"entourage" poems
Cardinal
Oh, Cardinal
You great scarlet bird.
You hop along my porch rail
But you don't say a word.
Defiant
So Defiant
Of nature's camouflage.
There is no way to hide
Your bright red entourage.
Orange
Bright Orange.
Your sharp pointy beak.
Gathers the worms and the seeds
All the meals that you seek.
Feed
Feed her.
This mate that you court.
Such a noble young man
You dance and cavort.
Sing
Sing sweet
You and your friends
I'll love your songs every morning
'Til winter comes 'round again.
Babies
Your babies
I'll meet them come next year.
When in the Fall, they'll alight on my porch
And bring my morning's cheer.
Cardinal
Oh, Cardinal
I'm so glad you're here, you see.
I knew your parents and now you have come
Singing just for me.
Mar 14, 2018
Mar 14, 2018 at 3:02 PM UTC
I am the entourage
Of a fantastic mirage
I am the agent
Of my mind's figment
I am a believer
Of mythical creatures
I am a builder
Of splendid architecture
I am a drunkard
Tripping on futures so absurd
I plan construction
Of my own destruction
I am the feeder
To dreams of grandeur
I am a magician
Of wild, potent concoctions
I am a tycoon
Of emotional typhoons
I am an adept
Skilled in exploiting concepts
I am a parasite
Brandishing fangs that bite
I play host
To a monstrous, hideous ghost
I am an addict
Of thoughts derelict
I am the dreamer
Incapable of anything lesser
I am a diver
Sinking deeper and deeper
I am an insatiable thief
Claiming trophies without grief
I am an emotional hermit
Hoarding my all in a bottomless pit
I am a weaver
Fabricating tales that meander
I am a Neanderthal
Adopting behaviours and habits that appall
I am an ape
Mending wounds that gape
I am but me
I'm blind, fighting to see
I am rhymesmith
I lie through my teeth
Getting hard to breathe
Heart to words, I seethe...
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 7:28 AM UTC
Avuncular in his style, jolly and loud
An epiphany with an entourage
Of functionaries who survey the crowd
For any lack of enthusiasm
Applaud they must, wearing upon command
Cheap slogan tees averring that their school
Is like totally awesome and ‘way cool
They leap and bounce and cheer as they are told
Chanting a theme, this year’s predictable theme
Desperately cute, a motivational meme -
Oh, those childish, subservient creatures!
The worst part is that they are the
teachers
Aug 10, 2018
Aug 10, 2018 at 7:57 PM UTC
Puissant piquant and predatory
And observant from afar
He looks down on your slumber
Like a door that's left ajar
Plying with his manly vice
A reckless male visage
A rogue of masculine device
Seeks entrance to your mind
He saunters with a swagger
A macho savvy moxie
To personify virility's incarnate
His dream zone's metier
He sifts your ****** entourage
In search of sprawls recumbence
To tantalize climactic fervor
With lambent photic scenes
Grasping at your revelries
He spies the wanton lust
With swanky strut appealing
Your primal urge to sate
He leaves undone resistance
With innate resilience seized
The lavish wayward implications
Of unrequited livid deeds
Like passion's lurid lecheries
An insatiable torrid sooth
You wrestle with his adamance
Your carnal ecstasies revealed
You pounce on his exsertion
You splay your agile form
wriggling like a supple nymph
You accept his blatant storm
You writhe in your abandon
In a euphoric supplication
His machismo ****** enveloping
Your wildest latent needs
With no regrets or reticence
you awaken from this dream
To find yourself alone again
Like it had never been
May 19, 2018
May 19, 2018 at 9:51 PM UTC
Stereotypes manifesting always,
(Always)
Trying to form themselves from something once seen,
But not really believing in oneself,
I see ignorance,
I see arrogance,
I see the lack of hunger,
Observing such savage pride of life,
I run from it all into a previous state,
(Anonymity)
I've reached the heights of total in-completion,
I build walls of isolation upon myself,
I am the collateral default of widespread degradation,
I stand in the gap between teeth and consumption,
I am the breed conceived by prey and predator,
Widespread suspended animation: that is our future,
We've tried to replicate the human makeup with mechanical frames,
And the translation of electronic gates,
Yet this is a folly,
For staring at the mirrors of selected life in an artificial environment,
Numbs our lives with emulation and self delusion,
The days of nobility dismantle into fragments and sink to the bottom of the glass,
Never to be turned over again,
Scattered,
Living among remnants of a life once lived with some sort of intensity,
Now smoldered in a quite ferocity of anger beneath the surface,
(Quiet tremors coming in flames)
Because we don't live our dreams,
We stand in the shadows of ruins,
We are afraid of the future,
We are afraid of the past,
Where does that leave us?
Leave me?
I stand on the edge of The Void
I'm holding myself hostage in the self sabotage entourage of the usual suspects,
Our friends, our families,
Disconnected with all intentions of coming together,
Because they die in front of their screens,
Not really living,
Right?
Light pollution massacre...
We'll fall like stars
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 11:58 PM UTC
There’s an assembly in the making
and the suits are all shuffling in for the big event
making way to their front row seats
****** in nose
hanky in hand
and all colorfully draped
in those cuffed pin stripes
and Jerry Garcia ties
*now what would the Grateful Dead
or any of their fine entourage
have to say about this foul routine?*
Apropos of that
they’re talking in the 3rd person
with tight syllables
and wavy hands
and all taking a run
at the state of the union
there’s Valentino
and Freddie
and good old Sal
"look....their fiddling with their nuts!"
cries a layman from the balcony seats
the Yin and the Yang
have got even the most liberal minded
scratching their heads
as questions fly in from the field:
*don’t you know the way it used to be?
have you no morals?
which way to the exit!?*
These front row fanatics
have surely been scrimmaging
in the corn fields
all down in that classic 3 point
watching their weight
with sample selections from the
Spicy House and Yaas Bazaar
as members of the congregation look on with envy
*pass the aperitif...the big ***** lady is on deck!*
Union heads are running rogue
loading up on grievances
and lines
passing files at a make shift pew
jumping the bunkers
and stepping on clams
while the orderlies move in
for governance
It’s a bewildered state
and only for the mind of the rigorous
Jimmy D would say:
“it’s nothing you pussy...to the victor goes the spoils!
everyone has a bit of good you know...
you just have to find it!"
Unrest is growing in the ranks
and the masses are unstable
Time to hammer down
with a formidable brace
and two tick play
Feb 20, 2017
Feb 20, 2017 at 8:05 PM UTC
The Mafia and the Pope
the Italian mafia wanted to take control
they wanted control of the church and all its wealth
the leader Anthony “The Boss” Gambatti sent his muscle
to secure an audience with the Pope
Johnny “the Eye” and his storm troopers
pushed by the guards
into the Pope's secretary's office
Arch Bishop Spinozza
sprung to his feet to confront the noise
Johnny “the Eye”, he got that name
after he lost his left eye in a knife fight
and replaced it with a glass oversized eye
that always looked straight ahead
a burning cigarette hanging from his lips
he got right in the Bishops face
“The Boss” wants a meeting with his Royalness
“and he wants it now”
the Bishop well aware of his visitors
and there violent ways
backing away from the smoke in his face
told Johnny that he would arrange a meeting
“tomorrow” he said “tomorrow”
Johnny cocked his head
so that his large fake eye was an inch from
the Bishops nose
flicked the ashes from his cigarette
on the shoes of the Bishop
turning to walk away
“tomorrow” he said
Anthony “The Boss”
dressed in his fine 5K Italian silk suit
leather gloves
black silk fedora
accompanied by his entourage'
walked into the Popes office the next day
he sat in a chair in front of the Pope's desk
“What can I do for you Anthony?” asked the Pope
the two had grown up as school mates
and had maintained a relationship
though not close
“Carlos, I think it is time we work out
a financial aggreement with each other”
“being that the church is known for giving,
I think it is time for you to give me some money,
a lot of money”
“I have many expenses to address”
“to insure that this happens”
I want you to make love to a woman”
“and if I refuse such a horrid task? quizzed the Pope
“I will begin removing all of your Bishops,
one every hour, from all over the world”
”and it won't be pretty” responded Anthony
The Pope, obviously shaken with the proposal
got up from his chair, his face in his hands
paced back and forth for a few minutes
“I will agree to your disgusting request
on three conditions” said the Pope.
“and what are those conditions?” asked Anthony
“1st this woman must be blind,
so that she cannot see who defiles her body”
“2nd this woman must be deaf,
so that she cannot hear any hint of who defiles her body”
“and 3rd your holiness?”
“3rd, this woman must have really really big ****
Gomer Lepoet...
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 9:47 AM UTC
Talk-show queen
Oprah Winfrey with her entourage
is going to Australia
and it’s timely now for a quick Colbert Report
on the state of the colony of Australia
Colony?
Yes, that’s right
Australia is still a British colony -
How else do you explain it?
as the Head of Government in Australia
is still the British Monarchy
and her Majesty, the Queen of Great Britain,
has her representative
a Governor-General in Australia;
and the Aussie national media faithfully reports
that Prince Philip is a God in some remote island
and the TV stations broadcast visions of
which British Prince kissed which of their latest fancy
And so, Oprah, welcome to the Colony
Ah, yes, and the Chinese migrants coming in
are surprised to learn of Australia’s status
at citizenship ceremonies
and the young man explains to his grandma:
“Oh, Foreign Devil still control Australia;
sad, Chairman Mao did not Liberate Australia.”
And Indian migrants, much to their disappointment
are heard to remark:
“Oh no – does this mean we still have
to go through another fight for freedom as in 1947?”
But then they are consoled by the fact
that a Gandhi only comes once in 200 years
so we can all still get on with our lives
and the nation will continue
to eat burgers and enjoy barbecues and hop like kangaroos
until such things may happen…
Ah well, dear talk-show Queen Oprah Winfrey
and her entourage
this ends our report on the sovereign nation down under:
Happy Stay in Her British Majesty’s Colony
Sep 23, 2010
Sep 23, 2010 at 12:16 PM UTC
A wickerman of red wax
Flaming eyes, and flaming head
A chariot of blood for a king
An entourage of love for the prince
I ask of you
To love yourself
And say to me
Igni Ferroque
I am ignorant and selfish
A shattered heart, a broken branch
A circle of the world, bright and fading
A thunderstorm, a spark for a life
If you ask of me
To love myself
And say to me
In Absentia
Feb 27, 2018
Feb 27, 2018 at 11:27 AM UTC
There is a difference between knowing and understanding.
You know how I feel because I have told you;
I explain my emotions
and you chose to listen.
I understand how you feel because I live it.
You do not tell me,
but I understand
exactly
the emotions
that course through your
body and mind and soul.
I never chose this.
And I never wanted it.
When I tell people I am an empathic
they mostly roll their eyes.
They have no idea what I am talking about,
until I touch their skin
and relay
every emotion
of their
whole
lives.
Then they call me freak.
But I cannot help it.
Anything that feels pain I feel pain for.
When your teeth sparkle in laughter's sunlight
mine twinkle under the changing moon.
When your skin turns searing red with rage
mine glows white hot as a smith's hammer.
When your lungs burn from submerged depression
mine are right there
waiting
to release their final breathe.
There are those
who turn and marvel
like I am some otherworldly being
meant to be shoved in a glass cage
and goggled at in a zoo.
They tell me it is a gift to understand.
To that I say:
this world is no utopia.
How would you like to see every flaw?
How would you like to drown in the ocean of tears?
How would you like to experience your skin raw from all the fury?
How would you like feel the ragged edges of scars
raised as far as they were cut
with every curious brush of your fingertips?
You wouldn't.
This is no gift
unless from Hell.
In my lifetime
I have tried to make it
so the world doesn't hurt
so that I don't hurt.
Now I know;
I can't.
I can't whip the tears from each child's soft chin.
I can't massage the ice from each man's shriveled heart.
I can't dowse the flames from each woman's fiery tongue.
I can't.
The only thing I can do
is change my position within this world
in an attempt
to heal my scars.
And I am not sure which soothes my pain more:
surrounding myself
with those from whom I receive the most
sorrow and anger and dread
because they
understand me;
they can help,
or
engulfing myself
within the entourage of those who always smile:
to drown out all the pain
and push the world aside.
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 1:32 PM UTC
Growing up, my grandmother always tried to hold me back from the girl I thought was my best friend.
Her name was Society.
My grandmother made it very clear that I was not to associate with Society and so that is what I did
for a while.
By the age of 7 I had an impressively large entourage of friends, whose parents also steered clear from Society.
We watched movies, made hot chocolate and talked about our hopes and dreams.
However just because the light burns bright, doesn't mean it's going to burn forever.
By the time I was 11 our coterie had fallen through.
The more we grew, the less we would hear our parents.
11 years young, and completely detached.
All my friends were now strangers.
Society was the only one I had left.
I always desired to be equals with her.
I tried so hard until there wasn't any ME anymore.
I was caught in between fitting in with the world and becoming estranged from myself
Society dug up every last seed that all sane adults plant into their children.
Mum raised me to believe that every inch, every atom and every molecule inside of me was worthy of love.
Society had taught me to pinch and pull at my body, accusing every bump, every scar and every imperfection for being some of the many reasons I was alone.
Society led me to rip every mirror off of the walls of my life.
"You don't wanna see that" She would whisper.
She was wrong until she was right.
For every 1 thing I found to love in the reflection,
Society would find 3 things to hate.
Society had taken the sparkle from my eyes because the other girls couldn't see past the glare.
Society silenced the protest in my gut because there weren't enough people on my side
but as I moved on to better people
I realized she was all a sham
Apr 9, 2018
Apr 9, 2018 at 5:44 PM UTC
My Lucifer, unwitting Muse, dog-eared Vonnegut,
afrobeatnik third eye, howls escaping
from your headphones, wailing about secrets, about infidelity,
about analyzing life until there ain’t nothin’
left. Then you shuffle by in your black and white Adidas,
hair in twists, wearing the striped sweater
of nihilistic intent, quoting the rants of Holden Caulfield
in your blog like you never didn’t know him.
I never asked to know you, to want who I can’t have
when I can’t even love myself. And every fiber
Of my being yearns for reciprocation. What is there
to return? What is there to feel, you meditate on truth,
fallen angel in the parlor of rebellion, blasphemous goodbye,
bright and morning star simpering like crickets in the palms
of daybreak. Your musicality radiates from subway chatter
and overheard profanity down El Camino Real.
I take in your ballad at my post office mailbox,
in the abandoned echoes of daydream monologues.
You’re a philosopher, exploring theory of mind, a cartographer,
mapping the labyrinth of your deepest desires.
Tell me again about desires, demonstrations of divine sadism. Tell me
about human empathy, the animated faces of wordless expression,
the metaphysics of free will, my beginning and my end,
alpha and omega, my fortress in the land of chic.
Blasphemous hustler, let your idealism simmer, your wit, your mojo,
I come to you an amateur, a neophyte, a lowly scab
in the strike against ignorance. Give me my melody, my song,
my one-hit-wonder of all that is cliché and unknown.
But I can’t be the other woman, your girlfriend, your aspiring
Playboy bunny only 10-bucks-a-throw. Your highness-who-yells-
his-ideas-into-the-ears-of-echoes, your every quirk spellbinds me.
Each day I wake to your entourage vibrato.
I am held captive by your brooding stare, empress of liberal
doves. You visit in my dreams when the sky is a force of darkness
viewing light through peepholes, your flaws an aphrodisiac, a love drug,
a fast hit in the basement from the ecstasy of words.
Aug 1, 2012
Aug 1, 2012 at 5:37 AM UTC
weaved into her thoughts
are the disturbed images and the maniacal music
carousel music from the macabre circus of the mad
and in the absolute center of this
steampunk master vision is her pretty little face
sitting with a lace umbrella
and a slow thick smile
she eyes you head to boot
and reaches out a single blood stained finger
and says accusations are for the weak
her pasty red lips are
sour to the touch
she makes no apologies
but rather relies of her smile like charms
which she wears like
a patchwork quilt of maniacal methods
stitched with loving care
and the devotions of the needy
who pay her fare without questions
she is stylin on the main street bus tonight
with her entourage of hungry strangers
just looking for a bed and breakfast
and its delusion that
after a time
the clouds passed
after a time
measured in the millions of years
that her touching your face lasted
looking into your eyes and telling you that she loves you
after a time everything would change
and she would remember what it means to be happy
after a time under a maniacal lace umbrella
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 5:03 PM UTC
Fashionable entourage
people dance in step
to the beat of hidden
native rituals
Hidden here and there
seeing a pair clad up to the hilt
with colored shades
cool as mountain glades
that never
shakes or simmers
on fire
a real deep desirous searching soul
Rapping about nothing
even though
face to face
words bounce off expressions
as cool as mountain glades
that soon melt-fade
into the distance
Rap, tap, clap
never nap
the cannibus-filled room
embellished by flashing lights
on nights
that take spatial flights
into another world that enters upon
lounging everywhere
people lost in space,
in time,
in androgynous acts
In vogue, you speak to me
about fashions
that dazzle, frazzel, razzle,
and lip curl
and eye twinkle
me to you,
in real
but unreal
cannibus-sweet-dusky-dreamy-rooms
MTV blotched, bleached
Sergio Valente dungarees,
then a real feeling child cries
in the background
and is soon hustled off to bed
And never a hurt we laugh
and smile
and smile
A frozen smile grin;
take it on the chin sport
Keep up the good front
Keep up the grinning fort sport
A sported fort fortified Disneyland
and life's forever
carousel ride
and sweep the dirt under the carpet
A speak about profits
And speak about"ME" yuppie things;
about golden rings
that wrap around ears, around wrists, and cattle noses
Seek time entwined
to search geometrically
the advertisements
that lead you
and nobody but you to you
A love ballad between
one and no one but you
You and you
and you
and you
Being good you
you being good to you,
Being good to nar-sa-see-you
you being good to only you,
to yoou
to yoou
to yoooooooooou
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 4:18 AM UTC
Independence is a mirage
If We are watering a dried corsage.
Dead Flowers of color and caste
Eventually dividing us by its blast.
It seems mirage till we reach
And realize what we were seeing is not water but just sand.
Independence is a mirage
Until we stop the following Entourage.
Making our nation our priority
Give our motherland some authority
Then see the perfect change
Till then independence is a mirage
Aug 17, 2018
Aug 17, 2018 at 5:44 AM UTC
this old poet, one of the first, to see your wave,
when he was playing knick-knack paddy whack on his shoe,
the old poet then played two, and said,
yes, I will follow you
Please
imaging-imaging that old poet with a glanceable cursory,
a small smile whispered, with entourage of a nod and a wink,
stands, knowing he is in the delivery room, a witness,
to first steps of a babe starting a new life
marvelous miracle by touching a button, a new line written,
not crossed but connecting by pressing "Follow"
with a finger from a hand, a human fringe,
attached to a breathing mind and a thinking heart,
the first to follow you, a ceremonial gesture of
innovation magic incantation, a new moon blessing,
a living person believing, remembering, the longest ago,
his first own graceful acknowledgement and eyes speak,
yes, I will follow you
the new poet, astonished at this induction to the smallest
Hall of Fame that they alone own the only key, study that
number, that number 1, the first to follow, kinda looking over
their shoulder to make sure the old poet still there on the morrow,
sure enough there are now two, safe in the back pocket,
a tabulation of humans who speak volumes of trust, saying,
yes, I will follow you
the old poet, imaging-imaging the babe, dancing round
the room, invigorated, challenged and the faucets pouring,
can't write it down as fast as the trains arriving disgorging,
words unique in new combinations and the rush of blood
from heart to head to those newly literary fingers bleeding
happy creatures of creation as if they are Noah
setting sail to save us with verbs and adjectives
two by two all for now species unheard of
the old poet wants to send cautionary notes, the path strewn
with frustrations of no inspiration ditches and inescapable cliches
that sound fresh but just aren't, the disappearing satisfaction,
the inability to get it just perfect, and so many obstacles
to be prophesied,
but he does not, these things must be self taught,
today let it suffice the initiation, the first crowning of
**yes, I will follow you
for this the way of the poet
10/16/17 5:09pm**
Oct 16, 2017
Oct 16, 2017 at 5:22 PM UTC
*
*wandering aimless
a traveler lone
roads unknown
on his own
haunting memories broken pieces making
the entourage
the collage
the mirage
the life, an endless ocean of sand
clinging
slipping
shifting
afflicting
sifting
drifting
coming across many dunes
all bound to shift, leaving the runes
playing his own tunes
an oasis
far away in the desert
keeps him going at any cost
carrying in the heart
a tender fire
a burning desire
an eye, focused a bit farther
and, yes! a bit higher!*
*
Dec 14, 2018
Dec 14, 2018 at 10:33 AM UTC
Today bears the weight of erstwhile trepidation.
Uncertainties exhumed only to be hung up as ominous flags.
Black as night my widowed heart paraded through the procession.
Garbed in ash encrusted, sequinned frock, hemmed train all tattered in rags.
Herald the face with no features yet obscured behind a chiffon veil.
In hands, a bouquet of black roses, worm-eaten to the stems.
The mourning sun only gave the weakest glow,
feeble attempt to rejuvenate all that is stale;
to imbue the shimmer back into forsaken jewels and dulled gems.
Her entourage kept up with heavy feet; all grim and sullen.
Also faceless... Armed with pitchforks and torches.
Today they will draw much; having thirst for crimson.
Today they witness her death as the black parade marches.
Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 11:04 PM UTC
poisoned well of the antichrist littered with ground cover
picking out ****** flecks of gravel
blacktop kneeskin
patience pieces of scattered space time
to go back to the future of continuity
lack of genius ingenuity
and the suckling of the pig entourage
riding in a flat top hatchback
cadillac of the daily grind
upperclassman japan onii-chan
brother in arms from anotha motha
hug from afar colliding with crackpot theory
terrible fantasia cooling bricks in soggy sun
swallowed his pride with a glass of self-worth
and these ***** don't cook like they used to
I don't look like I used to
warped veil of camouflage chameleon leather
with a ****** level of automobile salesman
tried to get closer to god
ground him up, picked out the stems
twisted him into thin paper
touched flame to his finger tip and a son of Adam was born
gum shoe gaze
or the emptiness felt at the end of reasonable doubt
correctional text messaging system
sent from hoarse corpses
tenderly poignant in their ****** coffins
will think for food
cries from an outdated MENSA
over ***** and under-appreciated
siting on hunched shoulders to get a better look
to be a martian in a plain port
wharf warehouse whaling boat
red tide in a Shanghai **********
floodgates made of bitter premise
that last bit of purple yam
**** Okonkwo
Things Fall Apart fell apart due to faded highschool ambitions and bloodshot eyes
cruel like the shade of off-cerulean
champagne fizz tickles at the soft meat of his tarnished throat
and silver tongue
as the matchstick framework
so fragile in comparison
fizzles out on drenched sidewalk
while cigarette ash floats by
like gray gnats
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 4:03 PM UTC
A huge crowd thronged the temple premises
Its vicinity, already bursting in color
With people in hundreds streaming in
The young and the old clad in festal attire
With fire in their hearts n' festive sheen in their eyes
Not driven by piety, mostly to enjoy the fanfare
Festoons decorated trees that lined the compound
Colorful lamps blinked everywhere
Sacred bells, chiming intermittent
At the auspicious hour, as devotional songs rent the air
The chief deity was brought out of the shrine
And was placed on the caparisoned elephant
Accompanied by pulsating percussion ensemble
The devotees cheered witnessing the majestic entourage
Within them the fervid spring of joy swelled
Colorful umbrellas were unfurled
Drawing synchronized patterns in the air
Under the glare and noise, the heat and sweat
Amid the tumultuous beat of trumpets
And the rhythmic sounding of cymbals
The crowd swayed in psychedelic lassitude
An army of hawkers had already set up shops
Each made it a time to earn some bucks
Selling knickknacks and goodies to tempt children
From ice creams to popcorn and colorful balloons
Children ran around licking cotton candies
Some enjoyed blowing up soap bubbles
And iridescent orbs landing softly on their hair and dress
With dusk fall, the ceremonious fire work began
The crowd stood aghast at the pyrotechnic display
Scintillating colors and confetti of sparks painted the sky
Shooting spears rose high and fluorescent rainbow colors
Came dancing down, fire wheels swiveled on the ground
Deadening roar of crackers and thunderous blast of *****
Tore the sky announcing the sleepy world;
‘It was once again festival time for the people to rejoice
Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 9:25 AM UTC
In my entourage
people laugh
I got used to it.
In my center stage
I was the comedian
who never likes
his job.
In my closing remarks
their entertainment
was fulfilled.
I on the other hand
got drained
from my mistakes
turned to be pretty
funny,
never was that
my intention.
Oct 29, 2016
Oct 29, 2016 at 2:00 AM UTC
encamped on a barren savanna
a formaldehyde trick laid
beneath a palace of red canvas
carcasses of Noah's Ark
left for a menagerie of men
a spectacle of meat and bone
the tides of oddities come crashing
against the shores of spectators
the earth opens its hands to carry
the rails that lead an entourage of
grandeur at the ring master's ordinance
God's children in satin and sequins
Devil's work bared in ink and blood
ladies and gentlemen!
wooden pews for the congregation
occupied by followers seeking refuge
in the sacred acts of manipulation
enchantment for children
necromancy for those who walk
with hearts no longer beating
for the world they once knew
prepare to be amazed!
tight ropes are spun into webs
painted skin become prisms
nature's anomalies turned
into golden mythologies
figments of A Vision
brought to life by an apparition
the most extravagant extravaganza!
and the world burns anew
contemporary tales are told through
a splendor of color and brilliance
in a palace of red canvas
lay the corpses of humanity's finest
a formaldehyde trick
of preservation and deception
come one come all!
an asylum for those consumed
a sanctuary for those comforted
by the art of celebrated illusion
an institution built on maneuvering
the depths of every man's heart
welcome to the circus
sit back and enjoy the show!
Mar 21, 2016
Mar 21, 2016 at 6:49 PM UTC
Specious speculative salacious spectral season
Transmogrify trapezium traverse torsion treason
Erotica errantry erectile endogenic emblazon
Ghastly gnashy grotesque gristly garrison
Larcenous lecherous lascivious latent lesson
Entelechy ethology exsistentialize extant epsilons
Spurious spry squabble subtle specialization
Transient transitive tour de force teleportation
Encephala enunciate endeavor executant emulation
Garish gaudy gambit glitch granulation
Lurid livid liaison limpid laceration
Extravaganza expletives expeditious equilibration emendation
Sly stodgy surreptitious spatiotemporal solicitor
Taciturn tactile transcendent tertiary torpor
Euphoria eminent equivocal exserted emancipator
Garrulous gustatory gung ** gestational gesticulator
Lyricism lilt liberation lambaste levitator
Escutcheon exergonic epaulet exodus extrapolator
Starkness staunch spectacle stolid stultification
Telepathy tantamount tractive tellurian transmutation
Exonerate euthenics exegesis entourage eradication
Groaty gnarly gruesome gristly gastrulation
Licentious lewd lacunar laconic limitation
Extemporaneous exigency embark embargo extradition
Slinky slick sultry stoical snout
Transubstantiate torturous temerarious tumultuous tout
Eucharist extortion enmity epithet eke out
Gross grit groin grove grout
Lentic leister lotic lothario levity lout
Execrating eventuation evocative evitable excerpt bout
Jan 19, 2016
Jan 19, 2016 at 3:59 PM UTC
you are an illicit secret
a deviant desire
a fantasy kept
in the very far back recess of my mind
last night my imagination
wreaked havoc
went wild
my fingers went exploring
while i thought of you and i
you are an illicit secret
my most ****** entourage
this fantasy is my weakness
somehow you're the one in charge
Oct 15, 2020
Oct 15, 2020 at 10:01 PM UTC