"expeditiously" poems
Upward I swirl
into the swirl of death shrills
Discontented about absolutism; the lies of war
Discontented about the perversions against nature; man's egomaniacal tendencies
Upward I spiral into the swirl of darkness
Gravity has no power to keep me bound
within myself
I let loose once again
I float towards another endless spiral of dark clouds,
these clouds spin expeditiously within its air-vortex
I see carnage,
I smell blood,
I witness the land of all misanthropes
Into the blackness as I spin,
my vision catches a chorale begging to be autonomous
in the state of sovereignty
The impetus in my desperate and saddened heart
I curse the gods
My tightened fist fails at at the darker darkness,
at this ominous swirling
I see no light ahead likened to the event horizon
on the outer rim of a black hole
My breath is being ****** out as the greed-succubus ***** out life
I see you in me, as we both are caught in this uninvited storm
Will we ever survive?
Will we ever survive?
So we must fight on!
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 3:49 PM UTC
I'll drop a twenty dollar bill into the take-a-penny tray at the local gas station today
A tiny donation to the broken mother with four kids who needs a tank of gas to get her to a job that barely pays her the money she needs to feed her children
She goes without tonight
I'll smile at the Walmart door greeter this week
An acknowledgement that will ripple through her subconscious to tell her that suicide is not an option
The boy on check out lane 4 is
I will pull over expeditiously for the ambulance racing by
The new father to be is craddling his newborn baby
Crying out helplessly while his fiance bleeds on their new kitchen floor
Her life will not be lost today
Your reactions to the world around you are what show the world that it does not revolve around you
You revolve around it
Feet planted firmly
Gravity holds down the ability to stay content to my skin like microbs burying into a foreign body
Hold the door tomorrow
You might meet your reason to wake up
Nov 16, 2013
Nov 16, 2013 at 11:46 PM UTC
Ten years miserably passed before..."At last!"
Four eyes dizzely cast into blue and brown,
and four, no, six legs on the ground.
Wistfully down a park laid sidewalk, we walked
to meet one another, blissfully.
We walked inside the dried canal, a river of the desert.
It hurts that we go there, no more, to flirt
with the dirt and our companion... infinity.
Is it you with me as I find kin company
in the molecules of divinity?
Repeatedly, I go searching the vicinity and nearby
For anything with similarity that I can call you by.
Any tree, light, shadow or star in the proximity
of where we met that belonged to you and me.
Or a feeling of solidarity that I cannot see.
Son, don't let me now survive ten years expeditiously.
Destructively alive, left with the intangiblity of life
that we left at that decision tree at 5:45.
Repetitiously I continue to apologize,
but apologies won't bring you back to life.
Nov 28, 2017
Nov 28, 2017 at 5:06 PM UTC
She cannot be any more for me.
Cannot touch, cannot see or know
What it would mean to lie beside her.
Below or above or inside her.
I cannot kiss her skin enough
To satisfy my tongue,
At root, amid tonsil and gum.
There is nothing between my legs
To satisfy the ache I’ve beshouldered.
Nor to give her what she wants.
And yet to be the bearer of such lofty arms,
I have not the strength
To hold her to me, tight enough
Nor strength to let her go.
Therefore pianist or organist,
No digits can so far reach
To abrade this itch within me.
To what worldly force there is to bray,
No hips move expeditiously
Enough to shake this wanting free
Not rhetoric, charm nor Rationale
Bestow words to dissuade my need.
I have no arms to pull her closely,
Nor shape to fit her skin.
Yet I cannot be any less for her.
Jun 29, 2011
Jun 29, 2011 at 3:25 PM UTC
New York City,
Said the same by masses
Yet reflected upon
Uniquely by individuals
To some it's just a place to visit
And they would never live there
To others,
New York is a haven
A shoppers delight
An amusement park
The city so nice they named it twice
Those who are lucky enough
To have been to New York
You always have at least
One crazy story
The definition of crazy being,
"Possessed by enthusiasm of excitement"
Meaning,
"This one time I was in Bushwick
And I gave a guy directions,
Then he invited me to a cannabis cup.
It was crazy."
Or there's this other definition
Of crazy meaning,
"Fooling or impractical. Senseless"
Crazy New York stories often
Associated with the second definition
Usually involve a homeless person
And urination
Whose ***** it is,
Well that's another story
I can sum up my New York
Story in a minute
If you live here
That's all strangers ask you anyways,
"Where you from friend?"
So I've rehearsed my story a bit
I've gotten pretty good
At expeditiously answering
The questions that follow,
"So what made you
Move to New York?"
"So do you go
To school for it?"
"Where do you work?"
And,
"Do you have
A cigarette?"
My answers,
"I followed a group of friends
To document their experience
As rising musicians
Eventually “Train Robbers”
Was formed and I
Shot an abundance of videos of those
Said musicians busking.
They would preform inside of
60 miles per hour subway cars,
Finish a song or two
Collect the loot
Then bail
Hence, “Train Robbers”.”
I’m mostly self-taught
In the fields of film making
Writing,
Photography,
As well as guitar,
The guitar you can tell
After months of watching
Then later re-watching
In the editing room
These musicians,
Counting up all that easy money
Stacking all the ones
Then forcefully folding
The *** of bills
Into their pockets,
I too then started to play guitar
On the subway.
And no, I don’t have
A cigarette.”
Jul 24, 2013
Jul 24, 2013 at 7:10 PM UTC
we set out
expeditiously
climbing quizzical
stony faces
grasping
slithering
clambering
to the top
we lay down
spent
you have breathed
sweet life again
past parched
unloved lips
into an empty soul
craving
simply
to be quenched
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 2:24 AM UTC
I sit still and stare secretively at your fragile figure.
Your shivering skin screams while you sleep in your twin sized bed,
As your blight bones rapidly rattle with fevering fear.
Your exasperating eyes open to expeditiously escape your nauseating nightmare.
But
Instead.
You awake to a repulsive reality worse than your immense imagination.
My heartbeat exhilarates excitedly,
When the damaged door frantically flies open,
The shrieking sound of wood carelessly colliding with the wall,
Is intentionally ignored by sleeping ears dreaming in denial,
As I wildly watch him stormily stumble like a gigantic giant,
Into your room.
Your battered body quivers quickly like an anxious animal.
You are the petty prey and he is the havoc hunter.
You use your cobalt comforter like a shield, to protect your shaking skeleton,
As you try to hide from the morbid monster who sedately sleeps down the hall.
The sour scent of bitter beer fills my nose as he places a filthy finger on your trembling lips.
He tragically tears the blue blanket away, destructively destroying your shield.
His terrible touch turns you hard, like a stiff statue,
Resulting in fierce feelings of shame and guilt, to wash wildly over you like a titanic tidal wave.
He painfully penetrates and turbulently thrusts into your collapsing core,
Annihilating,
Your illumined innocence and your beauteous body,
As his monstrous moans carefully cloud your cries as he explodes like a boiling bomb.
Once he leaves your blemished bedroom, you savagely grab onto me.
"I wish I was a superhero, like you Spiderman."
He cries as terrified tears tear across his face,
Leaving salty streaks and creating secluded scars.
But I cannot protect you.
So I am no superhero.
I think to myself.
As I let you cry onto my stuffed shoulder,
The only thing I can do,
Because I can't talk.
I can only keep sinister secrets.
Feb 3, 2017
Feb 3, 2017 at 9:08 AM UTC
Amidst the sea of people
suffocating in the calumnation of their realm
ringed within the despair of others around them
and solemnly existing alongside the control of civilisation
Lay individuals heeding to their own opinions
shunned, ignored and stamped on by their peers
labeled as a nobody, as worthless and useless
and understood as not one of them
only as an error in the production of mankind
Free and unconstricted of the anguishing order
released as someone whom does not belong
condemned as not right in their head
and mentioned as unusual, absurd, crazy
Criticised as a dreadfully contrary being
memorised as a faulty move in the game of chess
expeditiously withdrawn from the establishment of humanity
and obliterated from the existence of their kind
Eyes judging from afar
fearing for their presence to be near
disgusted by their demeaning manner
and forced to abide within their deficient companionship
Once bound to free the shrieking tears
sobs and wails heard from others
begging for acceptance and help
and chasing the deemed worthy for assistance
Metamorphosed into a satisfactory compliance of themselves
buoyantly striding into the halls of the accounted worthy
neglecting the insults and protests of others
and middlingly acclimated to the continuance of being the hated
Disrespected, despised and dishonored they may be
but blithe, wild and free-spirited incorporated
effectively enhancing their blessed individualised life
and liberated from the provocation of those unwilling of exemption
forcefully claiming their unrighteous place in civilisation.
As they are, and always will be the outcast.
Jul 19, 2015
Jul 19, 2015 at 6:52 PM UTC
SCENE 1: Park’s Parlor
It was a sunny Saturday morn
A busy week of lectures, classes, briskly worn
Liam, in a grey city short and blue polo shirt
Disregardantly laid on a campus park bench
Enjoying the warm summer breeze
As it plunged his advertence into a mild slumber.
He was then awakened by the sound of footsteps approaching
He glanced
And there she was, walking down the descending footpath
Taunting every living creature she passed by
With her stout, curvy frame sculptured with intricate exuberance;
He knew her; She knew him not
SCENE 2: Classroom Debacle
It was a dull Tuesday after-morning
Liam was running late for a lecturer
As he entered the classroom, there she was
Setting in the fifth row North
Wearing a silken Darthmouth-green cloth.
He gazed about, looking for an empty chair
And only one remaineth, next to her
He hesitantly approached the seat
Trying to dodge the stern cold stare from the lecturer
Moments passed, his body laying cold-death with fright
He then was startled by a gentle voice saying
‘Hi, I am Amy’ ” ” ‘You can have my today’s notes’ ” ” ‘ ‘:
She knew him; She knew his intentions not
SCENE 3: Hostel Civility
It was a noisy Friday evening.
Liam was resting in his wooden bed
And the echoing jubilance of the half-drunken students
Glutted the air like a summers-end park amusements.
Certainly, his drifting mind was brought to a halt by a little knock on the door
“Come on in”, He answered
Amy entered while wearing a hunters-moon grin
‘I have come for my notes’ she said
Liam feignly offered her a cup of coffee, pretending like he didn’t hear her
“The night is young, let’s go out and grab a bite”, he continued
She gallantly stood up: He expeditiously grabbed his coat,
And they shut the door behind them and disappeared into the radiant dusk
Jan 15, 2018
Jan 15, 2018 at 2:44 AM UTC
The reason for my articulation
is simple and utilitarian-
I seek not perfection,
But I seek ablution.
Perfection is reserved for those
with time to spend and money to burn.
My soul requires release,
its ransom necessitates recompense:
Expiated expeditiously, in a flurry
of words that scathe my every thought.
Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 4:43 AM UTC
BENEATH MY SKIN
my eidetic memory skims through my
mental
encyclopedia
reminiscent old thoughts amassed in
my wikipedia
pops up like a champagne top
i vividly recollect being born black
if you referred to me as dark skin no
tear would drop
racism was not within the range of my
knowledge
egoism and rage were the only thing
that pushed me to edge
the only race i was aware of was
marathon
and the other i uttered was lace in
shoes
throughout my childhood i never
realized the realism
of its catechism
the only -ism subscribed in my recess
was alcoholism
rhythm was the closest i
mispronounced racism
black and white to me was a great wall
television
and human being was great of all
creation
i neither thought being colored would
lead to isolation
nor the hue of my skin was a ticket of
damnation
it was tardy when i got revelation
about the race thing
my ripe mind expeditiously
incorporated the race theme
which flowed across nations like a
mighty stream
the sensation so extreme no longer was
it a dream
my color ceased being my joy and
became pain
my skin grandeur is now a paint of
ignominy
as i quest to replace the slogan of
ignore many
a systematic annihilation that will
bear liberation
the ultimate solution is my fascination
of love for each and every human
being that will
carry no disdain
i seek to liberate my thoughts that
brings me
to my mantra that knows
am black and there is nothing i lack
i cherish the red color in my blood
it's my beauty and my strength
lying beneath my skin
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 4:23 AM UTC
a promising Parisian morning.
a comfortable coffee house.
a boy holding open the door despite my insistence for him to go first.
his somewhat playful question accompanied with a scampish smile,
"Are chivalry and strong, female independence unable to coexist?"
no, he didn't offer to buy my drink.
instead, he offered to share a table with me.
he didn't ask for my number.
instead, he asked me what I loved most about Paris.
he didn't ask me to dinner.
instead, he offered to show me the true jewels of the city,
the jewels that couldn't be found in the tourist pamphlets.
I didn't fall for him.
falling implies it was like a wildfire,
expeditiously fast and fervent.
no, this was different.
this happened slowly and surely.
we weren't a beautiful flower
growing.
we were a mighty oak
destined to live for eons.
I noticed his kindness before I noticed how the green in his eyes
matched the trees surrounding the Eiffel Tower.
I noticed his immaculate intelligence before I noticed how his hands
fit so perfectly within my own.
we eventually had to part ways.
despite my affirmation that Paris had become home,
I needed to return to my own country.
but I left a part of me in that city.
as I boarded the plane,
I realized that, for me,
home had become a person
and not a place.
Apr 22, 2017
Apr 22, 2017 at 8:47 PM UTC
*The reason for my articulation
is simple and utilitarian-
not to seek perfection,
but to seek ablution.
Perfection is reserved for those
with time to spend and money to burn.
My soul requires much more than these,
its ransom necessitates release:
Expiated expeditiously, in a flurry
of words that scathe my every thought.*
●○
°
Oct 14, 2015
Oct 14, 2015 at 1:54 AM UTC
In the beginning there is burning desire,
Pleasurable pain and incessant thudding against omniscient walls
Love burns bright with the glow of ethereal passion
As lovers trade scents and nail marks and scars
The days go quickly with patience and calm
And the nights go slow with ignited libido
As sweet and sticky honey flows expeditiously from a jar
Suddenly the serene beginning ends
The prominent, shrill cry of an egotistical infant sounds
Through a night that once was home to passion
Resentment lodges a spot in the marrows of tired bones
The nights are quick and well awaited
And the days are spent nursing and feeding and preparing for a paramount life
As sweet and sticky honey slows its thriving speed
All of the sudden, it is nor the beginning or the end
The age of sticky hands and Crayola and Goodnight moon
Little feet make floorboards creak at the end of the day with excitement
And the lack of lust is surrogated by the richness of love
Day jobs are dreary but devotion is not
The days go on and on and on
And the nights go quietly with small joys
As honey settles in its jar for what feels perpetual
Rapidly, it is the beginning of the end
Slammed doors and Aerosmith records blaring with bitterness
The egotistical child that once screeched for affection now rejects it
But love remains and despite dark rooms and harsh words traded with reckless abandon,
It overcomes
The days are lonely
And the nights are too
As the honey rapidly slips away
So it is the end
As trivial collections are arranged in boxes
To be shipped to a new home far away from this one
Old videos make for heartsickness and phone calls make for bittersweet joy
And elders reflect on a life that was not in vain
The floorboards still creak at the end of the day
Not with excitement, but rather with age
The days are quiet and
The nights are too but that is okay
The jar may be empty but the residue is sweeter still
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 12:05 AM UTC
*The reason for our articulation
is simple and utilitarian-
we don't seek perfection,
but seek elusive ablution.
Perfection is reserved for those
with time to spend and money to burn.
Our slavish souls require release,
whose ransom necessitates recompense:
Expiated expeditiously, in a flurry
of words that scathe our every thought.*
●○
°
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 6:35 PM UTC
Tempestuous gales imbued the horizons about
Thunder and lightning charged the dense sky
Watching shards of a rainbow swiftly fleeing
Flashing blacks and greys permeates the eye
Indeed, the heavens were vexed with rage
Hearken to the voices of the gods this day
Echoing through the mountains and valleys alike
There was no denying this mighty display
Expeditiously it came, like a furious beast
With a hefty breath, it suddenly dissipated
It was as if, the gods had been satisfied
Some way or another, they had been compensated
Within a heartbeat, the birds took flight again
Flying in the wind, for now, they were immune
The elements now all calm, brewing in their guise
Don't play with this woman, she's a wild typhoon
Aug 20, 2019
Aug 20, 2019 at 9:08 PM UTC