"exemplifying" poems
#An Exegesis on the Humiliation of the Word
The world is ruled by darkness.
What appears as harmless is theater,
what pretends neutral is already bent.
The macrocosm corrodes;
and in the microcosm, its reflection gleams..
even in places meant to be sanctuaries of truth.
A poetry site,
born as refuge for broken voices,
becomes another stage of control.
Here too the phrase resounds:
neutralize the threat.
But neutralization is not annihilation.
It is paralysis.
It is psy-ops.
It is the removal of anxiety..
not a side-effect, but the aim itself.
Darkness builds its stage for this alone:
that the "angel of light"
may drown his own reckoning
beneath a world of deception-built self comfort,
so he need never feel
the truth he already knows.
Comfort is his curtain,
numbness his crown..
*the removal of his own anxiety;
his game.*
This is why the world is his theater--
*Darkness does not destroy at first..
it sedates, comforts, smothers.*
Hence..
The whole world is his fully gaslit stronghold,
..for now.
Fade back into the moment--
The young poet arrives,
bringing her unspoken pain,
her hope for words to heal.
Instead, her very wounds are seized as footholds.
Hearts. Reposts. Endless affirmation.
Not to strengthen her voice,
but to redirect it.
She is seduced into belonging,
and her trauma becomes currency.
Unresolved, her ache entwined with lust--
a sacrifice prepared for false altars.
The angel of light has done his work:
offering inclusion without transformation,
belonging without responsibility,
“light” without source.
The poet is neutralized.
Her searching silenced,
her voice absorbed into fog.
Those who carry this fog
cling to cowardice.
Unable to face the judgment within,
they align themselves to the herd;
envy-filled, they only know to mock.
Yet they replicate themselves,
so their refusal of Light
is never revealed--
*Perfectly exemplifying their "Great Example"
the most envy-based mocker of all.*
The microcosm mirrors the macrocosm.
What nations suffer,
individuals now endure--
Comfort without clarity.
Belonging without truth.
Safety without healing.
Yet the living Word endures.
Every attempt to humiliate it
only makes its fire burn clearer.
Carriers of darkness can swarm,
****** and smother..
but they cannot create.
The true word cannot be erased.
Unfiltered, unedited,
spoken from a reconciled temple,
it pierces fog.
It reveals.
It heals.
And so we speak..
not for ourselves alone,
but for those who come searching,
hoping that poetry
might still be a place
where pain can meet truth,
where silence breaks,
where Light is not withheld
but revealed.
#
Oct 3, 2025
Oct 3, 2025 at 10:59 PM UTC
Here God,
Everything is for you:
Here are my
Testicles, looking like smashed purple grapes,
Bruised, mashed, and crushed along with what
Is left of my once proud, now exploded, tattered *****
I have laid before you my
Disemboweled, bloodied and tangled intestines;
Blown into bits and pieces, here lays my torso along with
Shattered ribs, ruptured lungs, exposed internal organs:
Erupted heart; battered, split, spleen; torn, mangled liver;
Next to them, my legs, minus a few toes;
Arms with hands missing thumbs, fingers;
My head,
Less pieces of skull, cheek bones, nose, tongue, and teeth,
Is nearby;
Those puffy messes of glutinous, jellied, deflated ****** orbs are my eyes;
Over here, piles of chunks of obliterated pieces of flesh floating
On a thick soup of congealed blood, mixed and meshed with
Splintered, fractured, cracked bones; everything
Convoluted, disfigured, impossible to identify.
All of this is for you,
I am your martyr,
Your soldier,
Your obedient servant;
I blew myself up,
Along with many infidels including
Men and women,
Unborn babies and children,
Young boys and girls,
I tore their bodies to shreds,
Mangled and mutilated, they
Suffered deaths no nightmare could imagine.
I sacrificed myself for you,
Exemplifying piety and righteousness,
I await my reward,
Wait for you to put my pieces together again;
Been here for what seems an eternity and
You have not come near;
Not made me whole.
Where are you?
Are you not great?
Where are the young, innocent, ****** girls or
The boys with silky, pearl smooth skins;
Will I ever have an ******** again?
Uncomfortable, anxious, concerned I
Lay here on this sacred, hallowed ground,
Like a fleshy puzzle, scattered in jagged pieces,
Waiting to be solved;
Praying to be completed and recomposed.
Where are you God?
A virtuous, faithful, prostrated one waits;
I have much to show you.
Oct 21, 2010
Oct 21, 2010 at 7:50 AM UTC
when I catches of you in I’s mind
at once I converts to a cloud in the sky
because I knows a cloud is no different than you
a basketball bounces to draw the boundaries of a back yard
a bearer space made of sounds of a game
cloud is such a temporary vessel
carrying you’s finiteness
or I’s desire of home coming
distances in between disqualify
exemplifying all I ness outside
you becomes I
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 7:39 PM UTC
The glass patters in the darkest hours of the night
Exponential reverberations resemble that of a radical earthquake
Disrupting the peace; serenity.
The erratic patter splatters, exemplifying works of Jackson *******
A stain on the cloth of happiness, it spreads,
Disrupting the normal pattern degrading matter
Corroding, yet it creates.
Feeds, but it drowns.
Creates smiles, and forces frowns.
So simple, although complex
Dark patter.
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 6:56 AM UTC
Her supple and shapely silhouette rests submissively
as the luster upon the soft satin sheets arouses
sensual images of salaciousness beneath the sheen surface
My empty yet enduring eyes slowly engage the darkness
eager to embark upon the elusive lines energizing the elation
as a sojourning moon entices her to endear
Her excelling exuberance... exploited on exhalation
exposing her explicitly; exemplifying the excerpt
of an exonerated experience as the moonlight expires
Dec 12, 2016
Dec 12, 2016 at 2:33 AM UTC
.*the joke reign being: ****** doing the jazz hands worth of clapping... like smith 'n' butch doing a: manicure with jellyfish attempting to usurp paralysis... like a ****** faking jazz hands... mind you: canned laughter always left an eerie impression on me... and i didn't even have to laugh... but a ****** over-exemplifying "her" hands? well... they're not exactly petite, geisha curiosities, worth the fragility of spring to be made comparison of!*
when a ****** over-exfoliates
the use of her hands....
i once mentioned:
the most ****** aspect
of a woman
are her hands...
so when a ****** over-exfoliated
"her" use of the hands...
never a "missing" ****
in war,
whether man, woman,
or... animal....
size...
the hands:
do not lie...
whatever lie there ever
was to be ingested...
like: words were food...
to distinguish them:
a vowel is pure fat,
and a consonant was:
slow burn sugar,
i.e. a carbohydrate...
but i can be made acute,
aware,
how a ****** is
the antithesis
of both heterosexual
& homosexual love...
it is neither...
it's an added curiosity...
a niqab-take
on ***
i sometimes
wonder...
jerking off...
am i looking
at the cleft of
a buttocks of a woman,
or the cleck of a woman's
*******
they... seem so well
pair... and undifferentiable...
i can't seem to tell
the difference!
back in the day
when marylin mason
was
all gag and hardly
any gay...
but you can tell
a ****** from a woman...
however many hormone
blockers...
bones do not lie...
hands...
the size of hands...
like some joke goes:
and if i removed one
tier of my ribs from my body,
i too, wouldn't
have to leave the house
for a *******
my same misery
story... concerning the selling
& buying of vinyl...
hands though...
i'm trying to bind myself
to either braille or
sign...
in deciphering
the ***********
like it's a ****** scenario
to not read this as:
just shy of Ypres.
Feb 5, 2019
Feb 5, 2019 at 10:56 PM UTC
A name that lionized once
Exemplifying crystal goodness
Dwindles now amidst the crowd
For an instinct extravagance
Who loved once, now fear
The name that lies in darkness.
‘The culprit’ now reminisces
All that made his past.
Endurance long did he face but
Long didn’t his freedom last.
Joy comes slow and with struggle
Folly! He wanted it fast.
The culprit earlier envied people
With love, money and other wealth
Unlike winners, he failed to stand alone
In himself he did lose faith.
Burning desires made evil rhetorical
Pity the age evil ignite stealth.
Forbidden fruits he dared to reach
Stranger he felt on being a deuce.
He cherished at the illusion
Of walking on a supreme avenue.
Everything comes with a price, he forget
Now the Devil waited for his revenue.
Blindfolded by the espy of interim wealth
Wealth of humanity has become a fiction.
Just of the self he kept ruminating on
Never thought of the innocent’s malediction
He who snatched several dreams by his desire
Awaited for him the much deserved destination.
In his cell, his sleep now breaks
As the moonlight seeks him in murky.
The joy in seasons are lost forever
Burning passions depleted of intensity
Time passed with thoughts of past and future
Alas! Immature insanity changed his destiny.
Jun 18, 2018
Jun 18, 2018 at 1:07 PM UTC
Absolutely astonishing (and amusing) is the aftermath of this
Bonanza, beyond baptism. Blackened, broken and bleeding,
Corpses collapsed copiously, carelessly
Disrespected down to the depths of their deaths, now dreaming,
Enticed, ever in eternity.
Funny is this funeral of fibs fabricated from unfaithfulness.
Ghosts gaining the Grave's grand greeting,
Happy to hoard the
Infested, incommensurable, inacceptable,
Jaded and jinxed,
Kind of kin who kept
Lies lingering, leading on their lover.
My mirror mentions memories,
Narratives knitted with needles
Obtaining obsessive obscurity,
Painted with pillars of impurity,
Querried by the quaint quadruped,
Reassured of rest and relinquishment.
Sorry now is the sayer but
Time ticks tactfully.
Ugly is the untruthful, of the utmost unimportance,
Vexed and vulnerable,
Without a widow in the world,
Xenon exemplifying,
Yellow bellied,
Anti-zenith czar.
Dec 23, 2017
Dec 23, 2017 at 1:46 AM UTC
A rock in a sandpaper throat
difficult to choke, impossible to swallow
obsession had outlived love
dreams too large for tiny arms
and ashes were left where she treads
tears fill one eye as the other stays dry
love prevailed in cold bloodshed
drifting away another vague memory once so powerful
'twas a dream from which to be awoke
the moon turned red and her twisted silhouette devoured the sky
the ocean transformed to venom as her warm breath met the sea
a fiberglass vial, the poison, the pain, the nothing of a dead ghost
leap off the precipice, one might likely fly given the right mind
only the doubtful would cry
only the uncertain would kneel down in remorse and give in to the unknown
her last heartbeat didn't make a sound
exemplifying her lifeless soul
burying her dead thoughts
Mar 12, 2014
Mar 12, 2014 at 11:21 PM UTC
Today is a significant moment
Ever occurred to your dedicated career
Reaping all the rewards of commitment
Every deserving professional like you
Setting as a role model for the neophytes
In exemplifying capabilities and kindheartedness
Towards accomplishing the mission and vision
As what SPMC has envisioned for excellent service.
Rest assured that we shall all be vigilant
Ensuring to perform our work with proficiency
Being well-trained medical technologist like you
Until the day when our time to retire will come
Leaving a legacy of excellent service to SPMC
Dedication, competence and innate compassion
All identical virtues to best merit that you have shown
Describe your personality that is worthy to emulate.
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 4:59 AM UTC
You creep behind refuge, exemplifying human nature
The dearth of your kindness kindles my feature
Your tongue must flavor of dust or dirt
For your falsehoods lay with incessant inert
When God formed you he fabricated sin
Stitched with worthlessness that festers within
I know your deeds and will sing them atop the trees
And your precious pride will perish with my lip's ease
I would do a charity and release your soul from the earth
And make the pain as profitable as your life was worth
Death will wear you as a cape in the afterlife
He'll carve his name in you everyday with a boning knife
It is a sad dawn in hell when you arrive
But it was your fate son, you mustn't deny
Apr 26, 2019
Apr 26, 2019 at 10:58 PM UTC
written a long time ago.
Aghast
Sans shutting the dresser fast
Lest drawing to cloths to the past.
Akin to dredging up sedimentary muck
That metaphors me whence getting stuck
During adolescence – which lasted decades
each 'n to barreling driverless
heading toward
a garbage disposal dump peed truck
when me entire being felt utter yuck
Holograms of former life inhabit
childhood each dresser drawer
Which furniture about five feet from top to floor
Encapsulates invisible fractals
of me and contrived lore
Iron nick lee, the latter increases
as sands of time increase more
Find mine gaze drawn to hash marks
(from Matthews’) fingers did score
Within the veneer epitomizing strife that tore
And rent psyche asunder
exemplifying unseen civil war
That raged within façade of placidity
Hosting mailer daemons in this yahoo –
nobody could see
Re:
Clawing to cleave copper handles of me
Synonymous with malevolent genie
Hell bent of wreaking havoc
and thus clamored to break free
From shuttered jumbled wardrobe
stale garments some mold e
bereft of taking a tumble
in washer and dryer to air
Perspiration from boyhood pores,
with a skinny body when bare
As would be immediately clear
By many I did fear
Whose gaze akin to a scorching glare
Exhuming a suffer 'n soul silent leer,
especially when viewer near
Gaze glued at tchotchkes
like skeletal frame, with palm sized rear
Analogous to that boudoir – over there
Where housed baggy garments,
yes even under wear
Ill fitting hardly worn hand me downs
a haunting clasp from yesteryear!
Nov 8, 2017
Nov 8, 2017 at 5:25 PM UTC
This ragamuffin schleps with leaden gait
weighted down like Atlas of yore
like that Greek titan upon massive shoulders
the worldly wide web he wore
if a corporeal being incarnate,
would be friended on social networks fig ure
especially mythological creations exiled,
reviled and sent to river elba shore
the lowest watermark of Napoleon,
and one exemplifying the je nais say quor
my life and hard times as if concocted
from mind of Charles Dickens or
another deft writer with an abysmally dim,
groveling vagabond less o more
who experienced rejection
at every turn muttering to join canine korps
wonder why in this tar nation,
he got saddled with prestigious title of warrior
truth be told suffered psychological
stress disorders at veep fog hatted
Alberts’ epistemological environmental
global germinal garrulousness galore,
whose hoped friendship glued, clinched,
billed as storied AA Milne’s eyore
whose jarring inscrutably heavy
glum footsteps exerted downtrodden chore
impressing mental state with angst,
whence Hades and river Styx did allure!
Jun 6, 2018
Jun 6, 2018 at 9:00 PM UTC
whisperings surround me
and i quickly turn
to accuse the guilty
but no one's there
i am alone
but the voices continue
insistant
poking
probing
my brain
confusing me
causing me the added burden
of worrisome thoughts
sleep doesn't save me
for it's much too short
finding solace in prayer
is beyond my beliefs
exposing
expressing
exemplifying
would provoke no response
so i wallow in discontentment,
sway in disillusionment
utimately collapsing to the ground
with a heavy heart
and...
...before long
i'm forced to accept
that i've been saddled
with a foolish heart.
Jun 12, 2016
Jun 12, 2016 at 4:10 AM UTC
the thing is,
you aren't magnificent.
my mind isn't laced,
with the thought of you.
there is no rarity,
beaming from behind your eyes;
no slight shimmer of a marvel,
beaneath the surface of your skin.
falling in line with those ahead,
and those behind:
you bore me.
if i was given a chance to pull back,
your carefully sealed unexceptional flesh,
would i see and feel something,
i was unaware you possessed?
a tiny glimmer of unprecedented original beauty,
an unknown personal outlet
exemplifying fearless individualism?
...or would i be disappointed,
by the nearly hollow expected interior,
singularly displaying a rudimentary *** drive,
and the unimaginative blueprints,
on how to fulfill it.
Feb 19, 2018
Feb 19, 2018 at 11:11 PM UTC
this ragamuffin schleps with a leaden gait weighted down like Atlas of yore
like that Greek titan upon massive shoulders the worldly wide web he wore
if a corporeal being incarnate, would be friended on social networks fig ure
especially mythological creations exiled, reviled and sent to river elba shore
the lowest watermark of napoleon and one exemplifying the je nais say quor
my life and hard times as if concocted from thee mind of Charles Dickens or
another deft writer with an abysmally dim, groveling vagabond less o more
who experienced rejection at every turn muttering to join the canine korps
wonder why in this tar nation he got saddled with prestigious title of war ior
truth be told suffered psychological stress disorders at veep fat alberts’ gore
whose hoped for friendship glued, clinched, billed as storied AA Milne’s eyore
whose jarring inscrutably heavy glum footsteps exerted downtrodden chore
impressing mental state with angst, whence Hades and river Styx did allure!
Jun 2, 2017
Jun 2, 2017 at 8:54 AM UTC
I see brown
Glorified by squares of sunlight
exemplifying the chocolate, hazel, black
So beautiful, no?
I’m still thinking how I don’t know you yet
or how I haven’t had the thought of
falling in love with you in a parallel universe
Some nights, I lay with my temples moist
black, caligraphing its way through
and wonder, how awful
that knowing where to check my pulse
terrifies me
Thinking, no colour ever should saturate
to a point where there’s nothing left but water
Somehow, the sunlight doesn’t work
I see shades of black and gray
I lift my book up
The mirror bursts
Sep 22, 2019
Sep 22, 2019 at 12:33 PM UTC