"enrage" poems
Precarious Life
Migration in the Age of Globalization
Various Strife
Cessation in the wage of translation
Starvation in our under age narration
Is opportunity worth the cost
Bifurcation of our to be nations
Will we make it across
Vicariously rife
Location of our permanent vacation
Hilarious fife
Hesitation in the living wage stagnation
Resignation of our own home nation
Will anything become lost
Frustration in this age of relocation
Will we make it across
Gregarious life
Migration in the age of inflation
Precarious Life
Stagflation been gauged with low expectations
Automation when we enrage damnation
It shall be worth the cost
Fixation on a whole new acclimation
Will we make it across
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 2:46 PM UTC
***It can enrage the angels
Devils it can make serene
Most powerful creation
Anyone has ever seen
Peace in cruel hell
It's rhymes can create
It's emotions can bring
The heavens to hate***
Jul 13, 2016
Jul 13, 2016 at 11:15 AM UTC
*She's there, suddenly noticed, woman from the dream
Above the dance floor, red hair fire falling down around a moonlight face
All others blur in the sea of bodies and burn on the sidelines of tunnel vision as the freckles of stars
Cerulean eyes vacuum the dark within a frame that illuminates and
I'm struck, suddenly pulling a name from ether*
Julia,
I whisper
Gunshot
rings, three drinks in
reach to the rib to feel dress wear for which metal was traded
Gunshot
bartender dead
one stray bullet punctured his head burst through the back and then popped
a fifth of Jameson.
Kick
Punch
Elbow
Motion slicing and justified
Neck
Snap
Disarm
Violent crash when pacified
Autonomy engage,
Bang, bang
Enrage
She
A
Knife
Gunshot
nine times in row
nine suited men dropped still in tow, two more take employees' door
Gunshot
following fast
upstair sprint with empty clip, K.O. with strong arm hefty throw
She leaves safe with escort
Up one more flight to the rooftop
This isn't the first time Julia's run away
This is the first time she's been chased by wanting legs
Who otherwise stood still on the platform watching a present face
Depart when maybe just maybe there was a chance in three words, sure
In three words
Violent crash in memory
Autonomy engage,
Retrace the pain
and follow
dream
A
l
i
g
h
t
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 9:23 AM UTC
I saw inscrutable
senses,
I saw how he pushed,
pushed them away,
I never saw it heaving back,
I saw him stealing,
stealing a particular
piece of enrage,
I saw his mansion
where he built,
built a powerful
vengeance,
he covered himself with,
with dusk and dawn,
he proofread himself
occasionally so,
he imbibed forest,
forest of shadows
and masks,
I saw he smashed,
smashed the only vase
I thought was worth saving,
I saw him being a human,
human his world wasn't for him.
Mar 8, 2014
Mar 8, 2014 at 12:47 PM UTC
I want to be a man.
I want the broad,
Sculpted shoulders.
I want the deep, gruff,
Musty vociferation that roars
From within the pit
Of his stomach.
I want the veiny, *****
Callous hands. The ruffled,
Strong hands that hold dirt
And flesh without hesitation,
Or dubious grasp.
I want the broken nose,
The ****** teeth,
And the enraged, inflamed eyes.
I want the hair, the dark,
Damp, coarse hair that grows
From his every pore,
Resembling more and more
The body of an ape.
I want the smirk,
The arrogant smile splat
On his face.
I want the swagger,
The saunter that is
So impregnated in his walk,
That one which steps the earth,
Waiting for it to shatter
With his every advance.
I want the commanding voice,
That which with his footstep,
Orders the world to be held
In his hands.
I want to be proud,
Be primitive,
Strong.
I want my immediate desires
To be quenched
By the milliard.
I want to destroy
And create.
I want to seek,
Seek with zeal,
And desperation
Despite stability,
Despite being pleasured.
I want the dissatisfaction
That comes with being a man,
The constant unhappiness,
The constant yelp
For something
Other than what is being offered.
I want to hate,
I want to enrage,
And be enraged.
I want to punch,
To butcher till that which I despised
Is nothing more.
I want to rip that which is his,
And his, and mine.
I want the lack of restraint,
Because it is all acknowledged
When you are a man.
It is all pardoned,
And when condemned,
There is always exile,
Exile to then live in solitude,
Still seeking for that which isn’t his.
I want to breathe freshness,
And deliver the putrid breath of
Meat, *** and saliva.
I want to be a man,
For I am not.
Oct 1, 2015
Oct 1, 2015 at 5:49 PM UTC
his icy blue eyes never fail to engage me,
enrage me, or perhaps
tempt me.
but then they melt,
and he slowly evaporates.
Dec 15, 2018
Dec 15, 2018 at 10:23 AM UTC
I have travelled, many a weary step, so long, and for so long with baited breath,
ANXIOUS
ready to be relieved of the responsibilities of life
craving freedom from calamity and strife
frantic and frenzied
as though at some point i might find the answer
to an oft ignored question
i look up at the stars, as they look down at me
and bask in the glory of the past and present's symmetry
because there are so many of us...
all bound to humanity
now passed through the flame of mortality
the "others"
the ones who have asked themselves why they're here
the intellectuals warriors who have no need for fear
when they look into the veil of death
and sense the first vibrations on the pulse of life
when i used to dip my pen into the ink,
metaphorically, because my computer helps me to think
i used to doubt engaging in the process of creation
it used to enrage
my self serving denomination
the sensation of never quite being able to express yourself as fluidly as option b
or the devilry that comes from hiding yourself within the layers of flesh referred to as anatomy
i use to cower by act three,
run from the stage before the audience saw through me,
never receiving my final bow
but now i realize,
that at the core of my existence
imbedded in my instincts
is the ability of my creator....
and I'm a fan
so now when i dip my pen to the paper
I'm a masked crusader
cool, liek darth vader
and i aint never going back
to that tired dusty beaten track
refered to, in passing, as memory lane
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 2:03 PM UTC
Oh, How God test us?
To change us.
To impress us to see our truth.
When confronting your self racism?
We limit our views on certain level and express on others.
A Jewish soul marry and Italian soul.
And instantly we attack the marriage and play the religious route concerning them.
Even addressing this upon the children's blessed between them.
We, get more intense and enrage when we see another perspective.
A black male marry around white female in union.
And quickly we run the route of vengeance toward them.
Maybe because of the slavery past that so closely connected to the races.
Instead of seeing love, we see race without confronting our self racism.
Oh, the heat is more upon the white race.
Although various blacks can be just as worse.
And strange to admit, we hear the best racism preached in the house of the Lord by the church leaders.
And odds as it may seem to many.
Being racist doesn't get you any closer to heaven.
Aug 11, 2016
Aug 11, 2016 at 11:25 AM UTC
Breathe in the air of the past
and relive the memories of our ancestors
forget not the blood
paid for our freedom
which in every drop
holds a martyr's story
The land we live on
is the same land which they died for
Giving us the land
that we borrowed from our children
and not putting it
to any waste
Enrage the heart of our history's heroes
with pride, gratitude and nationalism
for they sacrificed the
sunrise they longed for
to wake us up in the beginning
of the sun we call freedom
Apr 3, 2012
Apr 3, 2012 at 5:38 PM UTC
Light
Longing
Lust
Listen
Litter
Life
Linger
Laugh
Open
Obsessed
Occult
Oddballs
*******
Old
Oblivious
Organic
******
Validate
Voice
Victorious
Vindictive
Various
Virtuality
Vain
Equal
Enrage
Entropy
Ecstasy
Electric
Enamored
Envelop
Everything
May 21, 2013
May 21, 2013 at 12:37 AM UTC
aware of my thighs for the first time
the chafing feeling was strange
but that was before
I would be told it was wrong
for them to feel each other this way
a flash of grey concrete
a drizzly morn
amongst school-yard mayhem
when i ran for the ball
I realised with a slap
that my tights could but fall
to reveal a small clap
a self- conscious call
an echoing sound
of my dark tiny caves
and to those all-around
it would seem to enrage
that a girl could but play
on her imaginary stage
and be so unaware
of society’s rage
against anything
that could be seen to unfit
the symmetry’s model
or prophesied kit
and if the stitches were not tied
and the girl wouldn’t sit
she would endure the world's plight
of malicious hot spit
so read out the pages
of her cautionary tale
of ****** in rib-cages
that would just bring to fail
an attention that was given
to other females
as she would learn to despise
her own meat on the scales
....
Aug 7, 2016
Aug 7, 2016 at 7:15 PM UTC
It was written in the beginning, a beginning before Britain, before folklore, gore and war. A beginning then, when the lords created, decorated and separated the night and also the bright, bright light. Therefore, a delight! In the beginning, creating the seven ways of days and the rays. The birth of earth, the black ravens, the havens and the heavens. A beginning of clean slates, dreams, schemes and themes!
As I blink and wink, badly and sadly I think… An ending, with fate or an ending with no ascending or commending date? Let’s debate and negotiate! A beginning, of Pharaohs, their arrows and the sparrows. An ending of sorrow? A beginning, borrowed from our hour’s tomorrow? An ending, I deem, that forever bends, defends, depends, pretends and never, ever seems to end. The heavens specialties and
hell’s cruelties. Governments and their restraints! Negative and positive lengths and strengths. A beginning and an ending; betrayed and strayed, long before many of us were to play or say. Stories of cities, glories and their pities! Starving nations and Haitians! Expensive vacations and relations! The elapsed and relapsed! Perhaps, the mishaps and disruption of our corruption’s eruption and ending
destruction? Hey! I say, let’s turn a page past the basked, the masked and vast. A fold past the cages that enrage-rage, wage and old age.
The detained delights, the petty fights and plights. Why can’t we each reunite? Unite forever! Drop and stop this harm and fight. Fly into the night, together with our almighty arms and mighty charms. Primarily, in the beginning or ending, let us not negatively but too positively and ultimately amend! Children, men and women, amen.
Feb 8, 2012
Feb 8, 2012 at 8:18 AM UTC
would it really be a crime,
for you and i to stand side by side?
would it truely bring dispare
for you and i to share
would it bring joy
for you and i to enjoy,
this soft embrace
just one time?
a kiss as soft as snow
a subtle touch of hands,
oh darling,
would it truely enrage the land
for us to just hold hands?
Jul 15, 2019
Jul 15, 2019 at 7:17 AM UTC
One day these grey clouds that linger above
Will give up and allow their rain to fall
The droplets like an echo of my love
A shadow of the leaves that fell in fall
I long to reach up with my hands and grab
Those hideous clouds I wish would crash
Your sign is cancer, the sign of the crab
It seems we are not meant to be, we clash
But I know your eyes, eyes I can't evade
For that I become a slave to that grey
They bear into me as if to invade
I have no complaint, I only say stay
My hearts the flame that you always enrage
Trapping me in passions bottomless cage
Jan 23, 2019
Jan 23, 2019 at 1:37 PM UTC
lets just say
there is
no wrong or right
no black or white
all things being
equal
it is all inconsequential
dance
laugh
scream
cry
engage
enrage
dissapate
transform through time
Feb 10, 2012
Feb 10, 2012 at 3:02 AM UTC
Years had gone by since the boys eyes were open,
All around him his life lay useless and broken.
He clung to distractions and hated the silence when it came near.
The boys absence had suddenly descended into utter fear.
Wherever he went the boy couldn't escape the terror he felt,
And things that never bothered him now made him stop and melt.
The confusion that followed the fear he felt began to enrage him.
Liquid hatred started to quickly fill his tiny cup to the rim.
He took his anger out on himself knowing everyone was in enough pain.
The only times he felt normal was when he walked alone through the rain.
The boy forgot how to take care and love himself truly,
Though he acted and carried himself like he desired this cruelty.
Anger became his main defense mechanism and shield,
Alone and broken he found his only solace in desolate fields.
Sorrow became his trusty companion and loyal friend.
Letting tears fall quietly was the only message he'd ever send.
No one seemed to realize the pain the boy was in anymore.
Spending any time with him just felt like a chore.
The boy felt like he was getting away with ****** these days.
Not realizing he was the only victim here in oh so many ways.
Oct 2, 2018
Oct 2, 2018 at 11:47 PM UTC
Passion.
What a defining emotion.
It calls and beckons all of us.
It wraps it’s light around us.
We seek it out in all aspects of our lives.
Sometimes, if we are lucky,
It can find its way into our lives.
Like our breath in winter,
True passion can be seen.
It can be felt.
It can be a source of warmth.
It can be a reminder of the world around us.
True passion is what we strive for.
Passion in our arts,
Passion in our dreams,
Passion in our hearts.
What do I want?
I want love.
Not just any love,
But a deep and passionate love
That breaks the stereotypes
And brings me to my knees.
I want a love that will break all walls
And deliver me from my fears.
I want a love that comes naturally.
I want a love I have to fight for.
I want a love that fights for me.
In this world,
Where everything is fake,
And everything is material,
I want a love that will and can be real.
A love that will pick me up,
Lift me from my ashes,
Bring me to a whole new world
Of fire and pure emotion.
I want a love that will,
Above all things,
Love me for everything I am.
That will go the distance and back again.
I want a love that will tear me down,
Destroy me as a person
And bring me back to life.
I want to feel as if I am breathing
For the very first time.
I want a love that will
Take a risk.
Make a leap of faith
And find itself standing tall
Against all odds.
I want a love that is full
Of passion and reality.
I want a love that is going
To push me to my limits.
I want a love that is going
To envelop my mind.
To figure out exactly who I am
And what makes me tick.
I want a love that will be
There for me when I need it.
And give me space when I need it.
I want a love that will
Make my blood boil.
Enrage me and make me cry,
Just so that I know when
All is said and done,
Love will be there still.
Like a champion among lesser men,
I want loves ties to never break.
I want a love that will punish me
For my wrong doings.
I want a love that will pleasure me
Without me even having to ask.
I want a love that can make life stand still
Like there is no one else in the world
And the only thing that matters is being with me
In that moment
In total completeness.
I want a love that can make me smile,
Just by being present.
I want a love that will
Cast out all doubts and suspicions.
I want a love that I can be care free
And allow myself to just be me.
I want a love that doesn’t need words
Or reassurance.
I want a love that is an extension
Of not only my body
And my mind,
But my soul.
I want a love that I can be selfish with,
And never want anyone else to know
As well as I do.
I want a love
That I can plain and simply
Call my own.
Jul 26, 2011
Jul 26, 2011 at 10:47 PM UTC
the beast in me wants to romp
and enrage the beast in you
tonight
you see my beast is locked up
in chains, a fearful cell--
locked tight
but when yours calls mine
it answers with unabashed
delight
"set me free," it begs
and the shadows grow
with fright
with myself and my desire
my deadly determination that I—I
am right
then your pet answers me and
out they fly—sparks and gunpowder
ignite
the beasts in lethal fury
grievances, protests, objections
recite
unfettered, unchained, and uncontrolled
they spin, they soar, they destroy
they fight
we lock away our agency
our wisdom—our love
from sight
our pets are eating us, my dear!
we look at each other and mourn,
contrite
too late. the damaged flesh
has uncovered our bones and shown us
each bite
there is no return.
but perhaps if we wrestle,
unite?
with every power we strive:
we send those animals back into
the night
when the morning breaks at last
have we gained
insight?
are we richer than before?
do we know any more with
hindsight?
is it worth the blood we bore
as our beasts fought before
daylight?
silence. there is no good
from letting the beast pretend to be
a knight
we have not won this day;
the events do nothing but
indict
we must build cages that hold our beasts
that constrain this ugly temper
more tight
and keep our hands off the latches
because love is always better
than spite
Jan 29, 2018
Jan 29, 2018 at 10:21 PM UTC
Press it to your lips, breathe in deep,
let the smoke fill the car with guitar riffs
while you tear down the street.
‘This stuff will give you a lift,’
says John from the driver’s seat.
I pass him the joint and turn the volume up.
Good hard rock pumps our blood with a wild beat
and the heat of summer night keeps us on top
of the world, the six of us, crowded
in a rusted, five-seat pickup,
pushing eighty, with the music loud, and
the backseat flirting getting rough.
We’ll pinch and tease the girls ‘til they
sink, slyly, into our arms
and enrage us with eyes begging for mischief.
So we give them mischief, and pull the car
up to a gas station. John turns to me to ask if
I’m up to try this place.
‘It’s just right.’
We step to the asphalt in pace
with the radio’s thump, the white
glare of the floodlights hard
against the damp black night
and the shadows of trees. I start
to review the plan, but I know it alright;
the door jingles lightly as we step inside
to rows of multicolored bags of chips.
Inside it’s cold and quiet. John coolly strides
to the back for the drinks, and I pick
out a pack of cigs from in front of the counter.
The man is reaching, John is ready, then lightning quick,
we bolt from the store; round the
corner, find the truck; ‘Hey you ********
But he’s too late, we’re racing away
and flipping him off. Our laughter
is loud, the girls are blinking in the spray
of beer popped open. That’s just after
coming back all smiles, the victors;
flying into the truck, I sat
a girl, Joanne, next to me. We soaked her,
freed her, ourselves, with foamy suds,
the alcohol, and young nights on the road.
There, signs and shadows rushing past,
we sing to the radio: “I hope I die before I get old!”
and drum on the dash.
Throw the bottles out the window,
who cares what happens!
Spread the glass shards, let the whole world know!
Press it to your lips, drink to the intoxicating purr of the engine.
You laugh, listening to the tinkling
as bottles shatter, one by one, on the pavement.
Feb 2, 2010
Feb 2, 2010 at 7:45 PM UTC
Come, he who seeks my disquiet,
Does it please you to see my total fury?
Must you enrage my soul, enflame my emotions?
You’ve awoken the volcano in me, and it writhes in waves of anger,
So be it.
Come, he who seeks my grief,
Does it give you satisfaction to see my despair?
Must you depress my heart, dampen my sentiments?
You’ve awoken the ocean in me, and it flows in waves of sadness,
So be it.
Come, he who seeks my insanity,
Does it comfort you to see my struggle?
Must you sever my mind, obliterate my senses?
You’ve awoken the cave in me, and it echoes in waves of madness.
So be it.
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 10:48 AM UTC
Glaciers are melting away, as shadows in the darkest hour,
Nature’s enrage, has now turned into a war;
Even at a place so uphill,
There is no cold wind nor the chill.
The trees that we cut down fell,
And the green heaven turned to hell.
We pretend to be deaf of what we hear,
And stay blind of what that happens here.
Our voices never have raised,
Nor the fire inside us has blazed.
So, let us all stand straight and tall,
If not, we all shall fall.
Jun 1, 2020
Jun 1, 2020 at 1:18 AM UTC
Least said and nothing to mend
nothing to defend and no one to lend you an ear
and light continues to bend around the posts of the day,so whatever you say is distorted,reported by magnates controlling the press and however much less there'll be more, and the implausible causes of any decisions are picked over by vultures and revised into later editions.
Free press
get your free press depression read about free press aggression and say what you will,we'll all read our fill until we can all read no more and no less than no more.
Barons in Wapping now moved
and Wapping will be another new century, of debatable consumables sold in charcuteries and pharmacies and no more free press to distress the dressing rooms in boom towns and where once printers stood they will now sell returnable (deposit required) wedding gowns
it's no wonder I feel down and need a little lift as I sift through the remnants of yesterdays news,my own views irrelevant as I ride on another elephant all painted in white
another bending of light which we fall for.
There's always more than is less,
more to depress and distress me and drinking Darjeeling leaves me with the feeling that it could always be more
another front page to enrage me
another bent light to distract
and if you don't know it we're all being attacked by the news that we pay for
I think that's a bit more than I can take
I can fake things myself and don't need some gnome or some elfin in Tooting or Fleet Street to sell me a rag that tells me of nothing that I want to know.
So I'm going
We're all being snowed by the establishment gurus whose raison d'etre is only to abuse us
I've had enough of their bullshine
if light's going to bend I'll make sure that it's my light that glows
and not some nosepicking,cityslicking, lickspittling critter who couldn't see beyond his...
..well enough of that
I'm out of the next deal
if you want to get real you will be too.
Jul 11, 2013
Jul 11, 2013 at 1:12 PM UTC
Across the ocean's dome,
Controlled by piercing shouts without a doubt;
On an altar in the distance:
An open book with censored words!
Tear a page,
Observe the rage.
Not what any freedom fighter would.
In a rowboat in the open,
Draw the source of their devotion.
Pencil sketch the jagged beard,
And stretch the nose a thousand years.
What a time to strike some fear!
The terrorists will echo with madness,
The pen is your sword.
The innocent will run to the forests,
And the artists make war.
Across the desert homes,
Contained by giant seas to some degree;
In a planetary orbit:
A crying team with crooked teeth!
See the page,
The winds enrage.
Not what any freedom lover should.
Bullets charge at the comedian's door,
Burning down all the carpenter's lore.
Sculptors mourne over severed stones,
The innocent turn, yearn, learn...
The invasions form, warn, and burn.
As the terrorists echo with madness,
Hold the pen as your sword.
As the innocent run to the forests,
Let the artists make war.
Throw the drawings ashore!
Dec 17, 2015
Dec 17, 2015 at 10:42 PM UTC
I think the clock is off now
Conversations getting soft now
Thank you for talking to me
Why did you I don’t know
I got nowhere to be
Got nowhere to go
I could sit all day
At this table
All alone
Looking at you
Ill leaving in awhile baby
Nothing else matters but right now
Your words of hysteria
Verbal cafeteria
Speak of necrophilia
Learning new things
Making my head spin
I could sit all day
At this table
All alone
Looking at you
Ill leaving in awhile baby
Nothing else matters but right now
Your eyes engage me
Your opinions enrage me
Your insults don’t phase me
Let’s just share a laugh
Make these moments last
I could sit all day
At this table
All alone
Looking at you
Ill leaving in awhile baby
Nothing else matters but right now
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 5:54 PM UTC