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Mateuš Conrad Jun 2021
a horror to behold... i rather not have a woman cook me food, i rather not have a woman clean my house... come to "think" of it... walking abortion as i am... one chain-clink short of *****-bank list of incestuous ancestry... but i am drinking bourbon... and... the cultural export of h'america from the 20th century aside... god i loved the Beatniks... two things stand out as... concerning to give focus to... bourbon... &... peanut butter... it truly is a horror to behold... i've opened a bottle of jack & jackie and i'm worried that i, just might... finish off the entire litre of this... gorgeous... gorgeous... ****-**** of a glug-glug-glug... metaphors obvious... why didn't i cite cinema? why didn't i cite music? sometimes a hour comes... an hour that completes a day... and if i'm not slobbering on some peanut butter... i'll be drinking a bourbon... i might be watching some b.b.c. police drama: line of duty instead of making a fetish sandwich of a moo-vee... while listening to... some Finnish folk-rock... i just find it sad that... men and women can't return to something akin to... james horner's for the love of a princess...  you know... when women were mystifying... celestial creatures that would be imagined by a frail mind of a colt as... seemingly unable to burp, ****... or take a ****... perhaps it's that same old testament of: in love with the idea of love... a woman as both an idea... and an ideal... interchangeable: idea through to ideal... it' not even i, willing to compete for what's readily available... since time immemorial, the ultimate freedom was to be found on a bicycle.. not even a horse... i will never mind not having a driving license... but a bicycle can overpower a horse... why? i like the refreshing injection of being able to: create my own momentum... that's what a bicycle is... esp. coming to a roundabout with... shy drivers... oh **** me... don't get me started on the problem i sometimes have when... a ford KA is about to overtake me... takes it about a mile... and a dual-carriageway to do so... but some ****** in a SUV or a van skims past me like... nothing... i actually want to be naive once more... naive enough to want to fall in love with a woman... i want to be naive about naiveness... n'ah-eve... i'm just seeing red markers underlining my words and... if it's a spelling mistake, proper? well then... if not... then back into phoneticism... English is readily available to cushion this sort of detouring... . so much for a romanticism surrounding a galloping horse... or a car.... to heave all this riddle of insurance... not worth it... skittle-brains: jelly on the side... i like the idea of generating my own momentum... this might translate as a grasp of... what ana ******* feels like... add a bit of spice... what a limp little richard ******* feels like before a nylon clad ******* feels like when you're about to be shamed for objective purposes... at the same time... a stiff-neck... it feels mightily gargantuan and with prospect of... non-revisionism to be ****** off: *****-nilly by some imitation of a housewife.... just saying... like i would gulp up a furry oyster once in a while... here's to licking metal in sub-zero temperatures... or reading into bark... seeing faces in trees... i own two maine **** cats and i like my house to be as freed from excess fur as possible... is that, somehow... emasculating: i want to bweak fwee kareoke take on what's demanded of... cleanliness?  last time i trusted a woman to cook for me she gave me some cognac with a slice of lemon... then... butchered a chicken twice-over with a dry-set of *******... i was looking at 165 degrees sort of juicy... i got... ******* chicken breast: chalk "tenderness"... i don't eat meat... of the poultry variety with a "feel" of chalk... like you could brush your teeth against it... i can grasp the consistency of eating liver... along with the tenderness of bean-bounce akin of the hearts... chicken stomachs in a gravy... but don't give me... chicken ******* that are like biting into chalk... whereby... the teeth imitate sticking together like i'm eating some injection of protein into... ******* fudge! i've seen how certain marriages expired... one undercooked potatoes... another overcooked pasta... yet another had a case for a "lost cat"... how the ****... how can you... "lose" a cat? i say a leash i say a bursting concept of cranberry... a lost dog is... i've seen it... the one you chain to a fence... and run off from? how the hell do you even begin... to... lose... a cat? point being: the cat ****** off... the cat decided: **** this... i'm out! i have to think it's impossible to lose a cat... but the cat might "think" otherwise... how do you lose a cat? you forgot to leash-it? what sort of a... what a terrible person you must be... to "lose" a cat... cats are never "lost"... some better elsewhere... i'll take my chances as a stray... only today i performed the impossible... i showed her furry-snout into my ear... for what? for giggles... obviously she didn't like it... but i got the giggles... most assuredly... well i lost a turtle... i accidently flushed it down a toilet... what lack of character... spine... to supposedly "lose" a cat... a bit like: **** me! i guess i might have... misplaced... a ******* pyramid! who says that?

while juggling some politically terms...

can it be deemed so unfathomably "emasculating"
to want to live in a clean house,
rather: for the man to clean his abode?
cleanliness is somehow an inherent quality
of femininity?
                        some *** with an un-kept beard...
man dragged through the dirt...
what is it with gender roles or: what's in man
specified to be: man...
           not in the 20th century not since any time prior
has there been this "Copernican", ahem... "revolution"
in ontology...
one might almost gag for the resurrection
of the Soviet empire...
at least you could have something to push-back
on with airs of moral superiority: even if "doing the right
thing" might implore you to be deluded:
or that's how i see a period of history of western europe...
placebo solipsism - a genius of "autism"...
it's not like the mongol horde came knocking
or the ottoman turk...
            as a side note: it's that old urban myth trope...
can two straight men share an umbrella?
it would be terrible of me but truth be told...
a sentence from the handmaid's tale...
a woman contemplating the ****-availability of
a "low status" male...
first example on offer: Leibniz... the ******* librarian...
or rather: two isolated incidences of discovering
calculus - infinitesimals...
well... it would be hard to believe that...
the same thought could exist in two people...
two contemporaries...
              the argument in England stands with the right
of Newton...
a man left alone to his own devices...
deus ex machina: **** in machina...
a river of time on the otherwise head-spinning
carousel of: 35 springs, 35 summers i count to
invite: this autobiographical sketch...
it can hardly be unheard of...
a river's delta -
             but it's not like Copernicus was not
overshadowed by Galileo in western Europe...
the little pride in original thinking these
poor schmucks lodged between the Germans
and the Russians would ever have...
but is it... emasculating for a man to...
clean the toilet in the house... vacuum...
is it all: airy-fairy all of a sudden to keep up standards...
to wash your hands etc.
it's not like i wasn't supposed to write this:
give me any ******* novel...
and i'll take more pleasure from it than from
something written by a woman....
sylvia plath is an exception...
         clarice lispector... i tried...
                        virginia woolf...
             while a man will divulge his innermost workings...
i find it hard to imagine that a woman
would suddenly... give up her mystique
and over-complicated simplicity for...
   a what? a novel...
      while everyone can grasp a tease of misogyny in
this... god... for the love of ******...
how a brothel always reminds me of opening
a bottle of bourbon...
out of h'america... besides discovering the continent
in / with canned sardines:
what's does a gingerbread to do with a windmill?
since reading ******* literature one can at least
imagine oneself turning a tongue into a phallus...
i have never read a book by a woman
where i'd think about gorging on a mouthful
of... a floral-skin-mush... ripple...
        eating an oyster gives me a vague recollection
of eating ****...
although: of the latter... you're not exactly
eating anything... all in the foreplay before all that
brute piston work-out...
the tenderness of skin in the vicinity of the collar-bone...
since Sappho... because...
man had the monopoly on literacy?
  let's not cite who was probably responsible for
writing the first surahs of the quran then...
the illiterate-would-be-warlord / merchant...
or his... older... acumen-proved... wife (Khadija)?
is it... emasculating to clean one's home?
well... it sure as **** wasn't emasculating using a grinder
to cut a bmx out from a winding hug of a Wisteria...
even through the dust mask...
the smell of quartz cutting through steel...
it has to be a tier above that familiarity of cut grass...
a spinning disk of quartz making steel
feel like a tub of butter.
Qweyku Nov 2016
Sometimes the rain falls
as if its penning poetry
to the rhythm of its own music;
a sonic tune of liquid tapestry.

Cleft from a sky immersed
in the scene of a tragedy.
It's tears,
the pitter-patter;
a solemn dance
for all humanity.

An ancient jig this fluid frolic
never tiring of its endless cycle
vesting and revisiting this terra firma
like a lover emasculating the earth
of its desert state,
or adding to its oceans
in a bid to be free.

But you’re here again, I’ve noticed
for even through windows
your music plays a clamorous
and rather brazen beat.

Take my hand, why don’t you?

Come.

Dance with me.



**© Qwey.ku
David Dec 2014
you see,
well rather ironically
you dont...
or at least i dont
(...my mistake)
(that was my perception/projection of "you" based on "me" because we (again sorry or/ sorry again) can only see the world egocentrically)
i lost my glasses last week
havent seemed keen
on finding them on the streets of
O, (Oh) (OH) how i keened after them (IO)
driving on a mirror this morning, mourning, before the sun, a rose, arose.
i finally noticed them gone.
the acid lined upper middle class road from my
(socially speaking)
lower class acid ridden
(economically speaking)
upper middle class mind
had dis(re)appeared^(infinity)

all time was lost

and for the first time in my driving career
i found myself, spending more time looking at the street than at the road
shooting stars of red streamed after taillights
as if always trying to catch up
  greens joined in from lights above
...but did not muddle the stars  
like the perfectly controlled watercolor artisan

what Virtuoso, what Perfectionist, what Letter-dash-letter of a being
could create such an immaculate emasculating picture (lack of question mark)
i am humbled.

p.s
i gave up looking for my glasses
my vision seemed perfectly clear
so was yours (Sorry)
Word Study #2
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2015
tears are unlike tigers fed by buddhists: oh god... i wish i was a woman, then i’d not have cried my tears drunk, but sober, like any woman does, like any woman has... and my correction what inhabited by tartars fighting the teutons with the tartar i took as blood-relatives and the tuetons as politically-related; ivan made the entitlements of the title of tsar as worth cenroship of the coupon for the lean meat in hunting for war among the pole’s marshall law in dostoyevsky. be warned... my blood runs decided into the harvest of wheat and sweat, rather than the parlor room and chandelier corsets; while boney m filled the rest - inviting islam into europe by ignoring poland.*

so drunk they want a rewrite...
i missed the joke...
got a rewrite instead...
was i plagiarising?
i don’t know... you know.
originally intended like sunrise...
instead taken as copyist of sun-and-orange...
can’t be repeated... but i wanted it said...
but they didn’t want it said... they wanted it unsaid...
wanted it seen but unseen and therefore thought
and when transmitted not really thought...
just willed... comparatively ingrained and lost too...
it was a charlie murray quote that got me...
i thought i was testimony... oh right... now i remember...
gay **** is really emasculating...
it’s like watching 90 minutes of football...
gay **** does that to you... really there
among ******* videos...
i just like watching the eyes...
i make eye-contact...
and it’s almost bowtie with the suffocating gag
of the girl...
but no... it’s more like niqab in the night... joke...
******* is more emasculating than football...
honest to god hear my prayer - while heterosexual
*** is really discouraging from transition
of daughter to ****** to ***** to wife to mother...
nibbled ******* unless it was islamic hide & seek!
ah... call mohammed... i need my head chopped off!
She deserves recognition
For her work as a technician
Who's expertise is ball bustin
Who majors in *******

Excelling in the field of advance
Hot air production
A profession heckler who
Composes an orchestra conductin

A firework show eruptin
With colorful rants red, and purples
She's acclaimed for rhetorical
Questions that repeats in circles

An elite linguistics scholar
Who's sarcasm is an accomplishment
Very talented...no gifted at making
An insult sound like a compliment

And Her stamina to do so
Is like an Olympian who's pleased
Only when her track and field
Meet of slander makes ur ears bleed

A masters degree in belittling
A graduated philosopher for the bitter
Must be a psychologist the way
She attacks my sanity to litter

Insecurities, and doubts and I
Heard she has a phd in hypnosis
Until u start to believe her *******
And this psychosomatic is ur psychosis

A world class magician who's
Tricks leave u perplexed in thought
A novelist who narrates to taunt
Controlling all characters and plot

She wrote the book on torturing
A man and emasculating him so
He may never move forward and
She was in the military I'm told

Historically known for her
intellectual Warfare
Manipulating soilders and utilizing
The grounds to ambush u there

A social tyrant who's brilliant
Political ties help her achieve
Her plan like constituents are
Biased so they're all after me

A paralegal who's unfair and lethal
And to her it's titalation
Unfair is her terms but like a
Perm ull get burned in litagation

A degree in early childhood
Education so she acts like a rebel
Perfecting being childish and
Unaffected by ur feelings on levels

Only a schoolyard bully could
Match, she's my jailhouse warden
Who's power is focused on me
Relentlessly constructing like a foreman

With Her future blueprints to
See what the hell she builds for me
Will look like, and she's also a director
In the ******* industry

So she tells in great detail
Just how I'll be ******
She must have been taught by
Peter pan how to never grow up

Trained as medic who specializes
In one area over them all
Nudering human males
So surgically she removes my *****

After she breaks them and
So I am the constant fool
This exceptional jack of trades
Makes me wish that I stayed in school
Glenn McCrary Oct 2012
And again surfaced that smirk
Glinting ever so alluringly in my wake
Kindling an effigy of suspense

Amidst the faces that evening
With the minutes I dissolved
As classic fairness advanced
Forsaken was I to saturate within carnality

Could such a reason exist
For such monumental idolatry?
Could such possibilities exist
For the sake of emasculating warriors?
Arcassin B Sep 2014
By Arcassin Burnham




Stupid punk-headed faget *****,
We ain't on the same level,
I will dust you off my shoes,
And I personally know the devil,
You ain't putting fear in my heart,
Its pure gold,
You can not start a war,
That has been finished since I wrote in this text box,
About how inconsiderate you ******* are,
Please you will get hit by a car,
And when the stars aligned and the time is right,
Your whole team will go down,
Like a neon light,
We power up,
We take control,
Like dash did to you,
You making me laugh so ******* hard,
I'm emasculating while I have the flu,
Once again **** the mafia,
A bunch of ******* weirdos,
Kiss my ***,
While I sip my tea and eat my cheetos,
E-mail this to your mothers,
See if they don't get disgusted,
You ****** up bad,
Thinking I wasn't gonna respond but I wasn't,
Until you put melz in it,
And then a ***** got Belligerent
******* and your crew,
A bunch of peasants.
**** the mafia
Jean Rojas Dec 2015
The dark demons in my head
Would all proclaim,
The pain is dead
The shot so hard
The price so high
As gawking, ghoulish grins
Come forward to flaunt
The chains emasculating me
In wild, ecliptical regressions
Pressuring my senses
To lie in a calm
That no longer exists

The needles of my peace
Frustrate my confidence, sublime
As i await the restoration of my sanity
The renaissance of my agility
So i squander reality
Like a cyclone
About to unfold
A devastation
This whirling charade goes on
Until the hours
Have long passed their bedtime
The magic of the wasted clowns
Begins....

If i share with you my story
Will you tell a different tale?
For what I am about to say
Would cost my heart
The tears i’ve cried in vain
But i must tell it just the same

Do not close your eyes
Nor cover your ears
If the pretty pictures fade
For there will surely be
Devils where i come from
Within my room
Inside my head

When the magic drugs me
To sleep
Dreams are often dark and deep
Sorry slumbers shattering
A shivering soul
Predestined to meet its end
Where drunken cannibals blend
Into a wretched scenario
Of an afternoon in hell

There is no awakening
Once the reason is shed
There is no truth
To the demons in my head
No truth at all
About what they said
No truth at all
That the pain is really dead

It never was
And never will be...

Once the magic of the
Wasted clowns
Start to begin..
For: Kurt Cobain
        1997
Butch Decatoria Oct 2018
After the preaching’s
Done-finished
Picking at the scabs
Of our guilt,
At week's end / day of rest;
Just when we almost had it
Bygone / Forgotten
From our minds...

           It's a kinder kin to amnesia
A softer fog of fugue,
A healing art of our brain farts,
Not soaking in shame's
Diminishment
Or stewing in self-helps.

"Deliver us!"      (bow down genuflect)

But then again
Here we are together to gather
Uncomplainingly
Complacently listening
Absorbing every lash
Of the metaphorical whip,
To be guided back to good

Such sermons for the flawed
humans that we know
We are -- unworthy...
But willingly we suffer
The word.
Oh how to be just like
The lamb...

So now, afterwards, when we have been
Emotionally & verbally punctured
Full of hollow
We are holes unworthy
Of being
Made whole...
Or so, we've been told
"It is written."

Now then let us meet for
homily
After King James harangues us
His version of fellowship,
Let us have verbal
******* with the word.
(Begotten?)
Perhaps over supping
Or during beer & NFL
Or some blood
Sport
Non-emasculating,

Reminding us how
Weekends roar
And Life is
Worth more
Than the inner wars
We are ourselves
Fighting.

After the sermon,  
Let's have true verbal
*******...

(Without be getting a shred
Of guilt)
sydney Mar 2021
Why is it that
I am held to a standard set in stone
That you are able to treat like a mold

Why is it that
I am punished for not acting “lady-like”
Yet you are excused because “boys will be boys”

Why is it that
When I was a girl, I wasn’t strong enough to lift a chair
Because you, were the “strong boy” my teacher required

Why is it that
I am trained in passivity
While you are praised for being actively inquisitive

Why is it that
As I speak out, I am obnoxiously bossy
But as you speak out, you are a heroic leader

Why is it that
When insulting me, I’m a *****
But when insulting you, you are just a son of that *****

Why is it that
I can’t speak my truth because that would be emasculating
But you are entitled to, because your truth actually has value

Why is it that
—for the same action—
I am spat out, left ruminating in a puddle of self-doubt
While you are uplifted and encouraged

And, why is it that
I've internalized all of these messages, absorbing the ramifications
While you are able to effectively maneuver them, benefiting off of my downfall

Why is it that, now
I reflexively utter “sorry,” coating my rhetoric to please you

Why is it that, now
I instantaneously tell you, “no, it's ok” when
it isn't. ok.

Why is it that, now
When an adult man catcalls me, a teenage girl
I am taught that is my obligation to indulge him, be kind
So I am not further harassed


And, tell me, why is it that
I am taught to compromise my needs
To fulfill yours
This poem is about the double standard and misogyny that is so rooted in our society resulting in, eventually, every person being a walking reflection of it.
vinny Mar 2016
please block my number
when i call to ask for help
you've always been there to save me
and because i'm so lazy
i never learned to help myself

fell down a rabbit hole for a need to explore
thought i hit bottom but found a trap door

so don't respond when i text wassup

this time you can't save me
with your emasculating and
unwavering enabling

so cut me from your cordelette length

for now i must find
my own strength
I am not a girl
I forgot to tell you that
I have never been a girl
I wish you knew how much it hurt to mark
Female on the PSAT
When I was not female in my mind
How emasculating it is to wear a skirt everyday
And be called sweetheart
Did I tell you how wrong I feel when I look in the mirror and see
A woman looking back
How I want to cut out the parts of me that don’t fit
I wouldn't even feel the pain
It would be nothing compared to the pain of being in the wrong body
This is the wrong body
I am not a girl
Derek Mar 2014
you pull on my heartstrings,
plucking with a sensational force,
encroaching my temple.
you shake with such a sensibility,
prancing across the barren trench
of loneliness.
tiny toenails scratch the surface of the skin,
scarring my edifice,
emasculating my core.
but language has power.
it swarms,
creating the metamorphosis of a human -
from a body
to a living creature.
I write this for those
Who are complicated like me
Too busy to find a relationship
But not busy enough to be

Lonely as ****,
And when I say that to some,
They are puzzled and befuddled
A single parent raising his son?

How can you be lonely?
That's when I feel the guilt,
Like I'm ungrateful, cuz it's painful
Explaining a brain full of silk

Emotions, that aren't fulfilled
By a child who's a dependent
I can't express the stress on my chest
And secretly lie like a defendant

And whisper everything will work out
When I'm not even sure it will
And it's emasculating to mask the failing
Without someone to distill

Like I do my son, and fill
My head with optimism
That I reciprocate and return, concerned
When they feel like earths a prison

And I'm not asking, ans this isn't
For the pity I despise when given
I just miss, the bliss of a hug and kiss
To remind me I'm still livin

And yes my son gives me this in
The daily grind, but my mind
When I get a minute that's mine
Always wander to nostalgic times

When I didn't question if I'm
In the place that fate with signs
Led me to. Or like many do
Am I lost where you can't find

A lost in found, lost in frowns
Can't find what I lost, no solid ground
Where you say fake smiles are around
And hate it. Only to realize that now

You do the same, another clown
Who seems anything but profound
I use to be royalty. Had loyalty,
but somewhere it all crashed down

So in my Burger King crown
And my throne, built with a stapler
Made of cardboard, matching my scepter Made of
that hallow cardboard tube you get from wrapping paper

You wrap Xmas gifts with,,
and if you Wonder what the paper was used for
It was used by the me in my past, high off his ***.
Who wrapped up my future

And inside was a dead end job,
Sobriety, and some ****
So when life ***** me, I can be lucky
And slap it on my rusty, ... Well you....

Get the picture. And if it sounds familiar
Or not. But still feel a spot
Inside that you tried filling with ***
An unfillable void, u avoid, but can't stop

Feeling it, when you stop. And got
A moment to yourself
I hope this consolation, for the constellations,
not aligning, is a help

Cause I write this, to get it out,
But I post it publicly, for those at home
Who feel the emptiness. When the phone isn't ringing ....
Your not alone

In being alone, which sounds
Like another of life's contradiction
But contradiction is a literary term,
Almost as if to give u a vision

Of poeticness. Where mine is given,
But the give of irony can be fun
Leaving only humor, left for the tumor
That teaches us, that when the sun

Is out. Not not to take it for granted
So I circle back to my son
And I'm sure, that if still unsecure or
Unsure, whenever this poem Is done

Maybe it's time to train your brain,
To regain a perception, that we
Inadvertently trained it to ignore, in horror
Witnessing what wasn't meant to be

And find solace in all or it ...
I know, I sound like a clicheè
Like a cheesy, hallmark card,
that makes you wish, the author had aids

Ok.. Not aids ... But ******, or something
Now I sound like a *****,
But sometimes I see public display of affection
from couples, and I think

You ******* PPL MAKE ME SICK
HES PROBABLY FUVKING UR SISTER
AND WHEN YOUR AT WORK SHES PROBABLY ....
Wait... I can't be bitter

And you shouldn't be either ..
I know it's easier that it sounds
When robin Williams committed suicide
I swear i couldn't help drown

In thoughts. Of how, somebody, so famed  And Loved,
would want to die
which means there's no chance for me..
But logically, it proves that inside

We all have that void. Annoyed,
Wanting it to just fuvk off
But the hard part in life is concentrating on.
What we have. And not, .... the have nots

And remember what you forgot..,
The annoying, overbearing, ones who
Actually do care, about you, are priceless
And trust me, if you have one too,

A mother. Who tries to smother,
so u run For cover and don't visit
Are the ones you give away, on the days
You rather be Alone to pivot

In worthless worries, only to revisit
The same pain, u feed as you fear it
And as I write this I'm rolling my ****** Eyes too,
cuz nobody wants to hear it

But the truth is *****, just like ur mom
But in end it's the only honesty
Left in a life full of broken dreams and fake smiles
toco-sign the promising

Promises no one kept,
when they said "I love you" or I'll never leave
So I'll try to take my own cheesy advice 
 Left in this poem if u do the same for me

So I gift this to you. And my future self
As well, and I can only hope he
Takes the message inside and abide, or try ...
And Remember,lastly, when coping

That just because your lonely,
It doesn't mean your alone ...
Just because your lonely doesn't mean your alone ...
For u.. I wrote this poem ...
Sometimes Starr Jul 2016
you can go **** yourself!
and she laughed lazily, applying It to everybody
forcing them forward in time with her mind powers
killing the girl over and over in her head

realizing looser control in less of a mind
except me
what if i came back as a bee, or a firefly
i'd forget what humans were

getting high and snuggling pathetically
in the Bring Black Pluto! shirt
receding into rotating personalities

hating her voice like fingernails in the back of her skull
confused by the sickness and disjointed aims of her own diary
emasculating herself because where has he gone

to the sky! in smoke,
on nights.

with rear view mirrors that pigeontoe inwards
she cannot reconcile that she spends to much time
deciding what to reconcile,
an unbecoming that does happen from time to time
narrows her eyes, could catapult her
over that divider
only in dreams

he will be he will be he will be
brooke May 2015
a counselor once told me I had abandonment issues

so i have dreams of this guy shoving his tongue down
my throat like a dart and it makes me s c a r e d of the
things     I can't see in people,      unable to discern the
true intentions      in the  b e d r o c k  of their   heart    
because I don't excavate men anymore (at least that's
what I will tell myself) and I've only e v e r had boys
for toys, people who  give  me their strings for play
things. endearing but emasculating, the two things
i've aspired to be and I guess I'm just   terrified   of
not having control, of being the lowest block on the
totem pole with you can leave me dangled over my
head, you can leave me, you can leave me, you can

leave me.
(c) Brooke Otto 2015

boo.
Butch Decatoria Nov 2016
After the preaching is

Done-finished picking at the scabs

Of our guilt,

At week's end / day of rest;

When we almost had it gone

Forgotten

From our minds...

It's a kinder kin to amnesia

A softer fog of fugue

A healing art of our brain farts,

Not soaking in shame's

Diminishment

Or stewing in self helps

"Deliver us!"          bow down genuflect

But then again

Here we are together to gather

Uncomplainingly

Complacently listening

Absorbing every lash

Of the metaphorical whip,

To be guided back to good

The sermon for the humans that we know

We are -- unworthy

But willingly we suffer

The word...

On how to be just like

The lamb...


So afterwards, when after we've been

Emotionally & verbally punctured

Full of hollow

We are holes unworthy

Of being

Made whole...


Or so, we've been told

It is written.


So then let us meet for homily

After King James harangues us

His version of fellowship,

Let us have verbal

******* with the word.

Perhaps over supping

Or during beer & NFL

Or some blood

Sport

Non-emasculating

Reminding us how

Weekends roar

And Life is

Worth more

Than the inner wars

We are ourselves

Fighting.

After the sermon,  

Let's have true verbal

*******.

(Without a shred of guilt.)
Inspired by Jason Clarke, after researching the word homily. Ty JC. Lol.
Heather Moon May 2015
Excuse my ignorance
or pardon me for my damns
for when I wrote that letter
your breath was still in my lungs
your kiss wound into my tongue
etched into my forefingers
your presence twirling around me like smoke
emasculating freedom of thought
taking over like a low swooping cloud
casting shadows upon thy back
And so when I said I love you
I was misguided
I mistook it for infatuation
like chocolate
pure bliss within the moment
love is not the paper
burning fast and bright for but a second
love is the one that lingers
love is like the hot coals
where a fire has burned
love makes people run
it made you run
for some reason it comes as a burden
to the heart
a heavy sinking anchor.
but to me love is not anything of that sort
it is light and free
it is a songbird
in the early hours

what you felt was fear,
that is the anchor,
now...
release...
Haylin Apr 2019
Sometimes the rain falls
as if its penning poetry
to the rhythm of its own music;
a sonic tune of the liquid tapestry.

Cleft from a sky immersed
in the scene of a tragedy.
It's torn,
the pitter-patter;
a solemn dance
for all humanity.

An ancient jig this fluid frolic
never tiring of its endless cycle
vesting and revisiting this terra firma
like a lover emasculating the earth
of its desert state,
or adding to its oceans
in a bid to be free.

But you’re here again, I’ve noticed
for even through windows
your music plays a clamorous
and a rather brazen beat.

Take my hand, why don’t you?

Come.

Dance with me.
Logan L Aug 2018
Summer, field of fresh flowers
Backyard bonfires
Among cinnamon flavored daffodils
Hazy nights, and hazy days
Hazy cold dark maze built into the back of my mind
Every crack and corner and secret passage ingrained into my memory
Every trap and snare and pit of shame
Suffocating, emasculating holes
Arguments and pain pills and disappointments
A unique enemy in a dungeon I can’t ever really leave
Because even when im gone away
It's in my blood, that sweet smell of cinnamon
Martin Rombach Dec 2015
In the moment, the clarity of the seconds where the self exists I am wallowing
The now is a draining flow of self disrespect
I take what little dopamine I can find from the stories we build in new interactive and technologically enhanced ways
Because I can't seem to let go of when I spoiled the party, showing the people an abstract cancer inside myself
Maybe its the remnants of wine and revelry that juxtaposes against it which gives me reason to indulge in the bitter
Maybe the alcohol and carcinogens are a physical drain I should take into account
Or maybe showing these people that I still am behind, am weak against my personal struggles, maybe its something that I'm ashamed of

This is shame I'm feeling after all
Over something so stupid, and forgettable, yet..
Symbolic of a burning desire that scares me
Anger, the need to fight, shout, scream and 'win', whatever that means
Would I lose it if I stood in shorts and gloves and made the other man fall?
Or does it represent what I think it does?
An emasculating realisation of time lost, friends no longer friends, a face in the mirror that still isn't good enough
As much as I try to love him

I don't know
But now some people I respect know how pathetic my anger can sound so..
You'll have to forgive the self consciousness
I'm thankful for knowledge, friendship and the direction I've manifested out of the madness
I think after giving my body a push, my equals a Hello, my crafts an hour and a bit of a shaping
I'll be fine

I just I don't like being angry
My father slaving for a check
the fed become corrupt elect erupt with disrespect
They say that money's harshly sought out by all those who evil
i see the one percent flourishing off all other people
I see my brothers outside of this bubble slowly dieing
i see that natures trying surviving through humans prying
I see that y'all misguided the guide to life isn't provided
they smoothly try and fool you the fate of lesser decided
By green ;
digits in the bank that you cant see
Paper is your worth if your not worth you wont be seen ;
its aggravating
The system is agitating
exasperate the weak if your poor they emasculating
They not helping
if it aint *** its not selling
Maybe drugs
and other delusions
Fed will come when he is ready via massive intrusion
taking everything you love from in the palms of your hands
Hope your ready to withstand when Marshall law rules the land..
#life #government #depressed #unite #please #worth #money
Butch Decatoria Aug 2017
After the preaching is

Done-finished

picking at the scabs

Of our guilt,

At week's end / day of rest;

When we almost had it

Bygone

Forgotten

From our minds...

           It's a kinder kin to amnesia

A softer fog of fugue,

A healing art of our brain farts,

Not soaking in shame's

Diminishment

Or stewing in self helps

"Deliver us!"      bow down genuflect

But then again

Here we are together to gather

Uncomplainingly

Complacently listening

Absorbing every lash

Of the metaphorical whip,

To be guided back to good

Such sermons for the flawed

humans that we know

We are -- unworthy...

But willingly we suffer

The word.

Oh how to be just like

The lamb...


So afterwards, when after we've been

Emotionally & verbally punctured

Full of hollow

We are holes unworthy

Of being

Made whole...

Or so, we've been told

"It is written."


So now then let us meet for

homily

After King James harangues us

His version of fellowship,

Let us have verbal

******* with the word.

(Worship)

Perhaps over supping

Or during beer & NFL

Or some blood

Sport

Non-emasculating,

Reminding us how

Weekends roar

And Life is

Worth more

Than the inner wars

We are ourselves

Fighting.

After the sermon,  

Let's have true verbal

*******...

(Without a shred of guilt.)
Aye Go Gaga

Hey Play boy bunny,

(▒)(♥)(▒)

Are you tired looking for real dating partner like me
whelp...probably nada worth yar while spending precious
   time frittering away re:
ding tha following mish mash literary mush - we
ving, and bobbing, which iz meaningless mum bo pap agree?

(▒)(♥)(▒)


This poker face mwm 4 bad romance gamboling hall
ideal to suit up for a fun virtual cat and mouse chase
myopic eyes stare intently into cyberspace
folk kiss sing song snap chat ting
mine eyes fixated b4 ur image seconds erase
with an exclamation of eureka a ha -
u look familiar at least yar face
mebbe we both lived during same time centuries ago, eh
perhaps in adjoining caves some place
and/or dashed off the starting line of tha human race.
-    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -
this yo dull ling josh hing glute max a mess aye n us
tooting ring ding oof a max i mus drake
haint named Bruce
boot ah do like the taste of cous cous
what the deuce
as i goose
whereby bull winkle the moose
n Natasha the squirrel plus otter creatures tink i lack mental juice
er purr haps goot a ***** loose
right duh gray matter of dis knit wit, the "infamous" they noose
sum hmm iz amiss from indigent guy lugged in papoose
cob bulled with whirled wide web
peppered with rotten green tomatoes -
prompting n immediate VAMOOSE
& find my rye ming ting ab
solute zero in chime with zee cuckoo
ready to call doktor demento ore Zeus.
-    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -
thus, this friendship introduction
will mutual ideally nada blow
based on ma unseen essence of body, mind
& soul more so than dough
i.e. money, which tends tubby superficial criteria
viz assess worthiness to flow
toward greater comprehension akin to garden
requires one 2 **** din ***
thus, this common non sloppy joe
maw owl ease keeps tim self i.e. ya know
a contemplative sort & writes ha low
crossing fingers immediate aversion arises,
yet an emphatic "no"
toward me would be taken in stride per this poe
it, whose ability finds comfort within simple pleasures
of life while invisible one that doth row
this creaky human vessel occasionally
calls out for big tow.
-    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -
mebbe as a d liver e purse son
2 supplement social security income
(this disability 4 generalized anxiety)
within me gray matter doth lay.
-    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -
although (mentioned for noah particular rhyme nor reason)

of heterosexual tendencies, my inner sanctum affected

by unkind actions towards those,

who (by choice, genetics, fondness,

or environment) steer clear of the madding crowdsource

who (as a rather skinny diminutive boy - and average emasculating

asia meister wordsmith) experienced constant taunts.

no matter that  me very late mother (who passed away from

ovarian cancer some decade plus two years ago) encouraged me to

give the bullies a WHAT FOR (in that era kids could pummel

without reprisal),  but fear kept me back,

viz the brutish nasty monsters zeroed

on countless vulnerabilities such as being affected with blatant

nasal tone when talking,  extremely shy,

and undersized physique honed - fallacy

sensitivity to others differently abe bulled

or others, who hapt to be fair

game sans being gay or lesbian for instance.
-    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -
can be accurately ascertained, this archetypal nonestablishmentarian
introspective individual attempts to affect exultant image
with words my (ahem) pen ultimate aim.
yet all the while trying
to steer clear enduring wagging virtual finger in blame
neither at this fellow via x 'cept able dame
chance circumstances of existence akin to being frozen
in some space/time paradigms frame
attempting extricating ourselves a lifelong game
which message offered in poem rather lame.
-    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -
email moi, which means
applying cerebral muscles 2 flex
fire off a brief bull a tin

or mebbe u wanna drop me a lion by zoo
per doo purr postal service, si from you.

Okay.

(▒)(♥)(▒) - pose crypt:

death tomb he iz a permanent good bye

though, when me mum passed i only did cry

for about one week - cuz resentment did not die

within me, yet toward me octogenarian widower dad

who during tumultuous prepubescence a fie

re: cold war raged,

which deprived "dad" tune oh his guy

now grown (with two adult daughters) says "hi"

allows emotional connection, cuz - lesson learned late -

need to communicate sentiments today, lest they lie

dormant, and return with a vengeance after grim reaper

doth exuberantly and well nigh

whisk a family member, friend, neighbor...away on the sly

thus - even if the wording nada so perfect, the effort to express

heartfelt feelings well worth a try

thus, every mortal shares this bitter irony of life

forever asking being born only to pass away

(vis a vis via whatever faith) why...?
hard not to begin aspiring
aspiring to redeem oneself for a day's
worth of suicide
just by lying in bed
and pickling the body
and subsequently the mind
by extension an abstract
of the brain
of what is material that being
the left hemisphere
which was fused with a nail
to the ear: the word money

while the right hemisphere
is strangely scratched
and i don't mean the head
i mean the vinyl mind scratched
with little microcosms of
**** and alcohol
use

the day began at 9:30
                        today
and i really just had
to knock three out on the toilet
before taking
a shower
at least i can justify knocking
three out -
purges almost bulimic and i
know what
bulimic purging looks like
in the Roman ancient disgust
with eating food

it must have been this disgust
of eating food
from time to time
i wonder did the Celestial
*** Couch'Surfer of Nazareth
stayed in the Tax Collector's
house for the time
being
since also active in the city
as the countryside
so not exactly alien to the concept
of money

what displeased people
most was probably that
and the wisdom contained within money

Ἀπόδοτε οὖν τὰ Καίσαρος
Καίσαρι καὶ τὰ τοῦ Θεοῦ τῷ Θεῷ

render unto Caesar what is Caesar's
and unto God what is God's

  i can meet this faith halway
and render it likewise
away from the time of Caesar
and even a God of Nations
this Global God
i mean:
did yhwh really evolve to a global god
from the god of the individual
of Abraham
say
to then the god of the people
as revealed unto Moses
since Moses
is the keeper of the god of Abraham
and the god of Israel
but a god of the entire world
would be... perhaps too "ambitious"...
how unlikely that
such a burden would be conjured
up by man...
and not a god
since nowhere could it be cited
that yhwh would want to become
the god of the universe
given that he was yet to find foundation
in Greek
in Greek alone there would have had
to appear a manifestation of the Hebrew
rather than in the time of the Roman Empire
and in a place like Palestine -
jeez...

              then so man took up himself
to manifest the tortures
and stand above the god of a people
to become the god of all peoples
and as such i can only return to this man
as a man
and say
that i will consider

his 7 sayings

mt 6:24
L 12:32-34
mk 10:24b-25
mt 13:18-23
L 12:13-15
                L 16:10-11
mk 12:41-44

but already i stand out saying
and i only skimmed the others
so i don't want to space
out as much
as then ask Muhammad
about his take on
ahmed-bahmed-mammon-head

so can be asking really
basic tenets of faith
say if
   i say if
as if

         Azif i say a demon helper
because i'm asking
not metaphysical questions
i'm asking how these two
camel and donkey jockeys
lived

and the reality is pretty basic
the Muhammad was a merchant
and married an older woman
who didn't give him children
but gave him knowledge
and ****** experience
which means yes later could sustain
wives
but he was old by then and prior
to an Arab colt
and i wonder if so illiterate then who
wrote down the ****
book and i'm guessing it was
none other than his first wife

Khadīja **** Khuwaylid - died 619
ha! 610!
            well for a second there
i thought i might be wrong
               should she have died after
just the basic life worn
knitty gritty

   perhaps like that mutter under the breath
of the bicycle shop repair guy
for want a refund on job
not done
personal belonging "confiscated"
and then the ordering of a spoke
one ******* spoke
almost 2 weeks
i say what service
sooner i ******* watch a youtube
video
buy the spoke key
and some spokes
and do the ******* thing myself
why mutter little boy
at me
i wonder aren't you working in
a bicycle shop
are you too lazy to see the potential
perhaps i work lazily looking
at people
but it's still the same mantra:
security, safety & service
along all long yards of wage labouring
if not actually laboring with
the body
all jobs alike outside the realm
of construction and moving **** about
industry of trucks and skips
but come on...
"engineer": the "engineer" took
a holiday and i was misled that
this wouldn't take two *******
weeks for one ******* spoke

let's get real this is not a nuclear
war tension of a disgruntled
customer not throwing tantrums
but asking in advance
before showing the arrears receipt
i.e.

     ooh - new guy, none of those
passive aggressive Steppenwolf not so's
(maybe, almost but that's
rather moi)

                  'so, in your opinion,
how long should a spoke replacement
take, roughly 2 or 3?'
'well... given that our engineer is
on annual leave
and should be back on Thursday
once we order the parts...'

   'that's fine... see i've been waiting
two weeks
and nothing so here is my receipt
and could i please get a refund
and my wheel back, please, thank you...'

i cut him off before he could
try to have a lie-around
a way to excuse the service of this
corporate cycle repair shop
next thing
i'm going to do is travel
to Whitechapel to see my China-man
because he only has an ice-cream
van sort of space in a hole
in the wall next to the Mosque
and i'm wondering how to enter
the mosque once more
and just sit there
perhaps just to treat it as a safe space
perhaps just ask:
can i come in?
can i sit down and meditate?

i remember when i was in Russia
that was near impossible
you couldn't sit in the church
because it was some disrespect
but then all the tourists
around while the locals
had to deal with it
while a mass was taken place
and the priest stood face to altar
with the people behind him
and the people all standing
because unlike in catholic churches
there were no benches
for you to sit on
there were no three positions of
stand, kneel, sit...

Muslims just stand
kneel then bend...

perhaps it's a more comfortable prayer
position
perhaps the dynamic of 15min max
5x a day
well...
i am of the "first"
but not the first
and is it really a day for a bbq on the sly
i mean the Aussie
way of just maybe cooking
outside
not bbq like it's a party
but like al fresco
but not really not in England
so just cooking al fresco
that's nice...
i think that's a sort of rich boy saying
middle of the way
to be able to cook outside
and not in a kitchen
with the birds chirping
and i'm pretty sure Buddha has nothing
to add on the subject of money
and of work...
i wonder what is considered work
then...

if this camel and donkey jockeys
had to say something about money
then what did they say about work?

maybe... 1 Thessalonians 4:11
but that's no longer Jesus
but Christianity...
                                otherwise everything
seems rather vague
and yet work we must
and work we adhere to
and no venture beyond it
in some madness of
a suntan and the surf
or perhaps
something less troublesome
as time unspent
               yet lived such lived
as to decree
O what is truly necessary
now that not loving
is worth more than loving
and how loving
was so claustrophobic
and so ego-unresponsive
and i know
that i mentioned
an ego-destruction
but that's o.k.
in a crowd but when one
returns to one's
own bedroom
and one's own head
and the person who was loved
isn't there
then surely she should
expect to have a relationship
with a "bad boy"
in prison much closer to home
because the fact that i'm
writing from London
and she's reading from Kauai
last night i sent her 7 half drunken
messages
and then deleted them
since i was also half sober
so there you go
there you go...
there you are...
                          easy enough?
so, eyes turned all foggy
and i was relaxing with the wrong
sort of music and
who's this apology even to?
now come to think of it:

there was a change of 'what's for dinner'
since it's raining on off on off
and i don't want to be the local
shaman to conjure up sunshine
and parting clouds
i kinda like this luster of damp
and moisture
and thinking about insects like
spiders: notably spiders
and how i giggle at my sometime
arachnophobia
  (phew! almost thought i'd misspell it!
and yes... honing in on 3pm
and changing plans
from a bbq to a curry)

       ... interlude... interlude... interlude (no ****)...

nostalgia nostalgia
that year not so long ago
when the sun was just a sun
and below
London Stadium
and Red Hot Chili Peppers
and i was still so inexperienced
and only a pawn
in traffic cone

         and so careless almost devoid
of love's interest...

steward of the household
steward of the household
in the old days
who is to say that men belong
in the fields
and that women belong
in the houses
and who stays long enough
to board the safe havens
of a 'otel - no dare to wonder
what role is this
somehow emasculating
because i find joy in cooking
and ironing shirts
and looking presentable
and what is to say that woman
does that
perhaps like could look
Victorian
just whenever i ride the shallow
worms of London
notably the Distrct
Circle Hammersmith & City
and the metropolitan lines

oh i could write a poem about
the London underground
perhaps that's another project
ride each line from one end to another
do these little weekend trips during
the week
and be less of a bother
to the occupied space
i hear Ruslip is pretty and i've walked
to Epping
so i can say that much about so little

oh perhaps even now
this can be seen as less an emasculating
work title: unpaid
who said all work was paid
let's assume that there are works
in this world that
cannot invoke the relation to Caesar
let us just say
that there are certain things that have
to be done not
metaphysics usurped or whatever
but little deeds that are governed
by silent applause
from a canned laughter crowd
i mean rewarded without due
but rather duty
from want
rather than expectation
from a faceless man
to a facing faceless man man
i.e. with face
and that negation of grace that comes
when loving expectations are
not met
loved as in catered to and for...
in some respects of...
from the perspective of the essentials of life...

              Eumolpus
   Attica
                Thrace
         Eumolpidae: the family...
O once was the richness of the abode
of families
that the life we now owe
succumbed to that family of Judea
and how we are punished for adhering to
it so...
what jovial pasts were once
and now no longer are
(Reigns A Welter Of Disorder)

Caravans comprising multitudinous
     peoples plodded a steady course
analogous to iron filings drawn by
     strong magnetic force
gravitational pull generated

     by North America
     an irresistible source,
which tug felt
     nearly all the way round
     webbed wide world beckoning

     for waves of humanity
figuratively donned as spawning fish,
toward which currently dimming
     beacon of democracy flickr
     Trump might extinguish

though tis quite heart
     breaking to experience
vicariously as one collective soul,
     these desperate folks
ambitious to seek asylum,

     (and eventual citizenship),
     while this "FAKE" president
     invents many a...holy SMOKES
outrageous, nefarious, and malicious
     dagger o type cruel barbed wire

accusing, condemning, and emasculating,
     (I could continue),
     but ye dear reader would tire
unless individuals
     affected by xenophobia

     countenance same stance
     as Commander in Chief,
     or contrariwise some
     like minded
     thinkers, rack **** sitter
the migrant situation dire,

     would effectively serve me
     as preaching to
     the Unitarian choir,
yet any sensate
     person must admit
tis quite upsetting, lamenting,

     and agonizing to witness
     hordes of persons treated like
     some pestilential
     eyesore dagnabbit,
yes this chap can
     endlessly spout flibbertigibbet,

though thee crux of my opinion,
     inspires a poem express
     sing supportive emotions
     particularly acknowledging,
     how these masses (thousands)

     of vulnerable individuals
show true grit,
nonetheless yours truly,
     would be hard pressed
     for an immediate

     humane solution to corral
this extensive kit
and caboodle, though this generic guy
with a poetic knack
shakes his noggin

watching armed flack
delivered from border patrol agents/
United States military, lack
restraint, and who outright attack
trespassers at point

     blank range that pack,
a deadly (Judge Judy ish
     huss) punch smack
king young ones
     upside the head forcing

everyone to backtrack
to their homeland of
     persecution by crack
headed gang members, which thugs
     violently land a deadly whack!
(tell the dee jay to cue Thus Spake Zarathustra)

Most recent orbitz upon oblate spheroid
launched dawning consciousness, of this android
hood doth dream of electric sheep,
perhaps one named Dan Aykroyd
Yes - band aid together with Blues Brothers

adept at performing renditions, sans Pink Floyd,
asper where soul asylum hoop fully sent
precariously perched upon an asteroid
as aye trundled mine third score journey
around nearest star hearkening greater intent

for this nasal twanging, which annoyed
me as a kid (split uvula courtesy scapegoat)
bullies zeroed in (kamikaze like) destroyed
(thoroughly good) mine self esteem
puncturing psyche whole life, asper yours truly

(long stretched his mein kampf) never enjoyed,
now long since dismissed from class, or rather
painstakingly, sluggishly, woefully
zipped along analogous to an amoeboid
arriving at present juncture (at the outer

limits of the twilight zone) often plaque
tracking, via blunt, fingerlike, lobose diploid
pseudopods, and tubular mitochondrial
cristae eventually brink king edge of devoid
of eternal night and nothingness

in tow with existential demise unavoid
double vision, emasculating spectacle
embarrassment to fellow protozoa,
this vignette by the way...a "FAKE" factoid
but came to in a flash while deployed

in an effort to craft inane rhyme, no reason
either that or share ****** hemorrhoid
verse (barely appropriate material) for
alien, foreigner or humanoid,

thus confabulating prevarication
to entertain, kibbitz, regale with overactive
imagination not jest prominent among Mongoloid,
but storytelling evident with Caucasoid and Negroid.
McKenzie Apr 2019
Nothing but a puppet on strings.
Tight knots wrapped around my wrists.
So taut that my blood begins to clot.
They prevent me from my escape.
I want to travel far away.

Driving miles until I reach the Colorado Springs.
The rugged, vermillion rock stays solid in my fists,
As I climb my way to the top of Pikes Peak, stopping to stare at a vacant lot.
I squint to see a young girl hunched over with her mouth agape.
And a tall man with an assertive stance scouting his prey.

Apparent bruising from the top of her head to her rings.
Her arms pulled back by a rope, all in a twist.
Her eyes, ringed with a red tint, and nose, filled with snot.
The man exposes the woman, leaving her undraped.
A frightened yelp escapes from her airway.

My body stays locked in place as I watch him clip her wings.
Her eyes bore into mine, glazed over with a mist.
Then the man stands up, his sin on display, and walks away like it was all for naught.
The ground became unstable, throwing me to and fro until I began to sway.

And there I am. Collapsed on the concrete of the Colorado Springs.
The rope, feeling as emasculating my hands, taut and continues to persist.
My feeble fingers push my ponderous body out of the squat.
And I look up to see a woman staring my way.
Satsih Verma Oct 2018
I wanted to speak out
in hindsight. Details were
of no relevance.

The consensual suicide
had an emasculating effect
on the passion, when-
the moon did not rise.

Privy to a hidden agenda
of age defying wrinkles on fore head.
I ask you, can you read
the dead's face?

You would say I cannot
live any more, like
arthropods you want to burry
in sand, hiding your lies.

You want to talk-
endlessly about getting
nowhere sitting with
giants of sin.

Where was god?
Butch Decatoria May 2021
HOMILY


After the preaching’s
Done-finished
Picking at the scabs
Of our guilt,
At week's end / day of rest;
Just when we almost had it
Bygone / Forgotten
From our minds
           It's a kinder kin to amnesia
A softer fog of fugue,
A healing art of our brain farts,
Not soaking in shame's
Diminishment,
Or stewing in self-helps.
"Deliver us!"      (bow down genuflect)

But then again
Here we are together to gather
Uncomplainingly
Complacently listening
Absorbing every lash
Of the metaphorical whip,
To be guided back to good
Such sermons for the flawed
humans that we know
We are -- unworthy...
But willingly we suffer
The word.
Oh how to be just like
The lamb...

So now, afterwards, when we have been
Emotionally & verbally punctured
Full of hollow
We are holes unworthy
Of being
Made whole...
Or so, we've been told
"It is written."

Now then let us meet for
homily
After King James harangues us
His version of fellowship,
Let us have verbal
******* with the word.
(Begotten?)
Perhaps over supping
Or during beer & NFL
Or some blood
Sport
Non-emasculating,
Reminding us how
Weekends roar
And Life is
Worth more
Than the inner wars
We are ourselves
Fighting.

After the sermon,  
Let's have true verbal
*******...
(Without be-getting a shred
Of guilt).
Not by choice this average
     bonehead configured Earthlinked
     went kicking, and screaming
     into refuse bin
naturally (no questions asked,
     nor guffaws uttered) with chin
clamped tight, since the missus
     (by some rare, min

ness school, one in a
     bajillion chancy pin
in a haystack fluke
     of circumstance) sin
gull handed dropped,
     the entire set of keys (YES) vin
**** heave lee into
     the morbid, horrid

     and fetid weeks old
     garbage filled dumpster,
     this an absolute zero - no win
ning situation, roundly pitched
     against a cosmic malicious yin
hmm..., a hunch shot
     thru my mind, that she,
whose first name simply Abby

blithely, casually,
     and deliberately tossed
     the only set of keys free
lee (for sole access
     to our apartment, plus
     the singular way to start our car,
     a 2009 Hyundai Sonata

     as if that makes sum difference),
     and with her sinister glee
fully, excitedly, and coquettish lee,
plus maniacally, preternaturally,
     and snidely wanted me
to sink deep into the
     junk yard rabid dog gone,
     maggot and rat

     infested stinking pit pre
venting no more violent
     fisticuff altercations getting re
tally lit tory revenge e'er since
     (I readily, stoically,
     and tacitly admit),
     this blowhard good
     for nothing husband drunken deal

O meg odd, Sigma Epsilon
     former frat boy,
     who weathered
     volleyed unspooled evil
epithet laced expletives  
both of us suffering fools dell
lose hen null, asper
      this match made in hell

yourr truly inflicting (measure
     for measure) un intel
ledge gent till hurtful heaping
     glomming pell mell
     more'n a death knell
feline times nine
     lifetimes of misery hard sell
tum ma crony's, a

     worthless corny soul
     shucked aye tell
     each of our base grotesqueness
     equally receiving our
     deserved respective weltanschauung
headstrong shouldering keel well
ling kneecaps, and toes
oven angry papa

     no match for an absurd
albeit, one petsmart mama bird,
twittering cruelly, emasculating    
my manhood, curd
dill ling, and excoriating
     thine ego, gird
ding mine entire being
     with accursed damnation heard,

this side of Schwenksville, Pennsylvania,
     sans her blistering, unswerving,
     and weltering wicked wrathfulness,
     yawping fiendish zeal,
     she malevolently espoused
     with every scathing word.
V C Vaughn Feb 2020
She’s the kind of woman that scares the hell out most men.
Things don’t impress her. Can’t judge her by her cover.

She’ll wear a funky inappropriate, tee shirt with a velvet skirt.
Cowboy boots and a Jean Jacket with an evening dress.

You may even find her in an old flannel shirt leggings and rubies,
In the barn emasculating a bull.

Hell, she’s been known to wear pearls and muck boots.
She’s odd like that.

She likes what she like and is no slave to fashion or
Other’s options of her.

She’s strong accomplished **** and if you don’t believe me,
Well she has some tools in the barn she’ll show you.

It only hurt a little.

— The End —