"equivocation" poems
Corpses proliferate in soaring violence; heirloom of franchise and eminence— perish in erosion.
Timid denizens of derision, cynicism in roaring silence — optimism’s paling vapor—commodity of Indecision, our halcyon days forgotten.
Chosen token of audacity; the onyx maladroit feigns, prevaricating beneath the Sacred canopy.
Etudes of apathy; attrition unlamented; streams of guile— quixotic squall conversely merge — veiled conceit, eloquent arrow of equivocation.
The policy of attenuation.
Treason’s vine obscured beneath the blind surf of consent.
© 2014 & 2016 W. S. Warner
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 3:12 PM UTC
Against the saturated
Horizon of dawn,
Loitering in the dark timbre
Of emerging consciousness -
Dissipating somnolence
And preemptive despair,
Tacitly adumbrate the
Yawning abyss.
Chastened by the cunning and
Lubricious nihilism,
Igniting fermented provocations,
Silent subterfuge; death,
By mirth - the inane;
Lament of the mundane.
Fallow paradigms, accretions of
The last gasp -
Evaporating empty liturgies
Of suspicion;
Charity and equanimity -
Lost in confinement,
Triumphant avarice bearing
Descendants
Of intransigence;
Wielding imperious
Schemes of orthodoxy.
Pollard fragments of
Silken tapestry,
Miasma draped depression
Abridging;
Conversely,
Permuted flurries of anxiety
Dislodge
The vestiges of meaning
That abide
In brazen equivocation.
Tributaries of dogma reach
Their confluence,
Watershed moment,
Numinous effusion
Streams naked epiphany,
The precarious vision -
A gesture of providence,
Certainty and contingency;
Gratuitously derivative, life
Equals choice.
Verdant branches of intention;
And opportunity the vine,
Live forward -
The pen, my voice,
Piquant conduit pouring,
Exuberant wine.
Footprints found in givenness
Underline,
Penumbrae of my soul;
Mirrored silhouettes,
Thoughts and words engender;
And in verse adorn
Fecund soil, Line after line,
The cosmos altered,
Continuum of permanence -
Artist’s art articulating
Essence of my imagination,
I proliferate, I design
Phrases unique,
Participation mystique.
Words creating world,
The apparatus of infinity
Heidegger, ontologically precise,
Language -
The house of Being,
Ineffable, Promethean
Literary devise -
Envisioning possibility,
And abundance to allow,
I occur
Inhabit
Manifest
Future phenomena
Experienced as now.
©2008 & ©2011 W.S. Warner
Sep 16, 2011
Sep 16, 2011 at 2:02 PM UTC
WE never camouflage with the masses nor follow trends and direction out of gullibility. The path WE're on may signify bleakness in the days to come and may look filthy to some.
Wait, the plural emphasised just struck my concern and weakness..are WE unified? or perhaps unity to US is all contrary and single word equivocation. Wait.. who are WE?..that question repetitively asked by my subconscious sarcastically.."I" answer "WE are who WE are. The misfits"
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 2:44 AM UTC
Merging Quantums, Quarks and Quarks,
Watch Vii Paint Pristine Pictures,
It's never Equivocation,
How Peripheral...,
Ain't it Quaint?
Apr 18, 2018
Apr 18, 2018 at 5:40 PM UTC
In a sphere of infinite narcissism
Wicked homosapiens tread the horizon
Daunting threats of turbulent tragedy
Dawn upon the hopeless, roaming souls
Sheathing them with treacherous shadows
Of atrociously, covert crucifixion
The elite coquettes hearken
The tumultous sound
Emanating from multiple, acrid massacres
Tainting these notably wounded hearts
Within a satanic plethora
Of acrimonious equivocation
By nightfall a harrowing suicide
By daybreak a dreary mourning
Catastrophe is all that occupies
This infamous wasteland of avarice
By Glenn McCrary
© 2011 (All rights reserved)
Aug 29, 2011
Aug 29, 2011 at 7:15 AM UTC
Lift up your voice and shout.
Even if it feels a bit strange.
We know what we’re about.
Praying and singing for change.
Work and sing for change
Just as hard as politicians lie.
Call them out for their untruths.
Ask them when, how and why.
Don’t accept weak excuses.
They have far too many of those.
Make their equivocation useless.
Make them keep their lying lips closed.
Sing if you’re tired of defeat.
Sing if you are willing to try.
Sing to everybody you meet.
It may take some power on high.
Don’t forget what is needed.
Keep your eyes on the prize.
It’s hard to cheat the wary
By trickery played on your eyes.
Keep on insisting on honesty.
Make them all stick to the subject.
If they don’t answer the questions.
You know just who not to elect.
Lift up your voice and shout.
Even if it feels a bit strange.
We know what we’re about.
Praying and singing for change.
Nov 5, 2016
Nov 5, 2016 at 9:21 PM UTC
i think i've always known i've loved you — in smudged postscripts in the next page of a letter, in the secrecy of bated breaths, and lonely, sunset afterthoughts. i think i've always known i've loved you, and to be able to say this now without fear or cowardice or equivocation: i've loved you, in past and in present tense — it's magic. it's transcendent. it's freeing, and free-falling, and stepping into the warmest summerlight. it's us — in subversion of poetry, yet just as beautiful, my love — and just as poetic.
i think i've always known i've loved you — in smudged postscripts in the next page of a letter, in the secrecy of bated breaths, and lonely, sunset afterthoughts. i think i've always known i've loved you, and to be able to say this now without fear or cowardice or equivocation: i've loved you, in past and in present tense — it's magic. it's transcendent. it's freeing, and free-falling, and stepping into the warmest summerlight. it's us — in subversion of poetry, yet just as beautiful, my love — and just as poetic.
May 15, 2021
May 15, 2021 at 2:06 AM UTC
earth tone embrace,
gently going down...
simple pleasures of twisted senses,
an equivocation of use,
i know not what, but
if death is the famished dog
then surely we are the fluffy white
rabbits on sticks,
until it is humorous to turn off,
and vise-grip jaws rip, tear and devour;
an **** of natural selection,
meant as god's jest
that breathing is quick,
mainly because we have to
scurry so quick.
Oct 25, 2013
Oct 25, 2013 at 8:25 PM UTC
This intervention has the feel of déjà vu the record’s spinning forever locked in its groove a way of life reduced to a form stylized routinized to a shallow and shiny norm from revolution to cliché
just superficial stimulation
but what’s different? appearances change but there’s no progress in this apocalypse
everything that rises must converge all the meaningful surprises grow from within and stretch the threads of molded costumes copied, sinned, and said
rags cover neglect and decay veil desire’s all-compelling force generations lived through their eyes dissatisfied with any compromise
the searing balm of burning screens faith in sense impression for ironic equivocation it’s (just) culture, neither right nor wrong a place to hide, from considering
from revolution, to cliché, we lose our way faith in sense impression, ironic simulation so responsible in their noble stimulation
coming down to unchanged reality everything that meets must diverge patchwork king of limited domain stitched and sewn and overblown
Feb 11, 2011
Feb 11, 2011 at 4:26 AM UTC
You deserve to wake up and smile because of your beautiful, bright, bold soul.
You deserve to laugh loudy and feel fusion of fluttering in your tummy.
You deserve to shy away and cover your rose-pink face.
You deserve to feel raw, ruddy, real emotion only with positive and pure intentions.
You deserve success due to your persevering, powerful power house.
You deserve sincere care due to your pious purity.
You deserve to be fed with flavoursome fruits and nourished emotionally and physically.
You deserve to be put on a pedestal like a clear celestial body.
You deserve the truth and not to be fooled by equivocation from three weird sisters.
You deserve someone to pump oxygen into your heart and not deprive it of tenderness.
You're worth more than millions upon billions.
If anyone can't see the love you deserve, remove them you're an
Oscar Award.
You deserve it all-
But I'm not good or the best.
I am the worst.
-Nuha Alli
Apr 7, 2018
Apr 7, 2018 at 3:38 PM UTC
What Can A Muslim Woman Be?
Bobbing
On the misogynistic sea
Of inhumanity
Muffled by
Mandatory muteness
Veiled in artless darkness
Horrified by heartlessness
And tasting
A terrible tartness
A gauntlet of confetti stones awaits
The rule breakers
And mistake makers
Equivocation
Or twisted motivation
Can cause a horrid hail
To happen
At any moment
I wonder
What can a Muslim woman be
Sean Hunt Windermere 2016 May
Jun 3, 2016
Jun 3, 2016 at 6:24 PM UTC
baptism recurs as trauma, angels watch me
seize
i have begun to pray again
i may feel cold but i am so warm
in my throat and bones, i have a fever
by the time my vagus nerve grew up my lungs were so full i found it impossible to scream
give me love without evasion and equivocation.
no one will just speak to me anymore
Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 10:42 PM UTC
You left for too long. My memory of you dimmed with the feeling in my heart. It laid there- dormant for months. I erased your voice from my thoughts and the feeling of your arms around me was replaced by a spring breeze. Your habits became forgotten, your face- a picture tucked away. I tried to find equivocation of the joy I felt from being around you.
Something about you stayed locked in my mind, and was awoken the day that I needed to find you. The scent of your shirt when I wrapped you in my arms as I hid from the world in yours. Words only come slowly now. Like the words of a Gregorian chant, they are few in number and ring on long after the voice has stopped. Fatigue of my body has led to words to come in only small quantities, but there will be strength, something will give. The moon will stay out a little longer to provide for more sleep and for more words to be dreamt onto the paper of my mind.
My mind gropes at the darkness for a fleeting memory of you as the lights go down. My eyes search my subconscious as my body moves me in my sleep. I can almost feel your arm around my waist and your hand in my hair when I come to the realization that you're not there, it was just me tugging on the sheets. The moisture of your kiss was nothing but tears on my cheek. Your chest was just my pillow and your voice was just the rain at my window.
Jul 19, 2011
Jul 19, 2011 at 6:45 PM UTC
Times vibing with friends and having a positive conversation
About the equivocation in our nation as the L passes our little nation and our consciousness expands like a rubber band.
Hold your girls hand till you become one with her, remind her
That she resembles mother earth her womb is the home for
The little seeds you plant inside of her.
A wise guy told me "unity is the path"
So I thought we are brothers & sisters united like petals in a flower.
Our society is all about power to grow money as tall as towers
Our society isnt interested in what grows the flower (unity)
But its interested in growing the green tree (money)
So ripple the energy of the flower to the nation
Spread positive vibes & positive energy
To the circles that surround you
And move in the heartbeat of humanity.
Peace
Jul 22, 2015
Jul 22, 2015 at 4:29 PM UTC
And this is how it goes:
you will talk for hours.
he will tell you
you’re
b e a u t i f u l,
that your eyes belong
with the stars,
that your smile puts
the sunrise to shame,
that you are nothing short
of perfect.
you will believe him.
this is where
the trouble starts.
Lips will crash
and so will walls
and skin will touch
but he won’t feel anything
other than what he wants
to feel
what he always planned
on feeling
and when you ask
why he hasn’t called
why you no longer talk
for hours,
he will twist and turn
his words
until he’s back to telling you
how the smell of your hair
is intoxicating
and you will ask
if he loves you
and he will tell you
your laugh
is adorable
and your hands
belong in his
and you will ask
if he loves you
and he will tell you
that you look so good
in that little black dress
and you will ask
if he loves you
and you will ask
if he loves you
and in his avoidance,
you will find your answer.
Aug 8, 2014
Aug 8, 2014 at 9:38 PM UTC
In the womb he was connected
With a thousand years of family
Coursing through the tether
Of an unfortunate mother.
Then culled from the herd
In a distant cow town
For permanent loan.
With the pretext, the equivocation:
He'll have a better life.
When someone other deems to tell him,
He'll cry, he'll hide,
Reject, accept,
It's his need for human affection.
He can't forget what didn't happen,
A past that wasn't shared;
Of stories reaching back through years.
The anecdotes on celebrations,
The exaltations, deprivations,
Tales shared like bread
By lost generations.
All his life he's felt the itch
To scratch his DNA.
One day, the knock is heard,
Bells may ring,
There, standing straight on the stoop,
A refracted image of oneself,
Trans-parent cord through missing years.
Aye, there will be tears.
(You'll explain your teenage fears,
Your family's lack of understanding;
The time when wanton women
Had babies out of wedlock)
He listens to the reasons,
Stirred in the heaping crock.
He learned of love,
Was schooled with affection,
He knows he wasn't known to you,
That he was left
For personal sake.
He crosses fingers,
Like plated scissors,
To snip the cord he's hung on;
To sever the love,
You never delivered,
To a son
You never knew.
Jan 11, 2018
Jan 11, 2018 at 10:50 AM UTC
Spirit.
Light.
Drift.
Sunken.
Equivocation.
White.
Lifeless.
Sorrow.
Worthless.
Ghost.
Mar 16, 2013
Mar 16, 2013 at 2:01 AM UTC
Tell me truly who you are,
not from afar, but to my ear.
Do not fear: I shall not castigate,
excoriate. Dissemble not: No
equivocation. prevarication.
Tell me truly what's in your heart.
Is terror there, or guilt? Rage ablaze
from needs unmet? Do unhealed hurts
leave you reeling in a maelstrom of
doubt? Open up your heart
and let your agonies fly out.
In gentle ways let us discuss
worth of self. Let light penetrate hate,
mollify madness, assuage pain.
Let your forthcoming,
my love for your realness,
heal us both.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Jun 23, 2025
Jun 23, 2025 at 10:12 PM UTC
from ambiguity is insight born.
minds, both clever and not,
all conceive many a thought.
in attempt to interpret,
ideas are set into motion,
building a creative notion.
through presence of equivocation,
wit is given liberty
Nov 22, 2024
Nov 22, 2024 at 12:10 PM UTC
Turn off the TV.
There is so much noise
in the world.
To much equivocation of pain,
to much
lust for suffering.
Turn off the TV.
Let mother nature
lull me to sleep
where the fate of the man
I love
rests solemnly on the head of a liar.
Turn off the TV.
My eyes subside on
a world at peace.
Nov 11, 2017
Nov 11, 2017 at 7:08 AM UTC
How goes the body friend?
How ticks the mind?
Did you find the Demons wanting?
Is the morning light sublime?
Have you wondered how the Angels sang
When they filled the night with song?
Have you angered with a short fuse burnt
When drivel lasts too long?
Do you long for peaceful moments
Do you loath the clamour, loud
Seek an isolation
From the leather, foul mouthed crowd?
Have you come to terms with silence
As you ponder evening light?
Is equivocation righteous
Or does wrong consume the right?
Are you happy with your yardstick
Do you feel you've played it right
Or is it time to shut the curtain
And surrender to the night?
M.
Jan 14, 2019
Jan 14, 2019 at 12:43 PM UTC
DOES THE HEART REALLY KNOW?
Does the heart really know
what it wants? Each gratification
leads to another--desire must be satisfied
without equivocation
never mind if desire
leads to destruction
what is life
if not lived in passion?
let the fire of desire burn
let love erupt in the most violent explosion
the heart will not rest
its longings know no obliteration
Does the heart really know
the pain of loving? Passion
dies too soon and in its trail
brings an end to gratification.
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 7:47 AM UTC