"execration" poems
violent thoughts
broken feelings
execration
as i walk this earth
no release
from what's built inside
i try to fight it
through living lies
how can this be
everyone just makes me sick
when will the pressure
build up so high
that i can no longer
keep it inside of me
the struggle inside
that plagues me
will be released
upon the human race
Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 8:34 PM UTC
At times I’ve believed it
And at other times, scoffed,
One of the oldest of pivotal fears,
Mentioned in scripture and stories and hymns,
The execration is stinging my ears.
And throbbing, echoing, clashing rhythms,
With no beat ...such tension… Distortion’s risings,
A march over mazurka decelerating,
Curious uses for curious things,
Intestinal-pullings, intestinal strings,
Every warping conceived by my kind,
Like tearing of flesh and torture of mind,
Nothing that’s wholesome, nothing that’s good,
The truth bent, the opening crude,
The too-thin passageway out, understood
And my own rotting flesh is my food.
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 11:09 PM UTC
Oatmealed and omeletted, start to a dull grey Seattle day
Mutual “Good morning” yawns wait the elevator gruzz
Cheery maid vacumates my room in a swirl of efficiency
Brundling my notes and my PC together I walk to work
Strumphing along beside the fumes of the grundling traffic
Email mountains confabulate the uncoffeed hordes
Typed kerattle the calm before the budget storm
Subterranean stocks desphorror of legal gamblers
Bonehead logic meets dumbling marketing aspirations
Now silent nerbling excuses of cur-whipped executives
Micawber’s message crystal in strangression of promises
Fundamental economics the only possible bankerage
Blood will flow in abattoir of management incastrophies
Doe-like and frembling in the light of impending execration
The stapression painfully personal as reality bites as last
Beer time comfrunks gather early in a huddle of hope
Sheep-like they absorb the tendralations of others’ fears
Remonstressing their misfortune in a depression of dinner
Relaxed at last in a hopefindation of beer goggle logic
Sleepfully staring at the mortgage arreared ceiling
My thankful escape to the Murakamied Sputnik symphony
Harmony in the silence of solitaricious nightcap with Hilton Mark
Wishing I was home now with my cuddlicious girl again
Grateful for loving and living in this aventacular world
I quietly srift off to sleep in a snozzle of sweet dreams
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 9:28 AM UTC
Where marinated in our murky past
have we found justification for the travesties we do,
build prisons where our prejudice lasts,
and allow its prisoners to fester as they stew
I have felt this heat.
The flame which boils in the toils of others,
whose oils lick embers into wildfire.
And we fall back into the Dark Ages.
where minds who place burden on those with different skin
slink flicking flint to fire, raising from the earth
the walls we have spent decades taking apart one brick at a time.
one brick at a time,
comment by comment,
each passing moment
condone it.
ignore it.
passivity pays the builders of this monument.
who see no wrecking ***** to stop them.
passivity, fills the pockets of the petty
coin by coin collecting courage to speak
outwardly outrageous
slurred hate speech contagious
barbary amounts its fortress from our silence,
one brick at a time.
I have seen the origins of intolerance,
holding together the cinder blocks of utterance
all the moments we should have said something and didn't.
In my selfish silence I see senselessness slip past my snares.
In my hush I hear hate harrow the ventricles of hearts much weaker
than the speaker.
Loathing left untended like
loose mountain snow
will like an avalanche gain strength
in movement.
To you,
the architects of abhorrence
the creators of execration
I plead: lay down your urban dictionaries.
Know that you lay a foundation
whose structure will build up,
but whose existence will tear down.
To you,
those who watch the construction
and stare in silence sufferance,
know that although no sweat has fallen,
and no aid has been laid by your hand,
That this malicious monument is as much yours
as it is theirs, through your willingness to watch it go up
one brick at a time.
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 11:46 AM UTC
your constant, unending noise
i rebuke thee, 'fuck off!', beautiful mind strangled into crude curses
profane in nature,
rituals of execration in the dead of night and stillborn morning,
lit by a brazier of an ungodly hued red,
as you roar like thunder into delicate ears.
'please be quiet'
i petition to the wailing angels
stabbing at my eardrums with harpy claws,
rip my brain to shreds in echoes of outraged confusion
'tearin' out your hair like a banshee'
LEAVE ME ALONE
Nov 25, 2020
Nov 25, 2020 at 6:52 PM UTC
Just let me reach out…
Let me touch your face.
My contact delivers…
…Infection.
My fingers ooze…
…Execration.
You are but a mere fantasy.
I will pustulate….
…This fantasy…
…Into a stale emptyness.
Ripples, like the surface of water.
They blur out your form.
I shall reduce your form…
It is my contact.
It will…
…Cause you…
...To become…
...Nothing.
Nov 12, 2011
Nov 12, 2011 at 1:38 AM UTC
Forty white birds ask us to be over forty,
Thirty-three wide, 40 long...
More space to see the sky from the earth...
Live time we are alive hearing pass the time.
Forty spread God's word behind us,
And 33 distributed to our entire main front...
Forty long by 33 wide...
It is the crypt of our dreams waiting Reborn.
Tracks 40 and 33 also,
We are told flies through the world and exclaims before the creation
Your experiences,
However it is measurable only those who drag us,
In our range of life 40 x 33 ... we remain trapped and limited...
Jesus has its coordinated laptop,
We walk exponentially multiplying our life within the limits,
And their word will continue to walk with his Gospel, larger crypt which deserves a mortal on earth.
Jesumani and not Getsemani,
Crimping Christian temples...
Via Crucis Vialucis and No Viacrucis...
Generosity and no Privacy,
All the world's forests exceeding your shoulders,
It will be waiting for your return, you release your body breathe
And consecrate the spirit of all over 40 long and 33 wide.
Jesumani is more to think about to be reborn...
Is coming with handfuls of experience back the changes gives us eternity...
Life is eternal,
Eternal is dreaming,
Eternal is glistening,
Eternal is eternal,
Eternal life is hyper,
Hyper dream,
Hyper heal,
Hyper revive,
Hyper resurrect...
Hyper the gentle voice of a child,
Hyper the voice of one or more,
Hyper oxidant and execration Dream,
Forty enough the magnitude of our crypt in Heaven,
So as being take a path,
So I'll get my hands icy missing 33 to gather the meditations I dare tell me, something lost in life not knowing what else I have to live and let me do it.
Thunderclap and thunders and lightning sound come,
Big thing altogether deafening even today not having ears...
As I said, every Easter to come hear me the white birds and I sing psalms growth of my crypt, my great all inclusive resort for all to visit me in my large crypt, in my renovated say ...
Declaim to stand without getting tired, just hearing 40 and 33.
Easter, World Holy, Holy Word ...holy Eternity...
Jose Luis, Easter 2018.
Majoris Hebdomadae Mundus Deo
Apr 3, 2018
Apr 3, 2018 at 12:53 PM UTC
there are so many songs i need to dedicate to you
tears and cuts on my thighs bearing your name,
photographs and yellowed paper, happiness;
crying lyrics and old rock songs you would hate (but i love
even that in you, even the execration held dear in the creek
of your summer heart)
i want the world to be yours anytime you ask
because i try to stay strong for you;
whatever you feel is the most righteous thing in my mind
Jul 7, 2013
Jul 7, 2013 at 11:51 PM UTC
Tic tock the birds all cood
The clocks and pendellums swiched and swood
He loved his clocks, they kept him company
Even to a vampire, immortality gets lonely
He was an odd one of his race no doubt
The only one he knew who slept spread out
Clausterphobia is uncommon to find in his kind
But even in his coffin he felt confined
He thought it perfectly reasonable though
As he paced around his clocks to and fro
He always found the coffin dark and stuffy
If you had to sleep forever, you'ld choose
something big and fluffy
More ironic than that he found was his fixation
Time to him was an endless execration
His fate rung in his mind with every tic
A rhythmic reminder beginning to make him sick
It's actually madenning listening to every tock
Eons have past with these God forsaken clocks
He finally decided to pick up a bat
And smash every cukoo bird he had outright flat
But even as he lay on his fluffy white bed
Staring at broken bits and gears, his relief unsaid
Still he found the lair a tad bit dry
No more company around to keep him by
He realized that there was not much to be done
He should make the most of his time, and have a little fun
But first he had to spruce up the place, making sure it wouldnt frustrate
With something that, prefrebably, didnt remind him of his fate
He sat there staring at nothing, stiff and perplexed
And thought sternly to himself "Maybe snowglobes next"
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 8:25 AM UTC
flame of indignation
devours mutual veneration
It changes love to execration
provokes separation
and leads to disintegration
People are not aware of
the healing power of their affections
till the minute of separation
Jun 9, 2016
Jun 9, 2016 at 10:49 AM UTC