"dormitories" poems
i see her empty heart
stand against the sky
and hear angels weeping
like sounds of beasts in terror
long-limbed beasts upon thrones of fear
in dormitories of white brides and crucifixes
daughters of cimmerian gloom
whose eyes are fallen night
vailed portraits of desire
like endless winter sky
and her naked breast sweetens
his mouth
in a shivering mist
as he falls upon her
like starving flames
Jul 3, 2018
Jul 3, 2018 at 1:49 PM UTC
The machinesed drones droning ozones
made of homogenised genes by replicants
from clinical doctrines and empirical indulgences
Soulless and efficient, bred for duties destructives
Capitalist fodder, programmed ready for earth's ****
Regulate as required, inputted subs with pigs hearts
Made followers with voracious appetite for blood
mechanised barbarians on leash with one track mix
Human shire horses in designer shods and faulty gauges
Manufactured manufacturers limited and corollated
Factories, dormitories partnered with like, watered
and bedded till tomorrow, audiod to the Sterling whip
Given ample ales, keep blinded and chained
Distract and cater to baser instincts, *** *** ***
Free 'love' free *** valueless values, what values
Enjoy kids must return to work desk seven on the dot
Time is money, clogs and production
waits for no man, do or your pleasures denied
Money, money money, honey for bees, honey for drones
Soulless, dehumanised, pale, aged at thirty, heart attacks next
Vacuous ghost programmed dunces
Malfunctioning entities devoid of humanity
Superficial plasticated robots, destruction default
Industrial pieces with industrial minds
Chemicalized drunks with wired brains
They roam around screaming freedom and power!
Dec 7, 2018
Dec 7, 2018 at 8:28 PM UTC
You are ***
I remember you in hotel rooms,
You are ***
I remember you in redone garages,
A mother talking in her sleep
While lips and other things touch under covers
You are ***
I remember you after going out to get a drink from the garage
His back pressed against the old car
My knees on the ***** concrete.
You are ***
I remember you in dormitories
Being quiet because of paper thin walls
and awkward moments with unexpected roommates.
You are ***
I remember you in cars
Mine at 4 in the morning,
Every seat violated.
His car in the backseat
In the parking lot,
Public, but while snow fell down
First ****** in a car,
first ****** while looking at something so picturesque,
First from kisses down under,
You are ***
You are *** in the shower
You are *** in the morning
You are *** loud and hard
You are *** sensual and slow and quiet
You are *** yet to be had
You are *** in parts of me that should never be touched,
You are hot and sticky
Anywhere I want you
On my ******* or in my mouth
You are ***
And I want you.
Nov 9, 2010
Nov 9, 2010 at 7:24 PM UTC
Dimlitten streets at Saturday evening,
you know — hillarious couples around. We'll spend
remainings at your dormitories room?
Oct 14, 2024
Oct 14, 2024 at 10:13 AM UTC
Those aged between 10-16, trade in your toy soldiers
for real guns at Barrack No 33 along
mocambo rd. Come alone. Parents not invited.
Be well fed, watered, trained and tempered
in steel resolve to waste the enemy.
Uniforms supplied, washed once a year.
Make your playmates olive green with envy.
Sleep in air conditioned dormitories
roofless, and watch the stars glide in and out
of a universe you do not know.
Learn to **** ****** loot and march
in pincer formations up and down mountains
and rest near bubbling brooks and silver coloured leaves
in the jungles of dissent. Eat from tin can plates
and smoke delicious kat leaves to rev up your libido.
What are you doing playing with plastic toys?
we can give you real ones, real bombs, guns
serrated daggers,poison pellets, misty eyed maidens,
order your disorder.
(and bald heads for target practice)
Come my children,
learn the art of war
for the good of your country.
Sign up today
the commander will even shake your hand.
Become a real soldier.
Come in today. Come.
Author Notes
The rag tag mercenaries are resourcing real soldiers from the ranks. Sign u today. Learn the art of war. All recruits must be between 10-16 years only.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 6:49 PM UTC
Spoiled. Quite unlike your usual
Presence in a room, tonight you
Carry with you an immense weight.
Dragging along your creme draping,
You stroll up to the window and look
Out. God bless your beauty.
In divinity, it is thought that there will
Be a reckoning. I hope that they use
Your judgement. What do you see?
The waves roll in, crushing the grains
Of sand beneath its own immense weight.
You’ve been spoiled. Your whole life
Has been closeted to the comeliness of
The coast. Dreaming of simmering
Love affairs and social meetings in
Coffee shops on the tumultuous avenues of
New York City. You turn and begin to walk
Towards the roaring fireplace.
I’ve heard that you covet bedlam.
Some find the eroticism of chaos to be
Unnerving. Irritable, even.
Your guilt draws you downward,
And by the time you reach the
Mantel, you are crawling.
Your sobs echo through waxed halls,
And quiet dormitories.
You toss your weight into the flames
That lick up all of the love letters and
Empty plea bargains that have paraded
Around your thoughts for so long.
In divinity, they may refer to you as
An infidel. Someone whose faith has been
Spoiled. But I think “martyr” is more suiting.
You sacrificed yourself for more sins than your own,
Your weight was not yours to carry.
But only God and I know that, so here’s to you: The Infidel.
Jan 23, 2017
Jan 23, 2017 at 6:28 PM UTC
We don't have time to live,to die or even give living a try,so what's it all about and why or what are we here for anyway?
In the year dot when God had a soft spot for Adam and Eve who didn't believe in anything at all and before Eve's fall from grace,there was a place to be in harmony and not some grotty dump like today where we pump our misery,carried away by tanker truck and no one seems to give a,
hard luck story's ten a penny.
Where are you Maud?
we came into the garden at three and now it's time for afternoon tea,has it come to pass that you'll be found in the long grass with some son of a gun?
'come into the parlour' said the fly,I don't know why because fly's don't talk and neither do I.
I walk through dormitories thinking long bed rows of stories and sleep in paper boats which float me on high seas,high teas,no Maud.
Which all amounts to diddly squat,slightly more than what I've got and what I've seen,
but I have been to London and I have seen the Queen who stole the tarts,while Jack was busy stealing young girls hearts,
and all my life is one cartoon,one dimension,oh but soon, there are inventive men who'll wrap me round a reel again and off I'll go.
A push and pull me,random figure on a top,spinning circles into carpets 'til I stop and pop goes one more weasel,
written on the board in chalk which in turn is stood upon the,Lord have mercy,save me from this nourishment,
Maud lent me her key,where is Maud? it's time for tea.
The men in coats come down for me,they're as nice as nice as nice men can be and work in the infirmary attached to the asylum.
I'll be back.
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 6:49 AM UTC
I am a passenger on a train that leads nowhere and everywhere
When I get to the station, step onto the platform
Welcome me into your open arms, lift my baggage from my shoulders, hold my hand and lead me into the heart of my new city
Introduce me to your history acquaint me with every street sign and alley
Tell me your deepest darkest secrets and I will show you mine
Lead me up the hill let me marvel at the artistry the architecture
Skate me down the canal in frosty weather
Educate me on the politics of my nation
The capitol of my country rests in the capitol of my fantasy
Breathe into me your spirit, great city
You Ottawa, house me in the dormitories of uOttawa
Instruisez-moi dans mes études français
Insegna mi in italiano
Wrap me in a cocoon of knowledge
Acknowledge when I need a break
Feed me a life of colour as vibrant as the red of our flag
Fill me with vivacity, make me a proud resident great city
Take me into your loving arms kiss me under the light of 1000 programs
That you have to offer
I will accept your offer
Thank you for the scholarship
Your generosity with scholarships
Welcome me aboard your ship and I will be a tenacious crew men
Surround me with men and women to guide and inspire
Inspire me to become the person that I am destined to be
and let me make a home in you Ottawa
Oct 6, 2016
Oct 6, 2016 at 11:20 AM UTC
Wearing regret like my Sunday's best
My eyes are smiling a sad song
Weighing heavily on my chest
Crying crystal memories, so long
My dear, your sweet kiss, neglected
You're gone now, laying in a casket
Looking within, there is nothing reflected
I'm drowning myself, trying to mask it.
Missing you and our reading minds
The dormitories rainbow swirls and laughing
Walking and walking weightless and it reminds
Me of our wispy white choreographing
Our souls entwined
And now there's a part of me
Swift and free on the other side
Speaking, whispering through cups of coffee
I'm trying not to contemplate suicide
So you and I can reconvene
Remembering, though, I'm a part of you
On this side, living, white clouds and grass green
Breeching all realms, I'm there, and you're here, too.
Bones in a box, empty of yourself
I don't want to think about it anymore
Shutting pages, back onto the bookshelf
A tale for posterity, it's folklore
Wearing regret like my Sunday's best
Sad songs ringing, deafening, I'm praying
Paralyzed in bed, ghost treading on my chest
Trying to escape this place, but staying
Jul 19, 2016
Jul 19, 2016 at 12:55 PM UTC
He takes his last breath
for the night. The music
from exhaust engines
tire themselves out. Inside,
petty advisors punch their
timesheets, setting aside
solicitations for flowcharts
and returning to their ever
shrinking dormitories.
Good. Now we can begin,
the sugarplums declare.
(or are they centrefolds?)
It begins and ends like
every other cycle, not
that consistency matters
at all. Swivel, sway and
trot, or so is often thought.
Troops of the troupe
clean up nicely without
noise, nor is assembly
required. Soon enough,
the stage is ready.
A very handsome entity
(perhaps) pirouettes. No
matter if the platform
dissolves, for the performer
had rehearsed it between
routines. Now how about
the audience? Has the lone
ticket been sold? And the
theatre, well-unlit?
Yes. The prelude—or truth
be told—distraction bows
itself out. Stagehands,
raise them curtains up!
Eyes have no interest
in foreplay. What is in
play—skydiving?
Wakeboarding? Nudes
to the beholder?
—can only be
temporary. No actor
overstays their place.
Always, an unannounced
but not unexplainable
cameo, a kindred
spirit seeking presence
in the now, only serves
a sense of urgency,
of misplaced longing.
And then,
you wake up.
May 13, 2018
May 13, 2018 at 6:49 AM UTC
Charity found in clarified thought.
Harlequins in dormitories quickly sought.
Indiscretions come with ease.
Liberated by a youthful ******
Dilation found in most pupils.
Birthed in the hell of forgotten scruples.
Irate over nature's gift.
Renounced parentage moves in swift.
Theologians they're not to be.
Heathens, they are, as it's clear to see.
Insurrection from a parents hope.
Secured through the first ****
Nodding off to dreams of bliss.
Organized by pots of ****
Tempting fate with a play on chance.
A child's born through horizontal dance.
Vindication came during a failure at grace.
A look of contempt etched across a father's face.
Composure slipped through the cracks.
Adolescents and their empty sacks.
Tying nots in a diluted fashion.
Insulating them from drifting passion.
On and off they float along.
Nullified in the end by unwanted spawn.
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 1:17 PM UTC
He continues the journey without you,
just being he finds no use in being.
I'm sure Nietzsche could teach me to progress,
but Freud has a line on me, a lien for me to see
him.
They tell me business is booming
in a backroom in Bermondsey
I go South and then I am sure
that
the rich do get richer and the poor
just so.
Mean streets make erstwhile friends
and
where ends become commonplace
chalked outlines
a tear filled face
friends are all that we need.
And of course mad Rasputin
was the one who put the
boot in,
but then
we always knew that he would.
bring back biology
*** in the dormitories
frogs to dissect
and learn all about babies.
( those four lines come courtesy
of a secondary modern
in a Victorian building
with delusions of grandeur)
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 3:54 PM UTC
She came home
Still in her school outfits
She hugged me tight
With tears rolling down her eyes
She was filled with fright
'it happened so fast,
' This is all i have'
She mumbled as she cried
Apparently there had been a strike
Students burnt down the dormitories
And refused to attend class
The teachers to afraid
Were out of sight
The police had to intervene
Causing a clash
With rubber bullets, mallets
And tear gas
The police squashed and beat
The students hard
With stones, sticks and any tangible object that could be held
The students retaliated
Just to **** off the armed blue men
Thumping of boots
Shouting and screams
Bullets fling
There was circus in school
The students were sent home
Suppressed without giving
Them a chance to talk
A conflict resolved
With no interest in the
Root cause
Two nights are long
Another school catches
Fire
The dormitories are down
Then you'll here them ask
Where have we gone wrong?
Akwana Wa Odera
@the_real_akwana
© 2018
Jan 8, 2019
Jan 8, 2019 at 8:41 AM UTC
I find myself missing the feeling of going to war, constant conflict, broken bottles and 18 hours missing time, counting down from 10 towards blackout, the feeling that any moment we will receive the call to arms we've been expecting and take to the streets with righteous anger, we are the only nightlife we've ever known, barely recognizable through the residue on our lips and the collection of small plastic bags on the kitchen table, whose edges have been burned closed so many times they have become numb to their own purpose, I pick what I want to hear from the consuming noise, I am talking to those guys from down the block about anarchy for the hundredth time, they still aren't convinced and neither am I, I am the holy burnout, I weave mythology into my skin and hope it sticks, I am naked and coming down in the living room, I am burning down the alleyways, I am screaming EVERYBODY WAKE UP at apartment complexes and dormitories, I am something on the radio, singing harmonies to my arrogance, I am cocky and I am young and I am pretty and I am angry, I am double nickels on the dime with two middle fingers raised when the cops drive by, I am failing to realize what is happening here, I am unconscious, I beg and I steal and I **** and fight and pass out around the time the sun rises, my neuroses tell me don't look back you can never look back, and then it hits, all at once, full collapse, illusion shattered, I am watching my brothers watch my tail lights disappear from the porch in my rear view mirror, I never considered that I could be a coward, I'd just never been tested, back to the crumbling house, shoulder to the wheel, straight on through the night, following stars I used to know the names of, I pull in the driveway, I tell myself under my breath, don't look back you can never look back
Jun 28, 2016
Jun 28, 2016 at 3:14 AM UTC
His will, with all obedient mansions, unluckiest delights,
And heaven-illumined cares, its trembling woodbine-wreaths,
A concourse gloriously to swan, but knowingly to obey,
Is as a mused pasture, whose forbid
Brimstone dormitories, through clarions that dare awfully overwhelm,
Forcing victory! The's saddest distinctions
Feb 3, 2019
Feb 3, 2019 at 7:36 AM UTC
As the night nurse
let me into the ward
the noise hit me
like something
from Hell.
He closed the door
behind me
and I wandered
further into the ward.
A group
of the mentally insane
surrounded me
wanting to shake my hand
to touch me
yelling various greetings
as I walk past them
to the nurse's office.
The male nurse
gruffly told them
to shove off
and they disbursed
out of sight.
Got to keep them
in order
he said
gathering his things.
As long as you
are here I can go
he said.
He left and the door
shut behind him.
One by one
the patients came
to the door and stared
and smiled
or grinned weirdly.
I spoke to them
and walked around the ward
one or two followed me
down the passageway
as I walked past dormitories
with unmade beds
and the smell of *****
and bodies.
One of the patients
touched my sleeve
nervously.
We make the beds
he said
me and Gough.
He followed me
back to the ward
muttering news
of this and that
and in his eyes
saw emptiness
and vacant spaces
and sighed seeing
that in many
of their faces.
Sep 4, 2018
Sep 4, 2018 at 5:56 PM UTC
***pregnant with meaning again
we are feeling
coming from the void
i am clearly one sun-dried bumpkin
for nothing is all I’ve ever really loved
pumpkins stuttering
making music through galaxies of vines and tomatoes
orchards entwine stables
the wild is alive and capable of reviving itself
within each human heart chaos echoes
beckons us to trust the tunnels that are dark
sunglasses can no longer
protect the eyes from the sparks
mustaches embark on sandwiches that leave marks
on upper lips and beards
steer clear of fear unless you want to be devoured like ham on rye
sun tanned alibis deny reminders of our impermanence
long legs and a nice *** still I am cashed out
return to drowning in hungry mounds of butter
gluttony everywhere
i surrender to the air and space
to face these mistakes I’ve made
and forgive the entire human race
i cannot escape my self
or my mind
i cannot erase these pages
no matter how blind i am
stammering cramming words into space
like place holders
folders from high school
it's futile to misuse our power
like principals without principles
our honor roll students are drooling
cooling off in their dormitories
then storming the capitol of capitals
prom dates sleep late and awake naked***
Oct 24, 2017
Oct 24, 2017 at 3:02 PM UTC