"docility" poems
What moral magistrate
Monster of mediocrity
Makes a model citizen of me
Even if I don’t want to be
All upright and uptight
Humorless jackboot
Goose stepping toadstool
The fascist conservative fool
Who pedals misinformation
Counting on fear and stupidity
To turn strangers into tools
Yep that one eyed sheep
In the blind herd
Who wants to tell me
What I should or shouldn’t do
Why bother
With that proctor
Of indignity
Who counsels
The talented
To remain dormant
In their humility
Doctor of docility
Prescribing conformity
Storming the cities
Bleeding us of our individuality
To make more metal cogs
For the culture machine
May 23, 2015
May 23, 2015 at 6:21 PM UTC
How can he be so cocky, fight like rocky
talking in morse code, like a walkie talkie
how can he be so cold, like an ice cube to hold
so bold like a robot that can't be controlled
how can he be so sarcastic, ******* spastic
no fantastic antics seen in plastic
won't bend and won't stretch like elastic
doing flips like a drastic gymnastic
possessed with true ability, like a runners agility
but no flexibility when it comes to futility
a never seen utility with no docility
showing capability, breaking through the fragility
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 12:58 PM UTC
“What can a poem do?”
—————————-
***”A poem
is a not a tourniquet
when you’re bleeding.
It’s not water when you’re thirsty
or food when you’re hungry.
A poem can’t protect you from an airstrike,
or from abduction, or from hate.
It’s hard to write when our words feel
like they’re not enough—they can’t do
the real, tangible work of saving lives,
or making people safer.”***
(see (1) Maggie Smith)
<~>
as is my wont,
I write,
as is my Natted~inhabited,
retiring to the local watering holes of
Cerebrum & Cerebellum,
them regular haunts,
where all requests are mailed, processed, satisfied & marked;
‘return & render to the sender, who’s on a cerebral ******
and that request?
‘give me the words’ (2)
those ‘to do’ words, floaters, direct to top of list,
those ‘can do’ words, that can effect the affect,
spare the despair, realize the fungible, concretize cures,
soften hard waters, giving a worsening worn life fabric a
curated baby blanket feel, a 4-ply human tissue of
‘words that tell me everything’ (2)
salve solution verbs that bounty-wipe spills in entirety,
vacuum up spillage spoiling of 17 days of terrible nouns,
uncovered-unknown rages caused by inflicting prepositions
released a hatred rising,
safety rebury it deeper, drug & destruct the sleeper agents,
and let me start over again with
‘telling me everything by saying nothing’ (2)
the pausal silence, the quieted spaces tween the heartbeats,
where ‘reflection,’
the noun,
and its world of alternations,
reflection,
the noun,
look inwards, but shining outward,
this, this!
is where the poem goes to do!
enervating & arresting
its contradictory powers
rock you into wild docility,
possessive and submissive,
contradictory interferences,
smoothing the roughness,
closing the gaps it opens,
healing the caused truthful cuts,
with words that tell you
everything and nothing,
open the holes, filling the gaps,
that is what a
poem do,
in and by
the manner it is spoken…
<~>
“Sometimes a poem is the stone you carry in your pocket—the one you rub when you’re worried. Let’s fill our pockets with poems.”
(see (1) Maggie Smith)
Oct 24, 2023
Oct 24, 2023 at 10:10 PM UTC
Who the Hell wants to
Go off to Heaven?
Think about it please:
If you had to spend
All eternity
With “goody two shoes”,
And “zipped up virgins”,
And “pious *******
Always putting on
Thick sweaters of wool
Cause there ain’t no heat,
Playing “Yahtzee” and
“Old Maid” and “Go Fish”
And “Bingo” and “Red
Rover Red Rover”
Send the next bore on
Over! You’d pray and,
Oh my dear, you‘d wish
To come down to Hell
Where the party’s at!
By the time Heaven
Starts serving soda
Water and broccoli
Oh my dear you’ll crave:
***** Linguini
A full Trough of Sloth
A Southern Wrath Wrap
Greed’s mead, Peppered Pride
Glutton’s Mutton and
Sweet Envy’s Smoothie.
Can you live with just
Holding their cold hand?
Sitting on some cloud,
Gazing and never
Feeling or touching?
Never burning, nor
Experimenting?
This is blunt, but think,
This is where all the
Interesting folks
Go! Laughter? Its here!
Debauchery? Here!
Creativity!
Ingenuity!
We are what made life,
LIFE! Think about it!
Has obedience,
Has docility,
Has simplicity,
Has submission changed
This world? This universe?
A wise man, once said
“If heaven is where,
“Nice” folks like you go,
Then its surely hell
That I’d rather know”
Here is the freedom!
Here are the cool kids!
Why starve in the light,
When in the dark there’s
Every delight and
Every single thing
Enjoyed throughout life?
Feb 24, 2011
Feb 24, 2011 at 1:53 PM UTC
I'm a hung dumpster! Alcohol flask bucket
Sacked into the trash can of grocery store monopoly the end of all produce and of production
Collapse
Coronary killer vegetables
Rotting in the stomach
Begotten sons of Aspergers eating asparagus
the symptoms of collectivism and social surplus. colliding and,
The end of evolve.
The cities you see are the collecting cells pooling to cesspit trudging on tracheing breath.
Collapsing lungs with no space left
The cornucopia is over. It fell down with its mortar and grout lain to crust into soil. Traipsed through toil torture and insolence.
The Crimea fell next comes bombs next comes Obamba. Capitulation with motor skills
Feigning docility and anti-hostility mortar round bills.
Mountains from Jerusalem cricket ant hills
I am your friend though we owe the same blood
I am no different yet I give nothing up
I claim all the land just as you do
You take and you take and I lose and lose
Corruption and solitude
Killing people only gets you less friends
We are mirror yet very mad at it
.
My time will be up only but once.
This is the one time I'm not scared of death
But the glimmer in her eyes laughs me through it.
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 12:09 AM UTC
Golden crown
Dancing gowns
Swirling dresses
Are shimmering
Orchestra makes the sound
Watch the glass ball glimmering
Angels on the plastered wall
Painted in your preference
Perfect people prancing perfectly
While the poor are starving
Ruling class
Never lasts
Ages will not remember them
Years to come
What they run from
Is the truth
Monarchy
Stupidity
Docility of the masses
Enslave the brave
Make them kiss the brasses
Big fat *****
In the military
And brainwash all of the children
Wealthy woman
Gleaming gems
Exist in popular circles
Hasn’t changed much since then
But in the end
The money made monarchy
Will get what it deserves
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 8:27 AM UTC
Aligning every thought, you not coming across leaving me the most impatient.
I may be someone to you.
**** the though, linger on dear.
Silky shadows of you rest in my soul.
Aware of my every thought, you smile.
My unimaginable, inconsiderable, unpreventable state of mind may look at you.
Come on in and gently place your flowers on the ground.
With your unobtainable feeling, ideas wisp out.
The delicacy of this proven fact is unknown
Someday I may miss you.
Come and collect every whispering thought of this world.
As your docility frolics throughout my bones, you know exactly what to do.
You came over, oddly real. And from then on turned into something beautiful.
My sensitivity collapses.
Align everything in a lovely way.
Sep 25, 2011
Sep 25, 2011 at 5:16 PM UTC
I sat down in these fields of vanilla orchids, waiting for the sun to set, turning them to a shade of yellow
Among the shadows of their leaves, I saw your face along the congregations
I saw the radiant beauty of your smile in the colors, the exuberant joy in the dancing of the wind
Your presence was among the serenity, a guardian joy grasping my hand, as I reached to touch the clouds with my fingertips
Your canvas was among the docility of these orchids, how gorgeous and wonderful you are truly
A magnificent creature painted among these fields of vanilla, how sweet and illumnating you are in my soul
When I laid my head to the evening earth, you warmth lay as a blanket around me
I held in reaction, knowing you are love in my bones, and joy in my eyes
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 5:27 PM UTC
Victors
Stormy weather she was the sensitive indication that as the storm unleashed its fury
She became its central sensation her hair was wildly tossed in every direction but her eyes steady
Unmovable told more than that which was easily taken to unruly lengths the lids closed slightly but
The piercing searching the gaze that probed chaos to find the peace that was hidden was intriguing
It was mystery without a plot it was the taking of command of a supreme force and though it was
Raging in seemingly uncontrolled manners it was dissolved by human will to docility what beauty
Was derived from the ghastly dangers that it possessed a lowly unexpected rival that through pure
Nerve and sense of justice rose in defiance a fabled quest told in many ways the small challenges the
Great what victory is bought from peace yes sweetness its attribute but to win in life stir the warrior
Spirit go out into hell’s black smoke walk about freely see and listen to the demons scream
Turn your heart and face of virtue walk toward them they will fall away like shadows in the presence
Of a great light we are not gods of Olympus but sons and daughters of the one true God his royal blood
Courses through our veins the most despicable and offensive blight effects all sin test us all it quickly
Has our secret weakness identified and to proceed in our selves is utter foolishness but be as the
Heroine in this piece when they look they will quickly see their mistake they have tread on human
Ground that inwardly has a spiritual dynamism there is no fragility or bowing but power exudes from
Every pore we are and should be disgusted with always being a victim wake up the enemy is the victim
He lost everything he ever possessed his future is a lake of fire nothing is to be done in foolish boasting
But by honest knowledge of our birthright let’s go to battle first as Christians then as free and blessed
Americans!
Jan 26, 2012
Jan 26, 2012 at 2:01 AM UTC
Passive-aggressive men
and women
poorly impersonate docility
while suppressing frustration and
resentment, annoyance
with each other for whatever
inconsequential reason.
You are even annoyed with me,
almost certainly
without good reason,
but you bear a reluctant smile.
Hiding your motives in the hopes
that I will unknowingly
submit to your will.
I was once just as guilty as you,
for I may have given you my
sweet, well-rehearsed smile
while I was actually
thinking of
digging your grave for you.
But now I will speak candidly.
Do not judge me
for I am merely speaking my mind.
Or rather, judge me if you wish,
it matters not to me;
I don’t give a ****
And do not mistake my grimace
at your counterfeit smile
for anger
or condescension
or contempt.
I merely tire of your antics.
Mar 7, 2011
Mar 7, 2011 at 2:51 PM UTC
On tv it looks so copper clean
Ringing in naked dreams
Living out those picket fence schemes
To get the American bling
Morality is black and white
There are no heroic black knights
The good guys are just
And they just wear white hats
But life is painful
Like a cancer vampire
******* your life force
Pale skin quivering
Dark bags under your eyes
No hair there because of the chemo
Despair and denial on ivy drips
And reality tv made us ill equipped
To handle it
Sometime I wish the tears would stop
That the empathy would vanish from me
That I couldn’t see what I see
See what this reality has made of me
History is white sheets
Red arm bands, fat ********
Uninformed Loud mouths
A canvass that drips wet with my outrage
I sip the last drops of my stimulants
Drop the anti-depressants in the toilet
Forget my docility
Embrace more than half of my hostility
I don’t think much will change
Despite how hard I clamor
Despite the sparkles and the glamour
How I use the language to entertain and inform
This is therapy
In the form of Poetry
Feb 16, 2017
Feb 16, 2017 at 7:07 PM UTC
There’s more than one reason I’m not attempting to make myself coherent; I don’t know if I can. Could you?
Don’t answer that, you don’t know.
I’ve made too many concessions to your docility, your placid ignorance.
This isn’t entertainment. I’m really dying.
When the last fiery ember has burnt out, express your sorrow for the man, and make sure you stop at the lobby on the way out.
The credits roll, my name upon the dark screen.
Enjoy your evening.
May 6, 2012
May 6, 2012 at 5:18 PM UTC
My ****** heart runs deep
Pulsating rivers in my veins
that once nourished me before you came
and soaked up every drop
with nothing left to reap
while the flak of your memory still remains.
The day we met,
Temperate winds cradled leaves fresh from their vines,
unseasoned by nature’s trials.
Today,
they lie crumbled among debris
broken wilted pieces in scattered piles.
Carefree days that had no price
Oh how you yearned to woe me
Companion nights; they did suffice
Until troubled longing riled the sea
Did you sense the suspense?
Naked under the burrow
Of sullen sheets enveloped in scents,
stale and past
You: my daring knight of chivalry
Whose promise did not last
and so the wind said unto thee,
“set me free.”
Morning tastes dewy tears trickling into memories we hoped to never speak again
Shifting through the seasons
the beginning of the end
I willed my seeds to grow through the disdained soil they’ve rooted in.
Leaving them grimy rot staked in solace
Feelings left dead sprout a calm that quickly frames trust
What purpose serves a creation left abandoned in the dust?
Hear it. Speak it. See it as it comes.
In dreams they lay tiles under trodden feet.
Steps that cannot be taken up again
and so commends your defeat.
One day, in autumn or is it spring?
The anxious blossoms danced away in the wind.
You swept them up with swinging arms
Urging every pedal to descend
From weeping barren trees foiled from your charm
Words back then took form in a man
Working a path inside a woman’s heart
Mapping her wishes into works of art
Now lie down upon this mold
of every simple broken thing you ever tried to fix
It isn’t worth the truth you sold
To quell your nature with docility that shields arrogance with bricks.
When you returned sullied by days of wandering
Through decay and rotten secrets
I laid my head to rest in the crook of your neck
Sheltered by my need, unseen by your gaze
This moment of clarity, I locked inside my ****** heart
where it will rot and die through the passing days.
Jan 16, 2011
Jan 16, 2011 at 6:21 PM UTC
The winter of our discontent
Became the spring of fury
Only to end in the summer of docility
Because limits are bumped into
As easily as frustrations are forgotten
And as soon as the momentum has gone
The passive majority will claim to have won
The discontentment keeps on lingering
Against the background of potential change
But the status quo knows how to appease
And puts the revolution back at ease
The winter of our discontent
Held the promise of history
But ended, once more, in tame passivity
Sep 7, 2016
Sep 7, 2016 at 5:06 AM UTC
Sedation
The only docility I know
A fire fueled by memories
Ascends from below
Impossible at most times not to show
Mangled
Self description at its best
The weight of mjolnir is firm on my chest
A punishment of the mind cursed to never rest
A crippled crow confined to its nest
Self pity
The most disgusting trait of all
Oh, but how much sweeter when you finally fall
Enthralled in a thro that ended at a wall,
A ceiling, a room, enclosed on all sides
Panic sets in human self has died
Animal
I never viewed it the same again
Aging, remembering pain within
Enhancing a view point that wont give in
I hate it all now. The earth, these people, this body I live in
Jun 23, 2016
Jun 23, 2016 at 1:29 PM UTC
Bottles without their seals or caps - just sitting there,
little foil packets torn open in despair
empty of their contents to make me feel less blue,
leaving nothing in the bottom but white residue.
A pile of poison o' so sweet in a capsule form bundle,
travels down the claustrophobic and murky tunnel,
and sits within the pit of my stomach with it all
drowning in a stream composed of ethanol.
Euphoria sweeps through my veins,
I dance; a ballerina at 4am,
making the very most of my ability
knowing I'll soon breathe my last with docility.
Jan 13, 2016
Jan 13, 2016 at 6:51 AM UTC
We search seas for rough
cleansing, but
some times, some new
some old,
we search for her to lap away
the warmth in our sun-born flesh,
to ease away the white-hot-heat and frenzy,
till her cold wet fatigue may kiss us full
of calm, of passivity, of loftiness, of sea-foam docility
and to chill our temperment some.
Sip her blessings, child,
but I warn you, her cup overfloweth
and in your wanting,
your pining doubt,
an open mouth spells a ominous quiet,
and a hushed sigh of grief--
for the sea mourns your passing--
or rather, the passing of the warmth
she grasped too quickly at
when your heavy head dipped too low
too weakly, and bright eyes closed cold
and meekly.
Mar 15, 2018
Mar 15, 2018 at 5:30 PM UTC
The Dragon
..
She comes
Embodied by the black girl
With the Red Rosé tattoo
On naked Breast
----
With invincible Fury
---
With UNERRING
Glance
..
Sees the Violence
Within our
Docility
---
--
--
The unicorn
..
Gentle and healing
____
Hates to see the dragon
But she yields
To her justice and its
Necessity
----
We
(The human)
..
Spectators in our own reality
---
Without a clue
(To the who
Why or
How)
----
--
The Red Dragon
Moves amongst us
...
With Fiery Step
--
The unicorn
Watches
With compassion
........
And yet
--
Does nothing
To stop
The Death
----
The moral of the story?
..
Plain to see
----
We must take sides or
We simply die
Eventually
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 2:45 PM UTC
Tears weren't enough of a release for me.
They told me to cry, to get it out,
that it would heal me, but it only worsened
the state of melancholy I had found myself
to be drowning in.
A state that I had thought I wouldn't reach
once more, but that revelation had
soon shifted into a paradoxical
entity of truth.
Tears were simply an expression of
what I couldn't hold back.
They were droplets of guilt,
embarrassment, and inadequacy.
They were my tears, and I had felt
them trickle down my reddened and
sensitive flesh; they felt like home.
They were my physical rationale
for pain; a liquid that only
made an appearance when I
was weak enough to let it fall.
Pain was normal, but not this type of pain.
This pain was desolation.
It was alienation.
It was abandonment.
It was forlorn.
It was tenebrous,
and it was mine to bare.
It was on full display just as the
crucifixion of my emotions were.
The nails tore into the soft
rivets of my trust,
the wood planked against
my frame of my affection,
and the crown of thorns twisted
and entrapped my head of
kindness and docility.
Mar 2, 2018
Mar 2, 2018 at 7:24 PM UTC
I've hit that wall, I've lost my stride. I cannot breath, ive lost my mind. My heart starts to hurt, and my pulse starts to race. My mind draws a blank, i turn red in the face. I close my eyes, but you're still there, not the image of you, but what we couldn't share. I hit the wall, and slam my fists, the pain keeps me focused, i can't feel my wrists. You've denied me my right, a right to normal life. You think you've done nothing, but you know not of my strife. My insatiable thirst, that cannot be quenched. You've caused me great pain, and you don't have the sense. The common sense to see what you've done, you're too caught up with life, but you know not of the knife. That sits in my back and digs deeper everyday, it causes me pain in so many different ways. You've done this to me, and i can never be fine. I can show you the scars, but you're too dumb to sympathize. So i sit here in pain, shaking from rage. Not wanting this poem to end, for fear of my home page. My home page is a reminder, of where I have failed. It's a reminder of my sickness, and the scars of the nails. The nails of your beliefs that were drilled into me, that haunt me to this day, and will not leave me be. For it was these beliefs that caused me great pain, that could not let me continue and have maid me insane. It is because of your docility that i could not advance, with me you never did take one single chance. You were always just there, never wanting anything more, always happy with me always opening that door. Until the day that i closed that door. You never took any risks, i couldn't take it anymore. i was sick of giving it all, and getting nothing in return. I was sick of always taking that step, and never getting a turn. But I was the one hurt in the end, stuck with my life broken, and unable to mend. Not because you left....No, thats not why at all. Broken because forever i will fall, into this never ending cycle of being the nice guy. Never acting out or letting my emotions fly. So thank you so much, for making me this way. But with this thank you, i have one more thing to say. **** You i say, with my emotions set free. Im done faking a smile, its time that you see. You should see all these scars, and this sickness that plagues me. It's the price that i pay, for being the guy. One helping of insanity, with mental problems on the side. So how about this, to make everything fair. When you get a white envelope, with a large bill in there. Take a look at it, it will most likely be from me, along with the money i owe from my insanity. So just take care of my therapy and we'll call this fair. And hopefully someday your face will be something i can bare.
Feb 19, 2012
Feb 19, 2012 at 10:48 PM UTC
chalk outline of something shattered
left to be displayed to an ever-growing population
mangled and ****** from your passing
and wiped clean by strange hands
that do not possess your docility
but you walk away, slowly into oblivion
unashamed of your takings
for what you stole was never desired
a harrowing **** in the full flourish of your garden
plucked from its roots and put to shame
but as it slowly wilted beneath the severity of the sun
a traveler came upon it and took shame in its torment
and planted it in an open field
free to bloom without an enclosure
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 3:05 AM UTC
I keep trying to trying to write,
but the words keep running off into
the night.
While I collapse into docility.
It's as if me and creativity have
gone through a divorce.
I guess I must have thought
with a little too much force.
Maybe if I get a late night snack,
the word's will come running
back to take a bite.
while I burst into verbosity.
Sep 30, 2016
Sep 30, 2016 at 11:41 PM UTC
I am happy that she freed herself,
But disappointed with her as well.
'Cause I had limited her she feels,
While she was her own delimiter.
I am happy that I had my fidelity,
But hurt with her eternal docility.
'Cause she was so docile overall,
While having such a crude ear.
I am happy that I am not with her,
But sad that I am very lonely now.
'Cause she was so close to my heart,
While keeping me close to her own.
I am happy that I did love her a lot,
But weeping that it is, after all, past.
Apr 13, 2017
Apr 13, 2017 at 2:07 AM UTC
On tv it looks so copper clean
Ringing in naked dreams
Living out those picket fence schemes
To get the American bling
Morality is black and white
There are no heroic black knights
The good guys are just
And they just wear white hats
But life is painful
Like a cancer vampire
******* your life force
Pale skin quivering
Dark bags under your eyes
No hair there because of the chemo
Despair and denial on ivy drips
And reality tv made us ill equipped
To handle it
Sometime I wish the tears would stop
That the empathy would vanish from me
That I couldn’t see what I see
See what this reality has made of me
History is white sheets
Red arm bands, fat ********
Uninformed Loud mouths
A canvass that drips wet with my outrage
I sip the last drops of my stimulants
Drop the anti-depressants in the toilet
Forget my docility
Embrace more than half of my hostility
I don’t think much will change
Despite how hard I clamor
Despite the sparkles and the glamour
How I use the language to entertain and inform
This is just therapy
In the form of Poetry
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 8:42 AM UTC
And the sorrowful tears of lose and death
Is a record of our true evil, the darkness we indulge in every day
We liken ourselves to the angels of a desert text, but we are nothing more than animals without impulse
We are simply chemicals of hedonism, and we are blissfully drugged by our own egostistical denial
There is a darkness that permeates through our humanity, and those that try to hide it, enable it even more
There is light in this world, these are not the words of a cynic, only the words of someone tired of hate
There is no true recourse for the evil deeds done in this life
We have conditioned ourselves to block out the dark
And only show that there is light
And while that may help you in your self
It desecrates the pain that is given to those
That are vicitms of this terrible darkness
Our ribcages are sown shut to the truth
Our hearts only beat to the drums of our pleasure
I am no different than what I say, I am me
My exhaustion has reached a peak though, and I can’t seem to stomach much anymore
Another bible must be written
Not one of stories and metaphors
No judgment of hell, or a fear of total control, from something above
But of love for one another, for the light that is in our souls
Of the waters that give us life, were we may all bathe our hearts in community and docility
We are of the same cloth, we are only separated by opinion and hate
This is an action we must undertake if we want to survive
No more of the desert stories, no more of our dark indulgences
We must look to a brighter future, we must make it a brighter future
We must create our path not with bone and blood, but of grass and orchids
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 11:42 PM UTC