"dossier" poems
If you're the blanket then I'm the stitches,
If you're the needle then I'm the mittens,
If you're the water then I'm the kettle
And if you're the rash then I'm the nettle.
If I'm the icing on the cake
Then you're the blow, the burn, the break.
If I'm the claws of a neighbour's cat
Then you're the nose of each dead rat.
If I'm the clock on the microwave
Then you're the cancer and the grave
And if I'm a schemer's dossier
Then you're the board on which he plays.
If you're the hair pulled at hysterically
Then I'm the teacher steeped in austerity.
If you're the cuff that's come unrolled
Then I'm the base camp unpatrolled.
If you're the tea leaves left behind
Then I'm the fortune undivined
And if you're the reason I'm capricious
Then I'm the reason you're pernicious.
If I'm the strap, love, you're the sandal,
And if I'm the drugs then you're the scandal.
If you're goodbye, love, I'm the foyer,
And if I am "je" then you're "tutoyer".
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 2:50 PM UTC
What has become of my lost brothers?
Trimmareus, the insane voice of the sensual pig,
who fled from his blue mural
to the land of jazz and muffaletas
only to discover the senselessness of clothes...
Peter, the pine tree apostle,
who paved the way to indifference
on a needle point, silently
prophesying the burning of Atlanta (in Atlanta)...
Time Crisis, the first disciple of
the salt or pepper Antichrist,
who physically assaulted his mind
in an attempt to defy gravity,
finally settling for three
squares and a cot...
Amante, the disturbed and uprooted lover,
who, by some accounts, fancied
urinating in the face of his
keepers.
All of these brothers have fallen,
cherub wings or no, and the
meek are left behind in
quiet speculation of our vain attempts
to ***** out these small campfires
of insurrection.
We have taken the low road,
carrying our hearts in wicker baskets
and our monkeys on our backs,
spitting and cursing about
time love money *** school work
life the safety bar money ***
violence apathy love and time
when we discover we do not have
the ones we feel we need.
(do you want peace?)
We cried over the death of the apostle
knowing he had martyred himself
for no particular reason, and
after vilifying his role and path,
attempted to follow his lead
into the night regardless
(I make peace.)
We vomited on the lover's dossier
in response to repeated professions
of innocence and conspiracy
at the hands of the merciless
system (created by sensuous hands).
The outsiders can see the dragon,
rising out of the depths
and whispering our demise like
sweet nothings in the ears of the
desperate hopeful;
(Come and be free in my sunshine.)
the beckoning of the crashing surf
and the beauty of the half sun
radiating and filtering our
reservations into happiness at the
acts we commit in its name
(Sacrifice to me your children's tongues and hearts,
send them away bleeding and crying.)
We are the pure of heart in
this sick land of Golgotha,
where the rain is only the urination
of our higher powers, the
soap we cleanse our souls with
and witness to others so
that they too can enjoy
this ancient bliss.
(Visit my website and see...)
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 9:30 PM UTC
5a.m. for the fourth day in a row
ruby red filigree in my eyes glows
sleepless fissures reflect in the window glass
and
I ride this train again
and I
still feel
nothing
6p.m. for the fifth night in a row
snuffer of light continues on his show
sleepless pursuit demands another dosage
and
I ride this train again
Focused
I feel
Nothing
12 o'clock noon for the tenth day in hand
lunchtime finds me at an old street side stand
hypnotized, eating, still entranced by a man
and
I scan his dossier
and I
still feel
nothing
2a.m. neon tracers over dance
undulating bodies keep up to task
sleeplessly bound for fate encounters of chance
So
I stand in rain again
Lonely
I feel
Hopeless
Would waking correct me
I'd kneel down, delighted!
Fall softly to sleep
under these streetlights.
Would my call permit me
I'd retreat in belief
that all will be well!
Under these blinking white streetlights,
under the cosmos
but my work commits me
to wakeful burden, to half-light alley-
ways in Hell
Nov 30, 2013
Nov 30, 2013 at 11:32 PM UTC
Fittingly meticulous, finicky
Precisely mitigating routine
Tracing excessively
Over cornered mezzanine
Stray penciled lines
Candidly contrived
Archaic dossier
Balanced centers
Unavoidably erase
Guiltily lost the way
Confused compass oscillates
Irregularly unanticipated
Perpetually transitory
Tender heart insecurity
Ego sensitivities in vain glory
Sacrificed arrogance dignity
On the day of defeat
Jul 11, 2012
Jul 11, 2012 at 4:29 AM UTC
Trump is upset about what he calls
Fake news being spread--
News which has the soon-to-be
President seeing red.
An unverified dossier
Claims that Russia has power over him.
Fake news or not, it still appears
That Trump's memory is growing dim.
For years he peddled a birther myth!
So, Mr. Trump, please let us put
A question to you: How does it feel
To have the shoe on the other foot?
- by Bob B (1-11-17)
Jan 11, 2017
Jan 11, 2017 at 6:11 PM UTC
Can you settle for more or less if today was your last day
And what would be your retort if you were denied another chance?
How life introduces sobriety and the impending inevitability
The interstice and it’s ingress that encloses before your eyes
The demanding pouring of importune time
That soothing allaying sighs that evoke incalculable alleviation
If someone were to impart as they closed their eyes
As they died with a commital of happenings with not enough time
As to burden you with the impression of only one chance
It would seem and with the impending inevitability
Of your death which would subito compromise the day
A bearding contrivance plight of obligations engagement and commital no alleviation
An abecedarian dossier concealed for a long time
All this time the inevitable coinciding incident only for your eyes
The emotional habituation was of quotidian rendition each day
Of how trivial things take us on a dance with only one life one chance
With your attention and awareness on the answer the inevitability
Of what you are becoming with each passing second for each
Thought which transpires and no alleviation
Is there an epoch a replicating limn a depiction of our linear time
As we perpetrate and pursue progressively for our alleviation
Engaged to staying the course the day
Stirring closing in on our deliberate objective determined chance
Which remained for a terse duration from the inevitability
In which at the atrium of this erstwhile portage of a duvet to belabor
To stifle firsthand with your eyes
The variant from this domicile from this residence on a day
Is the vagabond to perish in yonder with no alleviation
Once man was a brute dullard or a curmudgeon spinster at a time
Which offers a mute disconnection ragged miscreant the inevi
Naivety or absent mindedness to somnambulist and its silhouette
Notwithstanding change
The quagmire and it’s nightmare the ingrate delighted with coined
Shunned eyes
Reputation with a flagrant obscene defilement galvanizing
The alleviation
At the heart of this lies another chance
A precocious inevitability
A man who lies to die another day
The annihilation in desperate want for from those argent eyes
To the starving newfangled optimism which in its sheen
Shines sunshine dulling the ocular orbs of time
Forwithal in befuddlement remain here
The time if infringement to comprehend the volatile vertigo
And the inevitability
The harrowing of hell
Glance at the shinning suns in her eyes intention considers change
After you heal and left are the cicatrix
Will you plunge further for alleviation
Or on the intent of regression once again
From long ago to another distant day.
Jan 23, 2019
Jan 23, 2019 at 9:20 PM UTC
Everytime I hear the melodies
I feel like hearing my infantile
cries in harmony,
piercing my eardrums with a
filigree-tipped spear up to
the base of my floating brain.
It brings back that long ago
when I first started my perpetual
wedlock with it.
filled with dormant dossier
of nostalgia and tenacious enigma,
that has changed my life into oblivion.
all is gone but the echo of
ripples tingling in my mind.
like the swinging of strings,
I want to hold it again,
but this time, forever close to me.
This enchanted piece of wood,
formed in amorously curvaceous proportion,
was made as if to constantly
remind me of the beautiful
creature called woman.
ever changing, ever frustrating,
yet always generous to give
fair chances to those who persist to
seek the price of its elusive charm.
It never failed to make my
veins and arteries vibrate in ecstacy,
drawning my reason to delirium
only to be awakened
by the drops of my saliva.
Jul 31, 2020
Jul 31, 2020 at 2:36 AM UTC
Standing against the crime of my heart
I’m tired of falling for your type
Today I’ll find my way and break apart
I’ll celebrate my victory with Irish bag pipes
But I’ll cry for you on lonely nights
How can you have made my days so bright
How I wish I never know ya
Now I’m all alone in this room in a Hotel in California
Divine were your kisses of pure seduction
Now I’m lost on this one way highway
Who would of known you were a terrible destruction
I’m meaningless without you! you were my dossier!
How come no one told me life would be such a bad ride?
Surfing in a ocean of my tears with a forecasted high tide
I’m pouring out my feelings on this ***** napkin
Cause unlike you, it at least holds a bit of dignity
We were foolish to claim to love each other into infinity!
The hunger made me eat too much with my eyes
Forgetting my values and my only decency
And I fell under the spells of your lies
Roses of pity in a bouquet of discord
Can’t even afford to pay attention
Can‘t keep going on with this tension, People where is our Lord?
I just want some words, give me the silliest explanation
Heal the pain you have purposely caused
Your false image keeps running thru my veins
Black rain won’t mask the painful distraught
The thought of seeing you again will be an attempt so vain
In which I try to forget those events
From all my mistakes your one I wish I can prevent
A soup so hard to swallow with these sour condiments
You’re a horrible person I take back my beautiful compliments
Can’t believe my days will be filled with your torment
I hope this is for the time being, just for the moment
They judge me for what I’ve done but what do they know?
If my only companions is a comfy carpet and a bottle of Cuervo
Jonathan Pizarro
Copyright 2011 ©
January 29, 2011 4:31am
Feb 20, 2011
Feb 20, 2011 at 9:30 PM UTC
This disconnect from the grey and cold
Of a winter’s breadth
Enough, I deem, to let me stumble bold
Pink and wrapped in baby fat
Romantic lines fit to caress.
Call this the poet’s regression: that
Urge to beautify the same alloy
Dismantle the hearth, the laying of brick
Warmly, as the walls of Troy;
Like the end of Homer’s sum
My fate in poems like that of Illium.
Spectres of the warmed men
Haunt the open air
Adopted aspects in a long-since ken
A half-toothy smile
A finesse made manifest
In the yard of Elegy’s rose.
Written in their stony vines
A chronicle of the lovely evergone
Dates and names, the last image
So manicured, so plastic,
So subject to temperament.
What real flowers can spring in rheum
I put and sob for them, time steals
As the robbers will in their tomb
Where knowledge walks beside
Hope runs on ahead.
My weapon was anxiety
Completed fear of loss
Slated but loved dossier
Or pretense of the fiery.
I cannot be certain, but that deeds conclude
Behind the curtain of the heat, fonts
On cobble, I brood with chills
Of those winter months.
Before me a new yard, rolling green
Opens for, piecemeal,
The bloodless thing called Beauty,
Quite ill equipped for my touch.
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 8:31 AM UTC
he was poet extra ordinary,
his eyes never missed beauty;
but, in secret police dossier,
his crime was distorting reality.
Feb 12, 2012
Feb 12, 2012 at 8:24 AM UTC
The air filled with discord on these killing days
I sat with Biko but did nothing to help but read Finer
Madiba sat busy in his cage mourning with the futile sages
In disquiet Lecture halls we called and voices rose higher
Then my errant pen rebelled and on paper fired in pent rage
Impertinent weeping heart wedded to agile immaturity
Spew words and scribble indictments bonanzas on fired lines
Tis the age of reason and now it's chimes for gospel solidarity
This is why 'n this is how to extract the sourness from the limes
Be it the irascibility of a fledgling's dossier handed to Authority
In that foolish morn and days of thunder the dye was cast
Vogue tirades in contemporary suits offers designer conclusions
The brothers of today embracing diversities in Structures vast
In palaces pigments open wide ensuing foreboding discussions
Flag immediately and contain for this is one that must not last
Biko sleeps peacefully with angels and rests in God's arms
Madiba walked free and danced freedom with all colours in tow
A nation finds itself with a bespoke tailor and plenty of new farms
Across the Atlantic a foreign voice was silenced and made to bow
For youthful innocuous tantrum yelling is not quite the ****** norm
copyright.12/01/2019@yensonAllrights reserved
Jan 12, 2019
Jan 12, 2019 at 7:17 AM UTC
We all write about loneliness
And we all can empathize
But it is as unique to each of us as is a snowflake
It causes us all to ache
From a place in our soul that doesn't recognize the light of day
We wrap it up and keep it safe as our personal dossier
Colorless skies and lack luster eyes
We all seek the spectacular
Shooting stars, full moons and the first taste of champagne
We have been there, done that but don't seem to be able to hang on
We all want the same thing
To Love, to be loved and most of all to belong
Loneliness is such a complex experience
Existing even when surrounded by brilliance
Regardless if you are in a marriage, relationships, families and successful career.
At the end of the day, it's a social and physical pain we all seem to be able to endure
Feb 12, 2015
Feb 12, 2015 at 9:58 PM UTC
It seems I am restricted, in sedentary pose
Unable to incite physiques agreement to disclose
My physical impairment has done little to my mind
But lost to me is the memory of how and why I find.
My heart still beats, and I can feel it pounding in my chest
The only movement left to me, the remainder is oppressed
It seems that I am locked away, somewhere in my mind
Although the world is passing by, I abide confined
My vision now is crystal clear and I can see it all
But somehow recollection of what happened not recalled
Some sort of accident perhaps, has left me thus afflicted
My intellect undamaged, though my body torn and twisted
There are those who look at me, and I see that they’re unsure
Though I attempt communication, my eyes remain demure
I wonder if they wonder, is my mind yet undiminished
No thought I have can contact them, they leave when they are finished
Nighttime is the worst for me, when evening takes the day
Dreams are chosen well each night from horrors dossier
I scream my thoughts although in silence, no one there to hear
It leaves my heart the only sound, although my mind austere
If only one of those who pass me by without a glance
Could see I’m sound inside my mind, It may give me a chance
To again communicate with those who are unfrozen
And learn the reasons for my sudden physical implosion
I hold no memory of the past, my future now uncertain
Recovery unknown to me, the present undetermined
I only wish to see the sun, and know the world exists
The window sits behind me, so thoughts of death persist
But I am not the kind that will give in to circumstance
I still recall a girl, with faded memories of romance
Was she once my only love to know my true devotion
Is she one that passes by?...it seems a pleasing notion
To think that there may be someone who loves me as I am
Who sees the light that's left in me, to know that I’m a man
And not to leave here alone, in silence and heartbroken
Who knows I feel love that for her however, never spoken
At times I sense her love for me, however tears are rare
I dream I stand and walk to her, and she is waiting there
To realize I am intact, though physically afflicted
Who knows I love inside my mind,
so tragically restricted...
I just want someone to know
I am here....
Dean Evans
5-09-14
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 9:50 AM UTC
It was never about the goodwill, the charm
Not remotely
Just the lies
But not any old lies
No, lies that made a difference
Dropped into conversation, subtlely
Then became consequences
Affecting lives
Watching as the poison took effect
Gratifying from a distance
Better than a shot to the head
Moving on to the next one
Words at the end of the phone
More words, just a hint
Heresay
Death on a dark night
Senseless, yet so brutal
No affiliations, why
Small wars breakout
New faces, click
Names to faces
Phone call in the night
Chaos ensues
Car stops as shadowy figure enters from the dark
Drives off
Dossier complete.
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 3:09 PM UTC
There is a stranger
you see more and more of
every year, He is silt
in the riverbed,
and the water tables
of your mystery
rise to their final levels,
the spitting image
of your Death
He is selling a bed
that belonged to your father,
coming in low dumping
the boots of your brother
in the high pasture covered
deep in your last winter's snow
Like a flower in the night,
Death drifts over our shoulders
like a boat with no eyes for the oars,
no place for a man's cold hands
The Church has a record of your birth,
but Death keeps its own dossier
When the Moon is pulling blood
from all of its many lovers,
Death is caterwauling with catfish,
a bone in its mouth, shedding
all its skins and secret light,
I, like you, set out a dish
of milk before going to bed.
Oct 28, 2017
Oct 28, 2017 at 11:56 PM UTC
once your name appears
on the global internet
intelligence organizations
can nosy around your set
they don't give a hang
about your private affairs
ever their eyes peer into
your unguarded lairs
George Orwell did state
in his well renowned novel 1984
that there would be a lot
of peeking through your keyhole's pore
you've no effective way
of averting their curious mots
they are always checking out
your inner plots
as I write this piece
I feel somewhat exposed
as my identity may well
be fully disclosed
the data base has
everyone's story on file
no one can escape
the dossier's profile
so friends
using social sites
be extra cautious with your news
a satellite is presently
collating your
personal reviews
a twenty four seven watch
happens around the clock
and you've been placed
in the agency's looking stock
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 10:37 PM UTC
Challenges everyday
Darkness in the way
Overcoming the light of day
opening the dossier
Realising it's a replay
Dance away in a soiree
have a good play
Smile, get up, create...strike away!
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 5:17 PM UTC
It was never about the goodwill, the charm
Not remotely
Just the lies
But not any old lies
No, lies that made a difference
Dropped into conversation, subtlely
Then became consequences
Affecting lives
Watching as the poison took effect
Gratifying from a distance
Better than a shot to the head
Moving on to the next one
Words at the end of the phone
More words, just a hint
Heresay
Death on a dark night
Senseless, yet so brutal
No affiliations, why
Small wars breakout
New faces, click
Names to faces
Phone call in the night
Chaos ensues
Car stops as shadowy figure enters from the dark
Drives off
Dossier complete.
Mar 14, 2016
Mar 14, 2016 at 6:41 AM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
What does Putin
Have on him
Inquiring minds
Would like to know
Could it be
That infamous tape
That they have chosen
Not to show
They’re waiting until
The timing’s right
Before exposing it
And like
The dossier said
Putin taped
That ***** toad
Playing water games in bed
But that alone
Might not be the half
Of what they have
On him
They say that he’s
An impulsive man
Who’s often
Given to whim
What does Putin
Have on him
It’s anybody’s guess
But it’s gotta be
Quite compromising
As his behavior
No doubt
Does suggests
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2018. All rights reserved.
Mar 21, 2018
Mar 21, 2018 at 12:46 PM UTC
*Will the 'Ghost of Melancholia' continue to ploy
and annoy , will my dossier lie unopened like
a windless sail upon a lifeless ocean* ..
Nov 17, 2017
Nov 17, 2017 at 11:32 PM UTC
The rich are committing suicide
and taking us along with them
the prosthetic limbed ********
Fort Darwin tottering on fewer stilts
once the Masters of the Universe
presently picking through garbage
looking for an Icarus to pilot
some way back among the clouds
their telepathic goon squads
armed with the hard on of God
squat in the darkness of doorways
lightning strikes all around them
even their telephone poles were clairvoyant
several thousand watts went up my leg
shorting out the only attention span I own
left me perforated but far from lacy
wearing all my masks all the time
fragments of self are selves
in a bulemic deconstruction
where form and content
mud wrestle incessantly for attention
on the crazy train to 3 color 3 finger hell
apparently the ancient gods still rule
in their madhouse heaven
ambivalent petulant flatulent gods
brandishing sword point conversions
wielding gun point perversions
the protagonists the antagonists
fornicators masturbators liquidators
pariahs and unlicensed poets
preaching hellstone and brimfire
now their carcasses are steppingstones
it's psywar out there kids
better find where they hid your dossier
mesmerized of the world unite
you have nothing to lose
but your failed methods of addressing reality
said his slowly twisting tongue
struggling for ratings like any media
the soul cannot erase it can only go sightless
a phantom trapped in melancholy
when we were built to dance
with the twinkling summer stars
he finally learned to undestroy memory
being an ascended master of non sequitur
carried aloft by the wings of Mother Goose
his metabolic hurricane of why
an inferno of intrigue and superstition
our embryo-headed UFO ruling class
have me inside their fence of skulls
an investment in diagram futures
the idiots
Jun 25, 2023
Jun 25, 2023 at 1:40 PM UTC
HOPE
The White House has lost its Hope.
Will Trump be able to cope?
Did she rhapsodize
His little white lies?
Is he at the end of his rope?
-by Bob B (3-2-18)
TRADE WARS
When Trump has a bad day,
All of us have to pay.
A trade war because
Of tariffs? Where was
His babysitter? Away?
-by Bob B (3-3-18)
DOSSIER #2
We hear that a SECOND dossier
Has recently come into play.
The word "collude"
Gains certitude
More and more every day.
-by Bob B (3-6-18)
HUH?
Some evangelical preachers
Prove to be rather odd creatures.
Judicious thought
Is something that's not
One of their outstanding features.
Although Trump's values collide
With theirs, they're still satisfied
That as chief of state
He'll make us great
For he still has God on his side.
-by Bob B (3-16-18)
TRUMP CONGRATULATES PUTIN ON HIS “VICTORY”
Advice often falls on deaf ears
As Trump crosses brand-new frontiers.
Best wishes to Putin
Don't make for smart shootin'.
He ALWAYS confirms our worst fears.
The man just cannot resist
Putin, who’s first on his list.
Will no one say why
Putin's his guy?
Melania ought to be ******
-by Bob B (3-22-18)
DACA
Trump might seem to talk a
Great deal about DACA.
Often he’ll dare
To say Dems don’t care.
What a bunch of ****
-by Bob B (3-24-18)
INTERVIEW WITH STORMY DANIELS
In Stormy's concise interview
Not much was revealed that was new.
Does IT seem to strike
You, too, that it's like
Experiencing déjà vu?
-by Bob B (3-26-18)
Mar 31, 2018
Mar 31, 2018 at 10:26 AM UTC
Weighed down in the longest part of each darker day
Kicking rocks to find that missing spark and maybe see some gray
This is where time reaches maximum decay
Would I notice losing and entire day?
At what point will it become my choice not to stray?
I can't complain if I choose to stay
I'm drowning in the confusion of life's word play
If I can only hold my breath just a little longer than the mayday
"By tomorrow this will already be yesterday"
But I'm needed today
I can't remember to ask you to remind me not to put this on you so forgive me but refresh me,
What was you and what got through that I had to say?
I wonder that in the best way
I also mess up royally, here's a pocket dossier
I'm in no place to judge the price to pay
Try to keep the fears
And two lifetimes of multiple parallel timelines of tears at bay
But there on the floor I lay
Once again I find myself in my own way
I danced with the devil under the pale moon light
It was such an intricate ballet
Just for me to say
Nothing good comes that isn't then stripped away
©2025
Mar 21, 2025
Mar 21, 2025 at 5:13 PM UTC