"forcible" poems
Crying asylum,
swallows me whole.
White coats surrounds me,
taking control.
Forcible pills,
from lady insane.
Swallow them down,
or wrenching in pain.
Rooms smell of *****
and ***** and such.
Banging your head,
it drives you just nuts.
There's Sam in the corner
counting the bugs,
Alice walks around
giving false hugs.
Look, standing there,
Mike's tearing his face.
Sue's so surine,
screaming in space.
Lights go dim
bed time is bout.
Voices are silenced,
cuz the needles came out.
Strapped to my bed,
I am piercing the dark.
Orderly walks by,
sharp as a lark.
Lying all quiet,
alone and not proud.
A squeal from the speaker,
quite vocal and loud.
Scurry in the hallway,
drinking from his cup.
"Dr. Smith to the Psych Ward!!!"
"Hurry, the patient woke up!!"
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 2:06 PM UTC
The forcible torrents rave on, ceaseless
Turmoil spins in a topsy-turvy wave
Bodies in shambles, minds twisted, restless
Drama and crises, emotions we crave
Twerking with the devil, licking the sledge
Morison's snake ride to "The (darkest) End"
Pushing the limits over the damp edge
Following and tweaking the latest trend
Emotional upheaval - rebellion
Creative juices overflow with paint
There is art in every great Hellion
But little ink flows from the mighty saint
Be content in the rich chaos of youth
It's the rains that nurture the seeds of truth
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 12:15 AM UTC
In God We Trust, For He Invented Reasonable Doubt
In Courtroom of the State of New York, Part 62,
where the only decoration extant,
in gold leaf letters,
a magnificent joke,
In God We Trust.
Words so incongruous
to the real time drama,
a poorly acted Law and Order episode
of which I partake,
(as Juror No. 1,
ergo you may address me as
Mr. Jury Foreman),
they stun me into stupefaction
every time we enter and the
Bailiff pronounces with much gravitas,
"Jury Entering"
A potpourri of a dozen Manhattanites,
with wisdom acquired
by the singular virtue of
having attained the robust age of 18,
noteworthy for being free of
criminal record,
having been nominated
to sit upon the jury that will decide
the fate of one Eric B.,
for what he may have done upon West 11th Street
one Summer night in
June Two Thousand and Eleven,
If adjudged guilty,
New York State can take,
incarcerate him for up to
15 years of his life
Predicate felon by the age of twenty seven,
Eric's resume consists of
four felonies,
two misdemeanors
a wife and two little children,
and a partridge in a pear tree.
Facts turgid and muddy,
Eric tells a story
one juror calls a confection of lies,
no one murmurs
much disagreement in the
tiny, overheated room
we have been sequestered to
replay
the 2012 version of
Twelve Angry Men.
But I am not his peer,
nor am I a seer,
common sense says
if appearances are what they seem to be,
he aided and abetted
in the forcible taking of
a nice Connecticut lady's cell phone
with his brother who just happened to be
released from prison earlier that day
A convoluted tale
ripe with inanities is told,
upshot is our defendant's tale,
his robust defense,
portrays him as the unluckiest man
in the whole world,
a good Samaritan,
*{chasing after the thief,
** ** his bro}*
against whom events have conspired
In Manhattan can be a harsh place,
where the natives
a tough lot,
tougher than the Indians from whom
they stole it all.
Our bridges we sell to out-of-towers,
all it takes is one to say,
what the heck,
reasonable doubt is
a ***** to overcome
so let him go
Jan, 2012
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 4:45 PM UTC
Stitching
From a grand church in France to a rustic barn in Sweden the focal point and fascination is the door that
Has a key protruding in the lock but it has with time lost the screws that held it snug against the door
And the door frame there is no flat lumbered board now it is just a very deep splintered lines the color
Of auburn brown with a low gleaming in the setting sun I put my hands out and touch this rustic place in
Time an explosion of thoughts blast the mind a life lived well with purpose that endures with use the
Seasoned is expressed a stitching that is the fabric of life forms over muscle and sinew this outer
Garment does not belie the inner soul but in experience and in action it promotes and assures value
It passes through the vestiges of time the gray mist speaks with whispered mystery bur anchored at
Your center is the intractable character that sets the tone of your life a solid structure presents a forcible
Argument yes the elements have taken their toll but by doing so they have removed the green untried
Wood now the occasional creaking occurs but not of breaking but the stalwart rises in common skies
Privilege gleams the stranger or intimate friend is in the presence of the assured there is no pretense
This truth as sound as time and wisdom crowns walls and bedrock foundation you have come upon
The investment that God has provided and runs deep without constraints you can stand and muse
Here and as an invisible oracle your questions will be answered they will float on silent wind and mark
You as different you will be refreshed a redeeming will surge through you timeless affirmation will
Speak you will know it is sound it is steps that are sure when so much is cheap and just for show you
Will grow strong and tall your shadow will be the challenge to those who waste themselves on base
And worthless misgivings of life you will possess the power to be a place of refuge a fortress where
The powerless and helpless are provided comfort and instruction no longer will evil and its devices
Enslave the helpless there will be that irrefutable place of giving that will conquer a world bent on
Destruction.
Aug 21, 2012
Aug 21, 2012 at 12:41 AM UTC
I can see myself
destroying
my own dignity,
popping it like
bubble-wrap
and watching as it
deflates
under my
forcible
fingertips.
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 5:24 AM UTC
Got lost and stopped by the grotto
struck deals with villains,
and though I'm in my feelings
kneeling and ****** off
I payed to be ripped off
cadences dip, lost the lotto
Watery graves appealing strange
the solution is lame
the parade's an insane path to follow
Radical urchin burden
grifting the current
mechanisms infected
luring fevers to wallow in, ad absurdum
fathom futility in survival
famine imbibes a stifled echo of revival
in my head
I'm just playing dead for my recital
better informed to the abhorrence I'm entitled
feathered in form alluring sword alarm from Michael
clever to wars imparted forcible and vital, to the era
but staring in awe before the cycle
Bearing a maw beneath the throes along the final.
Bury me after my heart
and guard informal notions of the lauded
if calluses lift the filthy and applaud it
whittle the simply to the too intense or lawless
for a history glistening through a rose of sickly fondness
I won't ask if you were listening to all this
but I must admit
I don't think I can trust you
to be honest...
Dec 17, 2018
Dec 17, 2018 at 1:25 AM UTC
For so long while the rushing rivers broke through the dams resting below the bridge where we used to share the secrets that flowed out like blood oozing from your aggressive heart
I laid myself in a grave with the dirt covering my body but leaving my mouth to gasp the air that you controlled and seemed to restrict me from living
I've beaten my angry mind, trying relentlessly to compel myself that our memories together are ephemeral
But as often as the sun rises and as accurate as the tides roll up on shore
You are the moon dragging them there, a forcible action corrupting the truth to exist in a fabricated manor, overbearing, inescapable, we shared a time lapse I can no longer deflect from my remembrances
It was you who sent the raven to my window, perched up on the ledge, opening it's beak to formulate the sound that would entail a long and arduous torture of being in love with someone who could hardly provide me with so much as a smile
Instead a laundry list of tears flowed out of the machines, overflowing the surfaces with salty indications of an unhappy relationship
But evasive behaviors were your M/O
A constant recurrence of neglect, I watch the raven fly away leaving the chill breeze to ruffle my hair and scramble my thoughts
How could I breathe with the perpetual exhalation of carbon dioxide collecting within my lungs
The very breath you sent in through your imminent kiss that tore my lips apart?
The broken dam shelters all of the lost love and all of the mutual secrets that fled your lips and right into the ears of hungry souls begging for a reason to shatter me into pieces
Sleepless nights and dreamless awakenings
I cannot house these emotions any longer, but you won't leave, you found the key and the open door never fazes you
Why do I find you resting in my bed and smoking your daily cigarette on my porch?
Your hazardous fumes are encircling my already dazed confusion, filling my lungs with your cancerous habits
My thoughts grow as stale as the ***** I douse myself in, highly flammable, as you hold the lighter
You would much rather see me suffer in the memories than burn me to the ground and relieve my inner pain
You sadist.
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 11:36 PM UTC
Win some,lose some
read the news some and then read more
what is it that we choose win or lose it's what we get
and I bet
that charity, though is about what is received don't be deceived
by gifts galore
the people giving want even more than an equal share
but that's not fair of me
I can see and but for lack of clarity I'd see it all
if I could only stand a little taller to look at details even smaller I'd be sure of what it is I'm trying to say
but that's not going to happen any time today or tomorrow
maybe I could borrow steps and step up a notch or two
see just who and what and where you are and the reasons why you're giving for.
I can't accept if I do not know
just where the giving's come from and where it is you think it's going to go.
You'll have to tell me and really slow I'm not as young as
not so much fun as
can't run as fast as years ago
so be slow and take your time for that is all I've got
and I won't be putting back the clock to please you
do what you do
what you've always done
you've got to have some fun
and win or lose
the news is just the same
just a pain
no win or gain it's
a prying,trying,lying game.
The headlines deadleg me
peg me out
and all my doubts are reinforced by forcible editorials and pictures which from a time what seems immemorial leer at me
from page three
I can see me going round the twist at everything they tell me that I've missed
I'm p*ssed off now
and p*ssing off to 'the brown cow'
to get p*ssed.
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 7:57 AM UTC
All yearling spring birds far from distant home,
Xanthic in Gothic gospels soot and yolk,
Where's one's soft spoken voice to calm me on the phone?
Formidable pulses,
The danger of convulsion's spread on like buttered oil!!!
Enormity soil's the defendant delirium...
Such agnostic aquariums stinkingly similar upstate!
Broken lives to sunset drive,
Specimen speckles,
Forcible tassels hover one's decree!!
Litigious locust's buzz creepingly,
Indecently exposing all's funk!!!
Concauctions of fake adoption's,
Concievers break locks off trunks!!!
Omit me out of this obdurate oasis,
Wherein one feel's spacious,
Free to cometh and goeth!!!
Freedom doth thou know?
Operatic Mrs and Mr's,
Minuets for thy ridiculed wishes!!
Ponderer of newness,
Cleaner's as thy tub spills over,
Thy heels click together just to get thy kicks!!!
Hit the streets thou feathered bird of no beak,
Thou tally marker of no means!!!
Foreman to thy own people's idea's,
Nourish me with a new novice,
Nurture me with heartbrake hotel,
Buildeth me a standing ovation of a one love palace!!!
Brave heart fairytale,
Doth thou stand to move about?
Listener of radio tunes,
Art thou close??
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 8:50 AM UTC
It makes me sad to know
That to me you’re the sun,
but I’m only one of your planets
Constantly orbiting at a distance
I guess that I’m lucky.
At least I’m not a star,
In a different solar system
Glittering in the background
But they are lucky too,
They can’t get ****** in
By your forcible pull
They are free from your gravity
Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 6:44 PM UTC
here and there
a crackle from the fire
an interruption in July's air
a forcible boom
where I wince until it lessens
but I smile, teeth persimmon orange
like those smoldering flecks of wildflower
that then fail their color, dwindle to the dirt
I picture my ivories falling out of my mouth in the same way
grey and withered
I rise, combust and fall
with these wild roman candles
like cassiopeia
I gaze in her general direction
dragged into the night by the hem of her peplum
I don't care to make out her shape
nor the throne she's tied to
by rope or by chain
her parable pressed into the scaffolding of the sky
a warning; an imposition
like sky-lit lithium
and its retinal imprint
I smile, teeth persimmon orange
turn my face
perception fails in such ways;
in these bold, bright, burning crossettes
I see figures
an arm extends
Jul 5, 2019
Jul 5, 2019 at 1:13 AM UTC
All yearling spring birds far from distant home,
Xanthic in Gothic gospels soot and yolk,
Where's one's soft spoken voice to calm me on the phone?
Formidable pulses,
The danger of convulsion's spread on like buttered oil!!!
Enormity soil's the defendant delirium...
Such agnostic aquariums stinkingly similar upstate!
Broken lives to sunset drive,
Specimen speckles,
Forcible tassels hover one's decree!!
Litigious locust's buzz creepingly,
Indecently exposing all's funk!!!
Concauctions of fake adoption's,
Concievers break locks off trunks!!!
Omit me out of this obdurate oasis,
Wherein one feel's spacious,
Free to cometh and goeth!!!
Freedom doth thou know?
Operatic Mrs and Mr's,
Minuets for thy ridiculed wishes!!
Ponderer of newness,
Cleaner's as thy tub spills over,
Thy heels click together just to get thy kicks!!!
Hit the streets thou feathered bird of no beak,
Thou tally marker of no means!!!
Foreman to thy own people's idea's,
Nourish me with a new novice,
Nurture me with heartbrake hotel,
Buildeth me a standing ovation of a one love palace!!!
Brave heart fairytale,
Doth thou stand to move about?
Listener of radio tunes,
Art thou close??
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 4:40 PM UTC
Seldom, that our society releases
Cares to evoke the trauma
Agony and pain, the members undergo
Dignity of their innate feelings remains unnoticed
ridicules and abuses of the sidelined community
Treated as untouchables,
Life passes through humiliation
Revenge what at all grows
Hardly they love
With their battered minds
Hair growth is prominent
a feminine male
Claps not at all appreciates
Voice that hoars
differ from the stereotype
Pronounced as 'Hizra'
Hopeless with their genital
Infertile is what left behind
***** is sore
struggle for survival
Habituated with the wilderness
Embraced the culture
Deviated their thoughts
Fear is what all pays
Takes the trick
Makes a move
Snatches a penny in a forcible manner
Sympathy could be shown
moral failure lies in the society's unwillingness
a mindset which
we have to change.
©Gourab Mukherjee'
Aug 8, 2016
Aug 8, 2016 at 12:49 PM UTC
No.
A simple term,
It means so little.
But yet explains a lot.
Still not heard by,
People with forcible dreams.
With these two letters,
Able to enlighten my opinion,
On the oncoming situation.
Yet the ignorance of your needs,
Portray importance over,
The simple yet powerful two lettered word.
Jul 15, 2018
Jul 15, 2018 at 6:59 PM UTC
I think he may be right,
the boy that calls once a year,
five years too late.
I think he's right.
About fighting to love
and be loved,
only to be remembered
by that unheard voicemail,
that “missed call” notification.
Those photographs we didn’t keep,
and the stories we stopped telling
long before it was their time to be forgotten.
It shouldn’t be fair,
the forcible forgetting of the nights
they spent asking me to try harder
begging me to love them just a little bit more..
It shouldn’t be fair,
that I was so quick to say no
so quick to shut down
so quick to refuse such simple requests.
It shouldn’t be fair..
But they should be honored,
all the boys that exist now,
only as black and white adjectives
in simplified prose.
Penned only during the loneliest hours
when the world is dark
and the nightmares are calling.
It should be an honor,
being buried in the worn pages of
these Moleskin graveyards..
After all,
poems are where all great love stories go to die.
Jul 7, 2018
Jul 7, 2018 at 9:33 AM UTC
*Her name was Gayle
She blew in and out
Of my life like a forcible wind
Knocking down trees
And me in between
I still remember back then
Like it was yesterday
The storm never fades
In the mind of the strongest of men
There is no doubt
As my minds river floods out
We'll never pick up who we were again*
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 4:28 PM UTC
Fishnet impressions
cut into the wall paint
as passing car headlamps
momentarily shine across
conversational window treatments.
Shadow imaginations playfully dance.
Half-lidded eyes capture slight movement
and a barely coherent consciousness
begins to develop scenarios.
First, subtle impressions of cats of sills
and tree branches scrapping across tempered glass…
but then, a more sinister feeling takes hold
an encroaching doom and impending dread
fills nearly sleeping veins.
Trapped in stasis, hovering,
knowing sounds have meaning
but totally lacking any muscle control…
fear takes charge
and paranoia settles in for the night.
Certain that each creaking board
is a maniacal killer
bent on committing a random
and horrific ******
sweat beads on a forehead
desperate for the ability to
hide under a sheet.
Compressor switching on
as the refrigerator activiates
sends new visions of forcible theft
and gang **** swirling.
Mental images of criminals
in ski masks
penetrating the spouse
and laughing
carry a restless mind
quietly back to sleep,
as the low, dull hum of
the hot water heater
gives the house peace for the night.
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 12:43 PM UTC
I take walt seriously
For the questions
Question me
untamed and reoccurring
They -
Aren't from him
No, they're not from him
They -
Are light through
a cracked door
They -
Are rumors told
of secluded shores
They -
Are forcible ripples
for what
and who
they're for
Jun 5, 2016
Jun 5, 2016 at 10:35 AM UTC