"diversions" poems
Check back soon to resume and consume
every tight-lipped, slack-jawed fool in the room.
See, it's all what you know
as the fires start to grow
and the future burns slow.
Keep your eyes on the ceiling,
and your antenna feelers feelin',
for when your senses stop reeling,
you will finally start believing.
Kick-back to the basics,
not too far from the basement,
and close enough to show
that **** really isn't basic.
It's another mid-west, ******
******** freak show.
Another evening drinking whiskey
with the seedling's peep-show.
So, it's time to relax and relapse
into acidified broken synapse.
The lights keep flickering
and the couples keep bickering:
***** I am not above homicidal snickering.”
I steer clear of these diversions,
and wander past the sermons,
just to chew up all the crooked talk
and spittle out inversions.
I shovel mockery to hypocrisy,
pin-prick the empty *****
whose passions lack predicates,
and in the background, I'll be complexifying my medic-kit:
ketamine, morphine, ecstasy;
marijuana, mushrooms, LSD.
Watch those ******* jitter-bug college *****
procreate while sloppy drunk,
but keep an honest eye
on the flies that will rise above –
then fall back down in existential angst, like:
“Dear God, why must I be free?
Oh, God! Why is every universal eye on me?
I'm just another acid war veteran,
sneakin' through these gutters
with pestilence and bitter sin.
When they reach the promised land
of golden clouds and holding hands,
I'll be underground with the slugs and the spider band.”
Yet here I sit, sick of sippin' poisons with illiterates.
So, let the skies fall and the buildings crash,
as you stand on the wall with a fist full of cash.
I'll be on the front lawn,
picketing for dawn,
while the night around me slowly ambles on.
Aug 21, 2012
Aug 21, 2012 at 12:23 AM UTC
Love in my mind is acting aloof
It’s jumping over rooftops while playing the flute
I tried to tread past it ever so lightly
So that its murderous gaze would not see me so lively
It cares not about love for me
And it certainly cannot feel any for thy
We know that a narcissist loves only himself
But what about those who simply know to be careful?
A mind is created to think of itself
It conjures diversions to hide it, even from itself
Everything else is a pleasant delusion
Sometimes finding itself trapped on the brink of desolation
Squinching its eyes, hoping for diffusion
Time has created a person who loves
True is the one who knows whom he really does
Oct 5, 2018
Oct 5, 2018 at 3:22 AM UTC
The trapped soul
Don't you think we all are being trapped? .
In... In a schedule
A schedule which is not being made by our own self,
But is a contribution of all,
Alllllllll the human beings?
Come out from it,
Creative humans;
Deep throat your imagination,
Observe the elements your eyes are seeing which is eleminated by diversions.
Fix and mix your mind,
Bring the capturing out from focal of your eyes.
Illness, nausea, emotions let it all goo,
Know you soul.
The trapped soul.
Apr 19, 2019
Apr 19, 2019 at 1:14 PM UTC
Footprints so carelessly left in the sand:
So varied, haphazard, yet one common band.
The confidant jogger, the beach-combing wren,
The legions of desperate women and men,
Each of them leaves behind wet indentations
For those so inclined to survey and relate them.
How heavy the footsteps of those bearing burdens,
While almost an outline from those sans diversions.
These footprints so often abandoned are strange,
For they effect any who come into range.
How so many strive to make some path go noticed,
When often the same ones leave marks out of focus.
Ghosts of the efforts of steps left behind,
Yet lost to the ages, anonymous finds.
But one thing unites all the grainy debris:
These footprints will be swallowed up the sea.
Aug 13, 2012
Aug 13, 2012 at 7:12 PM UTC
Confide in me
the irony
of laughter as a crutch to keep
with self descriptive Bildungsroman
in view of Schadenfreude's Ad hominem
Mask the image, compensate, compensate
Power struggle, shift division, relegate, relegate
Egocentric discharges inhabited by identity crisis
Circumstantial Deus ex machina, plastered on by streams of vices
No wreck, no head on, but a path beset by tolls and diversions
Somehow I must find a way to make these scattered routes converge
Dead and othered language roams the fields of pomposity
More ironic self aggrandizement, an appropriation of ferocity
Paint them a picture in the mind's eye of your blurred forward vision
I want to see the target marked, but attention is a competition
I'm Viable, I'm Jovial, I have the means to take these chances
I'm lying now, it's one or the other, let's hope I make the right advances
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 2:21 PM UTC
Regret is the consequential disappointment
That the thrilling transgressive frisson your
Online ****** therapist offered for a number.
On the web no one knows if you are a dog
But the Daily Mail knows if you are a love rat
Their readers will wallow in your misfortune.
Millions have had web fantasies exposed
Sharp onomatopoeic cheating thrills have
Become a fear of secret lives found out.
Their private diversions now public lead
Nervous executives newly emasculated
To realise life is short, shorter than desire.
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 6:12 AM UTC
Writing in colors
Practicing the wrong art
Illusions that discover, set me apart
Feeling too washed up, at such a young age
Could I say something real? **** turning the page.
Writing in Fonts
So that I may distract.
Its like smoke and mirrors, you’ll miss what I lack
The fancier this seems, the more elaborate the scheme,
You’ll think you saw talent, I’ll just blind you with bling.
Writing in sizes,
Milking the diversions
Fancy rhyming, bold assertions
Witty one liners, and maybe a clever rhyme
Will I ever give up this job? Oh, maybe in time.
-Taylor
Aug 16, 2011
Aug 16, 2011 at 7:30 PM UTC
All we have left are diversions,
To pass the time.
A pantomime reality,
Without function.
Without meaning.
Those jokes we shared,
Cutting the world down to size.
They aren't funny anymore.
That forgotten t-shirt —
The stray intimacies of lovers —
The lacerations in my skin —
The blood that I spill —
The ambulance ride —
The last face I'll ever see —
You.
My favourite girl,
My favourite hell.
Io fei gibetto a me de le mie case.
QUIT TORTURING YOURSELF.
QUIT TORTURING YOURSELF.
QUIT
TORTURING YOURSELF.
Quit torturing yourself.
Quit ******* trturing yrself.
Quit trtrng urslf.
Quit.
Quit.
...
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 7:02 PM UTC
For viewers,
I’m adjusting
my face
and while
foraging though
the trunk
full of masks
and manufactured
convictions,
a sack of
amusing diversions
spills into view,
all of it lacking
convincing connection
or anchor…
I’m the
Houdini
of human communion
vanished again
into smoke,
a phantom floating
in air
left behind
for your
entertainment.
Sep 30, 2012
Sep 30, 2012 at 1:43 PM UTC
The corridors are long with no diversions
The way in which we walk is already known,
Turn and go back will only hinder distance covered
Forward progression burns through the heart.
Whoever watching, why do we lose both ways?
Can we even rise over all the soul piercing strategies?
Take each step for money to be earned
Lose every shred of integrity, or stand still, be kind and wither
into a background number dissolving into the wallpaper of the inoffensive.
The corridor is long, it gets darker and less enticing
The way in which i walk is almost robotic in tone.
The choice to turn back is an illusion believed to exist
but i am unconvinced of this option anymore.
Hide or be hid, the choice is there to be made,
No footprint is allowed to influence, unless the influence is seen to
add to what our leaders have printed in notes.
Aug 5, 2015
Aug 5, 2015 at 6:38 AM UTC
Should we perchance state
how curious it is
that no one has dared to think
'hold on a mo' my friends
let's see what happens
if we do nothing'
for they were told to press triggers
which they all readily did
that makes the oppositions buttons
which they all gladly began pressing
see its working their Master declared
they all readily agreed,
it was indeed working as nothing was
happening
what test was done to link the buttons
to nothing happening
how do we know we were responsible
to stopping anything happening by
these triggers
what's the measure of success here
was there a time something happened
when we did not trigger?
Should we perchance state
how curious it is
that no one has dared to think
'hold on a mo' my friends
let's see what happens
if we do nothing'
Far from me to say
methinks some people have been fooled
some may even say, blinded and hoodwinked
made up fake news triggers are not effective
said computing triggers are diversions to truth
for it gives answers to questions never asked
but yet none has worked this out
none has seen the ruse
why not test things
and say, no triggering any buttons
let just sit and watch and see what happens
but none dared think this or says so
because this is the emperor's computer
and we see what we see
and believe whatever we want to believe
Should we perchance state
how curious it is
that no one has dared to think
'hold on a mo' my friends
let's see what happens
if we do nothing'
Apr 26, 2019
Apr 26, 2019 at 5:41 AM UTC
the big lie that is security
string them up
braid the rope from the poor
shoot shoot shoot first
am i on the list yet?
**** the fbi
**** the people satisfied
with diversions
power shot an innocent man
power hides the facts
shuffled like cards in a deck
surrounded by tinder
we are unwilling to start the fire
i repeat
the fbi shot an innocent man
and covered up the fact
with the kardashians
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 11:41 AM UTC
It’s a box full of green dots destroying what was once called my self esteem
You wanted me when the lights were out
And guidance was my enlightened words now not found
I picked you up
And shoved myself instead of you
I picked you up
And tired as I be; after I think and feel and believe and disregard all at once
I laid exactly at that railroad of crushing trains
Striking so furiously my heart
And each time that train gets closer
My insecurities become like the forsaken minorities
Of the land waiting to avenge their vanquished souls
Wanting revenge on the land lord
And the land lord is lured into lowering lives of dislexyical comments like leaves leaving a tree not because they have to but because they have the power to self-destruct
It’s not us that we fail to continue
Its our ability not too
Our will to stop
Our moments of clarity
In which nothing is clear
And clear is the day you come up to me and explain the complexity that is your affect and the regret that is my whole existence
And clear is the day in which I find the answers to life wrapped in papers fallen on grounds of religious beliefs with my name on top
A note for majd
A majd for all the notes you keep inside in the ample spaces between your teeth and total loss of diction
Like dictating decimations you strike words of explosions
Like nuclear weapons it’s not the fall of reason that kills me
It’s reason that eases my falling
And I fall into senseless diversions
Diverging through divisions of disintegrating poems
Determining what we don’t know
And knowing what we cannot determine
All words are not words but simple signs
Of my breakdown
And all breakdowns are not breakdowns but mere stimulation of the senses; a kick start …
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 6:38 PM UTC
I poeticize, proselytize
Punctuate and pontificate.
I write couplets and rhymes
And I really do it all the time.
I exacerbate and exaggerate
With no desire to intimidate.
I make similes and metaphors
Indoors and even out of doors.
There’s cussing and discussion
And sharp literary impressions
Through diversions, conversions
Allusions as well as conclusions.
And with luck, no delusions.
Just syllabically deft fusions
Of some deferential references
With a deft touch of reverence.
I rhyme thyme with fresh lime
And cardamom with cinnamon.
Sweetbreads and shortbreads.
Chicken bones and licking scones.
Rhyming pumpkins with dumplings
And matching up filets with filberts
Just as cocoa goes well with Kona.
Marmalade can be a good marinade.
I rhyme chrome wheels and automobiles,
Freeway off-ramps and Tiffany lamps.
Cellophane and vintage airplanes.
Flapper vamps and streetwalking tramps.
Also Cinderella coaches and cockroaches,
Nothing is unfair game to a busy poet.
As well as RCA Victors and boa constrictors.
Since I’m a poet, everyone should know it.
Mar 23, 2016
Mar 23, 2016 at 5:22 AM UTC
There was a crooked man
Who had a crooked smile
Secured a crooked Russian loan
With putin on speed-dial
He had 3 crooked marriages
He lives a crooked life
Cheating, lying, self-promoting
Wants Daughter-not his Wife
He “won” a crooked election
Just to steal more money
Investigators fired THREE times
His tantrums are not funny!
He pushed a crooked bill
Despite collective cries
Desperately tweeting diversions
Ignore those Russian ties!
Crooked Sarah Sanders
Smiles as she repeats his lies
Look behind the curtain
Prevent Democracy’s demise
This vile crooked man-child
Lives in a crooked White House
Embarrassing the World
A tweeting presidential louse
A shitstorm pouring out
With bad grammar and no style
Desperately denying collusion
Time to put them all on TRIAL
May 10, 2017
May 10, 2017 at 4:14 PM UTC
looped layers linger on
terraces as terror takes
form in bandaged brains
chock full of deranged
discernment
****
climb into the cabinet
find fear washed away
in dead eyes that
shrivel and shrink with
each passing moment
squirm, squirm, squirm
stomach walls suction cup
one another as sludgy
slime slurps between
cracked crevices
bile belches amidst
odd laughter, an onslaught
of imagery, insecurity,
and imagination
not a sound in the world,
but every sound in the world
slip slowly through
diversions from truth
mad man or master?
monster or magician?
a circus of dark circles
comes rolling into town-
come one, come all!
certain death lurks
around every corner,
shrouded in shadows
between daylight
and dreaming,
daring you to look
away as it steals
whatever it is that's left
Aug 10, 2013
Aug 10, 2013 at 2:34 PM UTC
A glance towards the innocent
Only you don't see it that way
You put your hatred into others
to make sure they will obey
Use and misuse the human rights
"Oh Baphomet your wicked ways"
The diversions you desire
The perversions sought on earth
Since dawn of time, your presence
brought men satisfying lies
Lust in the holy ****** her eyes
Baphomet a name full of essence
Praised by those who found you
To provide destruction
Hang the skeptics..
May 17, 2017
May 17, 2017 at 5:00 PM UTC
I arrived at my station in Kaliningrad
as if posted there by an army of desires
entering through the gate with a firm set jaw
into the guarding teeth of iron girders
driven into the soft soul of the soil
by hammering heels as bold as yours
approaching a fateful encounter quite naughty
amidst ghosts in an Eastern European night
its sights built when all roads led to Königsberg city
taking pretty daughters of frightening Prussian knights
to a military parade past the rust of heavy industry
a call to arms wrapped tight up against youthful skin
dark forces dressed in lace trimmed girdles of passion
its secret codes covered by accents slightly Russian
sounding like love slipping into a cold war assignation
you were too beautiful by half
too perfect to wear jeans
so like the uniform concrete paths
abandoned to such ghastly stains
they attract me like works of art
that someone envious of being outlasted
had to spray with swirling tattoo paint
yet the matt camouflage fades fast
while your beauty is chiseled into my days
its ageless gloss defying the wind and dust
whipping across the wonderful blocks called home
built by socialist bloc labourers whose ***** hands
must have toiled for the day you were born
and set free the naked ambition of men that yearn
for a dessert of finely moulded vision
beyond the blue vein cheese and a little wine
into warm baths steaming away the tension
which had crossed our paths with precise chains
snapped together in a demand for attention
“stop - no tourism beyond here after 5pm”
but you knew diversions locked in 'till round 2am
a stress release submitting to the pull of a comforter
gentle in the peace of the goose-down we slept in
the softness of the rattles
the worst
of your corrupters
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 9:18 PM UTC
Here is just another thought
Going down the stream,
Just another thought.
Leaking from a tap
With the label "purity"
Just another trap
The obsessive mind gullibly bites the lure,
Obscured by clouds connections,
Concealing the large picture.
How every blast creates a reaction!
Panic attacks to draw the attention.
Where’s the crack in the grand ***** wall,
So we can strike down the reservoir?
Diverting the river that must belong to all
Before our eyes - wider worlds shrinking small;
Cradled by the uniformity of lies that appease,
Those grazing in the dunes still tarry at ease.
It’s no wonder!
Insecurity has grown into a most lucrative market
As danger becomes the currency on which to place the bet;
Release the flow from the control that profits hold fast,
Question the junk food that's become the pasture of our mass.
Continuous diversions
Feeding everyone’s greed
Fulfilling false concerns -
So easily believed!
How every blast creates a reaction!
Panic attacks to draw the attention.
Will the facts in knowledge’s downfall
Let us unshackle the repertoire?
Mar 28, 2021
Mar 28, 2021 at 3:49 PM UTC
Wheels within
The confines of straight lines
Lanes and by lanes,
leading lines
Lit with lights
Abstract art
Arcs and beams, cable stays
Balancing act
Endless it seems
But for
Diversions and turns
Wheels within
The confines of straight lines
May 21, 2022
May 21, 2022 at 9:06 AM UTC
We were June's children:
Lazing in our cottages
Of restful diversions,
Sleeping through sticky days.
We were the youth of July:
Strong-backed and surly,
Unafraid and eager.
We pined for a challenge.
Stiff-lipped and sunburnt,
Now we are August's boys:
Wet-mouthed and grass dewed,
We dance naked in the wheatfields.
We slide amongst the chaff.
Our strong backs brace
Against heavy furnace skies,
And we look to September
With summer in our eyes.
Sep 5, 2010
Sep 5, 2010 at 3:32 PM UTC
I can be a waste of time,
electrons dripping into my veins
through my eye socket
assaulting my ear canal
directly into my brains.
When my purpose is stretched
between too many ambitions
it is easily punctured
by the buzz of inboxes,
and mindless online exhibitions.
I gorge on useless tips and viral videos
positioning my open mouth
below the gaping search box
as I pull the lever again and again
and my willpower goes south.
Each stray thought, each nagging question
is an excuse to trade concentration
for an immediate rush,
a canonical ******
of electronic validation.
I pull as hard as I can,
interrupting the current
feeding these diversions.
The network inside my brain lights up,
completing my inner circuit.
Jul 17, 2012
Jul 17, 2012 at 9:10 PM UTC
Surprise looked me in the eye, an instant rush,
One moment that was purely innocent.
Surprise swooned me into arms, bore open,
Multiple moments that were so naive.
Surprise betrayed me in the beginning,
In that moment, after years of artful diversions,
Surprise was forgiven.
---
This first love, puppy love, three years it took.
Three years it took me to realize what one song,
Spit in seconds less than just three minutes.
(non-poetic rant, just bear with me, too many concerned people on other sites)
I know now, despite every other outcome or possibility that my thoughts stirred up, that it never really mattered whether I truly forgave you or not, you knew that you had leverage over me because of how I felt for you. You knew that no matter what I did, however hard I tried to push you away, that if I got a call that you had been hurt or were going to end up being hurt that I would be there no matter what. That power was something that you used against me to keep me around. People may not have "magic" but they sure do have power. I made a mistake by staying involved with someone who would toy with my emotions, and it took me a **** long time to realize that I hadn't been thinking properly. It literally took removing myself entirely and then some time after that to really grasp everything that had happened between us. Although, that being finally said, I do not regret the fact that that had happened, and it wasn't entirely miserable. I learned a lot from you, about myself, the universe, and anything in between. I do not regret having done the unthinkable in forgiving you because I wouldn't have had that experience. I wish the best for you, and I will be a friend, but you have to understand why I cannot ever lose footing on my stance again, not with you at least. So for today, just let sleeping dogs lie and let guard dogs be. For tomorrow, one may not know for certain, but what I do know is that I don't want to worry about tomorrow until tomorrow.
Sincerely, a love that was never meant to be.
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 5:19 AM UTC
Love can always be
the beautiful
renderings within the
passages of life...
Love can sometimes be
the glorious
delights from those
special moments in time...
Love can possibly be
the flirtatious
diversions of these
unexpected encounters...
Love can never be
the perilous
defeats for the
lost soul, the broken heart...
Love is,
always will be
never ending...
Aug 23, 2010
Aug 23, 2010 at 4:20 PM UTC
Two eased from the sedan.
A blanket, a brimming wicker basket.
A pond filled with geese, the birds claiming the embankment.
Water’s edge, he spun the blanket outward and
The geese scattered, and the cloth descended in an almost perfect square.
The valley’s familiar diversions, the white steeple a mile away,
Copses scattered acres apart, poked above the low brush.
Elbows propped in the afternoon heat
Listening to the rustlings in the bramble
Until the valley’s natural rhythms brought him sleep.
Awakened to the rustling of paper,
He watched her scatter bread crumbs,
Circling the water with goslings in tow as they
Nuzzled at the bits of dough, an odd parade
Until a goose made chase, and the dithered fowl
Marched her brood away
And the woman laughed an undignified laugh in delight.
Alone, glasses descended from his furrowed brow,
An envelope withdrawn,
Elegant script, long luxurious parchment perused and then
Extended to her on her return.
Her lined face turned away, skyward,
The glorious heat warming, much preferred
Above the chilling words.
Together, they sat until the day had cooled
And she wrapped herself in a thick sweater and
Their shadows distorted as they relinquished the day,
He guiding her in the gloaming before the beams of light
Bounced unpredictably in the irregular road.
May 27, 2017
May 27, 2017 at 8:29 AM UTC