"exculpate" poems - Hello Poetry

Alexander K Opicho Eldoret, Kenya; [email protected] when i start by name perhaps in a flap of fault exculpate my soul for maximum rectitude is the true fill of my heart glory to the sons of Russia Kudos to you all and your foremen; Nikolai Gogol the master in the dead souls Alexander Pushkin the effeminate poet Vladimir Lenin who knew what was doable Alexander sholenestysn the Siberian jail bird who was on the poetic phone by five Feodor Dostoyevsky the epileptic Karamazov Maxim Gorky and Antony Chenkoy leave them alone Ayn Rand the woman who shrug the atlas for we the living Vladimir Nabokov the school master who asked for *** from her student the adourous ****** Boris Pasternak the Muzhik like Leo Tolstoy who wanted land beyond the horizon for doctor Zhivago the **** peasant or Vladimir Makayavosky who slapped the public in the face of their capitalistic taste, Glorified be you all you sons of Russia your Muse is beautiful and erotically crazy glory for your humour and your finer threads with which you have woven for me my poems of dystopia glory be to you all in the stark oblivion of Leon Trotsky and his penman Leonid Brezhnev

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Jan 24, 2014

Jan 24, 2014 at 12:15 PM UTC

alexander-k-opicho

ode to all the Russian Poets

Alexander K Opicho Eldoret, Kenya; [email protected] when i start by name perhaps in a flap of fault exculpate my soul for maximum rectitude is the true fill of my heart glory to the sons of Russia Kudos to you all and your foremen; Nikolai Gogol the master in the dead souls Alexander Pushkin the effeminate poet Vladimir Lenin who knew what was doable Alexander sholenestysn the Siberian jail bird who was on the poetic phone by five Feodor Dostoyevsky the epileptic Karamazov Maxim Gorky and Antony Chenkoy leave them alone Ayn Rand the woman who shrug the atlas for we the living Vladimir Nabokov the school master who asked for *** from her student the adourous ****** Boris Pasternak the Muzhik like Leo Tolstoy who wanted land beyond the horizon for doctor Zhivago the **** peasant or Vladimir Makayavosky who slapped the public in the face of their capitalistic taste, Glorified be you all you sons of Russia your Muse is beautiful and erotically crazy glory for your humour and your finer threads with which you have woven for me my poems of dystopia glory be to you all in the stark oblivion of Leon Trotsky and his penman Leonid Brezhnev

30

Exert life than a void pray, Gone my obey for: a lied rose, Under the deep-deep sky, may the sea beneath, Felt all the existence of died prose. Identity of expiring beyond, an illusion of soon, Or the city lights, may the lights of so moon. And eyes oh eyes of my, heed existence, Who humane instincts to materialise; to disobey chosen persistence. I stood the defeat ; as vanished as die, All hopes, legacy, ideas meaningless; heard I, I stood by god, to hail nothingness and death, Thence I tasted sour on the soliloquy of celebrated Macbeth. For when he says; god is dead, Its innocence absurd that we are his murderer, A cynic, anti-foundationalism, epistemic to crave for more and more, oh i read, For all my beliefs came to bright blur. Today, when I ask a theory of tree makes sound or not when fallen alone, Exculpate not, for I myself flown in the most questionable known. Today, when I ask a theory of Sisyphus as a metaphor on existentialism, Exculpate not, for I know more than seven colors of old prism. Learner, me oh my, how I may counter not, Nihilist not I, neither theory I ever caught. I choose to choose, to see I see, So; next when we revel, keep it over a beautiful night of spree.

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Jan 5, 2019

Jan 5, 2019 at 5:41 AM UTC

Poetics

NIHILISM

Exert life than a void pray, Gone my obey for: a lied rose, Under the deep-deep sky, may the sea beneath, Felt all the existence of died prose. Identity of expiring beyond, an illusion of soon, Or the city lights, may the lights of so moon. And eyes oh eyes of my, heed existence, Who humane instincts to materialise; to disobey chosen persistence. I stood the defeat ; as vanished as die, All hopes, legacy, ideas meaningless; heard I, I stood by god, to hail nothingness and death, Thence I tasted sour on the soliloquy of celebrated Macbeth. For when he says; god is dead, Its innocence absurd that we are his murderer, A cynic, anti-foundationalism, epistemic to crave for more and more, oh i read, For all my beliefs came to bright blur. Today, when I ask a theory of tree makes sound or not when fallen alone, Exculpate not, for I myself flown in the most questionable known. Today, when I ask a theory of Sisyphus as a metaphor on existentialism, Exculpate not, for I know more than seven colors of old prism. Learner, me oh my, how I may counter not, Nihilist not I, neither theory I ever caught. I choose to choose, to see I see, So; next when we revel, keep it over a beautiful night of spree.

24

Oh no, it is not right To side with an ordinance Contrary to the divine words, For the Gods of thy destiny is jealous Over thy new found ego-Gods, Thou slept as a great hero And awoke as a dead wretched coward, Thy gilt could not taste the indefinite Wisdom from the ancestors for long, May be, the libation poured On thy blessed eighth day Could not please the Gods of thy destiny, Thou have lifted up thy wicked hands Against the children of heaven, And thou shall never escape The judgment of Tweaduampon Kwame, And any attempt to exculpate thyself Shall outcry thy destruction, Why, has the executioner received Thy death warrant from the council of elders? The ruler of the city of the dead Is stirred up with delight To welcome thee into his kingdom, The worms and termites Shall be thy bedspread and pillow, The sea behind thy house, Yarns for they salt, For how shall he be clean, He who is defiled with blood and slaughter, By the polluted lapse of denial, And who is stained by so great an evil? Oh, see how thou have become A spectacle to the sparrows, The floods are now clothed in the Official dress of the raven, Causing the volcanic mountains over the Eastern hills to weep over thy transfiguration, For thy sacred calico has been Stained with malice and destruction, Amazingly, the rooster has accepted To crow only at noonday, Whilst the dawn has also refused Contact with the daylight, Now, let the lazy sleeping lion Dream of infinite terror and disaster, Oh yes, mighty lion, the clouds Of Nigeria will not hold together, Until thy woes are emptied in fear and tears. © PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI Email: [email protected]

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Apr 8, 2013

Apr 8, 2013 at 5:59 AM UTC

prince-anin-agyei

THE SLEEPING LION

Oh no, it is not right To side with an ordinance Contrary to the divine words, For the Gods of thy destiny is jealous Over thy new found ego-Gods, Thou slept as a great hero And awoke as a dead wretched coward, Thy gilt could not taste the indefinite Wisdom from the ancestors for long, May be, the libation poured On thy blessed eighth day Could not please the Gods of thy destiny, Thou have lifted up thy wicked hands Against the children of heaven, And thou shall never escape The judgment of Tweaduampon Kwame, And any attempt to exculpate thyself Shall outcry thy destruction, Why, has the executioner received Thy death warrant from the council of elders? The ruler of the city of the dead Is stirred up with delight To welcome thee into his kingdom, The worms and termites Shall be thy bedspread and pillow, The sea behind thy house, Yarns for they salt, For how shall he be clean, He who is defiled with blood and slaughter, By the polluted lapse of denial, And who is stained by so great an evil? Oh, see how thou have become A spectacle to the sparrows, The floods are now clothed in the Official dress of the raven, Causing the volcanic mountains over the Eastern hills to weep over thy transfiguration, For thy sacred calico has been Stained with malice and destruction, Amazingly, the rooster has accepted To crow only at noonday, Whilst the dawn has also refused Contact with the daylight, Now, let the lazy sleeping lion Dream of infinite terror and disaster, Oh yes, mighty lion, the clouds Of Nigeria will not hold together, Until thy woes are emptied in fear and tears. © PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI Email: [email protected]

50

My brother, I am done with this game, taking lives has turned me cold, feeling gone, with their cold eyes sewn to my soul, I yearn for love, but it eludes me, If I stop, will it find me? or does it obviate me? My brother, I am done with this game, rendering harmless, or terminating with extreme prejudice, just sayings to absolve and exculpate our actions, My brother, I can’t stand this, I cry to her, or to the ghost that I wish was her, I ruined it, and all in the name of God and country.

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Apr 27, 2010

Apr 27, 2010 at 1:07 PM UTC

sasha-komogorov

For God and Country

My brother, I am done with this game, taking lives has turned me cold, feeling gone, with their cold eyes sewn to my soul, I yearn for love, but it eludes me, If I stop, will it find me? or does it obviate me? My brother, I am done with this game, rendering harmless, or terminating with extreme prejudice, just sayings to absolve and exculpate our actions, My brother, I can’t stand this, I cry to her, or to the ghost that I wish was her, I ruined it, and all in the name of God and country.

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