering lust
in moist air
locked behind
a blood stained door
marked no exit
this savage pageant
Aug 24, 2020
Aug 24, 2020 at 12:27 PM UTC
Old crippled man, charcoal burnt and ashen,
a thousand days debauchery molded you in this fashion.
Haggard and stiff, you can barely walk across the stage--
no one ever thought that you would make it to this age.
Your girth has expanded (although it’s covered well),
but still your piercing voice summons demons up from hell.
Not as strong as it was once, but eerie just the same,
calling those who’ve followed you, who now chant your name,
to assemble in our legions, gathered in this shrine,
where we repeat the catechism, in throbbing metered rhymes.
Are you a madman? Or just a troubadour
who lends melodic shimmer to verses dark and dour.
Whose singing slides and skims along the edge of sanity,
but who never surrendered to the true evil of vanity.
Recovered from drunken, dissolute despair,
to call the faithful masses back, never mind the wear and tear--
to plod the journey of your craft, to sing before the crowd
whose loyalty, to your band, forever is avowed.
Sep 29, 2017
Sep 29, 2017 at 4:21 PM UTC
Dropped into a glass
The chemical reaction is immediate
Watch me dissolve and dissolute
Drink me until you are immune
Until I have no more power left to cure you.
Jun 12, 2010
Jun 12, 2010 at 1:12 AM UTC
I
expression for not in my culture
take it all slice of alternate
-universe
all height it all is all talks at last
II
it happened to the fuel what was
need to power it the apparatus I
-needed a
time machine if im ever going to
be anything other than this effing
nun I have to go back do something
take some action wrap again crepe
paper around the limbs nail christ to
the wall I want one of those when I
-come back
a hard body pantries full of fuel
have to go back and snort the hologram
ignore the urge to change my name to
-at the end of the world
III
-sinkholes
opened up next to a chrysler
wormhole to no-work-day to
a little late for the rodeo we
set an orange cone there its
raining underground where
- the circus
is an all year thing an
elephant jumps a pink horse
sings my mothers evil step
mother tells me not to wear
******* and tights at the
same time I think thats
nasty I tell about papas
-aliens
she says its his fault her
birth control failed now she
has to ask him for money
IV
the middle fuzzy like a
-peach colored
static bloom I believed you
were better and now I would pay to
waterfall over paint samples
-dissolute
stand solid in the end of the world
glasses full of muck fell off an
escalator got a scar in the shape
of a stiletto or maybe an asteroid
-they think of
a knife what cuts in the trim this
riddlin man this feral cat living
-life
on a soft backseat
oh and the driver
-being translucent
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 1:31 PM UTC
While the world is trying to reach us
We abandon shallow spectres of time
And scratch each other’s itches
Salaciously.
We sink into these magic hours,
****** under coverlets of dreams.
While outside thunders leaden showers,
No water leaks in through the seams
Surrounded like a snake
By suffocators of reality
We shed each other’s skins
Coiled in twists of content.
Angels dance from her fingertips,
Twirling in nascent currents.
The world outside is dissolute
It wails and spatters.
It sneers in through silver panes
It wants none of what we have, the miscreant;
It wants only to breathe its grimy breath.
But we are resolute.
In fact we are ebullient.
The haze of incense, the heat of bodies,
Our world is infinitesimal.
We cavort under our big top; our tipi;
Our tableclothed Elysium.
We dance through each other’s minds
Twirling golden ribbons
Behind us like shooting stars.
We soar through subconscious clouds
And smile at forbidden sunlight
Splashed across our faces.
And we sink back slowly
Listening to the fading showers
We sink back slowly
Into these magic hours.
Jun 15, 2012
Jun 15, 2012 at 11:17 PM UTC
Night time steps in
And your presence stretches out
From my head to my bed.
As I spin the wheel for me
And for the world,
I pull together your fragments.
To rediscover, to refine pieces of you.
Morning snatches you away from me,
Dissipating your image to the sunlight.
Yet, it cannot dissolute the saccharine cravings
Or the savory memories from your embrace.
But I worry not, for I recognize
Even the microcosm of imprints left behind.
I can trace your hairline
Out in the arms, head or face
Of a passenger in the bus or train.
It was no wonder where to find you.
You were no stranger to my senses.
I can draw out your eyes
From stones of garnet or granite.
I can hear your heartbeat, your laughter from Irish violins
And Spanish guitars are your private echoes, your fondling whispers.
I can split the distinct outline of your smell
From cinnamon, vanilla and caramel;
Or figure the blueprint of your flavor
Out of morning dew or spring rain.
Tales of heroes from novels or poetry
Are narratives where I retrieve
How safe it felt to be with you.
I only ache for you in every fraction of my reverie,
The incessant reminder of my liquefied reality.
And in the evening you won’t get lost,
For I am all aglow, pointing you home.
Only in your hands
I can submit without dread
And you’re the sole being that knows
The second color of my eyes,
My fingers that memorize every hair trail
On your jaw line, chest and arms.
Your body is just attuned to my secret dance,
Breaking and making the iridescence of dreams.
Only you can read the symbols crowning my head
And kiss me like eternity is born from world’s death.
Earthbound spirits envy this romance of ours,
As Faes bless this furtive union.
So please don’t be far too long,
For even time and distance my dear
Are painful pleasures to my soul,
My addictive links to you.
I await your return tremendously, my lover.
Hold me still and play our song to sleep.
Don’t need to know if you’re my own design,
Or a pattern I recreated.
As long as we remember
What binds us together.
In the shadows of the day
And in the glimmer of the night.
Jul 8, 2010
Jul 8, 2010 at 12:47 AM UTC
Companion souls we meet again
in venues unexplored
where fragments felt
of days long past, and
remembrances haunt the dreams we see and feel
So close we know at meeting,
memory stirs round the portals
of our history
bright in truth yet dissolute
caught by threaded lines, entwined
A crossing here, a crossing there
first as one
and then
another, awareness
undisclosed, unclear
Our journey’s paths divergent
parallel, yet not
our purpose sometimes known
though not this day when, by choice
we chanced to meet again
I know you cries
my heart, my life
beneath this mask of time
I sense we’ve come once more
to be as one, together
What were we then, what are we now
what will we be
tomorrow
when curtains lift and earthly veils
shall pass, unnoticed
Such questions beg direction
doors of realization
where memories rest
encased
in chambers, understood
Such passion felt for things we know
as past and mutual wanderings
while rapt we stand
learning
of destiny present
Dec 9, 2010
Dec 9, 2010 at 6:47 PM UTC