"flagrant" poems - Hello Poetry

"flagrant" poems

If you weren't dark skin you'd blush, You and your pleasantly "spring" demeanor, blooming smiles in secret inside your hazmat suit, from any type of feelings, you are already infected, -- and contagious, yet refuse to admit the goosebumps on your neck, without the fortunate luxury of showing your emotion society has deemed you timeless, an eloquent flagrant aroma, the definition of fine wine with a zest -- a spiciness of an impatient "summer", you are warm, and the stem of your smiles comes with thorns of poison, weapons of mass destruction, so you're cloaked, tucked away from societal norms, and expectations -- who are we to judge, you are correct, your skin, is the right tone, to grab the attention for all the unwelcome, literal and figuratively baring a cluster of ideas, wants, desires -- requested by only the elite, pasteurized and preserved until then.

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Sep 1, 2015

Sep 1, 2015 at 7:56 PM UTC

(daughter of Egyptian Goddess Sekhmet) the un-Suppression of the Black Woman pt.1

If you weren't dark skin you'd blush, You and your pleasantly "spring" demeanor, blooming smiles in secret inside your hazmat suit, from any type of feelings, you are already infected, -- and contagious, yet refuse to admit the goosebumps on your neck, without the fortunate luxury of showing your emotion society has deemed you timeless, an eloquent flagrant aroma, the definition of fine wine with a zest -- a spiciness of an impatient "summer", you are warm, and the stem of your smiles comes with thorns of poison, weapons of mass destruction, so you're cloaked, tucked away from societal norms, and expectations -- who are we to judge, you are correct, your skin, is the right tone, to grab the attention for all the unwelcome, literal and figuratively baring a cluster of ideas, wants, desires -- requested by only the elite, pasteurized and preserved until then.

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The beauty of comatose can only be seen through the eyes of a wizard in a blizzard strutting in garlic slippers, or Christ with knees bent at the tabernacle peeling bananas and kicking prayers farther than eternity with each gapping second, or like Basquiat slumped back to the wall, with ounces of speedball dancing through his veins, eating 80’s free-based fried chicken ******* as his eyelids paints beautiful nightmares of lemon flowers and Bacchus bacon over a glycopyrrolate desert of flagrant cuckold buffoonery. Or like leprechauns burning chocolate ******* candles on the mantle of Zion, sipping oatmeal sprinkled with Staten Island malt liquor bacon. or like Tupac reading the thoughts of Mother Shipton through the daze of California cannabis and hearing the ominous voice of Plutarch sing death assignments from heaven to Assassins on horsebacks goggling ***** water to wet the dry bones of their throats as they prepare to fulfill the gospel of self-fulfilling prophecies of being fell by ***** bullets. Or like sophisticated wallets of spice and kitchen characters in a bald head cooking chemical kisses and 18 February nights under Moloch’s skin, where constitutions are written in charcoal diaries with Egyptian ciphers and razors. “I had rain sowed into the pockets of my sneakers and composed 1310 eulogies at the basement of king David’s tower,” said the Kraftwerkian caricature, as he dangles cigarettes in remembrance of Klaus Nomi and philosophizes on the proliferation of poetic vandalism at urinals where modernism failed under the phosphorescence of coloration at the avenue of no trees where Picasso's "Guernica" **** Lies All.

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Jul 17, 2012

Jul 17, 2012 at 6:01 PM UTC

ugochukwu-charles-onyewuchi

Stream: the 13th love song of Alfred Prufrock

The beauty of comatose can only be seen through the eyes of a wizard in a blizzard strutting in garlic slippers, or Christ with knees bent at the tabernacle peeling bananas and kicking prayers farther than eternity with each gapping second, or like Basquiat slumped back to the wall, with ounces of speedball dancing through his veins, eating 80’s free-based fried chicken ******* as his eyelids paints beautiful nightmares of lemon flowers and Bacchus bacon over a glycopyrrolate desert of flagrant cuckold buffoonery. Or like leprechauns burning chocolate ******* candles on the mantle of Zion, sipping oatmeal sprinkled with Staten Island malt liquor bacon. or like Tupac reading the thoughts of Mother Shipton through the daze of California cannabis and hearing the ominous voice of Plutarch sing death assignments from heaven to Assassins on horsebacks goggling ***** water to wet the dry bones of their throats as they prepare to fulfill the gospel of self-fulfilling prophecies of being fell by ***** bullets. Or like sophisticated wallets of spice and kitchen characters in a bald head cooking chemical kisses and 18 February nights under Moloch’s skin, where constitutions are written in charcoal diaries with Egyptian ciphers and razors. “I had rain sowed into the pockets of my sneakers and composed 1310 eulogies at the basement of king David’s tower,” said the Kraftwerkian caricature, as he dangles cigarettes in remembrance of Klaus Nomi and philosophizes on the proliferation of poetic vandalism at urinals where modernism failed under the phosphorescence of coloration at the avenue of no trees where Picasso's "Guernica" **** Lies All.

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Fading stains record the tender scheme of flagrant deliberation Transparent in their defense of the illusion Depicting careful consideration of honesty and reserve While shattering the picture of your delusions A saturation of recollection, distinctive in its eloquence Briefly coercing the eyes to conceive The continuation of a scheme hid in a shroud of confusion Which refuses to change or ever leave What would ever stain, yet without any imperfection Expressing clear in all of its defense Completely raw and uninhibited in the purest honesty Yet leave your values standing on the fence A love beyond comprehension is your tender scheme The stains are your records of transparency A continuation one cannot deny, when looking in your eyes No illusions, just the pureness of honesty

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Jul 11, 2010

Jul 11, 2010 at 10:03 PM UTC

Fading stains record the tender scheme of flagrant deliberation Transparent in their defense of the illusion Depicting careful consideration of honesty and reserve While shattering the picture of your delusions A saturation of recollection, distinctive in its eloquence Briefly coercing the eyes to conceive The continuation of a scheme hid in a shroud of confusion Which refuses to change or ever leave What would ever stain, yet without any imperfection Expressing clear in all of its defense Completely raw and uninhibited in the purest honesty Yet leave your values standing on the fence A love beyond comprehension is your tender scheme The stains are your records of transparency A continuation one cannot deny, when looking in your eyes No illusions, just the pureness of honesty

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i. the Hibiscus is the paradisiacal armistice of quagmire and wind: leave it there anchored to Earth. ii when it rains, it bows to no one; when it genuflects to no bird, it trills on the red of the moseying hour— nobody sees the Hibiscus. only the children of the vandal. iii. last summer we had makeshift bubble machines and in the high-rise of the twilight's cradle, we ran viciously against the humdrum town blowing bushels of laughter at the dreary populace — the brooms to a sweeping rustle, unsettled dust mounting the ether. we hurtled across the infantile roads like they owed us something finitely attributed to our locomotives. iv. the Semana Santa had gone by and the season, no matter how promisingly redolent with emollient brush of wind and laboring silence, held no reprise — the Hibiscus, it is not alone in the quiet verdigris. v. somewhere amid the hubbub of city, there is a pendulum of line biting the shore of waiting repeatedly. only steel scaffolds erected and no flagrant scent aroused. peregrinating in the haloed hour, the nascent furl of belch from vociferous iron-clad beasts in all of EDSA and when i look at people around me they look like gumamelas, finally, yet i am not coming home.

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Nov 4, 2015

Nov 4, 2015 at 3:15 AM UTC

windsor-i-guadalupe-jr

i. the Hibiscus is the paradisiacal armistice of quagmire and wind: leave it there anchored to Earth. ii when it rains, it bows to no one; when it genuflects to no bird, it trills on the red of the moseying hour— nobody sees the Hibiscus. only the children of the vandal. iii. last summer we had makeshift bubble machines and in the high-rise of the twilight's cradle, we ran viciously against the humdrum town blowing bushels of laughter at the dreary populace — the brooms to a sweeping rustle, unsettled dust mounting the ether. we hurtled across the infantile roads like they owed us something finitely attributed to our locomotives. iv. the Semana Santa had gone by and the season, no matter how promisingly redolent with emollient brush of wind and laboring silence, held no reprise — the Hibiscus, it is not alone in the quiet verdigris. v. somewhere amid the hubbub of city, there is a pendulum of line biting the shore of waiting repeatedly. only steel scaffolds erected and no flagrant scent aroused. peregrinating in the haloed hour, the nascent furl of belch from vociferous iron-clad beasts in all of EDSA and when i look at people around me they look like gumamelas, finally, yet i am not coming home.

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Oakes-photo, hypocrisy and flagrant mirky plateau. Brimming celestial warrants overcrowding public housing systems. North-South lights, sell costly iPhone Apps; and then there are Social Societies of non-verbal delight. Password protected non-profitable and over-costly educations of no reward or biblical synonyms. Catastrophizing hash-tag dot.com. Weary party going poster children with glowing anemone guts, fruity looped cantlings, ravenous scattered supper clubbed coughing up ******* on their strange and central affairs unit. Overcome the candisation and sugary affairs of any of the ***** and pops that erstwhile matter less and less. We are speaking of nomenclatures that don't arise. Promises and by which confession aloof romanticizes every Tom dicking Mary that carries the theory of sustainable energy, prussian blue, and irregular browsing.

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Apr 26, 2014

Apr 26, 2014 at 4:46 AM UTC

Irregular Browsing: A Temperamental Prussian Blue

Oakes-photo, hypocrisy and flagrant mirky plateau. Brimming celestial warrants overcrowding public housing systems. North-South lights, sell costly iPhone Apps; and then there are Social Societies of non-verbal delight. Password protected non-profitable and over-costly educations of no reward or biblical synonyms. Catastrophizing hash-tag dot.com. Weary party going poster children with glowing anemone guts, fruity looped cantlings, ravenous scattered supper clubbed coughing up ******* on their strange and central affairs unit. Overcome the candisation and sugary affairs of any of the ***** and pops that erstwhile matter less and less. We are speaking of nomenclatures that don't arise. Promises and by which confession aloof romanticizes every Tom dicking Mary that carries the theory of sustainable energy, prussian blue, and irregular browsing.

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Travelling royalty, a princess with no home; Inspiring love and loyalty, everywhere she goes. A radiant smile, captivating eyes, Flagrant beauty, the kind that never dies. A lover of life, an enchanting presence, An overflowing fountain, wonderful decadence. The princess met the peasant – A man from a land where very little is pleasant. Clawed a path out of the dirt, Flawed, yet always hungry for answers, An explanation as to why we’re all scarred and hurt. Temptation incarnate, freedom given life – Impartial, a storm about to deliver strife. It was a spark worthy of Zeus’ thunderbolts; Worlds apart, yet tolerant of each other’s faults. Equals in their intellect, conjoined at their hearts; Immediate and mutual respect, Together, they could make the seas part. The peasant got blessed by the divine, The princess was impressed by the sublime. Her, with her presence, Him, with his essence – Two people who, despite their charms, don’t fit anywhere else. They found shelter in each other’s arms, A respite from their personal hells. Yet, the princess needed to journey once more, An ending to a story that leaves the heart sore. The peasant lay there, looking at his fields, Reminiscing, bitterly sipping comfort in a glass. He could do naught but shed tears, and think: ‘I’d give up every harvest, all my work and what it yields, To have you by my side; you gave me peace and strength, You made me feel like I can bend swords and crack shields.’ The princess could only stare, Right at where his hand once held hers; She could only think of the dare, The night where they both let down their hair, And think: ‘I’d give up the road, all my walks and journeys, To have you by my side; you gave me sweetness and kindness, You made me feel loved, breathless and weak in the knees.’

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Oct 23, 2018

Oct 23, 2018 at 1:02 AM UTC

The Princess & the Peasant

Travelling royalty, a princess with no home; Inspiring love and loyalty, everywhere she goes. A radiant smile, captivating eyes, Flagrant beauty, the kind that never dies. A lover of life, an enchanting presence, An overflowing fountain, wonderful decadence. The princess met the peasant – A man from a land where very little is pleasant. Clawed a path out of the dirt, Flawed, yet always hungry for answers, An explanation as to why we’re all scarred and hurt. Temptation incarnate, freedom given life – Impartial, a storm about to deliver strife. It was a spark worthy of Zeus’ thunderbolts; Worlds apart, yet tolerant of each other’s faults. Equals in their intellect, conjoined at their hearts; Immediate and mutual respect, Together, they could make the seas part. The peasant got blessed by the divine, The princess was impressed by the sublime. Her, with her presence, Him, with his essence – Two people who, despite their charms, don’t fit anywhere else. They found shelter in each other’s arms, A respite from their personal hells. Yet, the princess needed to journey once more, An ending to a story that leaves the heart sore. The peasant lay there, looking at his fields, Reminiscing, bitterly sipping comfort in a glass. He could do naught but shed tears, and think: ‘I’d give up every harvest, all my work and what it yields, To have you by my side; you gave me peace and strength, You made me feel like I can bend swords and crack shields.’ The princess could only stare, Right at where his hand once held hers; She could only think of the dare, The night where they both let down their hair, And think: ‘I’d give up the road, all my walks and journeys, To have you by my side; you gave me sweetness and kindness, You made me feel loved, breathless and weak in the knees.’

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*November 29th, 2014 Dear Chris:* I miss you dear, I'd like to say.* Though it's been six months, thoughts of you are here to stay. My words turn to putty and I wish to form them like clay because there's so much to you I wish to convey. I've been traveling and unraveling the belt loops of life, and striding through gliding on ice skates from strife. I don't know if still I can sing the same tune. Our dreams from the Bay have been vexing me; perplexing me since June. The ring you gave me has my fingers swollen like my head, just like a balloon! And I don't know if it makes me sullen to confess when you asked for my hand, even hypothetically, I was to be your wife complete with white dress. Somewhere along the line that dream has changed. Though I feel that this letter was written selfishly. I really must say.. All I know is that I miss you Chris, I have missed you since May. -Adeline December 1st, 2014 Adeline: I was wanton and flagrant when your letter was received. I was bounding and bursting; hardly contained in my seat. Your familiar fragrance beseeching my heart's conceit, and in your confidence said that you're missing me. Until the usual silence declares again it's already half past three. Time to wash away delusions that are causing my hope to reek. Still.. Certainly there will be another chance to hear from you next week.

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Dec 6, 2014

Dec 6, 2014 at 3:02 PM UTC

christopher-polizzi

F.A.T.A.L.I.A. (Features Adeline Talking About Life's Insightful Accruements)

*November 29th, 2014 Dear Chris:* I miss you dear, I'd like to say.* Though it's been six months, thoughts of you are here to stay. My words turn to putty and I wish to form them like clay because there's so much to you I wish to convey. I've been traveling and unraveling the belt loops of life, and striding through gliding on ice skates from strife. I don't know if still I can sing the same tune. Our dreams from the Bay have been vexing me; perplexing me since June. The ring you gave me has my fingers swollen like my head, just like a balloon! And I don't know if it makes me sullen to confess when you asked for my hand, even hypothetically, I was to be your wife complete with white dress. Somewhere along the line that dream has changed. Though I feel that this letter was written selfishly. I really must say.. All I know is that I miss you Chris, I have missed you since May. -Adeline December 1st, 2014 Adeline: I was wanton and flagrant when your letter was received. I was bounding and bursting; hardly contained in my seat. Your familiar fragrance beseeching my heart's conceit, and in your confidence said that you're missing me. Until the usual silence declares again it's already half past three. Time to wash away delusions that are causing my hope to reek. Still.. Certainly there will be another chance to hear from you next week.

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Come dance the Tandava with me and you too will be free Creation सृष्टि I am Shiva’s Shadow स्थिति ..... I exist to support life’s precarious platform संहार ..... I feel Creation’s seed.... cosmic genesis The first wave of flagrant eruption Ending in the the cosmos’s destruction. तिरोभाव There exists illusion Which gives rise to me The obliteration of ignorance. We live in times of ignore-ance Here I have little sway. Years from now....maybe. Until then, kali decides to dance with me. Primal संहार Destruction Bloodlust and Fire ******** and desire Quantum tantric tangle ***** the world’s funeral pyre Goodbye beauty, Goodbye love WE bring it upon ourselves, creating shells and building shelves to stack the wonton clothes of identity, the context of all hells. The layers are too many It collapses And if not, I'll ******* burn the scaffold. I know why I am here now. To destroy tirobhava, all this pain is an illusion I hereby release this sickness from the world in prophetic burning grace of emancipation अनुग्रह is foretold To dance the sacred tandava say goodbye once more and end it all.

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Feb 10, 2016

Feb 10, 2016 at 3:44 PM UTC

Burn the Scaffold

Come dance the Tandava with me and you too will be free Creation सृष्टि I am Shiva’s Shadow स्थिति ..... I exist to support life’s precarious platform संहार ..... I feel Creation’s seed.... cosmic genesis The first wave of flagrant eruption Ending in the the cosmos’s destruction. तिरोभाव There exists illusion Which gives rise to me The obliteration of ignorance. We live in times of ignore-ance Here I have little sway. Years from now....maybe. Until then, kali decides to dance with me. Primal संहार Destruction Bloodlust and Fire ******** and desire Quantum tantric tangle ***** the world’s funeral pyre Goodbye beauty, Goodbye love WE bring it upon ourselves, creating shells and building shelves to stack the wonton clothes of identity, the context of all hells. The layers are too many It collapses And if not, I'll ******* burn the scaffold. I know why I am here now. To destroy tirobhava, all this pain is an illusion I hereby release this sickness from the world in prophetic burning grace of emancipation अनुग्रह is foretold To dance the sacred tandava say goodbye once more and end it all.

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∙∙∙◦◦•◎•◦◦∙∙∙ Seems to be a strange day a cold in the breeze in the months of May screeching’s of the door a mist at the windows broken pane The room was lonely as the leaves, out whirling a thump at the ceiling top, rolling, shackling like those ogling cats for a savoring mouse From an ominous weather to the whispering waters a crack brought my most —attention uncanny things lurking came falling within *I saw streamers faking shimmers I saw glitters but aren't gold I saw diamonds yet it wasn't snow* A strong wind gushing hoist the storm came toiling, warping heaven and earth were felonious, winced and everything was settled Crystal drops touching the tender heart abrupt shattered glass striking a sorry won't be sought memories engrave nothing flagrant it is to mend Crystal drops falling true friends come for once, an astral to a feeling stalwart is to be keeping till when, twas its end and all of this begins again

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Aug 23, 2017

Aug 23, 2017 at 10:12 AM UTC

∙∙∙◦◦•◎•◦◦∙∙∙ Seems to be a strange day a cold in the breeze in the months of May screeching’s of the door a mist at the windows broken pane The room was lonely as the leaves, out whirling a thump at the ceiling top, rolling, shackling like those ogling cats for a savoring mouse From an ominous weather to the whispering waters a crack brought my most —attention uncanny things lurking came falling within *I saw streamers faking shimmers I saw glitters but aren't gold I saw diamonds yet it wasn't snow* A strong wind gushing hoist the storm came toiling, warping heaven and earth were felonious, winced and everything was settled Crystal drops touching the tender heart abrupt shattered glass striking a sorry won't be sought memories engrave nothing flagrant it is to mend Crystal drops falling true friends come for once, an astral to a feeling stalwart is to be keeping till when, twas its end and all of this begins again

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I saw the best behinds of my generation destroyed by muffins, strudel hydrolyzed aphids dragging themselves through Chicano streets at dawn for tickets to fix, bagel headed tipsters yearning for flagrant connection to the sorry dim sum macarena nights ... *apologies to Allen Ginsberg

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Dec 24, 2010

Dec 24, 2010 at 8:58 PM UTC

I saw the best behinds of my generation destroyed by muffins, strudel hydrolyzed aphids dragging themselves through Chicano streets at dawn for tickets to fix, bagel headed tipsters yearning for flagrant connection to the sorry dim sum macarena nights ... *apologies to Allen Ginsberg

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Ya Know Peoples’ Behaviour’s... Getting... Stranger And STRANGER... !!! NO... Away In A Manger... !!! But PLENTY of DANGER... !!! In... Peoples Behaviour... !!! Because Corona’s Brought Flavours... When It Comes To THAT PAPER... !!! That Are A... GAME CHANGER... !!! So Some Peoples Behaviour’s... Beginning To Tailor... Itself Towards... Vader’s... !!! Because of DICTATORS... Who Have Now Endangered... !!! MORE THAN... Livelihoods... Now Lives Have Been Took... That’s EVEN SHOOK CROOKS... !!! So Behaviours Now Look... Like They’re Ready To Cook... MUCH MORE Than PROTESTS... When Leaders Send Feds’... To Now Fire BULLETS... !!! At WOMEN On Front Lines... Who Now STAND AGAINST... Racism And Violence... That Lead To Black Deaths... !!! By... Taking of Breaths... By Some YES Policemen... !!! They’re Behaviours ATTEST... To Delivering STRESS... To Lots of Blacks HEADS... !!! So OF COURSE Some Are VEX... !!!!! About Treatment We Get... !!! But... Protest Behaviour... Has Got... INSTIGATORS... Who May Be IMITATORS... ?!? And... CONTAMINATORS... Used To Be MUTILATORS... !!! of Behaviours Now Caused... By BLATANTLY FLAGRANT... ABUSE of THEIR Laws... !?! Hold Up... Let Me PAUSE...................... Did I Just Call Them... " LAWS "... ? What Do They Stand For... ?!? Cos They’re CLEARLY NOT Made... To Now PROTECT The Hoards … ? I Mean... MASSES of People... Who Seem READY For WAR... !?! In... Different Locations... It Seems That Behaviours... Are Now Fighting For... MORE Than Freedom of Thought... !!! IT’s... FREEDOM To TALK... That’s Now Being Cut SHORT... !?! When Clearly Behaviours... Should OPEN UP MORE Than EVER BEFORE... !!! But THESE MANIPULATORS... Have Their Perpetrators... of Behaviours That Walk... With Talk That Is FALSE... !!! From These CORONA Wars... To These CLOSED Corridors... Where Decisions Are BOUGHT ! I Dunno Anymore... ?!? If We’ll Ever ENFORCE... Behaviours Like Jailers... For Traitors Who Break Laws... !!! ESPECIALLY When... They Are Leaders And Lords !!! Instead of Behaviours... That... DESTROY The Poor... !!! We NEED CASTIGATORS... And... Coordinators... Whose Behaviours Are PURE... !!! Instead of These FAKERS... And... New Age ENSLAVERS... !!! Who Drive These Creations... of Thoughts That I TAILOR... To Speak On These Subjects... Like Peoples’... .... “BEHAVIOUR”....

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Nov 27, 2020

Nov 27, 2020 at 2:18 AM UTC

“Behaviour” ... A Poem written By Big Virge 25/7/2020

Ya Know Peoples’ Behaviour’s... Getting... Stranger And STRANGER... !!! NO... Away In A Manger... !!! But PLENTY of DANGER... !!! In... Peoples Behaviour... !!! Because Corona’s Brought Flavours... When It Comes To THAT PAPER... !!! That Are A... GAME CHANGER... !!! So Some Peoples Behaviour’s... Beginning To Tailor... Itself Towards... Vader’s... !!! Because of DICTATORS... Who Have Now Endangered... !!! MORE THAN... Livelihoods... Now Lives Have Been Took... That’s EVEN SHOOK CROOKS... !!! So Behaviours Now Look... Like They’re Ready To Cook... MUCH MORE Than PROTESTS... When Leaders Send Feds’... To Now Fire BULLETS... !!! At WOMEN On Front Lines... Who Now STAND AGAINST... Racism And Violence... That Lead To Black Deaths... !!! By... Taking of Breaths... By Some YES Policemen... !!! They’re Behaviours ATTEST... To Delivering STRESS... To Lots of Blacks HEADS... !!! So OF COURSE Some Are VEX... !!!!! About Treatment We Get... !!! But... Protest Behaviour... Has Got... INSTIGATORS... Who May Be IMITATORS... ?!? And... CONTAMINATORS... Used To Be MUTILATORS... !!! of Behaviours Now Caused... By BLATANTLY FLAGRANT... ABUSE of THEIR Laws... !?! Hold Up... Let Me PAUSE...................... Did I Just Call Them... " LAWS "... ? What Do They Stand For... ?!? Cos They’re CLEARLY NOT Made... To Now PROTECT The Hoards … ? I Mean... MASSES of People... Who Seem READY For WAR... !?! In... Different Locations... It Seems That Behaviours... Are Now Fighting For... MORE Than Freedom of Thought... !!! IT’s... FREEDOM To TALK... That’s Now Being Cut SHORT... !?! When Clearly Behaviours... Should OPEN UP MORE Than EVER BEFORE... !!! But THESE MANIPULATORS... Have Their Perpetrators... of Behaviours That Walk... With Talk That Is FALSE... !!! From These CORONA Wars... To These CLOSED Corridors... Where Decisions Are BOUGHT ! I Dunno Anymore... ?!? If We’ll Ever ENFORCE... Behaviours Like Jailers... For Traitors Who Break Laws... !!! ESPECIALLY When... They Are Leaders And Lords !!! Instead of Behaviours... That... DESTROY The Poor... !!! We NEED CASTIGATORS... And... Coordinators... Whose Behaviours Are PURE... !!! Instead of These FAKERS... And... New Age ENSLAVERS... !!! Who Drive These Creations... of Thoughts That I TAILOR... To Speak On These Subjects... Like Peoples’... .... “BEHAVIOUR”....

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Dream for me a Savannah, a sestina in reds at Pandoras threshold, clothed in bludgeons of light and these tears are nothing but the nightingales burden, the words laden and livid as storm across the mauve wasteland unfolds, the sky in its deceit, promises rain, delivers nothing, in this room the light will ruin me, the squall of glass slippers overhead, on my knees, now the abstraction of the body, opaque I write in the limber whisper of fingertips, deep villanelles about love, restless love on the skin of your back, histories annotated by gestures of supplication, I drag fingernails across a fairytale and out falls a wide-eyed harem, April-blue veils trail their blood, narrowing the flagrant staccato echo in my sternum, A palm reader warns of conduits and spells, the darkness that puddles like lake water in my mind, moths of Summer a fragrant blue, restless blue notes like scorpions scurry beneath the blankets, strands of hair, stained sheets this vacancy glows through the shears I forget, how early, and still the night falls here, as how early it fails.....

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Jan 10, 2013

Jan 10, 2013 at 5:07 PM UTC

Dream for me a Savannah, a sestina in reds at Pandoras threshold, clothed in bludgeons of light and these tears are nothing but the nightingales burden, the words laden and livid as storm across the mauve wasteland unfolds, the sky in its deceit, promises rain, delivers nothing, in this room the light will ruin me, the squall of glass slippers overhead, on my knees, now the abstraction of the body, opaque I write in the limber whisper of fingertips, deep villanelles about love, restless love on the skin of your back, histories annotated by gestures of supplication, I drag fingernails across a fairytale and out falls a wide-eyed harem, April-blue veils trail their blood, narrowing the flagrant staccato echo in my sternum, A palm reader warns of conduits and spells, the darkness that puddles like lake water in my mind, moths of Summer a fragrant blue, restless blue notes like scorpions scurry beneath the blankets, strands of hair, stained sheets this vacancy glows through the shears I forget, how early, and still the night falls here, as how early it fails.....

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also morpheus, thou who art dusted leaves tremulous portraits plaintive angels creaking pinions, wasted paint clanging fatly unskinny corpulent boughs spread deviously; rip carefully sanity: a flagrant splendorous nymph hard arithmatic chime softly a dull pepper in my head: mostly cobwebs and fluff punished grinning skulls my teeths are clean and the smooth hollow of thoughts is a pillow budding dream laid crinkled masterpiece and fill it morpheus with your excellent meat

0

Nov 18, 2010

Nov 18, 2010 at 11:13 AM UTC

patrick-wakefield-1

also morpheus, thou who art dusted leaves tremulous portraits plaintive angels creaking pinions, wasted paint clanging fatly unskinny corpulent boughs spread deviously; rip carefully sanity: a flagrant splendorous nymph hard arithmatic chime softly a dull pepper in my head: mostly cobwebs and fluff punished grinning skulls my teeths are clean and the smooth hollow of thoughts is a pillow budding dream laid crinkled masterpiece and fill it morpheus with your excellent meat

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management in Washington has only gotten worse Obama's administration is it's curse before he took up lodgings in the oval office room America wasn't as replete with endless gloom he's most certainly made a mess of everything the health of the economy is flagging at will be disrespects the amendments of the constitution and the people are becoming tired of his flagrant execution with a Republican at the helm of the ship America will have a more astute stewardship the White House must be purged of the Obama regime so the great nation of America will again positively gleam with mid term elections coming at the end of the year the majority Democrats should be given the spear Obama and his mob have achieved little for the American populous the time has arrived for them to board the outbound bus

0

Jun 24, 2014

Jun 24, 2014 at 9:00 PM UTC

ElizabethSquires

management in Washington has only gotten worse Obama's administration is it's curse before he took up lodgings in the oval office room America wasn't as replete with endless gloom he's most certainly made a mess of everything the health of the economy is flagging at will be disrespects the amendments of the constitution and the people are becoming tired of his flagrant execution with a Republican at the helm of the ship America will have a more astute stewardship the White House must be purged of the Obama regime so the great nation of America will again positively gleam with mid term elections coming at the end of the year the majority Democrats should be given the spear Obama and his mob have achieved little for the American populous the time has arrived for them to board the outbound bus

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Under the harvest moon, When the soft silver Drips shimmering Over the garden nights, Death, the gray mocker, Comes and whispers to you As a beautiful friend Who remembers. Under the summer roses When the flagrant crimson Lurks in the dusk Of the wild red leaves, Love, with little hands, Comes and touches you With a thousand memories, And asks you Beautiful, unanswerable questions.

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Under The Harvest Moon

Under the harvest moon, When the soft silver Drips shimmering Over the garden nights, Death, the gray mocker, Comes and whispers to you As a beautiful friend Who remembers. Under the summer roses When the flagrant crimson Lurks in the dusk Of the wild red leaves, Love, with little hands, Comes and touches you With a thousand memories, And asks you Beautiful, unanswerable questions.

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A new year is coming. We want all the money. Telling every woman bag back. We was lost. We fell off track. Let's hope we do not relapse. How could I worry about shot clocks, when I’ve been fighting just to make it to the playoffs. Getting fired and hired and laid off. You’re too focused on materialistic and pretend things. Trying to impress your friends and these women. I say all the time let’s move different. This won’t fix none of the things that I’ve mentioned. The relationship’s more like tradition. We fight and don’t talk but we're moving on. I still stay to myself, I’ve been traded on. I can’t rush into something I keep my patience. But you’re giving techs, fouls and a flagrant. We know I can hit me a buzzer to win the game. But why would I win just to feel pain. Trying to fix myself and my mind-frame. Stay true to myself in my own lane. We all know these other women all want me, but I act expensive yet they all adore me. To tie the knot won’t complete this story. Better tighten up, soon they can afford me. A couple of years of dating. We on thin ice like we’re skating. Don’t want to break, I’m just saying. Believe it or not, I’m not faking. Spent my whole life for this training. For shot clocks... So you can keep timing me or move along. I should be writing a better poem and songs. Self centered, you’re right and I’m always wrong. If anything, you’re the one taking too long. For shot clocks...

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Dec 31, 2018

Dec 31, 2018 at 6:55 AM UTC

therealAmodreBolden

A new year is coming. We want all the money. Telling every woman bag back. We was lost. We fell off track. Let's hope we do not relapse. How could I worry about shot clocks, when I’ve been fighting just to make it to the playoffs. Getting fired and hired and laid off. You’re too focused on materialistic and pretend things. Trying to impress your friends and these women. I say all the time let’s move different. This won’t fix none of the things that I’ve mentioned. The relationship’s more like tradition. We fight and don’t talk but we're moving on. I still stay to myself, I’ve been traded on. I can’t rush into something I keep my patience. But you’re giving techs, fouls and a flagrant. We know I can hit me a buzzer to win the game. But why would I win just to feel pain. Trying to fix myself and my mind-frame. Stay true to myself in my own lane. We all know these other women all want me, but I act expensive yet they all adore me. To tie the knot won’t complete this story. Better tighten up, soon they can afford me. A couple of years of dating. We on thin ice like we’re skating. Don’t want to break, I’m just saying. Believe it or not, I’m not faking. Spent my whole life for this training. For shot clocks... So you can keep timing me or move along. I should be writing a better poem and songs. Self centered, you’re right and I’m always wrong. If anything, you’re the one taking too long. For shot clocks...

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There is a stirring in my chest, an elation I will not and cannot resist. There was once a moment where all of life stood still and my feet grew heavy barren heavy. Completely empty and ready to fall. There is a fire down below where the depths of sight can’t grow. It still feeds off my worried brain like a fetus planted hover-vein. The Venus Fly Trap sets its will spiked teeth ready, for the **** There is a place where spider webs and crawling things fit for nub ebb. All my flagrant floppy body deteriorates, demotivates, deregulates into a monster of the fiendish kind one where holographic glass goes blind. there is a feed that ***** in silt it still eats grits, their shiny pelt slimy, sloshes, ready, in frigid waters’ under-grin. Come follow me, dear Venus Trap into a submarine unsnap there is a blooming in my groin where dead things lay there shivering.

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Oct 18, 2015

Oct 18, 2015 at 10:35 PM UTC

There is a stirring in my chest, an elation I will not and cannot resist. There was once a moment where all of life stood still and my feet grew heavy barren heavy. Completely empty and ready to fall. There is a fire down below where the depths of sight can’t grow. It still feeds off my worried brain like a fetus planted hover-vein. The Venus Fly Trap sets its will spiked teeth ready, for the **** There is a place where spider webs and crawling things fit for nub ebb. All my flagrant floppy body deteriorates, demotivates, deregulates into a monster of the fiendish kind one where holographic glass goes blind. there is a feed that ***** in silt it still eats grits, their shiny pelt slimy, sloshes, ready, in frigid waters’ under-grin. Come follow me, dear Venus Trap into a submarine unsnap there is a blooming in my groin where dead things lay there shivering.

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The gruff factory worker in the coarse leather boots and stained zubaz pants, yelped with displeasure when the tour guide of the Pullman company town revealed himself to be a PhD candidate in English during a Q-and-A. He questioned his credentials, dismissed him as overeducated, as soft-palmed, not of his caste, loudly declared that he was just another bureaucrat in waiting. "Institutions just exist to perpetuate themselves; they don't care about the people, just about keeping themselves alive," he theatrically confided to his friend, wanting to make sure he heard him, took note of his flagrant, raging skepticism. "They got to pay the lawyers." "All these institutions, they don't care about the workers." We strode on, amid the shadowed reaches of the empty train car factory the owners long ago abandoned to the rustling prairie, left to the wind and weeds and elements.

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Sep 5, 2018

Sep 5, 2018 at 4:16 AM UTC

The gruff factory worker in the coarse leather boots and stained zubaz pants, yelped with displeasure when the tour guide of the Pullman company town revealed himself to be a PhD candidate in English during a Q-and-A. He questioned his credentials, dismissed him as overeducated, as soft-palmed, not of his caste, loudly declared that he was just another bureaucrat in waiting. "Institutions just exist to perpetuate themselves; they don't care about the people, just about keeping themselves alive," he theatrically confided to his friend, wanting to make sure he heard him, took note of his flagrant, raging skepticism. "They got to pay the lawyers." "All these institutions, they don't care about the workers." We strode on, amid the shadowed reaches of the empty train car factory the owners long ago abandoned to the rustling prairie, left to the wind and weeds and elements.

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Deep down mind’s dark alley Lies a room, almost a crypt, With old memories stashed together hazy, misty, nondescript They were once fresh, vivid and flagrant, in times sunnier, merry and vibrant Until – A day a friend lost, A day a love broken A day innocence died Or a day trust stolen Each time filled this room With never-to-return memories And I stay away from the crypt To save myself the miseries

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Apr 16, 2015

Apr 16, 2015 at 1:41 AM UTC

The Memory Crypt

Deep down mind’s dark alley Lies a room, almost a crypt, With old memories stashed together hazy, misty, nondescript They were once fresh, vivid and flagrant, in times sunnier, merry and vibrant Until – A day a friend lost, A day a love broken A day innocence died Or a day trust stolen Each time filled this room With never-to-return memories And I stay away from the crypt To save myself the miseries

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while waiting for the next girl in barnes & noble you can pull out an anatomy book and trace my bones like you wish you could have done before when it was still a viable option you inched her name into our conversations because it tasted like honey and devil's food cake on your tongue, looked away when i begged for answers left me writing you letters you never read and calling your name and wishing you good morning like the good girl i wanted to be even though i’d grown so weak behind your frames who did you see when you saw me? i want to know, i want to know if the guy before saw the same wide-eyed half-smiling half-crying picture of naivety i hate sensing patterns you knew you knew you knew but you did it anyway i knew i knew i knew the ending very well and i let it happen anyway as if i didn’t know any better i kept waiting for the broken traffic light to change. i shivered because my cardigan was too thin, high-low chiffon skirt pulling an unwanted marilyn and sending chills as i stepped onto the platform, phone in my hand at 63%, got texts from everybody but you body trembling on the walk home under the moonless sky. from now on trusting is going to feel like an olympic sport i've never been that athletically adept but i'll learn to pole vault the hell away next time when i see the signs loud and flagrant. third time's the charm right?

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Apr 27, 2014

Apr 27, 2014 at 2:40 AM UTC

should have known

while waiting for the next girl in barnes & noble you can pull out an anatomy book and trace my bones like you wish you could have done before when it was still a viable option you inched her name into our conversations because it tasted like honey and devil's food cake on your tongue, looked away when i begged for answers left me writing you letters you never read and calling your name and wishing you good morning like the good girl i wanted to be even though i’d grown so weak behind your frames who did you see when you saw me? i want to know, i want to know if the guy before saw the same wide-eyed half-smiling half-crying picture of naivety i hate sensing patterns you knew you knew you knew but you did it anyway i knew i knew i knew the ending very well and i let it happen anyway as if i didn’t know any better i kept waiting for the broken traffic light to change. i shivered because my cardigan was too thin, high-low chiffon skirt pulling an unwanted marilyn and sending chills as i stepped onto the platform, phone in my hand at 63%, got texts from everybody but you body trembling on the walk home under the moonless sky. from now on trusting is going to feel like an olympic sport i've never been that athletically adept but i'll learn to pole vault the hell away next time when i see the signs loud and flagrant. third time's the charm right?

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I am a Woman: My skin melted in moonlight into grim of the darkness of night, My hair sewed a meadow’s wildflowers, That's how a woman created in me' with blood divine, I am a woman' strong and at the same time soft, I am more like a pure wine of heaven, Through dew, the spark of life arrowed in, Giving birth to the wildwood adored skin, Delphinium vivid petals of spring late, With flagrant red roses; coloring my lips, My eyes carry the dreams of poetry, hopes of songs, and music of joy, An existence where I would live with pure me, Where I would dance with my **** truths, Play the drama of mystery, And audience and stage all are for me, Gathered to listen to me, To see me play all drama and dance in between of drama, I wrought the hair of my drenched in the psalm, Enchanting with dark godly melodies of mine, Braiding light with sorrows that, there, were. The breeze from the voided air, To embroider something, while reciting a prayer, And dizzily, I fabricated a soul for the mud, I inhaled, in awe and feel the life, I am the words in a poem, ready to rhyme, Yes, I am a woman, Enough to feel the entire universe within the word of Woman, My light reflected on my broken pieces, The rays shaped a tree of wicked caprices, Where my fantasies grow, However, I am my own little beautiful creation, And this reality is my hunger’s innovation. The reality we all share, Yet what deep is, makes my reality whole.

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Mar 18, 2022

Mar 18, 2022 at 3:33 PM UTC

I am a Woman: My skin melted in moonlight into grim of the darkness of night, My hair sewed a meadow’s wildflowers, That's how a woman created in me' with blood divine, I am a woman' strong and at the same time soft, I am more like a pure wine of heaven, Through dew, the spark of life arrowed in, Giving birth to the wildwood adored skin, Delphinium vivid petals of spring late, With flagrant red roses; coloring my lips, My eyes carry the dreams of poetry, hopes of songs, and music of joy, An existence where I would live with pure me, Where I would dance with my **** truths, Play the drama of mystery, And audience and stage all are for me, Gathered to listen to me, To see me play all drama and dance in between of drama, I wrought the hair of my drenched in the psalm, Enchanting with dark godly melodies of mine, Braiding light with sorrows that, there, were. The breeze from the voided air, To embroider something, while reciting a prayer, And dizzily, I fabricated a soul for the mud, I inhaled, in awe and feel the life, I am the words in a poem, ready to rhyme, Yes, I am a woman, Enough to feel the entire universe within the word of Woman, My light reflected on my broken pieces, The rays shaped a tree of wicked caprices, Where my fantasies grow, However, I am my own little beautiful creation, And this reality is my hunger’s innovation. The reality we all share, Yet what deep is, makes my reality whole.

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Shall I bind you with cords of kinship, Instead of ties of flagrant love? Shall I catch you with family kindness, Instead of arrows from above? Am I a coward, or a faithful friend, who longs to keep you to the end, A fool a liar a lover unrequite dangerously chaining you to a rose I claim is white?

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Sep 4, 2015

Sep 4, 2015 at 11:28 AM UTC

eva-schoolcraft

pia sorori aut amator

Shall I bind you with cords of kinship, Instead of ties of flagrant love? Shall I catch you with family kindness, Instead of arrows from above? Am I a coward, or a faithful friend, who longs to keep you to the end, A fool a liar a lover unrequite dangerously chaining you to a rose I claim is white?

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that place with comforting as theme overriding, essentials of dream, complex, shelter, cocoon, which/whether, almost irrelevant, if and or, don't matter when you are at home, light, fierce sun rays eyes filled, moonlight stars invading one's composure now! time to alight, feet on the grounding, rain, pelting, not an inhibitor to the poem in me, its resonating drumming me up, to a beating, a lyric, a thyme of rhyme, fragrantly repeating in my head, home, home is where the flagrant poems are born, delivered by no midwife, from the ***** of my entirety, all five sensoria, commanded by multiple generals on different battlefields, coordinating a battle plan, exhale, attack, coordinate, brain, eye, smell, movement, urgency, taste, words gushed, light emitted from the fingertips, you cannot write as fast as required, you, self, afired, and afeared, losses will be greater than expected, but no matter when we carry the tide behind us, sweeping the obstacle of ego, pinging pain, the hesitation that collapses courage, oh god, oh me, be brave, lead me into the breach, the hole, the aperture that will allow a totality of me to exit, to escape, to compose, p r o p o s e, the confines of my uncontrollable uncontained unconscious natured being and fervent annouce, on this day, *this poem shall be written in its fulfilling, exiting fulsomeness, & entirety, and let me rise, raise up, lift and shout, one more last time, like the first time, praise and glory, hallelujah to the parts of me that gifted me this poem in-the unity-of-unison, uncensored, un~ inhibited and finalized momentarily perpetual, with an amen amendment offered up too all and to me… amen, amen, amen and let us rise up to morrow and once more, write up to ride to birth the essentials of my next homebound be-ing

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Aug 18, 2025

Aug 18, 2025 at 5:15 PM UTC

that place with comforting as theme overriding, essentials of dream, complex, shelter, cocoon, which/whether, almost irrelevant, if and or, don't matter when you are at home, light, fierce sun rays eyes filled, moonlight stars invading one's composure now! time to alight, feet on the grounding, rain, pelting, not an inhibitor to the poem in me, its resonating drumming me up, to a beating, a lyric, a thyme of rhyme, fragrantly repeating in my head, home, home is where the flagrant poems are born, delivered by no midwife, from the ***** of my entirety, all five sensoria, commanded by multiple generals on different battlefields, coordinating a battle plan, exhale, attack, coordinate, brain, eye, smell, movement, urgency, taste, words gushed, light emitted from the fingertips, you cannot write as fast as required, you, self, afired, and afeared, losses will be greater than expected, but no matter when we carry the tide behind us, sweeping the obstacle of ego, pinging pain, the hesitation that collapses courage, oh god, oh me, be brave, lead me into the breach, the hole, the aperture that will allow a totality of me to exit, to escape, to compose, p r o p o s e, the confines of my uncontrollable uncontained unconscious natured being and fervent annouce, on this day, *this poem shall be written in its fulfilling, exiting fulsomeness, & entirety, and let me rise, raise up, lift and shout, one more last time, like the first time, praise and glory, hallelujah to the parts of me that gifted me this poem in-the unity-of-unison, uncensored, un~ inhibited and finalized momentarily perpetual, with an amen amendment offered up too all and to me… amen, amen, amen and let us rise up to morrow and once more, write up to ride to birth the essentials of my next homebound be-ing

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Procrastination is the thief of time And that's why I make the most of it when I put together every rhyme With my words I'm committing a crime Not satisfied? Then here's a dime These lines are too bitter, let's add some lime Be quiet like a mime because I'm breaking down these words like an enzyme I'll grime your dignity because I'm sublime Well I might be exaggerating a little bit But nevertheless don't fiddle with it Come here and let me tell you a riddle, sit No one wants to watch an infidel spit There's no use being a flagrant hypocrite So I advise you to just grit your teeth, and quit.

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Jul 13, 2015

Jul 13, 2015 at 10:54 AM UTC

yo-waddup-hey-waddup

Procrastination is the thief of time And that's why I make the most of it when I put together every rhyme With my words I'm committing a crime Not satisfied? Then here's a dime These lines are too bitter, let's add some lime Be quiet like a mime because I'm breaking down these words like an enzyme I'll grime your dignity because I'm sublime Well I might be exaggerating a little bit But nevertheless don't fiddle with it Come here and let me tell you a riddle, sit No one wants to watch an infidel spit There's no use being a flagrant hypocrite So I advise you to just grit your teeth, and quit.

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***Haunted in my flagrant dreams, awake on hallow'd ground you watch me breath as I seek you out cold spirits taunted past spasmodic verses chant hollow insides afraid to sleep your sanctification renders me uncomfortably conscious numb within breath's shallow inhale undone in the nothingness of rhyme fearing truth's brutal reality bewailing in grief's heartfelt desire pull me up to new sight'd heights in your wayward plight's surrender save me from this cruel humanness***

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Feb 22, 2014

Feb 22, 2014 at 8:04 AM UTC

Hallowed Breathing

***Haunted in my flagrant dreams, awake on hallow'd ground you watch me breath as I seek you out cold spirits taunted past spasmodic verses chant hollow insides afraid to sleep your sanctification renders me uncomfortably conscious numb within breath's shallow inhale undone in the nothingness of rhyme fearing truth's brutal reality bewailing in grief's heartfelt desire pull me up to new sight'd heights in your wayward plight's surrender save me from this cruel humanness***

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