"exorcisms" poems
If I could speak
I would spill these lamentations
cloistered sins and secrets
whispered vespers for wretched dreams
Retching sentiment
this malignant manifesto
a macabre mantra
eats my skin from within
transient refuge for temporal treasures
inexorable moments carry life away
tick tick tick
the seconds scurry
flurried ineffectual supplications
demigods of affluence
the cacophony of the machine
I spin within
cogniscient of my myopia
the funneled tunnel vision
drips from the end of a pen
furtive verses on paper
fading ochre moments
somber drops of ash and bone
poetic exorcisms
of wicked things unknown
phrenetic
sensibilities trickle
spilling life
black and withering
is the gain worth sacrifice
crackling fat of dreams
too costly
this shallow palette
self obsessed
eyes gouged out
hands shackled
to the reality
the immortality
trust the dust
the dust becomes me
soul focused on decay
spectre death
devouring this unsparked spirit
If I could speak
truth into your heart
would you
believe.....
in anything more than what you see
I trust the dust and dust will be
the remnant me
TL Boehm
042508
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 5:11 PM UTC
his ancestor a coolie
laid the rails many long years
but returned to Peking
to fight white devils
this, the tale
passed through the generations
with the jade necklace which
never left his mother's neck
first born son
spawn of two doctors, expectations
were high he would practice
honorable healing arts
early in his years
he fueled their fears, and ire
coming through their sterile door
with bloodied knuckles
black eyes, fat lips
they tried various exorcisms:
confinement in the temple, lashings
and hushed cabals with head healers,
but none could shrink his will
much to their dismay
Stanford rejected him; he landed
at a community college, where he spent
an indolent year, before vanishing
a thousand tears and fears later
the PI revealed what a hundred
billable hours had reaped
the son was so far west
he was east, in a village on the Yangtze
stooped over paddies, his feet firm
in the mire the generations
had yearned to escape
Dec 3, 2015
Dec 3, 2015 at 3:06 PM UTC
The cold side of the bed seems so far away,
Wrapped in the sheets are the sounds of breathing,
Pieces of you and I still smoulder in the ashtray,
Tobacco kisses and shots of *** in the evening.
Exorcisms couldn't even lift the haunting presence
Of a heavy heart which carries the weight of worlds.
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 4:55 PM UTC
Once said that he was baffled
Yes, flabbergasted,
that in the 6000 years of human existence
In the 6000 years of exorcisms
Crucifixions
******
Bombings
Shootings
Lying
Stealing
Kindness
Love
Mercy
Forgiveness
No one ever prayed for the one
Who needed prayers to most.
Apr 19, 2013
Apr 19, 2013 at 3:01 AM UTC
A Round table.
Dinner.
9 Goddesses Sit.
A chocolate Angel with aphrodisiac saffron, almond honey bars of bliss 2 squares enough to get you as high as you like, heart racing, body tingling, a silly silky kind of euphoria kissing the inside of my capillaries
and cacao energy bouncing across my hyper sensitive pathways.
A Smart Cosmic Cookie giggling with winky eyes
A flamenco beat with ideas to translate movement into music
A silver haired tarot reader from Peru, yellow beads strung round her neck, her vibrant skin glowing earth brown-red
her energy sung out luminous.
At least 3 generations are co-existing in pleasant harmony,
All of us : healers of a sort,
None of us : hold only one job or skill,
Two of us : are currently in nomad travel phase ( Youngest and Oldest)
When two men pass by and say hello
I feel our energy say hello in unison but with some nonchalance, centered more upon the union of grounded,
clean and compassionate energy exuding from us all,
We laugh and are present
love is abundant.
We joke that they don't know what they've let into the festival
"exorcisms and stuff" as a few of us fake laugh an evil cackle, erupting in giggles.
There's talk of herbal medicines and herbal hair conditioners,
I sit and maintain my conscious space by not thinking
being aware is my mode of being
acting upon feeling,
using mind to restrain all words from exiting my mouth,
not mindless babble.
I smile to myself and inhale the fragrance of light workers living.
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 9:34 AM UTC
Now When It Comes...
To Poetry That I’ve Written...
It’s Written With A Rhythm...
That Deals In Exorcisms...
That Expose REALISM... !!!
NOT Just Within My Thinking...
But About Things In Our Vision...
A Talent That’s God Given... !!!
So Remember Folks...
My Verse Is Meant...
To Be Expressed...
In Ways That Flow...
So When You Read...
Read It... RHYTHMICALLY... !!!
Because Then You’ll See...
How... MELLIFLUOUSLY...
It Flows RHYTHMICALLY...
And Should Really Sound Neat...
Just Like A Sweet Symphony... !!!
of Spoken Words...
And Poetic Verse...
That... When It’s Heard...
Should Sound Like Birds...
That Sound Rhythmically Complete...
When They Choose To Tweet...
Harmonically And Beautifully... !!!
In The Morning Time...
When They See Sunshine...
It’s A Rhythmic Vibe...
With Which I Write...
Just Like Dark Knights...
Whose Rhythm Fights...
To... DENY Crimes...
Like Poetic Lines..
I Write About Life...
That CAN’T Be DENIED... !!!
Because They REFLECT.............
The Rhythms of STRESS...
Fed By Governments...
That Have Led To Protests...
... Time And Again... !!!
So Their Rhythm Defends...
Avoiding Pretence...
And The Ignorance...
That Now Has Spread...
To World Continents... !!!
By Those Known As FEDS’...
Whose Rhythm Now Tends...
To Plague Like Black Death...
Did You Catch What I Said... ?
Plague Like BLACK DEATH... !!!
Because That’s A Line...
With A Rhythm That Finds...
... Historical Ties...
To The Loss of Life... !!!
Because of Things That Left A Sting...
Like Muhammad In The Ring... !!!
Can You Hear The Ding Ding...
I’m Just... JOKING...
But It Is... NO JOKE... !!!
The Way That My Words Flow...
And... RHYTHMICALLY Show...
That The Way That I Write...
When Recited... RIGHT...
SYNERGISES With Bass Lines... !!!
Even When They’re Recorded...
At... DIFFERENT Times... !!!
Cos I’m A Spoken Word Guy...
Whose Mind Is The Kind...
With A Rhythm That Finds...
Varieties... That RHYTHMICALLY... !!!
Let My Poetry Breathe...
Through Spoken Word Speech...
That Flows EASILY...
So Is Cool To Read... !!!
It’s A Writing Technique...
That’s Used By Emcees...
Who Use Rhythms To Show...
How Their Use of Words Flow...
When It Comes To Live Shows...
Where Their Vocals EXPLODE...
With... Bass Lines In Tow... !!!
While Mine Are The Type...
To... STAND ALONE... !!!
Because My Vocal Tones...
Require... NO Notes...
To SHATTER Mind Zones...
With Rhythmic Quotes...
That Whether Written Or Read...
Are Rhythmically Bred...
To Garner Respect...
From The Type of Poets...
Who Are Now Impressed...
By My Writing Talents... !!!
And The Rhythm With Which...
I Connect My Lyrics...
That Many Now Deem...
To Be... EXQUISITE... !!!
Because They Sound CLEAN.....
When... VOCALLY...
My Spoken Word Speech...
Is Heard SONICALLY... !!!
Cos’ I’m A Rhythmic Breed...
... MOST DEFINITELY... !!!
So As I End...
This Piece of Lyricism...
Please DON'T FORGET...
That It’s Built For Spitting...
With Rhythmic PRECISION... !!!
And To Also Be... HEARD...
Because Words From Big Virge...
Are The Type of Compositions...
That Are Written With A UNIQUE...
... SIGNATURE...
....... “ Rhythm “.....
Sep 27, 2021
Sep 27, 2021 at 9:47 PM UTC
Well, hello!
Nice to meet you,
I welcome you to come see
The Land of the Words,
That's within you and me
Tell me, what is it?
What words do you seek?
Are you trying to vaguely describe all the bleak?
Well, come in!
We’ve got it,
A library of words
To use at the times where yours just never work
We’ve got, you name it
Every word that there is
Obscure, slick and slimy
Eternal and bliss
Or maybe enlightened
Audacity, please?
Do they properly describe your
Brown dungaree jeans?
No worries, don’t fret
Don't think I'm done yet
Sit back and hold on,
Those words, you'll regret
Bungalow, bushy, cabal and unclean
Tremendously, vacant
And blindly obscene
Tattered and broken
Lies and Unspoken
Do they speak to you mind,
Like they are a foretoken?
Cataclysms with dark exorcisms
Punk, goth and metal
And hooliganism?
Tell me, what is it
The library goes on
I’ll talk your ears off
From dusk until dawn
Patiently, potent
Absurdly, outspoken
Is that how you’ll describe,
A bright golden token?
Charismatic, kick, addicts
Your thoughts are a savage
Discombobulate, ravage
The words can be baggage
Keep looking, it’s there,
Every word, and I swear
They exist to make circles
Out of regular squares
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 6:36 PM UTC
dissolute neo transgressive
a fantasy lauded libertine
self mythologizer
writing ugly comments
on corrosive voids like black outs
broken verses sounded out
in mangled staccato
needing rearranged horizons
like olives without pimentos
and skies cobbled from
thatched metal bones
in moonless poems
with no dream life
no naked glimpses
no clawing
not even a drop of blood to whiff
and already cauterized
lust-less
anemic-scapes of thorn-less rosettes
emptied of black tongued gimps
and tattooed ******
no Lilliputians
swimming in marsh swamps
and no snarling brays
remember
there are mouths to fill
with pounding gristle
and ***** to bleed
like pull apart flake strudel
that squeal rapturously
shedding seas
of gagging exorcisms
so
widen your thighs
look into my eyes
Aug 19, 2019
Aug 19, 2019 at 12:31 PM UTC
broken boy,
let me cradle your
mind; let me be the evacuation
center you resort to when your soul
needs some rescuing. i will save a place
for your heart right between
the fissures running through the canyon
my hands create.
these padded walls do nothing to stop
those dreams; they won't
slow your tears or comfort you when the terrors
are too heavy to bury on your own. they'll just
absorb those screams you've been suffocated
by, the ones that make you bite your lip until
waves of crimson pain crash and flow
and you can taste boiling iron trickling down the cracks
in your worn lips.
broken boy,
i can't fix you. if only i could.
i wish that i could **** your pain through my veins,
let it poison me so that you could be liberated from
the demons clawing at your walls.
i can't.
i can only offer comfort on those dark days, when the
restraints you've placed upon yourself drive you to the brink
of madness. i can soothe you when your fingernails are ******
stubs and the monsters strip you of your soul. i can
slow the gears in your mind and do more than the
ticking, whirring of a broken-down brain to aid your sanity.
white cushioned walls can't ease your worries. they don't
guarantee exorcisms, and there's a no return on your stay
inside this vacant chamber chock-full of shadows.
hold on, broken boy. i know you'll
find that light at---
Feb 19, 2014
Feb 19, 2014 at 7:47 PM UTC
i was watching
Shane's funeral
beautiful
and deservingly so
and i wondered
who would come to my funeral???
(debt collectors
police
2 x-wives
DEA)
(surely
i'm heading to purgatory)
perhaps she'll come
the woman who wants to be a mortician
i meant her at the liquor store
i answered her ad
in the A.P. press,
it read, as follows:
Female, a young 60
likes UFO stories
and exorcisms
loves to watch autopsies,
has a potato chip
that looks like D. Trump!
(not for sale)
will be in front of BY-WAY Liquor store
7 a.m. Tuesday. Gladys.
and one thing
led to another
SO,
here i am
and the the smoke
from the camp
fire's
burning my eyes
i'm on my 18th can
of miller light
Gladys and me
are looking for
UFO s
Feb 13, 2024
Feb 13, 2024 at 4:31 PM UTC
Through the darkest, coldest night
This house makes so many noises
Whose ghost wants to keep me awake?
Don't you know I've learned to ignore you?
A knock on the ceiling
I've heard it before
And the creaking sound of
Motionless doors
What are you trying to tell me
Groaning frame
Aging timber
Fighting for footing on a
Faltering foundation
You don't want me to know your names, do you
Would I recognize them?
I lived in this house most of my life
And I've believed that demons came along
Attached to a woman whose soul had rotted out
With her child molesting offspring,
Oh yes, demons tired of him
And bid him fond adieu
As he walked out of the house they soon would call their own
I've seen them work their mischief
I know they're here
I don't let them get to me
But the ghost
Or the ghosts
Are more troubling
They make so much noise
It's impossible not to notice
Almost as impossible to ignore
Put on some music
Listen real close
Beethoven, Mozart
Some other ghosts
For I do think out specters
Enjoy good classical music
I know it's just the house settling in
Buckling and shifting
All houses are alive
In that regard
It doesn't matter
I'm not afraid of ghosts
And demons only marginally
I know how to get rid of them
But exorcisms ain't cheap
these days
Furthermore the success rate is not encouraging
Easier to live with demons and ghosts
On the frijid evenings in mid-January
As there will be no company
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 12:48 AM UTC
You can hear the violence in the silence
Even when the rain washes your tears –
_some pain still reigns; man sailing thru_
These clouds, and their tears galore; wouldn’t
You know every tomorrow comes too late –
_exorcisms to clear those who’ve ghosted you_
The past hangs on an arm’s annexation
Holding the reigns of your mind’s territory –
_we wake as soldiers, ready to fight today_
Winning small battles means nothing to war
A world of peace could exist, en route to God –
_we could go as far, by how long we pray_
I could have seen you yesterday,
Recalling a lover’s patch of kisses –
signing that love pact. War over love,
though when is love enough
for all wars to be done?
A world of peace could exist,
but it would mean we all don’t exist.
Jan 30, 2025
Jan 30, 2025 at 2:09 PM UTC
i'll turn my heart into stone
and burn my lungs with cigarette smoke
i'll be tough
i'll perform exorcisms on my thoughts
i'll stand here
bleeding
bruised
but i'll still be breathing
watch me
Oct 16, 2018
Oct 16, 2018 at 9:20 AM UTC
Depression sales into bay
written April 5th, 2021
Depression sales into the bay
our little town is built on
it is a frequent but unwelcome visitor
ominous, malevolent and stifling
Often it arrives in the night
creeping in on panther's toe pads
its sails blocking out the sun
Plants and people sit
in suspended animation
trying to carry on
Some boldly
give depression the finger
as they walk by
While others withdraw
to the sanitarium
dishes are left undone
and children run wild in the streets
Scientists are researching a vaccine
the librarian searches in books
soldiers plan attacks (which fail)
the priest prays and does exorcisms
the green witch burns toy ships in effigy
all hoping to find the answer
Until that day
we fight
we submit
we carry on
waiting
for depression
to sale out of
our petty little bay.
Apr 10, 2021
Apr 10, 2021 at 11:49 AM UTC
Eyes open you are there,
Eyes shut you are there,
Yet you are not truly here.
I feel your touch in the middle of the night.
Your warm hand on my cold cheek in the middle of the pouring rain,
Yet you are not here.
Your voice echos in my head bouncing around my skull sounding as if you are here, yet it is silent nothing to be heard but the now terrifying voice of you.
Your smell catches my attention everywhere I go, it follows every step I take and no matter how far I am it is there.
Sending me back through memories I now wish did not exist.
You are a ghost that will not leave me be.
You haunt my life preventing me from being me.
I just want to forget the heart breaking things you did,
I wish to no longer flinch away from touch,
I wish I could once eat the way I used to without feeling it burning back up,
I wish to sleep for once and not be taunted,
I wish there was a way to banish you from my mind.
Like an exorcisms
But for the living.
Because I shall be forever haunted by you
By us and what we used to be.
Oct 2, 2017
Oct 2, 2017 at 6:10 PM UTC