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Brandon Webb Nov 2012
1
she taps he hand, twice.
across the room,
he stares, thinking
into empty air.
others, scattered
tap pencils or fingers
on desktops, booktops
and phone keyboards

the balding man
with black hair:
combed backward
and to differing angles
so that his head is split
vertically-
stands, above the room
his back turned

his words,
meant for the crowd
reverberate only
along classes fringe
but still take precedence
over nothing
even to them-
academics, outcasts


2
back of the room
reveals everything
to the observer
trying to see

blue-eyed brunette
glares vengefully
at no one,
just to glare

he looks up once
to watch
as another
pulls up
drooping jeans.
she laughs
at conversation
unmeant for,
and inaudible
to her


3
today, she smiles
and lets her lip fall
begging, like a puppy
But when they
lose eye contact,
she glares, again

he leaves footprints
on parallel desk
from lounging
then fires himself
to his feet
using stored energy,
and sugar from gum

words bounce along
the walls in the back,
and isolated eyes peer
towards the screen
but hide the fact
that they care


4
two week vacation
has left their minds
full of everything
except math,
so they listen
to him, while he speaks

but travel backward
in time, with
those closest them
while he creeps,
silent, around the room

she concentrates hard,
on her work
glaring at the page.
he sits a desk forward
feet on floor
neighboring desk full
today, but only physically

blue hat rests
on sketchbook,
its border
barely covering
closed eyes

blond head
implants itself
jokingly, into
smooth shining
white wall
with enough force
to collapse
accidental target

a hand raises
attracting gazes,
awestruck,
at her interest
in forgotten
material
of future tests


5
only a few eyes wander
from blue lined notebooks
though the left flank
still chatters, embodying
either a secretive chipmunk
or the breeze which starts the storm

storm clouds appear slowly
in sketchbook, blue hat bobbing
rhythmically in response to active pen

perched above the flock
reminiscent, split headed
papa bird scans the masks
of his shockingly silent chicks

random lecture breaks the silence.
Her eyes aren’t the only ones
Fixed into a steel laden glare
But the chipmunk wind ceases


6
his questioning glance lands
on uninhabited space,
exhibiting a yawn
which traverses through,
and twists, the faces of
those otherwise engaged

lecture ends with a question,
the scent of nuts blows through
mentally empty classroom
turning desks to predetermined
positions and swiftly inhabiting
three-quarters of the physical class

his steel glare has replaced hers
the latter’s eyes now soft as an infants

within five minutes, his voice
undergoes  a brutal, complete cycle
pleading, congratulating, yelling
and as always, lecturing


7
pre-test:

preparations for misery-
mundane chipmunk chattering,
jokes and laughs from random
oddities appearing everywhere

blue hat rests in intervals.
Blue coat rearranges
essay for another class

The girl in the sunny plaid
Rolls an orange along her hand

He points at nothing and asks
Nobody something without answer

The left flank, as always
Is turned away, conversing

A sigh rings outward loudly
Everyone glares, nervously,
Everywhere, reward of concentration


After my test:

First paper in, he scans lightly
Sets it down with a scowl
and yawns, twice, breaking the
silent shroud of heavy fog
which is hanging overhead

wandering free eyes witness
down-turned heads concentrating
as much on tests  as on moving
their hands wildly, excitedly
trying to communicate non-vocally

others have yet to detach themselves
from their seats and stride upward,
hopefully more triumphantly
than their sole predecessor

one shuffles now, slowly toward him
his hand shaking as he releases
that  paper, he turns away as it flutters
onto the desk- he replants himself in his

twelve others walk forward
smiling, shrinking, sometimes speaking
and always he glares, triumphant
knowing his success at our failure


later:

his near-sleeping form            
finds distraction, in waking
dreams, jumping back suddenly
breaking from his plank-like state
without speaking. excitement
for approaching weekend is
communicated in the left flank

two girls break the silence
running in from outside            
he glares at them, but laughs

everyone breaks into groups
after the conversation about
mysteriously nutty discarded sock

he runs to the forefront
forehead folded, finger on mouth
no-one notices, but still he glares

8
he smiles and glares at the floor
his legs swinging back and forth            
tan slacks rustling softly

exaggerated scores bubble in ears            
as they search for their destroyer

in front of forgotten faces falls
the page of a forgotten tome

several yawn, hoping, understandably
that their stretched lips
will pull themselves far enough
to barricade ears from his droning

he kills himself, twice, bumbling
into half-thought chastisements
of the  flittingly flirtatious students
intermingling hoping behind him
causing waves of whispers, laughter
and slightly strengthened chatter

he re-aligns his thoughts quickly
and rambles on again, always

9
he speaks to her softly
from across a sea of desks
she looks up, panicking calmly
distracted from distraction

in silence, blank eyes turn
surprised at the non-withering
state of her barely living corpse

he asks a question, looking up
a single answer is given
unemotional and short, buy ending
heavy hanging awkward silence

how talented the teacher
who gives his lecture while
still addressing unrelated
student self lectures

the still silence given
in his questioning lull
hangs so loudly the whispers
traversing the classroom appear
silent as finger wiggle
and pencils trace zeros

his extrication, caused by
distractingly thunderous voice
is met with a comment
causing a wave of laughter
starting at his mouth
and extending to inhabit everything

10
half the time gives
twice the attention
as they concentrate
on keeping him on
the undying topic
of the work we
have already done

they admit defeat
as dusty tome opens
spreading a nutty cloud
causing heads to turn
and words to leap.

from opens lips,
mischievous gremlins
sprout, dancing on
tables and chuckling
away from the sigh
of his down-turned, split
shining, globular mind

he scratches pink ear
with bone pale finger
reading unrelated words

in the center of the room
both mentally and physically
he sits, momentarily quiet
as dark eyes glare past
rumpled pink nose,
concentrating

blue hat rests on open palms
above dust covered open page
he slips into sleeping state
but picks himself up
and stares though thin borderline
toward shiny rambling forehead

a shutter cord flies forward
the hand at the end pulling hard
but with no affect to the shutters
neither lowering the physical
or raising the mental

the color of non-color pencils
interrupts the class momentarily
as she strides forward to compare
and then criticizes his care

he just sits, smiles and stares

11
eleven desks lie empty
of one form more than usual
amplifying the arm movements
of the ever ticking seconds

his obscured mouth flings seeds
which sprout into words
before even meeting the worn
blood-colored carpet below

in the main room, sixteen
sit silent, sketching, sleeping
or siphoning the last minute

12
those left awake, and alive
have come to understand
the numbers on the screen
this being their specialty
in a nutty shell, of course
splitting, as we are, large
crowds of numbers, and us
being teenagers, isn’t that
how we think, in numbers
and ratings of everything
and, sitting in the central
crowd are the talented
crowd-splitters
flattery-spitters

13
the silence of half absence
is pierced, as always by vocal
anomaly, centered around
rows of shining wood
bookrests, but only one
set of hollow, dark-rimmed
vacant eyeballs watches
well-welcomed interruption

he lets us work, standing.
Someone somewhere opens
A large container of nuts
Entire class starts stuffing
Handfuls into puffy cheeks
Absorbing sensations into
Eternally ravenous minds

The apocalyptic mix of noises
Is split again by central
Nutcracker, and those in corners
Glare, smiling, rubbing shadowed
Acne scarred faces
with raw-bitten nails

14
balding papa bird speaks loudly
transforming his voice, becoming
vocally legendary cartoon duck

the wave of resulting laughter
ends in un-given nut-break
spreading, without speech
the understanding that his
comedic digression will not
meet a quick extinction

we greet the weekend
by rising early
our excuse: competition
to devour the worm

15
three heads are downturned
peering into textbooks
as the tsunami breaks

the days end starts
and beady eyes peer
in the direction of his
moving head, colored
gothic gargoyle in the
dim cloudlight streaming
through dust coated
slit windows

the room transforms
becoming triumphantly,
grumpily, repeatedly
conversational

artificial silence
spreads like a wave
from right back corner
to left front corner
leaving behind
the half of the room
hidden behind the wall
of troublemakers
who will eventually
cause the wall to topple
with the sheer force
of assorted nuts

16
blue hat is scrunched
under the of a fist
pounding on his head,
result of the decibels
consumed, and produced
by the embodiment
of the thoughts around him
which fall from stuffed
cheeks. Bounce off tables
and spread a sickening aroma
as their shells split
exposing, revealing
nothing

17
red face glances upward
as harsh words split
the widening sea of snickers
his words stop, first time today
as whispers spread wildly
of his speed in delivering answers
seconds later, room is silent
as statement ends and lecturer
turns back to him, offering
as always, another wave
of deep felt, anger hardened
quietly whispered, criticisms

thunderous-rush-voice leads
out of habit and necessity
the minutes following
his behavioral digression
each word stabbing split-headed
pointy-nosed papa bird, their
form a walnut-wood spear
crafted from drifted thoughts
of those sitting nearest him

18
on his back lies a pile of nuts
professor’s earthquake
shoulder shaking causes
eyes to open, back to rise
and with a tremendous roar
both physical and meta-physical,
it topples to worn carpet
and the laugh-track plays on

19
silence- pierced into being
by shrill, violent, mountainous
rise, and fall, of thunderous decibels-
hangs, heavier, louder than
the quick gone loudness replaced
or, in all actuality, displaced
mere seconds before being scrawled
into eternal memory
of those whose noses
sniff, daily, nutty clusters
of letters, which exclude
always, the ever-present x
the destructive π
and that y, which of course
flies as high as forgetful
nut-bearers




©Brandon Webb
2012
This is a series of observations, and. collectively, is the longest thing i've ever written, at 8847 words
Umbrage ultraism infrangible extemporaneous incognito edition
Penumbral platitude platonic proxy photics rendition
Interface fenestration imbroglio pandemonium inducement sedition
Wretched infelicitous extant trajectory sordid intuition
Scandalous scavenger squalid anomalous punitive condition
Panacea chiaroscuro parallax emanate imminent perdition

Equilibrist revision exertion suborn temerity imbues
Indulgent zealous discrepancy apparentness cogitation accrues
Heuristic noumenal psychokinesis extrapolation incursion construes
Aura auspicious primitive prism processional reviews
Obstinate tenacious preeminent edificatory omnipotence eschews
Equivocal gumption ratification constitutional manumission ensues  
  
Delusory apparition extravagance peccavi verity tempestuous
Obtrusive obtusely overt indemnities sagaciously obliquitous
Ephemeral anxiety antonym existential exigency alacritous
Fortuitous emendation phantasm ontological ontogeny acuitous
Indemnify veracious infernal infidel impunities iniquitous
Meritorious fulham presumptive extrication expiation indigenous
vircapio gale Mar 2013
stripes of dawn sift through the grey departing night,
and in my home, behind those rays of dust,
furniture warms.
the freedom i love will soon be claimed by an incessant morning phone.
my heart numbs, longs for the kindness, constant kindness of the night

the music of my pulse already starts to fade,
a weight sets in, invisible grimace of so many trailing thoughts unraveled now,
to bear until the darkness-swilling reach of soul can span again...

would i fly at brightened glass in fractured urges,
bolstered yet adrift in any day's torrential memes?
rage at seeming machination's constant interruption of my highest rarity of living well?
or smile at the herdlike expectation's threat to condescend,
and at least scour remnants of the search undone... throughout the day
insufferable choice of final future origins
the mail arrives,
my forehead stops to wonder at the door,
and at that pang of hunger

running, overrun, the mind churns night in such sweet shadow shifts!
to fall, legless and dissolve into the rising light..
as if a Noh play were being heckled through to end by gaudy ads
to jolt us bridgeless from that subtle world
and wander long on lethe banks of noisome blare.
at times i stroll this nowhere stranding here, pretend, and gaze from hiding,
between a wincing coffee swill
imagined easeful face of signs,
"easy as a gentle summer wind..."
tolerant to all, to blow a "selfless" stillness into me
to wave, and smile --breathe a blanket on acuter truths
with which i meet the day enwrapped.

but quietly  i wait... for Time to die:
an hourglass to shatter in the instant of eternity!
and birthe anew each 3 am, create anew--
those  kisses,  frozen  birds  of  static  bliss  become
a moulded wax to shape the plenum love as roaming peace,
darkness-rest to calm a pointless labor,
abate the drift into an unwalled corner's only inward exit--
as whisper hands can cradle nescience
such, that grains become a world,
in which invented seas are sweeter than the toxic real
whose bitterness a cherishing of death unveils awry,
or right as winter dust.
i yearn in flight and add to fullness,
find fullness once again
to hover equipoised at love's encrusted center,
where pain gives way to peace i cannot have.
if i would have this other 'purest' love,
and for instance find the meaning once again in wartime's bated negligence--
as in a perfect silence wind can brush the lips with all of life's aroma--
and as a gentle fire smouldered long,
at Spring, ignites within the splay of tender leaves--
so archetypal solitude of being beings manifolded one, i may fulfillment find...

i may go find myself alone now,
or swagger to an ancient drinking song,
or fall into those evening arms,
to find abated also, idols of the heart in each
for what the greater heart amends...
all for yearning better worlds
the pain has sent me reeling prone--
curling at complacent murmurs,
coos of love to torment all without
wherein i wallow, fallen from all heights,
absurd escape, removed---surrounded still
by so-called metalove, abject phantasmal swoon
i grit my teeth against,
as heaving sand would send the shore to sea and drown nostalgia evermore,
as only total extrication serves to quell an everpresence such as this,
ringing in the twilit dew,
or starlight whirl--
or inverse in a heedless curse--
horizons cease in this expanse
surging at the birth and death of things
Umbrage ultraism infrangible extemporaneous incognito edition
Penumbral platitude platonic proxy photics rendition
Interface fenestration imbroglio pandemonium inducement sedition
Wretched infelicitous extant trajectory sordid intuition
Scandalous scavenger squalid anomalous punitive condition
Panacea chiaroscuro parallax emanate imminent perdition

Equilibrist revision exertion suborn temerity imbues
Indulgent zealous discrepancy apparentness cogitation accrues
Heuristic noumenal psychokinesis extrapolation incursion construes
Aura auspicious primitive prism processional reviews
Obstinate tenacious preeminent edificatory omnipotence eschews
Equivocal gumption ratification constitutional manumission ensues  
  
Delusory apparition extravagance peccavi verity tempestuous
Obtrusive obtusely overt indemnities sagaciously obliquitous
Ephemeral anxiety antonym existential exigency alacritous
Fortuitous emendation phantasm ontological ontogeny acuitous
Indemnify veracious infernal infidel impunities iniquitous
Meritorious fulham presumptive extrication expiation indigenous
Amalgamated anathema android sails.  (it's a wind up toy)  For though I would be the first to concede my gambits of alluvium aloof impunity sails, still immunity is Epicurean absurdity.
Who are these? Why sit they here in twilight?
Wherefore rock they, purgatorial shadows,
Drooping tongues from jaws that slob their relish,
Baring teeth that leer like skulls' teeth wicked?
Stroke on stroke of pain, - but what slow panic,
Gouged these chasms round their fretted sockets?
Ever from their hair and through their hands' palms
Misery swelters. Surely we have perished
Sleeping, and walk hell; but who these hellish?


- These are men whose minds the Dead have ravished.
Memory fingers in their hair of murders,
Multitudinous murders they once witnessed.
Wading sloughs of flesh these helpless wander,
Treading blood from lings that had loved laughter.
Always they must see these things and hear them,
Batter of guns and shatter of flying muscles,
Carnage incomparable, and human squander
Rucked too thick for these men's extrication.


Therefore still their eyeballs shrink tormented
Back into their brains, because on their sense
Sunlight seems a blood-smear; night comes blood-black;
Dawn breaks open like a wound that bleeds afresh.
- Thus their heads wear this hilarious, hideous,
Awful falseness of set-smiling corpses.
- Thus their hands are plucking at each other;
Picking at the rope-knouts of their scourging;
Snatching after us who smote them, brother,
Pawing us who dealt them war and madness.
(C) Wilfred Owen
Hi, my name is Black Rose
And I'm an addict.

I'm not here for rehabilitation
I have no fancy to cure my obsession.
I yield willingly to this terminal fixation
I brandish it brazenly for all humanity to bear witness.

I voluntarily surrender
To this sweet, seductive habit
I'm hopeless
But need no extrication.

Oh yes,
I'm a freak,
I'm an addict,
I'm a ******.

My mind and
body cannot function
Without my daily fix
I live by having a drag
Every second


Day by day
My need goes stronger
I'm permanently light-headed
From the cloudy ecstacy
Constantly surrounding me
I'm in total delight
I'm in pure luxury

I'm a freak,
I'm an addict,
I'm a ******



I'm addicted to your love.
Sunflower Girl Jan 2016
These are not words
But an extrication of soul
An intrinsic resistance to extrinsic chaos
Or maybe intrinsic after all
What are words
Synapse to synapse
I am me
I am
I
CharlesC Jul 2016
How do we extricate ourselves
from the complexity
the multiplicity and diversity
that insists as reality..
Extricate we must
if we are to discover
a real Self supplanting
our illusive separation
relieving the searching
for the missing joy..
Searching and suffering
seem  as our paths
until a vital discovery:
we are the joy for which
we search..
We are extricated..!
haste the day my breath
will wash away under
the waters of my intentions
already dead is my soul
salvation is for the lighthearted
for those that have not
experienced everything at all
theres no hope for the reprobate

tis fools folly to think that
love is enough to hold heaven
at some vast in time
your only comfort is in the
prayers for my speedy demise
for body to catch up with spirit
for these decaying eyes to
close and open no more

with disaster looming in
todays headlines my only
wish is that you were with me
to hold me as I pass from
one hell to the next
that your face would be branded
in my mental memory of this
fateful extrication


© 2009 joshua deathdealer
One of my more popular poems also revised into a song.
Samuel Feb 2012
Day
Lackluster habit
this day envisioned in green
framed between pedals
expulsion, extrication, ex
trials and f
reedoms

explode, expulge
entrance

enter
We melt into the shadows.
Our bodies tick
with an indigo light,
a time signature
specific to us,
movements fluid,
rhythmic,
shushing off the walls
like mysterious whispers,
reflect back
from our electrical figures.
It is a discovery,
the finding and feeling
of skin,
intricacies of instants
only between one and another,
like the extrication of a knot
or a golden rug unfurling.
Our breaths mingle
in the air,
a freshly made mist
full of invisible things.
Goosebumps recede,
our heartbeats tremor
with a want
for closeness,
for silent desires.
Written: December 2016.
Explanation: A poem written in my own time. Feedback welcome. A link to my Facebook writing page can be found on my HP home page.
NOTE: Many of my older pieces will be removed from HP at some point in the future.
Silent Sanctuary Mar 2015
Intoxicated by constant pessimism,
I've thrived along continual sentiment extrication;
Losing seas of well ridden thoughts ending across chastism,
A lovely catastrophe for a bereaved chance, desiring a soul's amotion.

Silver daggers of words slowly sinking deep with crude,
Leaving me grasping for a golden rope to hold on to;
Noir evil clouds filled with repressed memories, feinting to allude;
Murdering slowly, coalescing a suicide plot to end a thing or two.

A bleeding lot shattered and left behind,
When you kissed my lips with such lust and endeavor.
Only meaning to part a mark and confuse my mind;
I wished for long beats of love but it was only a game nothing more.

Tongue tied forever I will be,
Yearning for several firsts together that will never come.
Until death takes our souls and lets me see;
That our hearts once beat together for one another like rain drums.
Perspectives, complications, and such.
ARI Nov 2015
I was awakened by
Her wailing cries dripping
From the ceiling fan.

Gnarled fingernails unearthing
Every defect shadowed by
Cheaply colored cloth.

Her desolate eyes of malice
Bitterly waltzing across
My 'ever bone-weary limbs.

Maniacal grin gleefully thriving
On the heinous mutilation
Of my once unblemished soul.

Her exuberant howls mangling
My already asphyxiated mind
As my heart yearned for extrication.

Deafening silence devoured
The withdrawn girl until her lips
Forever cradled Anorexia's kiss.

-ARI
Umbrage ultraism infrangible extemporaneous incognito edition
Penumbral platitude platonic proxy photics rendition
Interface fenestration imbroglio pandemonium inducement sedition
Wretched infelicitous extant trajectory sordid intuition
Scandalous scavenger squalid anomalous punitive condition
Panacea chiaroscuro parallax emanate imminent perdition

Equilibrist revision exertion suborn temerity imbues
Indulgent zealous discrepancy apparentness cogitation accrues
Heuristic noumenal psychokinesis extrapolation incursion construes
Aura auspicious primitive prism processional reviews
Obstinate tenacious preeminent edificatory omnipotence eschews
Equivocal gumption ratification constitutional manumission ensues  
  
Delusory apparition extravagance peccavi verity tempestuous
Obtrusive obtusely overt indemnities sagaciously obliquitous
Ephemeral anxiety antonym existential exigency alacritous
Fortuitous emendation phantasm ontological ontogeny acuitous
Indemnify veracious infernal infidel impunities iniquitous
Meritorious fulham presumptive extrication expiation indigenous
Amalgamated anathema android sails.  (it's a wind up toy)  For though I would be the first to concede my gambits of alluvium aloof impunity sails, still immunity is Epicurean absurdity.
Now comes the day when thou art no more here
To prattle with me rend’ring soft delight
As thy heart knew that mellow joy, clear,
Untainted free from world’s many a plight.

Transcending din of town, thy musical charm
Reached me, raised beguiling mused rhyme
Up the fathomless mind where love was firm
And celebrated rather lovely clime.

Never we thought of extrication of it–
That tone which bound thy soul with tender strings
To mine, for that was promising and fit
For thy gay throat from which May’s music still rings.

Fled away all those from me unaware,
With thee who did to me a new life swear.
T Nov 2018
Premonition: foresight, flashes, freedom from the past
I’ve been chasing dreams; starting fires, spreading fevers
Would’ve helped you reach your own if you only would’ve asked
Contrast; backlash; now that I am blooming you look back
But I no longer need an explanation
Justification; indignation; extrication;
I have let it all go
No strings, no contingencies, no more holding on
I hope you know I’ve had three dreams about you this week
But they don’t make me think, or wonder
I don’t know why you are missing me – right before
You ask for her hand in marriage – but
Those are your demons now – because
We no longer share anything
Other than regret
For different reasons
Umbrage ultraism infrangible extemporaneous incognito edition
Penumbral platitude platonic proxy photics rendition
Interface fenestration imbroglio pandemonium inducement sedition
Wretched infelicitous extant trajectory sordid intuition
Scandalous scavenger squalid anomalous punitive condition
Panacea chiaroscuro parallax emanate imminent perdition

Equilibrist revision exertion suborn temerity imbues
Indulgent zealous discrepancy apparentness cogitation accrues
Heuristic noumenal psychokinesis extrapolation incursion construes
Aura auspicious primitive prism processional reviews
Obstinate tenacious preeminent edificatory omnipotence eschews
Equivocal gumption ratification constitutional manumission ensues  
  
Delusory apparition extravagance peccavi verity tempestuous
Obtrusive obtusely overt indemnities sagaciously obliquitous
Ephemeral anxiety antonym existential exigency alacritous
Fortuitous emendation phantasm ontological ontogeny acuitous
Indemnify veracious infernal infidel impunities iniquitous
Meritorious fulham presumptive extrication expiation indigenous
Existential exigence exodus.  Amalgamated anathema android sails.  (it's a wind up toy)  For though I would be the first to concede my gambits of alluvium aloof impunity sails, still immunity is Epicurean absurdity.
Michael Marchese Mar 2019
To be back in America
Comfort and solace
I'd find in amenities,
Pleasantries,
Remedies
For my deprived of joy blues
My relinquishing of
All the foods I could choose
To indulge in
To bring
Satisfaction
Contention
But still such an emptiness
Failure
To mention
What eats me
And haunts
Such a gaunt
Figure, frail
When this sinister skeleton's
Soul is for sale
Everyday I'm a part
Of the whole status quo
That no matter where I
Seem to go
Goes to show
There is no extrication
No true liberation,
Release
From the grip
From the clutches'
Injustice
For all we submit
To mentality mobs
And the slave-driver's whip
Ever am I the servant
Out here
Or back home
Ever pushing uphill
My infinity stone
But the masters
I find
I could be
Seldom times
Simple rhymes
Are my land of the free
Adam L Alexander Jun 2018
The black man is a ****. An invasive species. Look at it and you know it is true. Brought over from another place, because it benefited the people at the time. Not truly welcomed, but endured for the fruit it produces. Initially, why was this plant selected for extrication? Not because it was the same as all the other plants you already had, but because it was superior. Superior enough that voyage after voyage was endured to secure more of this precious cargo. The true superiority of the **** goes unseen, until you attempt to eradicate it. You try to poison it in Tuskegee, you try and stomp it out with white robed men and then with blue, try and starve the plant with lack of food and remove it from the sun into giant cellars of stone.. but for all these efforts, the weeds grow back stronger and their fruits more supple. For all the lies of the civilized, the sweet nectar of their berries dances upon the tongues of the very populous that defines them as such; a ****. You stop your car on the roadside, and enjoy the juices of the black berry cursing it’s thorns, but never stopping to question why it bothers to grow them. Success is defined by an unhindered view of monocultured sameness, and unbridled landscaping of ones own design. Yet, that delicious black berry still draws you away to the fringes of your own kingdom to taste something different. That which grows, unlike the cultivated Lillie’s in your line, unaided, and in fact in opposition to the desires and actions of the landholder. What draws you to the field-side berry? The same thing that begged your ancestors to uproot the plant and bring it back in the days that have passed. The notable qualities of goodness that you suppress in attempt to dismiss the dissonance in your head. The truth is that the berry is good, and the plant is strong. The only problem is that you gave it nowhere to grow.

**** definition: a plant that is not valued where it is growing and is usually of vigorous growth.
From a fb comment on today’s racial conflicts.
Sunset Man Sep 2017
Just a week ago tomorrow
we stole those precious minutes
in that loft-room
jailed hideaway.

Months of fevered anticipation
preparation, perspiration
cunning and crimes
to get me back inside you.

Doors locked stories straight
what-if bases covered
to have few mystic memories
you were solely mine.

Escape from our tribes
momentary melting us
perfect pose perfect pause
until you slip away.

I covet the first through fifth
the post euphoric float
but the sixth day weakens
spinning down into dirt.

The empty settles back
the separation cements 'till
imprisoned ache's extrication
brings my love again.
Dan Hess Jul 2019
How farrow'd in extrication
is mine sought implication
of truncat'd reit'ration

Hast thou hon'r yeet aloft
and rend'r nought as soft
and primly, harbing'r of destitude?

What indication of sensation
doth thine evidence allude?
therein is rancor, afflute?
As affuenza is to brute
and languish'd institutes


Forthwith picketh fruit
ye propagate
and liaison unto op'rate
thence to runneth aloof
Michael Marchese May 2019
Suppose I Should have warned you
We're impossible to ****
Composed of paragraphs
Our bodies are
The pages that we fill
And will precede us
For eternity
Preserve a lucid legacy
Remember us
If merely
In the dreams
Of our posterity
To follow free
As avidly
As writers on the storm
Of what we couldn't keep inside
Another captive minute more
and so in paroxysms
Scripted
Extrication from
The norm
An insurrection on
Existence
Indomitable
Resistance
And refused to come with quietly
A voice-suppression system
Raising volumes
Of our voluble
So much to say
But taciturn
Temperament
Defenses
Of the peace
For which we yearn
When turning tides of war within
To galvanize their inspiration
Often sought
But seldom found
Without an inkling's
Inclination
To encrypt it in
Eclipses
Of the cosmic joke's
Ellipsis
And persist in our struggle
To give life
To the unwritten
Michael Marchese Feb 2019
Not enough
Of the world
Seems to know
Who I am
And admittedly I
Do not know
Where I stand
When sometimes
As I make my way
Out of the door
I can not help but question
Whatever so for
Do I move but a muscle
Lift even a finger
And in contemplation
Let idle thoughts linger
Just like in the Devil's
Workshop
Where I stop
On occasion
To tinker the clock
Ticking down
Further down
To the depths where I drown
In the frigid finality's
Hole in the ground
Ever has it been my
Extrication from this
My escape from this place
My eternal death wish
And I'd sooner grant it
For myself
But I fear
Such a yearning to end
Will someday disappear
When I find
What it is
I am meant to discover
In this life,
The next,
Or the arms of a lover
Michael Marchese Apr 2021
And should the depths be full on longing
Cold dark growing old in wronging
My responses rife with doubt
Forgotten what I read about
Just minutes minimized before
I took a hit of nevermore

Then let me just survive at least
Bare minimum of food to eat
It’s more than I deserve and verve
Not recently a song I’ve heard
With artistry as musical
As my late evening usual

Expulsion of the personal
Revulsion to the purposeful
Life happiness delusion snare
And all the crushing weight I bare
And therein lies the extrication
Poetry illumination
JS Clark May 2020
I can pretend no more.  Have I lost my faith?

No.

What has happened?  Have I divorced myself from myself?

Possibly.

I have only concluded upon, perhaps confirmed upon, to be more accurate;
This bane known as religion.  

This acid that trickles still through society’s veins.
This riotous poison that massacres routinely in holy names.

I used to balk at Dawkins,
Cringe at Hitchens, and
Sneer at Sagan.  Until.  Until veils were lifted and earplugs were bored out; and I come to Understand the necessity of these and other like voices--
Their convictions.
Legitimacy.

This religion.  It wants to ride on the back of my faith,
And attempt to undermine conviction--
Oh I’m baptized!
Oh I’m good!
Oh I speak in tongues.
I’m-a going to heaven.

And I say enough.

Ashes to ashes
Dust to dust.
That is what we know for sure.

Strychnine.
Ricin.
Cyanide.  The three majors--all claiming God their own.
Dividing the world, stymieing potential, and spoon feeding fear.

Ashes to ashes--
Dust to dust--
What is true from here
To Earth’s molten core…

I am in divorce...

My facets of faith seeking separation;
Seeking my grand extrication,
Finding that liberation,
From the aggravating clutches of
Religion.

Ashes to ashes,
Dust to dust.

— The End —