"facile" poems
Betrayal is the closest friend
and the most eager lover.
Betrayal is the whetted apathy towards the willow tree
that lay in the rubble of old letters and scents.
Betrayal feels nothing
but joy in itself, blinded by its ignorance.
Betrayal is the abrasive hug
and the facile drawings of a thundered smile.
Betrayal feeds the poppies
and waters the corpse.
Betrayal is the closest friend
and the most eager lover.
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 6:46 PM UTC
the trouble with poetry
(and this poetry site) is its
facilitation
awoke in a strange bed, my own,
in a different city, with my old eyes
renewed with, by loving amazement
at the beauty of so many souls experimenting
with edged, loving, dangerous compo-notions,
that make me older than King David, who loved the
love of life and this world, for here I am, falling too
for the life & love potions
of words of my fellow humans across
vast oceans
and I stoke their and stroke their
heated words, pretending that
the cool warmth of my tablet
is both their gorgeous skin and
alluring verbal twists that arouse
my innermost, and break my already
broken heart, and heals it at the very
same time...
all too, so easily
this communication is at levels that
descend, transcend,
grips me with passion and consternation
at my own desires, my open body & mind
stirred, chilled, shaken, stirred and soothed
by the busting out contradictions of us, me,
so well hidden, so well revealed in the marvy
ability of so many to share their essences,
their own scents, just by words upon a page,
and here I pause...
to consider the duality of the word
f a c i l e
for poetry shared facilitates this burning,
" " " " " tumult,
and yet comes to me so facile, that I worry,
that the words themselves are facile, cheap
& easy, but then I am reassured by the very
real drops of my body's fluids upon my cheeks,
that confirm, that poetry is too so real, so living,
and I guess you know me by my real name,
my real face, and my realized words here,
and wonder if I need cease to wonder why
wonderful is...
a thing
my poetry is written by silent night, or early morn,
so very differing, and laugh out loud at myself,
for I am a differing man, at differing times,
of a potpourri of contagious contradictory
conceptions, that I traverse so easy, this facility
is my blessing, and poetry my well worn skill
at...facilitating this absurd admixture of
human~you-man~a man~amen.
and here I leave you...
for I have left
the sunroom too...
@
3:26 am
Thu Sep 4
someplace else
Sep 4, 2025
Sep 4, 2025 at 3:35 AM UTC
His body lost temperature as he pressed himself against the chest of hers, seducing her with his love.
With his sleepy **** voice, he hums her romantic morning lullabies.
The gray walls of the room soon embosomed with gleaming hearts of their beauteous lust and speedy soft breaths, leaving nothing more but powder blushes of crimson on her flowery cheeks in the springtime dawn.
The honeyed lust in the veins lit the bodies of two lovers like candles into eternal flames of romance.
Under the chocolate brown duvets,
Milky fragrances of the tea dances along the bare hands of two lovers,
while he serves breakfast on bed to her in an old-fashioned way.
Bleak morning mist tango around the vitreous skins of scratched windows,
as fat hummingbirds' tinkling giggles paint beyond the nature's smiley meadows,
sending a major abundance of lovable freedom and glee to the people.
In the bathtub,
Velvety calyx of dreamlover rose flows smoothly through the silk water.
They shower each other and let warmth grasp their naked body.
He kissed her dancing soul of chasms out
and tie uncountable amount of butterfly knots to her pancake stomach.
His abilities of heart possessions had captured the universe's breath.
*Nothing has changed since day number one, everything is iridescent.
Everything is swimming in a magical pool of scarred perfections.*
As the sun sets to the west,
The undarkened nightfall sings lulling melodies and let its harmonic fire burn the skies.
The shadows of their love whirl out unstoppable romance that vanished away void hopes and pain.
The lover's spirits echo and echo into spring gorges and dashing rivers,
Feeding darkness with lucent fragments of light.
Oh they were only two humans in love...
Or only a size of two negligible lovedust in the mystical galaxies...
But their endless love never fails to deluge the world with drizzling tears.
A facile spark of romance can be an amazing set of fireworks that creates indiscernible fruitful happiness.
Who in the world could resist this unpredictable power of their spingtime love?
Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 10:28 AM UTC
In a distant dystopia, it towers above all.
It radiates a dim blue glow, that
Transfixes eyes and minds alike.
Pulling with the gravity of 20,000 suns,
Its force cannot be rivaled.
An irresistible, iridescent abomination, and
An admonition unto the autonomy of thought.
Weaving tapestries of illusory illustrations,
Into the indigent intellect of its unsuspecticng viewers.
It's images penetrate the psyche like magic, as
Minds are manipulated into the madness, of
Mass consumption of manufactured "needs."
Its reporters replace reason with rhetoric, for
Objectivity is no obeject in an age of sound bites.
It demonizes difference, distracts, and desensitizes.
Apathy becomes queen, and facile pleasures become king.
Remember your vigilance.
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 4:40 AM UTC
You need a porcelain mixing bowl and a wooden stirring spoon
a cup and a measuring jug.
Add one teaspoon of ripe inconsequentiality.
then add two teaspoons of innate stupidity.
Pour in one cupfull of political lack of integrity
preferably nurtured in hot smelly air.
Add 4 cupsfull of facile celebrity chatter,
preferably with the volume turned down..
Add 2 cupsfull of shallow religious nonsense
full of obsequious morality.
Add 2 cupsfull of vain "god" chatter
and sacrificial demands.
Pour in 1/4 cup of nonsensical "goddess" humbug
and fatuous posturing.
Sift untold millions of youthfull soldiers dried
and powdered bones until finely ground in the crucible
of never ending wars.
Take up the wooden spoon of societal hypocracy
and stir slowly with gossipy backstabbing.
When all these ingredients are blended as smoothly as a shaven young girls **** put to one side covered with a bloodstained cloth for a millennia to rise to the occasion.
Back in an hour
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 12:40 AM UTC
Pareva facile giuoco
mutare in nulla lo spazio
che m'era aperto, in un tedio
malcerto il certo tuo fuoco.
Ora a quel vuoto ** congiunto
ogni mio tardo motivo,
sull'arduo nulla si spunta
l'ansia di attenderti vivo.
La vita che dà barlumi
è quella che sola tu scorgi.
A lei ti sporgi da questa
finestra che non s'illumina.
2.1k
In the mist of night
I sat under computers light
Watching moving pictures
Of ******** delight.
With motions so loveless
Even my father would be amazed
At how empty and soulless
There facile expressions became.
How pathetic am I
Not to get off to such a sight
Am I broken on the outside
Or has the inside ****** me dry?
The continuous coitus
Has me wrapped in memories,
That remind me how miserably inadequate
My past lovers have been to me.
I've never got the good side
Of cunnillingus you see
Just been known as the first three letters aided with a "t."
I am distant and disconsolate with life
Relationships seem to end
Once me and males meet in sight.
My never ending lust for liaison
Has left me with no earth to stand upon.
Oct 7, 2011
Oct 7, 2011 at 4:38 PM UTC
Tiny, puffy clouds
were once above my head
My feet were there below,
steady and firmly placed.
I can walk a straight path
with no complications
Even in twist and turns
and a loss of directions
Rarely do I trip
or dangle from the branches
The weeds are growing taller
but facile to remove.
I traveled further
in the long, narrow streets
The constant flickering lights,
a very mysterious aura
I headed straight,
but something made me turn
the clouds were on my feet
I suddenly disappeared.
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 9:43 PM UTC
the garden verdent green
held a trio of stone Buddhas
vacationary souveniers kept on
the basis of memories of the
time when our love bore sweet fruit
before anger and rage took the stand
from when we were we
and we chose to eat
angry words before the
days of the plastic facile smile
the fruitless discussion and
inevitble dummy spit
then it all came out
and thus, the begining of the end of the
jealously green tightly gritted teeth.
...and in the garden, the three stone bhuddas
watched with smiles, benign
and bellies round and sun warmed like watermelons.
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 12:34 PM UTC
Enfin ! seul ! On n'entend plus que le roulement de quelques fiacres attardés et éreintés. Pendant quelques heures, nous posséderons le silence, sinon le repos. Enfin ! la tyrannie de la face humaine a disparu, et je ne souffrirai plus que par moi-même.
Enfin ! il m'est donc permis de me délasser dans un bain de ténèbres ! D'abord, un double tour à la serrure. Il me semble que ce tour de clef augmentera ma solitude et fortifiera les barricades qui me séparent actuellement du monde.
Horrible vie ! Horrible ville ! Récapitulons la journée : avoir vu plusieurs hommes de lettres, dont l'un m'a demandé si l'on pouvait aller en Russie par voie de terre (il prenait sans doute la Russie pour une île) ; avoir disputé généreusement contre le directeur d'une ***** qui à chaque objection répondait : « - C'est ici le parti des honnêtes gens, » ce qui implique que tous les autres journaux sont rédigés par des coquins ; avoir salué une vingtaine de personnes, dont quinze me sont inconnues ; avoir distribué des poignées de main dans la même proportion, et cela sans avoir pris la précaution d'acheter des gants ; être monté pour tuer le temps, pendant une averse, chez une sauteuse qui m'a prié de lui dessiner un costume de Vénustre ; avoir fait ma cour à un directeur de théâtre, qui m'a dit en me congédiant : « - Vous feriez peut-être bien de vous adresser à Z... ; c'est le plus lourd, le plus sot et le plus célèbre de tous mes auteurs, avec lui vous pourriez peut-être aboutir à quelque chose. Voyez-le, et puis nous verrons ; » m'être vanté (pourquoi ?) de plusieurs vilaines actions que je n'ai jamais commises, et avoir lâchement nié quelques autres méfaits que j'ai accomplis avec joie, délit de fanfaronnade, crime de respect humain ; avoir refusé à un ami un service facile, et donné une recommandation écrite à un parfait drôle ; ouf ! est-ce bien fini ?
Mécontent de tous et mécontent de moi, je voudrais bien me racheter et m'enorgueillir un peu dans le silence et la solitude de la nuit. Âmes de ceux que j'ai aimés, âmes de ceux que j'ai chantés, fortifiez-moi, soutenez-moi, éloignez de moi le mensonge et les vapeurs corruptrices du monde, et vous, Seigneur mon Dieu ! accordez-moi la grâce de produire quelques beaux vers qui me prouvent à moi-même que je ne suis pas le dernier des hommes, que je ne suis pas inférieur à ceux que je méprise !
1.8k
these are
fixtures,
daily grinding superficial.
with little
resemblance to the
prophets we pray to.
desperate men with facile
tongues,
perfect answers
to petty, practiced
questions.
and they, being so many with
one discernible face,
one alterable religion,
liquid to the palms of
deathly thirsty children,
aim
where aim would do
the most
to damage
and we
fail
victim
with only ourselves
to blame.
Sep 20, 2025
Sep 20, 2025 at 4:26 AM UTC
*
arcanum arcanarom, argumentum ad hominem
animal disputans, dixi.., animal bipes implume
cessante causa cessat et effectus, damnant quod non inteligunt
audiatur et altera pars, hominus libenter quod volunt credunt
multi famam, consientiam pauci verentur
boni pastoris est tondere pecus, non deglubere
bonum virum facile crederes, magnum libenter
non omnes qui habent citharam sunt citharoedi
currente calamo, cave quid dicis, quando, et cui
gigni de nihilo nihil, in nihilum nil posse reverti
**
..love always...*
عرفان بن يوسف © AH 14/03/1432
**
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 11:28 AM UTC
An owl of fine repetition,
Coaxes me with ancient persuasion.
His allure of virtue, facile in nature,
Reaches the darkest corners of pure being.
The simple white noise masks my thoughts;
Screaming so loud
The euphoric sound cannot be fought.
The masses flow towards the falsity of ease,
But simple is a contradiction
And erudition blossoms from anomaly,
Which the white owl cannot see.
Imperceptible to those beguiled,
And deaf to the enthralling calls,
Seduction cannot overthrow me
And Temptation remains illusory.
I shy away from no fabricated Baphomet,
Facing desolation and veracity.
Exposing myself and my entity,
My eyes cannot be shut.
Am I seduced by contumacious ignorance?
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 8:47 PM UTC
Facile flirtations
Sighs and sorrows
The depth of brevity
Sonorously sinking
Rising slowly
Washed by the rain
Drifting
The swollen ocean
Rolling, pounding
An avalanche of sound
Cascading, sublimating.
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 12:19 AM UTC
Libertad
und Freiheit
mais liberté
avec des conditions
mit Schmerzgedachte
con dolor del corazón
Das Gehirn
versteht nichts
mais le cœur, el corazón
se duele, me duele,
nous afflige
wie diese Krankheit
de la peur, de l’amour
de la vida
Finalement, la tristesse sort
und ist jetzt etwas anderes
Keine Gesundheit
pero
no es enfermedad,
no es felicidad ;
C’est ‘rien de tout’
« I’m fine, honestly »
Keine Wahrheit.
Keine Wirklichkeit.
Alles falsch,
alles klar
Je ne suis pas sûr
La tristesse
La felicidad
Die Krankheit
La vida
L’amour
Das Leben
Die Liebe
Je veux les tuer
Keine Funktion
Pas de tristesse
Pas de vie
Keine Liebe
Rien
de Rien
Nada
de nada
Nichts
von Nichts
Unglaublich.
Incroyable.
Increíble.
En pocas palabras,
tout simplement,
einfach ausgedrückt
Die Geburt und
el nacimiento y
la naissance
Est la mort
y la muerte
und der Tod
Fácil
Facile
Leicht
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 9:38 AM UTC
a pulse of kalopsia, tears out existence.
the light is off, the night is silent.
the ravens don't sing,
because the moon is on her period.
strings and strings of night,
are angles across the starry sky,
i haven't found oxygen in me,
but i have found life in my soul.
the noise is silence, and it wakes up the mountains,
the stream is flowing through corners,
the crickets have been silent, because the night is draped in colours that they couldn't see.
maybe they realize that time is galloping across the beards of silence set on the horizon.
the heart has become a fugitive,
running away in endless arrays of despair,
when all it can do is hide on barren fields.
there is no beauty to dismantled feelings,
not in a million years of wind's change.
but there is a strange isotonic throbbing,
to the chest, past the bones.
everytime the night sheds her tears, and the moon watches closely.
facile in face of words that do not exist.
scarce in face of pages that'll never be written.
Oct 30, 2021
Oct 30, 2021 at 3:14 PM UTC
Thèmes
Choix d'un thème pour un album ou une carte vous aidera à affiner votre choix de materials.Who est le public visé? Est la carte ou un album lié à une fête ou un événement important? S'il n'y a pas une personne en particulier ou un événement associé au projet, l'adoption d'une couleur ou un motif régime prévoit unité et balance.Examples de thèmes populaires incluent: vacances, bébé premier, anniversaires, obtention du diplôme, animaux, années scolaires, les anniversaires, les mariages, roman, prix, favoris (cadeaux, livres, films, émissions de télévision, des jouets ou des modes), le
jardinage, les vacances, les partis, les sports, souvenirs et mementos.After choisissant une conception unifiée, trouver des documents qui illustrent votre message. Matériaux
Les matériaux les plus indispensables sont cartonné, papier, colle, outils, stylos, et des embellissements de coupe ou photos.Cardstock robe soirè peuvent être achetés individuellement ou en packs de valeur; packs de valeur sont utiles si vous créez plusieurs albums et cards.Cardstock et du papier ordinaire est disponible dans des couleurs unies ou du papier patterns.Patterned peut être utilisé comme arrière-plans, des bordures, ou du papier de coupe embellishments.When, sauver les restes pour des projets ultérieurs, vous pouvez embellir d'autres projets ou utiliser de plus grandes chutes en photo mounts.For une aspect texturé, papier de déformation;. carton est plus facile de se froisser si vous appliquez quelques gouttes d'eau adhésif, des outils et des stylos coupe sont très variées. Les types de base comprennent liquide et le bâton de colle, du ruban, des ciseaux, tondeuses, des marqueurs et des albums de pens.For de pigments, toujours utiliser des matériaux sans acide qui ne traverse pas le pages.To créer bords bordée sur les pages de scrapbook ou des cartes, utiliser des ciseaux spéciaux, comme puncheurs. ondulées et de la vallée de pointe, ou en forme embellissements
améliorent le thème choisi albums et cards.Cutouts, des autocollants, des rubans, papyrus, vélin, les timbres et les citations sont des choix populaires, citations peuvent être employées par achetées quote-livres, manuscrites ou tenue mere de la mariee imprimées à partir d'un ordinateur Photos personnaliser n'importe quel projet de robe soirè métier;. ils peuvent être imprimés à la maison, ou développés par des boutiques et drugstores.Photos d'impression en ligne sont généralement organisés par ordre chronologique, en collages ou categorically.Categories incluent, mais ne sont pas limités à: des événements, des activités, des familles, des couleurs, des particuliers ou actions.Although ce sont des techniques de mise en forme les plus populaires, vous devriez Étalez vos photos seront cependant mieux s'adapter au thème de l'album ou carte.
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Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 11:17 PM UTC
He undertook
Such a jolly folly
To search for his heart's twin
O'er plain, and peak
Never sparing daring
Mad quest he did begin
He careless spent
All his funny money
For he spared no expense
Heard of a man
said to uncover lovers
Without a recompense
"He's only known
as the Giant Bryant"
For there were none bigger
So off he went
For how dare-he tarry
With the greatest vigor
Within one moon
He did righted sighted
The giant's stone castle
And cautious stepped
Midst the towers flowers
For he was quite facile
With guarded prose
Lest he adverse converse
Relayed his quest of years
And though none be
A more mighter blighter
Tall Bryant shed six tears
"Your search for love"
Reflects gallant talent
And will surely quench thirst
In yonder vale
In a deeping sleeping
A daughter who's born first
A true love's heart
And hair flaxen waxen
Braids tressed with a blue fleur
She longs for love
To keep-her deeper
Hope steels her to endure
It was just so
For he found-her sounder
In the vale with fields green
Her braided hair
In breeze saving waving
With the suns golden sheen
As he held her
In their blissing kissing
Knew he'd ne'er search again
For in her eyes
Shown a growing knowing
Reflecting his hearts twin
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 12:43 AM UTC
In a kingdom full of inclemencies my hubris does not fail me
Profuse and Fierce, Some may call me arrogant
'Hubris!' chuckled I, 'Yes Hubris!'
It's a recording of my failings.
'It's that amorality,' I muttered.
My hubris is my substratum towards my nescience.
It is that aspect that will lean me towards drowning in the sea of my own incoherent imbecility.
It's a deep program in my faulty code, a nightmare towards monks.
It's the ink on my arms, tattooed to my soul.
'Hubris!' chuckled I, 'Yes Hubris!'
It does not fail to show in my wording.
It's the ferry to sea, the net in the ocean.
It is limber as it is inventive, with every exception.
It has no ingenuousness, it is unlike modesty and threatens to surmount me.
It's a sandwich in which has caught every hitch of breath, it leaves me bewitched, no certain pitch that I can tell afore it chokes me.
It leaves no correspondence with those around me, too caught up in my own fantasies that I can no longer celebrate or verbalize felicitously.
Many times I wished that I preserved my receipt so that I could trade in my Hubris for something a little less mucusless for it is something akin to Judas, and I cannot utilize it for anything utilizable.
If I could somehow find a way that would lead me to a resilient recuperation. I would judge that to be more utilizable then this Hubris that encumbers me. No matter how many times I beat it down, it war's like a lion and a bunch of tourists on a safari.
If only this grotesque lion-like hubris was shot by the doter of a hubris poacher. Every generation would be gratified and they would find that it is much more facile to coerce without that unpleasant Hubris.
Of course, I suppose in a way hubris could be utilizable in some situations that required it. If I somehow found a way to trade my hubris for something like modestly and found that I missed my hubris quite dearly. I would laugh at my incoherent imbecility and perceive myself to be remotely mad!
These ravings of my hubris I'm quite sure because I found it so consequential to indite a poem of stark preposterousness. In a contingency like this, I suppose my hubris is getting quite polished, so sharply able to strike down any sense of modesty.
I conjecture this is the terminus of this arrangement, please omit my hubris for a moment. I suppose I should give you some tea afore I dose myself in a salubrious dose of radiation.
Apr 20, 2019
Apr 20, 2019 at 11:01 PM UTC
I’ve been picking away
metaphorically
I think
at the edges of my skin
for a while now
trying to find the end
of the coil of string
that I dream about
Excited by the thought
of that moment
when I begin to extract it
slowly
very slowly
feeling it unravel
collecting it between
finger and thumb
slightly damp and ******
still white
I see others
scratching at their surface
trying to find the same thing
I am guessing
trying hard to experience the removal
the extraction of something self
yet other
I walk behind the crowd
amongst their cigarette butts
wrappers and chewing gum pellets
I see
yards of string
some knotted
some platted
and some rolled into a ball
I collect them all
dry them
and box them
I still dream
of my skin
the string
and that feeling of
excruciating pleasure
not sure what it means
if anything
not sure what I learned
but the tactile
facile
act
of drawing out
that which is within
unseen
itching and coiled
stays with me
and by inches
satisfies
Oct 15, 2012
Oct 15, 2012 at 6:57 AM UTC
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Photo Credits : Fotografia Ciao Amore | Brooke Fitts | Melissa Grimes - Guy Fotografia
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Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 9:54 PM UTC
Like a small bird
gathering bright objects for her nest,
I am gathering life.
Hands which reached out to me lead me on,
so I left at their bidding
for an ocean in the East.
Traveling through the night
as if lost in a waking dream,
I came at last to her proximity
and slept in an unknown room.
In the morning light,
beyond the highways,
I suddenly saw her, all April morning
blue and still.
Ocean water bathed my feet,
rinsed the crystal beads and pearls
I had worn to greet her.
Deep in the woods now, I see temples everywhere.
In the woodland light, some churches are.
Pagodas of bark and moss in the filtered light,
Ice caverns blue and still begin to melt
beside the waterfall that thunders down,
breathing mist in our faces, garlanding itself
in rainbow light.
In the small city airport
I am folded into the arms of my mother-of-pearl.
Salt water flows easily from my eyes -
like the sweet nectar filling my mouth.
"E facile per le farfalle di volare, sai."
I walk out into the grey-wet airfield,
screaming sounds of engines.
Walking forward, I close my eyes,
and the world is only light.
Now, I have come back to you,
with marzipan, and peacock feathers,
and stories of my adventures.
The light blazes, and the stars
send down their song.
The Universe is singing.
Aug 17, 2015
Aug 17, 2015 at 10:05 PM UTC