"draconian" poems
A frozen avalanche set my night aglitter,
A festive shroud descends upon the theater.
Crimson sirens cleave apart the verdant veil,
Into the darkness we stride without fail.
Beyond the jubilation lies the next chapter,
With adamant fortitude we give thee cheer.
To each their own joys; for none with least,
Lest we drown in today, few dice are cast.
Behold my picture, let the verdict be: asleepy.
I jest, I grin, yet within: smooth boreal sea.
Tis simpler to repulse that which is coveted,
A gaze that levels souls; I've gladly forfeited.
Why? I cannot answer what I do not know,
Yet reason continues to war with my soul.
Let the rain cleanse my self-aimed ire,
From whence come this burning desire?
By dulcet caitiff, I set my conundrum aside,
The crux of life remain, my Draconian hide.
Plebeian ennui paralyzes my gifted facilities,
Enough sophistry, let I bid thee turgidities.
Let mine eyes be painted blind.
How else to behold beauty so fine?
Why, my sober vision...
Scream in revulsion! :DD
Aug 28, 2010
Aug 28, 2010 at 5:13 AM UTC
Two Syrian women on Friday were locked in a cage full of skeletons in punishment for violating Daesh’s strict dress code in the militant group’s stronghold of Raqqa.
The London-based Observatory for Human Rights said one of the women fainted in the cage and had to be transported to one of the hospitals in the northern province, which became Daesh’s headquarters in Syria after the group took the city in 2013.
A spokesman for the local-based activist group “Raqqa is being Slaughtered Silently” also reported Daesh’ latest scare tactic against women found to have flouted the draconian rules.
Daesh recently locked a 19-year old woman in a cage full of skeletons, driving her to the point of madness, according to Mohammed Al-Salih. The spokesman did not specify whether the incident was the same as the one reported by the UK-based monitor.
Salih also said that there were “similar cases of women locked in cages with skeletons or forced to sleep overnight in a cemetery” for not wearing what Daesh deems as appropriate. More serious violations are punished by the amputation of limbs, or execution.
Video reports as well as accounts of escapees show that Daesh forces women living in its areas — whether in Syria or Iraq — to don head-to-toe garbs.
Meanwhile, the Observatory said Daesh has recently stormed homes in Raqqa and arrested 10 men suspected of spying against the group.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 4:31 AM UTC
In the linoleum dungeon
Sparkling swiffer creature
Squirts the floor
Calls polyphemic odors
Opening
And the crazy stench of allspice
Biting lime and draconian breath
Burning the nostril coins
Copper shield bending the cilia
Oven mitts plastered with narcotic grease and decomposing meals
Of yesteryear
Unclear
She speaks between steaming inspirations
Hoo-huh
Exhale the fire
It's'a hotta pasta lasagna
As the helicopters flap their handy rotories
Fast fractal birds
In circumfereferential motion
Cool down our mouths
Ice cubes in the juice
Plop a shot of gin
With that silly child's grin
And the room slowly cants
Begins to spin
As we laugh at the spots we cannot
Pin
Staring at the stellar mountain chains
Thrusted stone
Busted metal
Stabbing up into the sky
Competition
Where is the home beyond the horizon
Where we ate good meals
Not made alone
With parental guidance
As the days were stolen
By the erosive time
That spinning wheel
Well,
It's deep in us now
And the cells metastasized
Realized
That heaven is hell.
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 3:51 PM UTC
It doesn’t matter what I think
My head driven into water
I want memories to sink
My angel wings clipped
Forced into a participation
It was draconian experimentation
He is the wretched force
An intimidate inclination
He wants to find the source
Of ultimate liberation
Feb 9, 2010
Feb 9, 2010 at 5:58 PM UTC
Delusions of grandeur abound. Sophistication and advancement are sold to the masses and deceptive merchandise is purchased with a commodity which is trivialised in the name of relativism: our soul.
Fixed false beliefs are embraced in the quest for enlightenment, despite the lunacy of such an approach. Analysis of the snowflake may be captivating; but fluctuations of environmental equilibrium reduce its beauty to a tiny trickle of moisture. There is truly nothing new under the power of the Sun. So, pursue anthropological evolution and astrally project into mystical horizons at your almighty will. But I appeal to the universe: bring back the medieval celebrations of lunar amazement. However, let us not forget that the trials of Salem are a perpetuating characteristic of our triumphant modernity. I want to take you Home.
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 3:21 PM UTC
Surrealistic lover meet me at the danger zone
In space ships where we simulate
As you shape shift, I stay fascinated
A reptilian, an arcturian, pleiadian
The vega, a lyra, light years away
Supersonic lover kiss me at the signal house
In cellular automaton advance my grid of DNA
As we diffuse in megastructures, callibrate my power
A sirian, grays, draconian,anunnaki
The human, indigo, crystal, the rainbow
Take me to the fantasy, at the star line of illusion
Where my body glows and your DNA burrows
Take me and show me the laser in the magic cosmic
Open my heart, inject your poison,kiss my toes as you do
Disconnect my body and spirit to another dimension
Distort the optic nerve so that the reality seems normal
Transverse the solar bodies and celestial systems
Fight the hypotonic regression to recall the delusions
Climb the mountain as the peaceful dwellers wear googles
Awaiting for a UFO float and disappear from the bare land
May 21, 2016
May 21, 2016 at 1:59 PM UTC
I try to measure the overwhelming depth of the ocean,
And with a sly deception shudder at my fantastic obsession.
The Me Within opens his wings, flies high in the sky,
Lovingly callous about the miles treaded by.
*
I weave around myself, an aura of hapless piety,
Adorn my helplessness with a cocoon of sincerity.
The Me Within emancipates – out of the golden cage,
To soar the mountains steep with an astounding rage.
*
I look at my past with guilt, remorse and sorrow,
And search outward for an excuse that I could easily borrow.
The Me Within looks ahead never to turn back,
His burlesque gestures mock at me for the pluck that I lack.
*
I live in a world of purity, of rituals, of rights and of wrongs,
Content with the legacy of my notes, happy with the tyranny of my songs.
The Me Within is mischievously charming, gamboling in between,
And I hear his whistle blowing, humming a tune so serene.
*
I count my days, count my time, and count my blessings, to win,
And relinquish the countless moments of joy, scared of committing a sin.
The Me Within is a careless lad, who happily loses with a smile,
And brandishes his joyful hat, every once in a while.
*
I wish I could be like him, and he’d live my life like me,
I’d paint the sky with freedom, and dive through the depth of the sea.
Reality shrieks yet again, with her deafening draconian din –
When he leaves me, and I leave him, I’d meet the Me Within…
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 6:28 PM UTC
As they swirled above the clouds
Twisting in and out of existence
Heart fluttered, such as the wings of
Butterflies in my belly
The girl in the tree
Witnessed not what I did
As she called out my name
Voice of reason, guide me
Look, up here!
And the ladder I climbed to sanctuary
Was of oak and sap
Sticky with unknowing
And her hand touched mine
But her face was unseen
The dragons
Above, with jade scale and ivory claw
Swirled in the dance of
My eternal struggle
For knowledge
Enraptured
Captured, but not owned
Are these visions
The clouds darkened as my hand slipped
And I fell backwards
Seeing her dark hair
But her face was
Not there
And the wind picked up the new rain
Fresh, like the blood of dragons
In an epic twist of death
And poured it into my eyes
And though I slept soundly
Silence was always there
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 11:52 PM UTC
The room is clear and the air is filtered
Two chairs for me and her, to separate and segregate
I grind my teeth and I clinch my fist, to the point where
I experience near sudden paralysis in my right hand,
and I think to myself, "I didn't love you because you were rich".
No such things as unaccepted apologies.
Between the two pillars of our own truth, there stands 32 Dr. Phils,
and each one attempts to explain to me
on how to be a reasonable and rational man,
so I can grow old with her, and learn how to fly without having any mosquito wings.
As I sit impatiently in this draconian chair of imprisonment with no restraints,
I think of what we once had and what we can still accomplish
by not believing in things such as unaccepted apologies.
By realizing that we are no longer on training wheels,
That the jagged surface that bridges us,
From a love that can shave diamonds and convert children into angels after death.
And when we get to that bridge, we will see ourselves with our children
as they walk and crawl to our bodies,
infesting their love across our fat bellies with their eyes and their drooling mouths.
I want our children to learn their first words that signify the exact representation
of our relationship;
their vivid sounds of "mamas, dadas, goo-goos, ga-gas"
hanging to our ears like raindrops on windshields,
like a mobile softly swinging over their cribs.
I relinquish myself from this seat as I run to hers,
to grab her, to tell her how ****** this situation is.
How our internal and legal battles are astronomically indifferent
To the spheric gift from God that has shun His light to your tiny stomach,
like the flickering spark of a dying flash.
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 8:47 PM UTC
There is no dust to settle,
Two days from land and we are not ready,
The whole year to prepare- poppy seed afternoons
6:00p.m. morning drunks to corroborate nightmare memories.
Where are the aches and the sick bending bone-like threads of
This corpse who romances sallow and pallid warlocks.
Interior flesh ministries unveil festering ****** horrors.
To not go out means chain smoking reds inside.
Plaster the monster over my face so I cannot breathe.
Then the unabashed words can take to the road with pitch forks and
Long, drawn-out misunderstanding. I eat salmonella for preference.
Ashes and soot and dirt and history sew its film atop every surface.
This is not what I thought they meant by life on a deserted island.
There is only me and I am still curious to see if I am advantageous.
Finally they do not wont of me. This is the sorcery I have been executing
In poor forms until this precise moment of lascivious loathe.
If you cannot understand this I am serving the greater good. It is worse to
Misunderstand than not know at all. Let your small hands to the sides of My face and your eyelashes rest atop my head. Lips inside hair.
With precision I extract pearls from your saltwater tomb.
I set the peas to our bed.
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 7:26 PM UTC
The tree is not refreshed,
by a tyrant falling at the gallows.
No, the ground we tred is hallowed,
And defended by the imortally blessed.
Until we celebrate our victory, wading
Waste deep in crimson streams.
Listing right, the tree now leans.
Left to decay and slowly uproot,
Gravity bends and twists her low,
Disfigured and mangled,
Into freedom's final death salute.
A tribute to the desert ghosts,
Tis vanity in death they share.
And the merchants of repression
Who peddle their fancy wares.
No tree shall ever flourish her,
Beneath the broken bodies, and billboards,
That blight the sacred sands.
A backdrop for the death of democracy,
And cryptic Christian comedy.
Where the actors act,
And the players play,
The truth is altered fact.
The audience sees but doesn't look,
Except to look the other way.
And in the glare of the Draconian light,
The neo-imperial guards, uphold the word of the right,
And little is seen from the scene of the plight,
Because the fist that won't feed is the same fist night,
With its finger on the trigger and the world in its sight.
And our father's fathers will roll tonight,
As we march to battle under unraveling stars and stripes,
To illuminate our sins in a holy fire fight.
We are blinded by the glare of the Draconian light.
We come in peace to **** you,
To **** you and your land.
We come in the guise of democracy,
But it is malice for which we stand.
Such a devotion to arms, is an ode to the Prince,
Antiquated and malignant.
Condemn us all for the harm we cause through our complacence,
Craven and ignorant.
We are far, too far, to care in the least,
Too far for screams and cries to reach.
Out of mind, out of sight,
But the blood is on our hands tonight,
Translucent as it may be in the Draconian light.
Dec 13, 2011
Dec 13, 2011 at 4:11 PM UTC
Poems are a changing thing and are at worst a dragon.
Come to consume thoughts and drag words like virgins to the stake.
when I was a witchy thing, black wings spread over in grief.
I began to breath fire from depths of pain that no longer
We're hidden- safe.
What a beast! Her eyes hot and tongue sharp and beauty unfolding
With each rip from a torn soul, oh! And to me, the greater the passion
The more a story is told.
So it seems dark embers stir this creatures heat,
While thundering for meaning as
Joy to love, like a monster my dragon was only
Trained to eat.
Molting form a maidens horror purity was up to fight,
Against the memories and faded- incomplete prose
That only taunted the will to abide.
Writing only when voice can not answer
and my heart offends- the more it bends
To serve the dragon's fire.
Sep 13, 2013
Sep 13, 2013 at 4:40 PM UTC
Of no time and place...
save for due Truest North
of no time and place...a kindled
air as such...never a Draconian
night layeth upon...O Hyperborea.
Muse of Muse...whose tacit glory
begot lip and lyre...illumined
wholes that sayeth verily unto
illumined wholes.
Unbroken gaiety...where the only
obscuration's the recesses of
witnesses in full bearing...Beauty's
Knowing...Knowable Beauty.
O Hyperborea...as light, lighteth...
yet lit be not--high heaped upon
high, celebrants of whir and fire...
fire and whir...whir and fire!
Thou danceth a sun's one-upmanship,
to emblazon the dreams of Thracian
peoples.
That the world may know, and know
well...the north wind...of no time
and place--due Truest North of no
time and place...be kindled by
Apollonian graces.
As an urn contains what's trialed by
fire, as fire...Beauty unbridled...poureth
forth under the Hyperborean sun...
never to casteth a shadow.
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 1:01 PM UTC
Well, so they tell us-
the political gladiators and
heavy weights. That in permanent
servitude we must remain.
They create a void in our stomachs,
which they momentarily fill with
what they carted away from us.
Just for their self will and whims
for another leap year's tenure to
be entrenched.
They widen the capacity for evil
of the canines they have intentionally
starved.
For a bone's morsel, the canines
viciously their draconian orders
execute.
Just for their masters' sit-tight
bid to be guaranteed.
Restrained with the servile chains
of their desperate overlords, they bark
ravenously at the oppressed,
who have come to liberate themselves
at polling units.
Each time the unworthy is by the
ballot box overthrown, the ravenous
canines at the hands of feeble
patriots gnaw.
A pound of flesh they take
from the down-trodden kingmakers,
to usurp the power they have
in good governance vested.
The umpire with filthy lucre gratified,
raises the hand of the fraudulently
triumphant political Brahmin,
who for another leap year's tenure
subjugates his dalits with utter
deprivation; ASUU strikes, poor infrastructure,
incessant power cuts, poor health delivery,
persistent insecurity, unemployment
and the cancerous bad governance.
With fat cheeks and stiff neck
that is well sunken into a robust torso,
he regularly raises the sides of an
African attire of elitist renown,
set once more to amass more spoils
of political office for a privileged
family dynasty.
Jun 30, 2023
Jun 30, 2023 at 6:53 PM UTC
The two muliebrity cater-cousin chalices of
Devil in a Bush and Love in a Puzzle;
Down there and Down below,
To keep the wolf from the door of a draconian code!
The heavenly twins on the pull to
Say ditto each losing one's heart to a
Love that dare not speak its name of
Passion and Desire drinking Pheobe's philtre-
Weltering the bride cake of the Middle
Gardens connubial consanguinity.
ELEETE J MUIR.
Jan 21, 2019
Jan 21, 2019 at 3:59 PM UTC
I remember your bubble gum lips
the way you purred so sweet next to me
hot cherry pure you gave in abundance
and your existence became key to humanity
How many roses would tell you
Love does stifle any threats
that you that I bare my soul to
shares life with no regrets
You uncovered the creature from outer worlds
child of a Draconian Orion alliance
a cloud hunter
glorious sky jumper
So swim the waves of time
flipping and flapping out
to a reality within a reality
time within time.
Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 1:07 AM UTC
Encroaching on my personal space
I am Bombarded by these images
Children with hopes Dashed
No links to the outside world
Always under constant threat
Rubber bullets flying,
Tears running from the gassed air
Vision blurred
A memory of what they never had
Forces keep creeping in
The boarders keep retreating inwards
No longer settled, should they settle for less
The settlements all around them
Rapidly they are moving but who is to stop them
He who dare risks the draconian approach of Goliath
Little David with his sling and stone
Wont Match the might and force wielded upon him
There is no escape from the eagle eye of Goliath forces
Peace is only considered achievable by constant aggression
Dissent calls for harsher treatments
They have essentially been brought as slaves within their tuff
The walls surrounding them,
Locking them in
They have to settle for less
Constant harassment and humiliation is the order of the day
The bus stops
They've got to set down
Awaiting verification
No pass means no pass!
Those deemed unsuitable have to settle for a return to the human cage
Senselessly caged like hens
Not to be set loose and free
For them freedom is an illusion
The desired but unattainable
Shall we sit idle?
Their hopes and dreams rest on our shoulders
We must challenge the status quo.
Feb 10, 2016
Feb 10, 2016 at 5:43 PM UTC
As I lay in the cold New York night
shivering, in hate
fist clenched, in anger
kicked off my thrown
Forever left to wallow alone
Those who watched as i fell
were overjoyed,
Curse those who filled my heart
with a flaming void!
No one stole time
to understand,
Their draconian words
I could not withstand,
specially
those whom, since grasped my first air
poised by me,
those who lessoned me to be fair
tossed me deeper into the void,
like i was left locked out
and no one handed me the key
Feb 26, 2013
Feb 26, 2013 at 1:29 AM UTC
My stream of consciousness is in full flow,
Tumbling down the page.
A cascade of words
Bouncing and foaming
Towards unknown seas.
No planning here.
No structure
Or direction.
Just meanderings
And oxbow lakes.
Free verse unfettered
By Draconian Rules
Or dogma.
Odd rhymes thrown in
Perhaps:
Casual confetti.
So what should I type about,
Sitting here in my armchair
In the silence of my lounge?
The sky is full of clouds
A blanket over this
September afternoon.
Perfect conditions
For composing this poem.
Should I put the world to rights?
(How long have you got?)
Or just indulge
In some uplifting visions?
I don’t do emotions very much.
The cork is firmly closed
On those.
Recall my early loves:
All unrequited.
Crushes
That crushed my very soul.
Memories of crying inside,
Unable to eat
Or think of anything except
That longing for love
Which never came.
So no
I don’t do emotions.
And seldom reveal myself
As I just did.
I’d rather let my imagination soar,
My eagle eye -
A soaring cliché –
Taking in the sweep of space
And everything below.
I see trees
And animals,
Mountains, coasts and oceans.
People milling about.
A scream of seagulls soars above the sea.
Waves crash:
A thundering tsunami
Against the brittle cliffs.
I have many voices.
From soft soothing lullabies
To grand orations
Full of pomp and splendour.
Music plays in my head:
A crescendo of orchestras
And songs.
Freddie, Elvis, Bassey
Clapton, Hendrix and Satriani.
Ginger Baker, Phil Collins.
Reciting poetry
Within my brain
Is easy
After Bohemian Rhapsody.
So once more to the beach dear friends
With Brian Wilson
And his crew.
Let Sloop John B be launched
Again
Heading for oceans new.
At last a rhyme
As attention spans begin to
Wane.
Enough for now
My loyal friends.
I’d best bid you
Adieu.
Paul Butters
© PB 4\9\2020. First 3 lines Written 16\8\20 in my big paper diary.
Sep 4, 2020
Sep 4, 2020 at 10:49 AM UTC
late night street scholars
smoke green on green trains
sing d-flow & p-funk hymns
with third-eye
campfire heartspace
effervescent
enlightenment
of the moon.
All united only
by the time in the most draconian sense
at "2:30am eastern standard time"
our classroom
be on the 6th train heading uptown.
I saw this happening...
People keep calling me jesus--
makes me nervous cause
i'm starting to believe it.
We are all us.
Mar 12, 2014
Mar 12, 2014 at 8:14 AM UTC
i took the time to make a sandwich.
frail mastodons were creaking through the heather of our mattress
every one, an actress phoning in the last line of a mass migration
a herd of disingenuous rats, cackled slovenly
over hillocks of your dale.... on occasion -
lithium
pale thunder comes, speaking drivel in the weather of your hapless
scary nuns, in mad habits, draconian; rabid blasts in stasis
disturbed. fiendish hats, ****** almondine
over black walnuts; rather roam the hells... like an alien
than love someone
Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 4:32 AM UTC
Fate is but a curious pattern of twists
An ode to the memories you'd rather forget
We are two halves
Two parts of a whole
Chaos ensues when our union is full
Modern day ecosystems are meaningless
We're a draconian species destined to go extinct
Bound by the theories of renaissance
We grab all we can and do whatever we want
Primitive and limited, foresight is prohibited
A far cry from the eyes of Egyptian pyramids
Here comes a blight that weathers no fight
Everyone going in different directions
Like sinking ships that pass in the night
No politicians plan beyond the next generation
Just until the extent of their own destination
The cupboard runs bare
The well has dried up
Millionaires groom their heirs
The muck has run amok
But the maiden was fair
Now we're all sitting ducks
The hourglass fills up at the bottom
Government bodies are callous masses of atoms
Aug 20, 2020
Aug 20, 2020 at 5:37 PM UTC
* If this simple write should prove to be my swan song , let it be duly noted that I left headstrong ! As the Drill Sergeant , leading green soldiers , the fearless non-commissioned officer , carrying the colors ! The Calvary , under direct fire , dressing the ranks , preparing the charge , advancing forward , committing what cries to be heard unto paper for all the world to address , exposing the draconian tyrants of prose , poetic blasphemers and the vile fabricators of plagiarism ! *
Nov 2, 2015
Nov 2, 2015 at 9:46 PM UTC