"expedient" poems
We made all possible preparations,
Drew up a list of firms,
Constantly revised our calculations
And allotted the farms,
Issued all the orders expedient
In this kind of case:
Most, as was expected, were obedient,
Though there were murmurs, of course;
Chiefly against our exercising
Our old right to abuse:
Even some sort of attempt at rising,
But these were mere boys.
For never serious misgiving
Occurred to anyone,
Since there could be no question of living
If we did not win.
The generally accepted view teaches
That there was no excuse,
Though in the light of recent researches
Many would find the cause
In a not uncommon form of terror;
Others, still more astute,
Point to possibilities of error
At the very start.
As for ourselves there is left remaining
Our honour at least,
And a reasonable chance of retaining
Our faculties to the last.
7.8k
It was considered expedient
To change the unit of measure
To change scale,
To make redundant all
That could be wasted,
Naturally.
Internal communications
Will contrive suitable verbs
To conceal the brutality of profit
To provide surety as required
To the senior management team
As for the rest:
To those whose insecurities
Are relied upon, whose
Middles have expanded, aged
Receded, human resources
Will issue notice of packages
And opportunities of relocation.
The restructure will require
The recruitment of some
Of the hungry young;
Fresh graduates on the newly
Introduced basic scales.
What of your work you enquire?
Those value added strategies
Of differentiation
Of corporate responsibilities,
Family friendly policies?
In this age of austerity
Such approaches, old man,
Are as relevant as a hard drive,
Or hard copy, this is a cloud
Sourced post-crunch
Twitterverse we inhabit,
This is a time for new prospects
This is cloud cuckoo land.
Mar 26, 2010
Mar 26, 2010 at 3:06 AM UTC
Cried the navy-blue ghost
Of Mr. Belaker
The allegro ***** cocktail-shaker,
"Why did the **** crow,
Why am I lost,
Down the endless road to Infinity toss'd?
The tropical leaves are whispering white
As water; I race the wind in my flight.
The white lace houses are carried away
By the tide; far out they float and sway.
White is the nursemaid on the parade.
Is she real, as she flirts with me unafraid?
I raced through the leaves as white as water...
Ghostly, flowed over the nursemaid, caught her,
Left her...edging the far-off sand
Is the foam of the sirens' Metropole and Grand;
And along the parade I am blown and lost,
Down the endless road to Infinity toss'd.
The guinea-fowl-plumaged houses sleep...
On one, I saw the lone grass weep,
Where only the whimpering greyhound wind
Chased me, raced me, for what it could find."
And there in the black and furry boughs
How slowly, coldly, old Time grows,
Where the pigeons smelling of gingerbread,
And the spectacled owls so deeply read,
And the sweet ring-doves of curded milk
Watch the Infanta's gown of silk
In the ghost-room tall where the governante
Gesticulates lente and walks andante.
'Madam, Princesses must be obedient;
For a medicine now becomes expedient--
Of five ingredients--a diapente,
Said the governante, fading lente...
In at the window then looked he,
The navy-blue ghost of Mr. Belaker,
The allegro ***** cocktail-shaker--
And his flattened face like the moon saw she--
Rhinoceros-black (a flowing sea!).
2.2k
metromonic irregularities
of flawless infinity
particularized by lack of action
to create a participation in time
is the savage reprisal
of defiant elements
that challenge conspicuous masks
of isolated illusory expedient frugality
where there is an instistance on a fiction
of invented death without recognition
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 4:34 PM UTC
Eliza! what fools are the Mussulman sect,
Who, to woman, deny the soul’s future existence;
Could they see thee, Eliza! they’d own their defect,
And this doctrine would meet with a general resistance.
Had their Prophet possess’d half an atom of sense,
He ne’er would have woman from Paradise driven;
Instead of his Houris, a flimsy pretence,
With woman alone he had peopled his Heaven.
Yet, still, to increase your calamities more,
Not content with depriving your bodies of spirit,
He allots one poor husband to share amongst four!—
With souls you’d dispense; but, this last, who could bear it?
His religion to please neither party is made;
On husbands ’tis hard, to the wives most uncivil;
Still I can’t contradict, what so oft has been said,
“Though women are angels, yet wedlock’s the devil.”
This terrible truth, even Scripture has told,
Ye Benedicks! hear me, and listen with rapture;
If a glimpse of redemption you wish to behold,
Of ST. MATT.—read the second and twentieth chapter.
’Tis surely enough upon earth to be vex’d,
With wives who eternal confusion are spreading;
“But in Heaven” (so runs the Evangelists’ Text)
“We neither have giving in marriage, or wedding.”
From this we suppose, (as indeed well we may,)
That should Saints after death, with their spouses put up more,
And wives, as in life, aim at absolute sway,
All Heaven would ring with the conjugal uproar.
Distraction and Discord would follow in course,
Nor MATTHEW, nor MARK, nor ST. PAUL, can deny it,
The only expedient is general divorce,
To prevent universal disturbance and riot.
But though husband and wife, shall at length be disjoin’d,
Yet woman and man ne’er were meant to dissever,
Our chains once dissolv’d, and our hearts unconfin’d,
We’ll love without bonds, but we’ll love you for ever.
Though souls are denied you by fools and by rakes,
Should you own it yourselves, I would even then doubt you,
Your nature so much of celestial partakes,
The Garden of Eden would wither without you.
1.8k
Be expedient
Be upbeat
Be upstanding
Watch your feet
Take your own medicine
Cure all ills
No solicitors
Post no bills
Keep your secrets
Tell no lies
Life's soon over
Time flies
Jul 15, 2011
Jul 15, 2011 at 4:32 PM UTC
Pompous:
"Oh God, no, not another shallow rhymer,
fitting each word to its neat little place.
Oh God, no, not another painterly composition
with planal directions going round and around or leading that way and this.
They did that in the past; get to the new.
Make sure the reader or viewer knows that the masterful
knows more than than the masterful lets t/h/r/o/u/g/h/ out.
Disdain extenuating weakenings caused by straining for clarity
or unnecessary exertions in expressions of cohesion.
Words, though plain, arouse astonished wonder by nonchalant impenetrable shufflings.
Be clued-in, be bold, be tough and show it when you sculpt the clay.
When shaped, use your trowel to scratch the surface, evoking even more obscurity.
Toss it off in broad strokes of masterful negligence.
Be above the miniscule.
By these means show in shadowy hints the profundity that winks beyond merely ordinary restrictions.
Break the barriers, fly the constructive. Those old shackles lie about the world.
Show you ain't no conforming sissy.
Display in impatient referenceless strokes
Your forceful awareness of the world as known."
Facetia:
"Oh?
A world which evidences no form and structure in living creatures;
no eons of effortful evolution;
Forests have no ecology, and laws of nature aren't for binding.
Mind never happened, spirit's a farce,
unions only expedient plottings.
Lessons of history describe the disruptive;
it's what you grab and who you club;
others are only take or be taken.
Show 'em who's boss,
stash it away,
it's dog eat dog until there's nothing.
Shake it all up and break it all up.
It's only entropy."
Mar 21, 2010
Mar 21, 2010 at 7:17 AM UTC
what are these words
but the right to write to
be joyous
to be expedient
to crook our arms
beneath the weight of others
to rest where rest is intimate
(like the rest of us of Love of Spring
of fully knowing)
what it means to be joyous is to know
it is as time is to season yearly
it is to know her almost there
if she, fully knowing,
were almost here
it is to be dear
and daring to endure
it is about
mostly and entirely
to forget Almost and
remember Now
it is to not write and not make sound
it is just a parenthesis of How
Nov 23, 2012
Nov 23, 2012 at 8:12 PM UTC
Mr. K leads a normal life. Wife and kids, school,
home in town, commuting to work, mornings
for breakfast, evenings papers, chatting away;
The clerk in the government office, executive
in the tech firm; The teacher at the university,
official at the ministry. Like the sun in many
pots, Mr. K is one person living in many bodies.
In the morning, he worships the Eye in his shrine.
Upholding traditions, one must get ahead in life.
Half-believing, within 'Bounds of reason' tepid.
The Eye sits observing him: sometimes, staring
from the sky above, and some times, through
the eyes of the beggars lining the temple street.
Irāvāṇ laughs as Mr. K walks past the totem pole.
'Bad' is always elsewhere, in the nebulous 'other';
Cutting corners is not bad, just an expedient.
Does the Eye only observe silently? It also slithers
sometimes and shakes the fabric of Mr. K's life.
Like when the mountains break way for the river.
But one K. dies, and another takes over. And so
it goes on. Irāvāṇ is laughing impaled on the pole.
Dec 26, 2013
Dec 26, 2013 at 5:17 PM UTC
drank
too much
again last night,
bred fury
through the bars
and taverns...
fed,
the maddened
cannibal, on
vaticidal unions....
came around,
down early bells,
head, supercelled,
expedient..
could not
believe what lay
beneath the subways
of Jerusalem
Jun 18, 2021
Jun 18, 2021 at 5:55 PM UTC
The gift of observance comes rushing back
As half-lit skies circumvent in upheaval
Seeing the hidden guise for what we all lack
I quick deduction spawns an intent retrieval
Grasping the whole of what my peers are concealing
A half-ass attempt to make sense of these feelings
All of these words are so hollow and insignificant
Pleading a case as if they have a sense of morality
A conceded hope that ends up as a wasted expedient
The building block pieces to a straight willed society
Fixated mortification's that serves as our propriety
Keeping our relative outlook as my favorable notoriety
Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 12:37 PM UTC
Late mornings or early nights
Internal struggles an eternal fight gripe when ever cradling life
A gift endowed upon is heavy
Handed stranded with opinions
The pen becomes a machete
Instead of jotting
turns paper into confetti
spilling my blood
on looken like spaghetti
expedient measures
the recipe warrants a recipient
of a John beard
ingredients inter-whine
you could smell it in the air
master sommelier
An acquired taste took years
1 meal serves plenty
Being great takes time
It stole many!!!
it stole minds!!!
So many!!!
I gave it my all I'm so empty
Tapped reserves
what my soul lent me
If I was trying to impress you
Would you then befriend me?
If you was impressed?
Doubt it
So I Feel alone when its crowded
When I'm alone I'm crowded
With these thoughts surrounding
Hounded whicha what way
There's a certain price
you pay
for talent
Jul 9, 2017
Jul 9, 2017 at 12:01 PM UTC
The Celtic Cross
Around my neck is often seen
An ancient sign
Of where I go and, too, have been
The cross more ancient
Than the Christ oft signified
A mere expedient
To Rome when Jesus died
Although I wear it in His name it further goes
To those whom Hadrian so feared he built his wall
The land where rivals are the thistle and the rose
Where the blood of all my forbears once did fall
As their mingling souls in Heaven thence arose
The stones within the mist cast silent pall
Cori MacNaughton
8Mar99
Jun 11, 2015
Jun 11, 2015 at 7:55 PM UTC
*don't harangue my life with care for pity at woman's idiocy, not having adopted Caesarian birth as universally adequate and prospering her, to instil this barbaric guilt in me wondering why women, of all mammals had no natural anaesthetic produced when giving birth... **** your little guilt-trip argument! Caesarian or no argument!*
to be robbed of a glorious death, and be given an
inglorious birth, esp. when women were given an ease
with a Caesarian birth diplomacy... what's there to retain for man?
ardency in labour? old age? i too was robbed of what
Caesar described as the ideal death: the sudden one...
am i to wait for my sickbed...
if i only chanced the thrill of life
within one sunset and sought no night
to encompass my life as worthy compensation
of nothing.
a life lived to the bell-tone of a replaced
uvula, no care for charity asserted...
in that one momentary exception of all life prior,
to have lived it, and hence entombed,
readied for the element acquiring me to
further its signature... as sustainable...
i'd rather die a painful death that live
a comfortable life: pain is eased with its short-lived
establishing awareness when the glory prior is "prolonged"
ascribed to the fates akin to Achilles... and indeed pain is
merely pain with its prolonging on the sickbed...
counter heroism, so defeatist;
how many times am i to be robbed? to thus experience
such shallows of thieves with cheap constantly
expedient thievery? i've had enough to concede to a juggle
of fates and fortunes! one smooth stroke of the ace
rather than the many axe-hackings of the neck
of ****** Mary. bothersome agitations via pride, honour
and braveness, only if they do not happen,
and should they, they'd be undertaken, but to no quest
of celebratory non-enactment, i.e.: farting rather than ********
prior: to be given a wave of the standard acupuncture
of infantry: as guarantee of mythology; and a nobleman
on his horse without a stirrup prior to the *** intervention.
May 25, 2016
May 25, 2016 at 10:14 PM UTC
A Surfeit of Light
by Michael R. Burch
There was always a surfeit of light in your presence.
You stood distinctly apart, not of the humdrum world—
a chariot of gold in a procession of plywood.
We were all pioneers of the modern expedient race,
raising the ante: Home Depot to Lowe’s.
Yours was an antique grace—Thrace’s or Mesopotamia’s.
We were never quite sure of your silver allure,
of your trillium-and-platinum diadem,
of your utter lack of flatware-like utility.
You told us that night—your wound would not scar.
The black moment passed, then you were no more.
The darker the sky, how much brighter the Star!
The day of your funeral, I ripped out the crown mold.
You were this fool’s gold.
Keywords/Tags: surfeit, light, presence, chariot, Thrace, Mesopotamia, silver, gold, platinum, antique, grace, heirloom, diadem, crown, tiara
Alas, Sir Munchalot!
by Michael R. Burch
You ate too much,
your common lot;
you munched too much,
so now you’ve got
a gut.
Mar 29, 2020
Mar 29, 2020 at 5:49 AM UTC
An endeavour to grasp the ardent;
trying to sooth the seething, the fervent-
-ly glimmering stars cleaved and concised,
misgiven and juvenile; yet far hind-tarded:
"The fool burned trying; and the starlet free."
And here I recon; I concede-
readily and consequently,
in admiration; in recede:
captivated, inadvertently.
Smitten and bewitched; I'd stay,
expedient and unruly:
"My sight I have bargained; all for one seething spectacle."
With this I stray, unlighted and aphonic;
I leave my sentiment in silence.
Mar 18, 2018
Mar 18, 2018 at 9:21 PM UTC
Ruminating epoché,
‘I am…’ ‘Or am I’? Who can say?
‘A posteriori’ leads the way
For the extra and the ordinary
Axiomatic sway
In the gravity of corollary,
‘A priori’ interplay.
Ataraxic overlay of anxious automation,
As the innocence of dissonance delay
Initiatives imperative consolidation,
Civilly disobedient in expedient disarray.
Practicing semantic contemplation,
Filling nihilistic voids with particles in waves,
Forecast in vague extrapolation,
To interpret dreams of Freud to free Oedipus’s slaves,
A degreeless scholastic who never misbehaves,
Simulated humanoid dramatic in the affect that he craves,
Inflating the linguistics of silent enclaves,
A thespian who plans conation with legacy engraves.
Probabilistic determiner of cosmogenous debates,
The Apperceived inquirer of qualitative states,
Inspiring proprietor of dismality abates.
Challenging Aporia as epistemic oscillates,
Stoically, heroically, ‘one’ who amalgamates,
Circling the infinite in hermeneutic calibrates.
May 23, 2018
May 23, 2018 at 1:24 AM UTC
Adding apologies to artillery shells does not amend the action,
And
My brokenness betrays me when it bellows that I have beaten bruises black and blue into your back
But
Crying is a catharsis much too commonplace to convey these casualties.
My doubtful disposition has denied you deliverance from your daring endeavors
Because
Emptying myself to entertain someone else's enormous sense of entitlement
Is
A feeling that frightens my already fragile sense of forwardness.
Glory from a god who glances generously upon us growling ghosts
Is
A Heaven that hurts like hell because happiness is heresy
But
Isolation is an independence I never intended to introduce here.
Juggling jokes and jealousy between juggernauts is jeopardizing my judgement
Because
Kindness is to knowing the truth as kissing is to your knuckles,
It's
Like living life as a lamb but loving a lion.
Missiles gone missing are making me misunderstand my own memory
Yet
Needles have never seemed so necessary as when you're near,
And
Ownership is not an option so we have both become orphans.
Praying to people seems more plausible than pleasing a perfect being
So
I will quantify rather than qualify the quaintness of this quarantine
And
Respectfully reply that paying retribution to a ***** is ridiculous.
Soon something will surface that sends shivers down your spine
But
Today there is only turmoil taking its time to taper off
So
Understand when I utter the word "unify" that I mean us.
Vain and vindictive as you have very well verified being,
If
We worship with what we wish, not what we will,
Our
Exploitation will exemplify an axis on which oxymoron is expedient.
You and your yearning will not yield to yonder threats,
Because
The zeal of this zephyr will carry us to the zenith.
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 6:03 PM UTC
lost in fain quagmire of words
rambling rays of golden sun
seep in smirking hearts of flesh
beating mingle all in one
drape a warmth from chin to thigh
simple shadows worse or right
glaring hollow flop and fling
fingers fallow slip in ink
sheeny glow of festive light
gleaming glint in eyes of sky
dangling gasp of playfulness
sway expedient leaping legs
further out and drawing in
softest clangs of merry din
mark a mirth of yellow chimes
in chirping chat of cider, wines
freshest fruit of toiling trees
sowing, growing, reaping seeds
labour harvest of the soul
caught in diamond grains of gold
while stringing verses all in part
melt in swirling blooming hearts
through rambling rays of saffron sun
we find us mingle all in one
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 5:39 PM UTC
Moreover, brethren, I would not that ye should be ignorant, how that all our fathers were under the cloud, and all passed through the sea;
And were all baptized unto Moses in the cloud and in the sea;
And did all eat the same spiritual meat; And did all drink the same spiritual drink: for they drank of that spiritual Rock that followed them: and that Rock was Christ. But with many of them God was not well pleased: for they were overthrown in the wilderness. Now these things were our examples, to the intent we should not lust after evil things, as they also lusted. Neither be ye idolaters, as were some of them; as it is written, The people sat down to eat and drink, and rose up to play. Neither let us commit fornication, as some of them committed, and fell in one day three and twenty thousand.Neither let us tempt Christ, as some of them also tempted, and were destroyed of serpents.Neither murmur ye, as some of them also murmured, and were destroyed of the destroyer.Now all these things happened unto them for examples: and they are written for our admonition, upon whom the ends of the world are come. Wherefore let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall. There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man: but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it. Wherefore, my dearly beloved, flee from idolatry. I speak as to wise men; judge ye what I say. The cup of blessing which we bless, is it not the communion of the blood of Christ? The bread which we break, is it not the communion of the body of Christ? For we being many are one bread, and one body: for we are all partakers of that one bread. Behold Israel after the flesh: are not they which eat of the sacrifices partakers of the altar? What say I then? that the idol is any thing, or that which is offered in sacrifice to idols is any thing? But I say, that the things which the Gentiles sacrifice, they sacrifice to devils, and not to God: and I would not that ye should have fellowship with devils. Ye cannot drink the cup of the Lord, and the cup of devils: ye cannot be partakers of the Lord's table, and of the table of devils. Do we provoke the Lord to jealousy? are we stronger than he?All things are lawful for me, but all things are not expedient: all things are lawful for me, but all things edify not.
Let no man seek his own, but every man another's wealth. Whatsoever is sold in the shambles, that eat, asking no question for conscience sake. For the earth is the Lord's, and the fulness thereof. If any of them that believe not bid you to a feast, and ye be disposed to go; whatsoever is set before you, eat, asking no question for conscience sake. But if any man say unto you, this is offered in sacrifice unto idols, eat not for his sake that shewed it, and for conscience sake: for the earth is the Lord's, and the fulness thereof. Conscience, I say, not thine own, but of the other: for why is my liberty judged of another man's conscience? For if I by grace be a partaker, why am I evil spoken of for that for which I give thanks? Whether therefore ye eat, or drink, or whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory of God. Give none offence, neither to the Jews, nor to the Gentiles, nor to the church of God, Even as I please all men in all things, not seeking mine own profit, but the profit of many, that they may be saved.
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 10:27 AM UTC
Hope,
This is how we cope, with a world that isn’t always so dope
Hope, is how we deal with those nights we can’t sleep
Hope is what makes the tears dry up, what brings us back after we weep
Hope is the key ingredient, sometimes expedient, but never deviant
Hope is the trumpet loud, hope is the roaring crowd
Hope is the crashing waves, hope is the cry of the slave
Hope is the wind in the sails, hope is not giving up when it fails
Hope is the mountain high, hope is the sun shining in the sky
Hope in the drought is the rain, hope is to walk through the pain
Hope is to stand in the fire, hope is to trust in something higher
Hope is the winds of change, hope is the beautiful exchange
Hope is the product of love, hope is after the flood , a dove
Hope…..because tomorrow is always brighter than today
Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 1:50 PM UTC
Ruminating epoché,
‘I am…’ ‘Or am I’? Who can say?
‘A posteriori’ leads the way
For the extra and the ordinary
Axiomatic sway
In the gravity of corollary,
‘A priori’ interplay.
Ataraxic overlay of anxious automation,
As the innocence of dissonance delay
Initiatives imperative consolidation,
Civilly disobedient in expedient disarray.
Practicing semantic contemplation,
Filling nihilistic voids with particles in waves,
Forecast in vague extrapolation,
To interpret dreams of Freud to free Oedipus’s slaves,
A degreeless scholastic who never misbehaves,
Simulated humanoid dramatic in the affect that he craves,
Inflating the linguistics of silent enclaves,
A thespian who plans conation with legacy engraves.
Probabilistic determiner of cosmogenous debates,
The Apperceived inquirer of qualitative states,
Inspiring proprietor of dismality abates.
Challenging aporia as epistemic oscillates,
Stoically, heroically, ‘one’ who amalgamates,
Circling the infinite in hermeneutic calibrates.
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 11:50 AM UTC
the partition was posted
almost two years ago
and it stated that a super pair
of creators had to go
lots of folks signed it
lending their ample backing
for he who wanted
the upper echelon's racking
those who aided him have
all been well forgot
yet at the time they were
so expedient to his plot
once he'd achieved
the cardinal's goal
no longer was there a purpose
for a little fish shoal
taking advantage of others
is his kind of game
using they who are wet behind
the ears tame
everyone of them summoned
to do his bidding
and in this salient narration
there's no kidding
Mar 26, 2018
Mar 26, 2018 at 9:23 PM UTC
A perfect expedient for a lonely boy
Mind full of ice and the thoughts to enjoy
Sleepwalk for days alone in this head
No speech exchange with the shadows instead
Compensated fulfillment of destructions company
Ensnaring a sensation devoid of sincerity
Like a method acting on itself unknowingly
Day long trips to the convenience proctor
Second spent hours at the Ill head doctor
Conversing with stutter as if I'm a linguist
A joke in a riddle or a bow on a cyst
Apparent to the cast that I've kissed her lips
Synthetic light pouring upon this reality eclipse
Stimulating my paranoia like a gnarled ***** to vice grips
Re-establishing a tie with the numbing agent
Has been as therapy is when happiness is absent
What a dream to hold in such boundless admiration
To be witty and bold within my own creation
Yet so wonderfully mundane from my peers perspective
I may stray back to this gaze so seductive
A date this alluring just might be productive
Dec 10, 2017
Dec 10, 2017 at 5:07 AM UTC