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vircapio gale Mar 2014
1.

dear feminism,
do i think of women
when i write to you?

why do i personify?

angry at an unjust world,
angry at injustice in ourselves,
have i been taught to fear you?
ignore inequity of fears?

or hide  
in the shadows of your salty curves
speaking soft with sycophantic tilt?

was this what mother meant,
portending talk of therapy
two decades in advance?

a bouy on three waves,
i crash against protuberances too:
limp didactics on avoidance for the victims,
waking in continuums of shrugging crime.

sameness differs in utopias --
every latent gut avers the right to spill.
despite the lissome quell forgetfulness contains,
my proper sphere will leave me
deafened in a wrack-dry
tidal echo--
'Fairness' stains clear beauty dark
as my imagined egos drown at last
from down our oceanic well of shame.

sacrifices fade,
i cannot write...
i write, and fail,
defined by sediment cliche,
reading women authors out of obligation ..odd desire,
and so in dim medieval-fashion
miss
the trail of monoliths erected
for a craven ease

2.

dear civil rights,
why were you taught
through prisms of boredom?
my voiceless reading left you to your rage,
while i communed with glossy nature,
private leaves.

how dare i clap your back
"congratulations"
at your tidy givens  granted
scars were open past my seeing,
and bleed still

while right here, empathy dies, now

dreams are bombed,
grafted to infected faculties
to wallow tended in a garden of injustice
erudite and dead,
i **** a bit i tell myself then stuff my face with food,
cover breath with smoke
and sleep in sour ignorance
no courage left to care.
blind grins bouquet the status quo
of rotted stems, discarded roots

i bury you with homeland fear
the killing silence filled with just intentions
for tomorrow

3.

dear feminism,
you speak for me, too--
my genderless ear attunes

cathartic sweep of ills
scaled beyond your other selves,
sexing into common chosen songs

no fearful tremble
at a mainstream backdrop reprimand--
to be a good gender,
--this gender not that gender--
gestate bigotry of symbol wombs,
cut ripe to cater to unquestioned whim;
no violent selfhood requisitioning
to closet inner innocence in pain

contractions shock in further waves
i midwife simple hope i hope
true fairness you have nursed in seeing death


4.

dear punk **** feminism,
marginal i ask as i perform
unstructured sutras on my heart
exemplar of a meta-freedom
burning in the core of threaded ages strung--
how then life without your voice,
vast silence unobserved,
the hidden anti-*** persisting
in our gender-theory--theorizing sterile norms--
sweet pulsing concupiscence
in our every waking breath
a pollinating zephyr tease toward
celebrating every feotal bathtub bliss --
unbridled ideologies unleashed
unmade into opining din

5.

dear temperance,
i vote you cherished
whirlwind
singing endless through the ageist ridicule
apparent failure in the civil warrior's eye
dogma blinks
denial of the rights you suffered for
but underneath compassion all along
i rally in your family's younger gaze
staring down,
questioning the steady rhythm of a whiskied fist

6.

dear feminism,
have i been taught to celebrate you?
have i been taught to fear for you?
have i been taught to treat you as a woman?
why do i personify you?
like some Sophia cybered up atop the forums of our age

blind and failing
i would be dust as well
like any rightful fading into dust
be swept along with all coercive screenings,
fear-born silences
immune to reason and the reasons of the heart--
rather than to live forgetting
letting go the questions giving rise to equals in a discourse
revising what it means to ask the meaning of


#
dear feminism,

when you are gone..
i for one will sing you
hope

to protest bigotry
a raging tranquil step
of care-filled voicing

dare an upward sloping arc
a dream becoming shared
to overcome
attain
inspired by once unfamiliar names

i will still be here,
the angry feminist
burning in my flagging underwear

brightest outrage at injustice
your deeper loves, fairness
selfhood honored
as if written in the stars
or ancient shorelines
-- you will not be gone
"She says, he wrote it--he says, she wrote it." -Lucretia Mott, speaking to the collaborative efforts of J S Mill and Harriet Taylor
Kitty Parson Jun 2013
Not even kidding.
I have been in the throes
of a sort of mid-life crisis,
because I can't have
any more babies.

I ******* LOVE BABIES

My best friend is pregnant
right now. Soooo pregnant.
It's ******* adorable.
And I, I am unable to have

ANY MORE BABIES.

BUT I LOVE BABIES.

No ****, you guys,
I really like to have babies.

I am *******

GOOD AT HAVING AWESOME BABIES.

My ****** was like
baby ******* paradise.
And I just had
a miniature midlife crisis
over the fact that
I had to use the word
"was" right there.

If I still had that ******,
I would be forced
to use multiple layers
of protection
to ward off fertilization, and

MORE BABIES.

I LOVE BABIES.

I can gestate like a *******.
Oh wait, maybe
more like a ****** mother,

YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN.

******* BABIES!

And when I give birth,
I do it kamikaze style,
with only a couple minutes
notice for the attending physician.

BLINKED? OH NO, SORRY
DR. *******,
YOU ******* MISSED IT!

Back when I had a ******,
like last year,
I was fertile
like a thing that is incredibly fertile.
You had to put an army
between me and my ******,
or some **** would go on
and I would be all,
oh! A new kid!
That's inconvenient!
But man,
you know,
you birth a child,
it's insanely difficult
on a level incomprehensible
to anyone who hasn't done it,
you work through it.

And then ******* hell,
you're the mother
of 3 teenagers
and your very productive
****** is all

*******, SERIOUSLY?

And you put it out of  
your misery, and then,
a few months later,
you think

it would be nice to have another baby.
vircapio gale Nov 2012
fem in isms,
i imagine Sapphic eyes:
bad *** advert coruscates elite
fairness sensing slavish blind
in gestate calm affirm
in genders More numerous of Windows--
Superior--for Doors--
O harsh judgement foiled,
as a foil, as unknown truth
foil-doubles in the brow,
abject symmetry to systemize
a fertile lack of sterile barrenness,
i am a mediatrix rend,
nirwaan, hijra wonderment aside
from transemotion's ground swells
demeaning to be understood.
i celebrate and face the same
to be what paperwork tests being
normal being, freely chosen
atom each belonging moves
an asterisk of paths
of mutate art of nature social darwin maze.
i imagine Sapphic eyes,
ginko soft they pile up all cobble
memories themselves concretely
cloistered  fame
spray of salty waves,
macho screams symbol
for dismissal ease
for tearing at an inner unsaid war
with lists offense of proper taste
to what posterity intends
an undulation womblike seeming nourish safety sounds.
i imagine Sapphic eyes
past
debauched
meanderings
where hyster-clarity rejoins its titular
and reliable escapisms curl the lips
of maleness found
here and there  smile  sneer love
i imagine Sapphic eyes
linguistic pirouettes
congest that wisdom nonetheless
the moment passed  on to a
feigning truth in pretty rhyme
ornamenting time with fine  meter  fine
vernacular chimes peter in
to juggle perspectival paradox,
redichotomize the twilight idols,
resolve the conflict like a dawn
Aurora,
i imagine Sapphic eyes
running plastic with Alaskan wolves,
toga floats to snow
to let us see the purest fairness form
a ****** circle,
Hypatia ascends from tenebrous grave,
Impregnable of Eye is pregnant now
with Wollstonecraft revered
in liberation's fount
families held exemplar gaze of
Taylor, ******, Cady,
Anthony resanctified
to vote entitlement's
empathic origins, waxen mold
of nascent categories,
narrow hands spread wide to panoply anew
the manifest evolve in true unknowns
Mike Essig Apr 2015
We know
and to know is to invent,
and to invent is to lie.

Poets deal in beautiful lies,
especially when convinced
we are telling the truth.

Not malicious lies,
not the ones meant
to wound or ****.

Call them
improvements
on reality.

Our charm and power
gestate from our inventions.

We take nothing,
add our souls,
engender words
and only expect awe.

The kind of awe that sends
dresses, skirts or pants
tumbling toward the floor.

The kind of awe that
grows roses in their hearts.

We call that romance,
another invention
that becomes a dance.

Dance with me
and I will whisper
the sweetest lies
I can invent.

You deserve nothing less
than very my best.

Relax, sweet lover.
Don't be afraid.

The lies that
I invent for you
have always been,
and always will be,
true.

  ~mce
Megan Sherman May 2017
With voice that could inspire the angels of hell,
    To rise up, take arms against the Devil and rebel,
    You sing to Heaven of Love's luscious truth,
    Consists in it a kind of Beauty rare forsooth,
    A song to make all heart's swoon, take flight,
    Banishing demons of the night,
    Thou art the sublime friend, risen from eternity's fires,
    Inspires feelings suffice to be sung to lyres,
    Thine destiny to be immortalized in words sublime,
    That vanquish hell and transcend time.

    O cherished friend, beget thy sweetest sound,
    That doth ring along the Earth, up and around,
    Gift me with your precious Peace,
    Your perfect care, your clamouring Love increase,
    Blithe spirit indeed, coy mockingbird,
    Who does true justice to the word,
    Where God sings instead of does the verbs,
    I knew in my Heart I was one of your herd,
    Cubs of God, afoot on paws of passion,
    Love an exquisite chemical reaction.

    Borne aloft on divinest wings,
    Troubador inspires mind to flight, to sing,
    Searching fathoms of Love, the depths of soul,
    To unite the Heart with one and all,
    Fierce the luscious hues and hot,
    The passion which through my mind crept,
    For Truth of your words I could have wept,
    Deciphering mysteries of our Heart's crypts,
    Knowledge true on which spirit roves,
    Your song frolics in Love's treasure troves.

    Keep the flame alive my friend,
    Make my spirit whole once again,
    Next to thine truths illusion pales,
    Thine words doth scale all Heaven's vales,
    Fluttering like a ribbon on the breeze,
    Blowing through the wind and trees,
    Touching ears and minds and hearts,
    Gifts with light of love which imparts,
    Truth sufficient to be sung to lyres,
    From that great Knight that rose from Heaven's fires.

He walks, traverses Love's line for miles,
To save the Heart from wicked wiles,
That deceive the soul and self of worth,
But Love will be found even in Love's dearth,
Warming our Hearts the breadth of their girth,
Shielding us in warm spirit's sheath,
Dreaming, rocking, to and fro on passion's heath,
His words put Hearts in exquisite health,
Heartbeams go in every word,
Praying sublime to the lovely Lord.

In vain the tyrants suppress his song,
That raises voice above the evil throng,
For all hearts are drunk on his music,
Learning from his passion's rubric,
A Guru who made Love his melody,
To heal our sore and tender malady,
Applying salve to sullied spirit,
With wanton word and wanton wit,
Love grows wings, in every line,
Show me how to make your heart mine

Be forever laughing, living,
Friendly, florid and forgiving,
Let your truth in Hearts gestate,
For it let us be elate,
Towards the light of Lover's sun,
Through which the cosmic fires run,
You take us on wings of blazing fire,
Burnished with colours of desire,
What the mind dare grasp the bolt,
Of Zeus, through which our Heart's shot.
Adela Wilde Jun 2011
I've stayed up for you
In my mascara
Just in case.
Again.

As, more alcohol than man,
Your hands stumbling over the keys like your feet on the ground.
You tell me I'm beautiful, but it's obviously not enough.
Money is too tight to cross the water like I've done.
But there's just enough for the pub

With someone who's not dad or brother.
This pause is a hint for you to tell me it's not what I think it is.
Your head lolls.
Oblivious to mine whirring.
Eyes widening

I hold back x's
In the hope that you'll notice that
You've ****** up.
You were right all along
I deserve better, but don't want it.

I've sat here patiently
An era long enough to gestate
This hate as I fall for you
And ask you kindly what's going on.
Only to get a vague answer,
A drunken phonecall
And a hiccup.

Just tell me what to do here.
If you want me to,
I'll stay
And be yours.
But I can't hover at the bar
While you go up for another drink.
I need someone of my own, not to be owned by someone.

I've stayed up for you
In my mascara
That's running.
Again.
Megan Sherman Feb 2017
Atop a clam, divinest pearl!
invites me to peer, enchanting girl
eyes fluttering and beckoning
casts sweetest spell, magic, enchanting
a magnificent array of colour
ripples through her enveloping aura
towards her my rapt mind swims
in her sight my spirit chimes
throughout the days and hours

Mermaid makes the heart gestate
Makes my spirit feel elate
I want my heart to waltz with hers
Out of its spiritual bars
Upon the shores we'd frolic, play
Soothing, quelling fear, dismay
With her I am engorged on bliss
Touched by the light of luck's kiss
All throughout the day

O Mermaid Queen, they doubt thy truth
A kind of beauty rare, forsooth
But rainbows shine in spite of faith
Suns blaze in spite of eyes embrace
The world is good (and good is true)
And more good for the life of you
You are a beacon of hope and joy
Could inspire the rise and fall of troy
With heaven's light imbued
Hal Loyd Denton Jan 2012
The Great Interlude
Cold springs inky Blackwell gone from all that was special endearing a world of subjection with bounds
Expressed in tangible constants blessings fixed by strata and composition the fusing of the most
Elemental design in human life to love and be loved remembering from both sides with such intensity
The very world elliptical these pulsations reach their apex they do contend they harness all known
Reality they are extravagant in the extreme they gestate the rawest and fullest impact able truth
Forever swirls flows in the sweetest valuable treasure house each day every hour laughter and tears
Are weighed from youth till death every participle hangs know not the weight that is suspended in this
Airy clime the visitation the stitching of immortal souls in effortless joy in every syllable building blocks
Of deftest design were being appropriated where near or distant magic indefinable took new breath
Arrested the common and the extraordinary knowing not the magnitude all of matter was being forged
The great blacksmith of the past was surpassed no engineer of earthy skill can touch what was wrought
By a man and wife in their intimacy or their reach the breadth of the land and the stars bowed in
Wonder as their arching hearts surpassed there heights of wonder and grace tenderness distilled to
The thinnest equation where dreams were laid bare and on this truth scaffolding as thin as a
Hairsbreadth held a succession of thoughts achievements and future probabilities destiny occupied
Nothingness but left a bridge that all of life was welcomed was fixed to a point it grew balloon like it
Ascended by revelation in ordinary circumstances flesh and blood accelerated beyond the brains ability
To fathom where all of this was leading second by second generations were being spawned called forth
From hidden trajectories of earth and space go to the window of sharing recapture amazement it will
Pour comfort into the wound and sorrow of loss against all odds you forged the river of time made new
Life takes it first hesitant breath you were the recipients of miracles they plainly called them bundles of
Joy you cast fourth strains of indefinable rectory spirit was sparked and with love’s breath a fire grew
It is the quality of life and unalterable peace and joy submerged in every day peaks and valleys if you get
What this speaks of it will carry you over the valley up to the heights sorrow will replaced with
Benediction and esteem for what you both accomplished and wrought in this life which is only
A dress rehearsal for that which is truly amazing it waits in surety just beyond the confining strains
Of this blissful song you sang for a lifetime
Sam Hammond Aug 2018
The weight of life is reduced to a cloud
As raindrops of lysergic acid run free.
Their pitters and patters equally loud
As all of the colours that melt around me.
The womb of the universe beating its drum
And setting a pace for the flowers to bloom.
A force with such strength that all nature succumbs
As peacefulness floats in kaleidoscope flumes.

Empathy blossoms, arousing a smile,
That creeps from my lips to the end of the room,
Searing itself on a cosmic denial
That beauty like this shouldn’t gestate from gloom.
Floating, not unlike a dandelions seed,
Thoughts of anxiety flee to the Earth.
They carry but vapidness with the sweet breeze.
In nebulous nebulas they are dispersed.

Now what remains as a warm neon cloud
Is beauty profound and purpose pristine.
Unwanted, the ego is left disavowed
Dancing in memories of amphetamines.
Left in its place was the beauty and I.
Climbing like vines as it forces the walls.
Pushing them down with an ******* sigh,
Revealing a cosmos that rhythmically calls:

‘Freedom is such a deplorable word.
It offers ambitions too fruitful to take.
Though comfort or not,
As with fictitious plot,
It’s only as real as it’s fake.’
Groovy
Megan Sherman May 2017
Once more the battles of life by stealth,
Creep upon you with blades, half hid under devil's sheath,
Deceiving soul and self of their immortal worth,
Shrinking my heart the breadth of its girth,
My friend fights, struggles to slay their ghost,
I've wondered how such a soul can be haunted,
And for days I've prayed and chanted,
Because of the fear their spirit is lost.

I have walked, traversed prayer's line for miles,
To save them from a fate that appals the mind and riles,
Searching fathoms of my sadness stricken soul,
To find ways to make again theirs whole,
Imagining their sheer delight,
In future years bereft of chains,
Bereft of sad and melancholy refrains,
I see them free, take flight.

May God grant light and love and peace,
May their mental struggle cease,
For being borne aloft on wings,
That inspire mind to soar and sing,
Considering Love a sufficient goal,
An immortal truth adorned by light,
That maketh for an awesome sight,
At peace with the one and all.

My friend being stricken found life devious,
Instead of coy and mischevious,
While that great Knight, that rose out of Heaven's fires,
Inspires feelings suffice to be sung to lyres,
Yet feels themselves beneath the beams
Of destiny, that touch the Earth,
Warms it the breadth of its girth,
And whose luck's light kisses our dreams.

My friend wails for their wilting fate,
And in my Heart a sorrow gestate,
I want my Heart to waltz with theirs,
Out of it's spiritual bars,
On the shores of Heaven we'd frolic play,
With them I'd be engorged on bliss,
Touched by the light of luck's kiss,
All throughout the day.

In my devotion I have learned this,
That to be not devoted is remiss,
To deny truth of Love is the worst,
Be banished from its kingdom who accursed,
Her splendour, to which we ought to be,
In mesmerised and spellbound awe,
To love, and cherish, and adore,
Her gifts and generosity.
A vile serrated day that suffered
The wind and the air to be stifled,
Spread sick among the ashes of burning,
And held silence upon the screams of yearning,
Yelped frigid chorus of agonistic moans,
In pain and torment, of rotting bones.
-
I walked along a path paved of marble brick,
My temperment unnerving, my gait was thick,
The path aforementioned halted upon a gate,
There opened, I saw, where the dead gestate,
Leading down a snake-bodied trail,
Tried as I did to turn back, I failed,
I saw no reason to leave the place,
The corpse garden, it seemed, held great solace.
-
Trudging down in acute contempt,
I struggled to see all but lament,
Comforted, dare I might say,
With being surrounded by extent of decay,
I flowed forth as if some purpose,
Guided me to them, the reason unsurfaced,
At where I found them sitting aside,
The trail of things in past belied,
Quiet, and leading to the body swamp,
With scars detailing drunk mourners’ clomps,
Chipped and chiseled, repaired and mended,
The Stairs awaited me and repented.
-
The first step sat on the top of the hill,
Where the path veered, silent and still,
A narrow case were these stairs so shrill,
A horror oozed from them and fear me filled.
I could not but wonder why irony had found,
That in the graveyard, it started profound,
Aside this step a great living tree at each flank,
And aside the bottom a matching pair, but dead and rank,
Like a gateway from living world to dead,
This whispered somber secrets to my ears full of dread,
I took the first step and it’s concrete creaked,
Rather odd, I thought, a sound for stone to secrete,
Or was it a muffled wince of pain,
From another mortal stepping again?
-
The weeping willows here feigned not their name,
For I heard them cry again and again,
The tragedy in bark and each branch,
Etched inside were names and romance,
Initials of lovers on the first two trees,
Rotting off the second set like some disease,
The twins were mirrored like that in a story,
But this was reality, this was horrifying,
I knew their fate even without a headstone,
They loved and died, and only the trees had known.
-
The perils of this place seemed haunting,
The grass so green and at peace, seemed daunting,
I took each step with trepidation,
The caution here lingered with anticipation,
At the last step I was greeted with a chill,
The faint breeze had just marked another ****,
As I stepped forth once more on to the earth,
It seemed as though the staircase lurched,
I knew then I could not leave,
Until I’d seen all of what was bereaved,
The only thought I could think was one,
Were I to die here, I wouldn’t be alone.
Hal Loyd Denton Nov 2013
Cold springs inky Blackwell gone from all that was special endearing a world of subjection with bounds
Expressed in tangible constants blessings fixed by strata and composition the fusing of the most
Elemental design in human life to love and be loved remembering from both sides with such intensity
The very world elliptical these pulsations reach their apex they do contend they harness all known
Reality they are extravagant in the extreme they gestate the rawest and fullest impact able truth
Forever swirls flows in the sweetest valuable treasure house each day every hour laughter and tears
Are weighed from youth till death every participle hangs know not the weight that is suspended in this
Airy clime the visitation the stitching of immortal souls in effortless joy in every syllable building blocks
Of deftest design were being appropriated where near or distant magic indefinable took new breath
Arrested the common and the extraordinary knowing not the magnitude all of matter was being forged
The great blacksmith of the past was surpassed no engineer of earthy skill can touch what was wrought
By a man and wife in their intimacy or their reach the breadth of the land and the stars bowed in
Wonder as their arching hearts surpassed there heights of wonder and grace tenderness distilled to
The thinnest equation where dreams were laid bare and on this truth scaffolding as thin as a
Hairsbreadth held a succession of thoughts achievements and future probabilities destiny occupied
Nothingness but left a bridge that all of life was welcomed was fixed to a point it grew balloon like it
Ascended by revelation in ordinary circumstances flesh and blood accelerated beyond the brains ability
To fathom where all of this was leading second by second generations were being spawned called forth
From hidden trajectories of earth and space go to the window of sharing recapture amazement it will
Pour comfort into the wound and sorrow of loss against all odds you forged the river of time made new
Life takes it first hesitant breath you were the recipients of miracles they plainly called them bundles of
Joy you cast fourth strains of indefinable rectory spirit was sparked and with love’s breath a fire grew
It is the quality of life and unalterable peace and joy submerged in every day peaks and valleys if you get
What this speaks of it will carry you over the valley up to the heights sorrow will replaced with
Benediction and esteem for what you both accomplished and wrought in this life which is only
A dress rehearsal for that which is truly amazing it waits in surety just beyond the confining strains
Of this blissful song you sang for a lifetime
Matthew Harlovic Oct 2016
iou
you cannot equate my fate
with the likes of yours,
you cannot narrate
what i might endure,
you cannot gestate
the weight, nor labor,
because it predates
the state of our nature
but moving forward is
predicated on behavior
so i'll be a good neighbor
and do you the favor.

© Matthew Harlovic
You are aggressively mediocre
And your thoughts belong to others
You occupy a space best reserved
For those bubbling with original thought
Your mass is simple weight
With no power plant to lift
It from the gravity of self

I crave the company of people
With sparks of wit and muse
Whose conversation is such
That they make me think and smile
And be on my own best mettle

So, upon you I will not settle
Your imagination stops
At your front door and ventures
No further for fear of getting lost

Instead I will be the co-pilot
Aboard a ship that skims the worlds
In a multi-verse made of chaos and string
And I will swim in pools of radiant plasma
And bask in light and warmth
From suns that gestate the DNA

I am not bound for compromise
That craft does not leave its dock
I will not agree to mediocrity
Despite your championing of that cause
I will take flight a thousand times
And soar where the lesser fear to tread
Nat Lipstadt Oct 2014
when the poems don't come,
where do they go?

silly notion,
what's the commotion...
don't they just wait,
gestate,
till the time is right,
till one fires the starter's pistol,
they come when they come,
right?

no.

poems are journeymen,
cover bands,
looking for work steady,
airborne, breeze borne, atmospheric,
looking for a ready, willing & able
host and hostess

a recognizer of their properties,
willing to offer themselves up,
by adding the final touch
to a project that has
its deadline passed,
needy for a Caesar,
cut it out,
to come and get it

are you willing to add
your name to it,
cutting its chord,
let it pass from the airs of heaven
down the stairs
to an earthly audience?

are you willing to own it?
Oct 9 2014
a taxi poem
Still Crazy Nov 2017
For Berlinski

<X>
it's so true, can't believe it though,
this fact so well known, my cells fibers denied it asylum,
mocking me with a berating ****** single-cell-syllable of
shut-up

my runted eyes never spake this confess out loud
but here it is,
a silent truth rutting onto the **** mirror paper-white screen
where the pixels do my screaming pleasing easy and the
goldie oldie ***** stains, asking "you again?"

silence reverberates, like a tree falling in the forest,
the screen where I live, holy matrimony 90% of everyday
for better or worse, still crazy, the years get longer and the
the poems stretch out, ******* sag, and pseudo-crazy making me
lazy tired

no shy guy me, but the word waste of pointless,
sends me silently screaming to the bedroom where under covers  
I count threads. herding words, making pleasure gutter noises,
that can only be heard by the audio surgically implanted
in a human chest, and the dust mites

*but the blunt i smoke stimulates the nervous brain system and the gibberish comes furiously fast, trying not to burn the sheets
that just were laboriously added up to soft and silky when served with a side of naked girl and discovered that I talk hugely stupid when stupid and ******, oh so common, and
the s-words cut bluntly and satrap sharp where there and when the plain sentences become bread knife sharp and the poems gestate in 9 minutes because nothing is blurred and all use Exit 74  on
the interspatial, intracellular inter-pet

fully formed, in finery, winery celebrated, spilling wine on those sheets and now I am cursed cause words are the master,
leaving me just the mature, shy crazy boy, the muted tool;
oh god, dear god - Oh GAWD!!!
please let me be still crazy till long after my
bleached bones rumble,
"boy, it is time to be in that in that valley"
for suzy
PK Wakefield Nov 2010
how came thy to thee? thou who art tantalizing(the champion of slender
******(
               art thou intricate and feared mostly of death?
fear not, thou who doth gestate sumptuously and fair in the dumb
fickle knot of my lazy arms. see serenity blood surely fierce of my tangled
morbid odor; claim its ardor with loathsome gross pleasant fingers and
comb the destitute morals therein which is panting a muzzle supremely
nuzzling my flaccid dearth of voltage.
      i know thee sweetly my goddess of sweat
                                                                                 , pain

        ,       and shearing passion and fear nothing

                        i       am        
  
                   splendidly         stitched in your fabric

   and we'll rot together.
                                           .
                                        .
                                          .
                                      .

                                            .



                                                            .
Devin Ellis May 2013
We almost stayed there the whole night, a debt we thought we’d owe
I spent that time talking to you
And said how we should go

Did we error in sharing everything, even our biting woe?
You helped me and I helped you too
But paid less than was owed

Winter came, and how we felt the coldness of the snow!
You told me I’m an okay *****
But now I ought to go

But in our house our love lingered, it’s putrid status quo
Heaped on our floor a pile accrued
Of debts we came to owe

We let our shame gestate in you, then cut it from below
We’re too young to know what to do
Too poor to pay the debts we owe
I guess that I should go
Hayley Neininger Nov 2011
Tress grow slower than we do, she says,
They gestate longer in the soil than we do in our mothers
True, we were both at one time seeds, she says,
But trees grew out, while we grew up
By the time we learned to walk
A tree will have only fastened its branches
It will have rooted its self in a home
That, like us, was not self-elected but while
We are constantly trying to walk from our home
A tree is rooting itself in theirs.
We grow up and walk around our parent’s house
Then our neighborhood, our city, our country, our world
Glimpsing only meager morsels of other beings homes
It’s difficult to pinpoint our own, to know it wholly
But a tree, she says, a tree never walks from its home
And through this it knows it so absolutely, so entirely.
A tree grows slowly, gazing at its environment for years
Far past when our timeline has expired
It watches as its atmosphere changes, even in the slightest
It still grows higher and higher at a pace that allows
It to view every intimate detail of the world it resides in
Never failing to notice every leaf, twig, branch
We don't know our homes like that and
It’s a shame, she says,
That we grow a lot faster than trees do,
Perhaps this is why we get home-sick.
Roy Esnarom Mar 2015
i want to draw some naked ladies for a living

i want to make wood melt and turn marble soft

i want to think for the scholars and question long thought ideas

i want the rich to hate me

i want to sneak out their bedroom windows

i want to pass out uninvited in their country estate

i want their daughters to eye me

and make true so easily

what their dreams can't gestate
around 2010
jimmy tee Mar 2014
practice the utmost care
form a vigilant style
peep around corners
be alert to possibilities

develop awareness
study what lurks in shadow
prepare for surprises
hone your senses

visualize potential scenarios
pay attention to the probable
spy through keyholes
listen through thin walls

dis-believe dormancy
list your suspicions
weigh all prospects
refine distrust

cross examine sincerity
swim in the sea of mistrust
suspend all gut feeling
deny altruism

question fact
support skepticism
increase misgivings
keep eyes wide open

bet on failure
indulge at peril
compile odds
rely on doubt

push a fuzzy brand of cynicism
label everything
marginalize what you don’t understand
be conscience of fraud

perceive through narrowness
downplay experience
recycle ancient lies
apply rhetorical loops

reduce all to the absurd
promote jealousy
revel at weak spots
blame impossibilities


design decision trees
ferment rebellion
create false alliances
initiate rumor

draft complex plans
generate half truths
produce unreachable ideals
fashion anger

establish favorable ground rules
start a corporation
coin a catch phrase
invent an argument

launch a promotional campaign
confirm nothing
invert the discussion
determine outcomes

verify the enormous
market greed
prove conflicting arguments
ascertain needless worth

uncover falsehoods
locate the correct word
detect limitations
counterattack always

deliver disadvantage
attack any and all flaws
educate with nonsense
promote vulnerability

assign bogus titles
fabricate counterfeits
rely on fictions
deceive the masses

compose a reason
construct pain
assemble wild games
dismantle the individual

move mountains
consume independent thought
cause penance
gestate chaos


nurse turmoil
outflank righteousness
muddle the message
confide in darkness

plant upheaval
nurture vanity
ignore any mayhem
misname disorder

cultivate hesitation
praise ambiguity
rejoice for indecision
celebrate vagueness

dance as a marionette
venerate a suckerpunch
insult pride
pay tribute to silence

bend any principle
admire baseness
respect behind closed doors
award deceit

erase distinction
cook up conspiracies
diagram secrets
format the unbelievable

lust over possession
outline an escape
draw excuses
strategize sin

parcel desires
aim toward the crass
object to feelings
target the sordid

commit to the improper
corrupt all souls
mock religion
root out the wise

increase loneliness
pigeonhole solidarity
rupture the will
insert schisms

shout down dissent
pound out inferiority
supply sadness
stand toward folly

seek out dependency
crush mild opposition
carve a new standard
delay action
He softly cries until he sleeps,
tempting appeals of angels and weep,
It hurts, the pain,
Obviously, naught to gain,
Which is what is felt whenever a loss,
Of the most woeful kind can endorse,
The severed arteries to heart, and blood
Will stop flowing to it, gently flood,
The rest with gaping holes of hope,
And hope is the depressed man's hang rope
That he ties 'round his neck and prays,
That he may again see beautiful days,
And in hopes when he jumps from kicked chair,
That maybe, just maybe, he'll see her there,
With agony flowing from his eyes,
He can not help but to despise
The dreaming mind and hopeful heart
Turned to bumbling folly, and all false start,
His heart is but a mosoleum,
His mind is but an old museum,
Filled with antiquity, memories of late,
The pain always finds way to gestate,
It's cancerous spread to even make
The muscles within to quiver and ache,
It is colder here, he once noticed,
Upon bereavement of his pretty lotus,
That without her warmth caressing him at night,
He wakes every hour sniffing the air in false plight,
In false hope to find her scent there lingering,
Only To be reminded of cold nights and shivering,
Again the tears find pillow and cover,
He could not remember of times being more fonder,
He imagined it had never been,
That though never helps herein,
Especially considering the terrible ache,
Of even a wretched thought his brain make.
He is truly happy that she is better.
An injured man, he will endeavor.
He decides his time again may come,
And sudden misery will be undone,
But even if that turns to be naught,
He even then won't be distraught,
For either way, happier she'll be,
And that's what he wants most for she.
Mike Essig Oct 2015
Take an instant,
a snapshot
or sound byte
from your life;
attach an emotion
or a thought;
couch it in
the fewest best words;
let it gestate
until your head
goes into labor
and it will
be born
like a real child
that is yours,
but has a life
of its own
and leaves you
to inhabit a world
you can never know
- mce
rp
Michael Briefs Jul 2017
In the ancient ages of our story,
Long lost on the storm-tossed sea of time,
Mystics, Shamen, Seers, Poets, and Prophets
Pointed to paths leading to survival,
Vital roads for our guides to find.
Lo, our progress came through
The purge of many perils.
In the grip of that troubled existence,
Our visionaries found the way forth
From a plague of deadly terrors.

Born out of the feverish tumult of the mystic Wild-man
Or the symbolic song of a Tribal Priestess,
Came words of hope and vision.
Their inner-light was a primordial premonition, stoking
The courage to make our daunting decisions.
Their mind’s eye pierced the veil, striking
Lightning catalysts into a forest of fascination,
To ignite the strength we must bring to fruition!

We clung to their words as we clung to each other,
And heard their call to mission.
We allowed the signs of their ecstasy to gestate
Within our souls; words woven into myths
To bear the fruit of immortal imagination!
Out of this flame came the hard-won wisdom of our people,
Our embryonic culture, and the seeds of our salvation.

We traveled on in the grip of a darkened world and
Survived together, confirmed by a shared oath.
The tree of humanity’s fragile hope must take root,
To fulfill its future growth.

We are an Ark-people, a covenant people,
A people of deep foundations.
We take that light, that fire, and
That power into our destiny,
Striking wild and true within!

May the ineffable Creator bless our steps,
Secure our path, inspire our faith,
And anoint our hearts for the road ahead,
Beyond…
What I believe: Love Rules! It doesn't matter what Faith tradition you come from or you aspire to. Let love be your North Star! Everything you do should flow from that...uh, ahem..."fundamental" foundation. Religion, ritual, symbolism, doctrine...these things can be effective and even beautiful. BUT: if they don't point to LOVE and emphasize the MYSTERY of life (over Fundamentalist attempts to paint that mystery as a black-and-white, judgmental, sin-focused, us-against-them kind of religiosity), then they are only a path to hatred, exclusion/separation, war and death. Love, by it's very nature, welcomes us all; it is the source and destination of all creation. Be a source of love and you will be a source of light. You and I are a part of the ultimate power of creation, expressed as light, in love! Peace!
A photo that I thought matched well with this poem: https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10209731389217476&set=a.10208174166607884.1073741828.1113041505&type=3&theater
Megan Sherman Feb 2017
Much Magic - strikes a Night time
In sky the cosmic fires brood
Mystic sounds reverb and chime
In stunning interlude
As thunder falls from Heaven
Its sparks adorn our ears
In sky gestate the colours heathen
That quell and smooth our stress and fears
Besides the sea - I wander
And peep in to the night
And set my mind asunder
To dwell in eternal delight
Leave me behind in the darkest depths of thine mind,

The ashen vale at where I sing, was for thou too much, thine suffering,

I wished for a kiss goodbye, but my thoughts betrayed my sacrifice,

I trudge on into this barreling chasm, barely escaping your breaking fathom,

Relieve me of what has since gone and passed,

Thine most regret to see me at last,

And wherefore do I belie thy still?

Perhaps it is thine precious will,

I will not stand yet, I shall remain seated

In what my mind has yet secreted,

Of failure, of faith,

Of my longing and wraith,

And of my mind for thou, irate,

At where my mind may rest, gestate,

This peace is not peace,

Nor a piece of relief,

It is only remorse and the gloom of failed grief.
Gynecology appeals to the rooting instinct and not just among pigs,
apartment-dwellers too crave the spotlight especially in cheap digs
A tree puts strength in its cambium membrane, seeds, bark & twigs
whilst outgrowing the imperilment of remaining grounded as sprigs
It was not long before the Rolling Stones were being paid for gigs,
in the day when greasy Guineas plugged sheenies & cultivated figs,
decades before sainted negroes thrived as reactionary brillos & nigs
when a schweinehund on par with Club of Rome's lard-*** Al Gore
was realistic enough to accept his natural vocation as a male *****
even though no Avon salve could rescue him from being still sore,
he collected for prostitutional services that there existed no bill for,
while at Sea World Shamu can't fit through a pinniped or seal door,
as whale flesh ain't no antidote for pill-heads on America's pill tour
Keep whacking the side of your head to hammer out doubt till sure
you become of religious piety while acting out a radio-active story
that destroys tumors and fecundity while rewarding war-won glory,
for critical menticide administered to each Margaret Thatcher Tory,
to render brains slack so that each id's reduced to a formless slurry,
and made denser & dumber than the dumb-*** mind of Ann Curry,
who sits around picking fleas off her pet rats calmly with no worry
like a pederast whose name is Marion but likes to be called Murray
because of thickset hair that was as curly as Bill Clinton's was furry
it made Hillary's perverse predilection into a ****-emergency hurry
as she faced extortion rackets entailing mucho homosexy potpourri
It's I.T.T., A.T. & T., F.P. & L. and A. & P. in lieu of slave-holder
In a demi-godly role of being everyplace looking over my shoulder
Like advice taken to heart by a ***** the tenth time you told her
On the occasion of the hundredth time that a ****** **** sold her
Put down that rifle and also that cup as there are doggedly two ratty
trees of wood: wood I stole & wood I shoplifted as doggy eats pup
Congratulations *******, you won the Nobel prize for shutting up
Move from a hovel & put down that shovel as there are 2 unkindly
kinds of wood: stolen & discounted as my rabid ***** eats her pup
****** Mary Jane Christmas to Quakers winning gifts for rutting up
Return my shovel and **** a guppy as there are 2 hunks of wood:
wood I stole & wood shoplifted as a dog ***** eats a hungry puppy
Cheers cancer-ridden surgeon, here's the Shaw prize for cutting up
The tall first wife, who was fleet of feet, was the easiest to book for
she preferred rat tail over bat wing and won as a dream to cook for
she hid herself very obviously therefore she wasn't hard to look for
her manifold athletic talents made her the leanest witch to hook for
Give me your hirsute/textile/hombre love you lovely hairy rag man,
with your pointy nose, unlimbered leg & warts from Larry Hagman
who from the horse's mountable side snuck up like an airy stag ram
Don't take what little's left via state Santa Christmas merry bag ban
Let's dress like women in debt at the oldest Chuck Berry drag stand
My happiness is easily seen in blood-letting cirques as corpuscular
while my rippling backwards frontage is of a physique so muscular
that it is known by fat aunt Joan as socked-in and highly avuncular
In icy Florida I pine for Klondike my favorite Alaskan lesbian lover
who, in our gay igloo, resembled that big oily ****** Danny Glover
whose **** buddy Mel Gibson made him half less pockless gaining
☹a little more of plenty above Kenai's northern-lit blinding darkness,
and punctuated by those empty promises of ****-driving starkness
that were dogged by monster sightings quite common to Loch Ness
where **** Welshmen smoke Scottish-spiced cigarillos smockless
Fear not as chronically-starved people are traditionally not so tough
so feed the hungry & while they are eating steal their bags and stuff
as unarmed Cymry won't do more than storm off in a Goidelic huff,
akin to a Tom Jones hissy fit of ***-wriggling dancing and gay fluff
This normal man wonders: How much public ******* is enough?
Pushing Fukushima scenarios beyond the point of a no-return bluff
and extraneous of a federal Continuity of Government powder puff
while parked on a decrepitly-reliable-ever-burgeoning-lard-*** duff
white men, like coal miners, mine mineable depths of Filipina ****
gynecologically like the average gynecology enthusiast off the cuff,
rejecting Bicol pathogenetic carpet chaw to dip Copenhagen *****,
a sprinkling 'tween lip & gum proves that no slanted ****'s too tuff
A trans-orbital lobotomy's necessitated when plants are root-bound,
Hello Addisonian crisis dysfunction when adrenal glands are found
insufficient when production of adrenaline is diagnosed as unsound
Mormons note the absent look of foremen in the Book of Mormon
and an absence of the Book of Mormon in the outlook of foremen
You hid it 'cause I can't find it every elsewhere a package for string
this catastrophe that threatens tragedy above the tryst below a fling
With cords knotted tightly around something tumorous I won't sing
It is the chlorine that cancels detergent in that electric washer thing
beneath cellar steps that David Niven's wife fell down while hiding
I lost her you found her, it's a dollar for riding plus a fee for finding
all broads blinded to inequity and to chick Nazis' unguided guiding
Oh Lord with such ease the slippery have slid into slipshod sliding!
The frailties of free men're exploited by N.S.A.'s jingoistic deriding
General Ike exposed the military-industrial-congressional complex
which strikes against the citizenry by venomous rattle snake reflex
faster than a dope-crazy Marilyn Monroe could reach for a Kleenex
thru curvatures in a third-dimensional, spatially-pornographic helix
that approximated the Mexi-milkers of actriz: la doña María Félix
rutting elephants in musth must respect advisory: kneel-harm-****,
to honor the moon-hoaxing memory of chronic liar Neil Armstrong
as obviously for **** Rosie O'Donnell her gay meal alarm's wrong
Johns familiarized themselves with Lillian Russell by buyin' ** Lil
as masochists meet masochistic needs with movies of Ryan O'Neal
Sadists satiate sadistic surges sharing sermons sold Séamus Ó Néill
& beheld-redemptive pleasures for patrons of free mass soul appeal
I'm nailed in my sub-par carpentry by all do-gooders of the nail ban
to the point where I'm willing to mail my big sister to the mail man
who's part & parcel of a mail-fraud plot & brother's can't-fail plan
Escaped & uncaught I will be no prison monkey's cell-mate-jail-fan
'Cause shorts clothe Richard Simmons' lard *** he has a pale can as
oil-from-rock Daniel's been given the pétrole epithet Ol' Shale Dan
Latino block & cinder create distortive Hispano-Américano rubble
'cause stirring up spics & greasy wetbacks invites N.C.L.R. trouble
Stand back anti-pope as I am about to burst your pederastic bubble!
Your egg-shell-thick pate's no match for a black jack as this club'll
smash its way thru cardinals, reverends, ministers, priests & dukes
to make cream taste like ***** and turn cake into what a dog pukes
Under U.S./Euro socialism there'll be no guy who's a young codger
and popular forenames will be banned including Preston and Roger
Trans-national entities whip horse dung into curdled cottage cheese
while denying rescue inhalers to asthmatics enjoying a bad wheeze
so as to avail publicly purpled aureolae of ready women who tease
Now is the time to release the promised South American killer bees
as the hour's passed to exact vengeance for a beheaded Robert Lees
Mafiosos contract that Joseph Valachi-types be capped at the knees
then hanged by their what's-her-names from il duce poles and trees
in such a fashion that'll tighten the ropes by cough, belch or sneeze
Long legs, wrong eggs, strong pegs, King Kong begs with a song of kegs
Let us dog dealers of wieners & corporate schemers: those 2-bit reamers
extend a left leg into the sacred space of my right one for time remaining
It's easy to harp on topics commiserate with crap profitably entertaining
A man who courts dogs & a court manned by dogs quibbles over kibble
Dogs devoid of canine teeth are not as happy to gnaw and to nibble
The Arc of the Covenant bestowed ancient promises metaphysical
shedding cockroach-scattering illumination that set courses tragical
on a populace & citizenry that were more attuned to an era magical
Before Zionistic Elders prepared an Order within cabals strategical
Beneath plum sunsets & catchy maladies that deafened folks lyrical
“Turn me on dead man” the Beatles backwardly warbled mystically
as the means and the method to sexcite vampresses gynecologically
For all shoulder-locked movements sway men anthropomorphically
Let us seek bi-lesbians who fear concerted opposition diametrically
as their prized packages remain barren, as they spawn ineffectually
Sappho's ovarian host pouch is barren as ***** meld ineffectually
as Western, Fallopian-tubed freakazoids are ****-probed habitually
Sapphic ovarian balloons shrink when hens ******* reciprocally
On Pearl Harbor Loch a false flag blackened Mister Moto's beacon
by shadowy, white manipulators under a U.S. sinister, proto-deacon
who, as a cousin-marrying-pipe-******* *******, emulated Lincoln,
the war-loving queer who went above & beyond his task to weaken
the will of sovereign states to sustain free-market economic health,
by exacting confiscatory taxes resulting in punishing capital wealth
The Beatles were creatures of M.K. Ultra's institution at Tavistock,
lost to a shocking future as shown by Alvin Toffler in Future Shock
whereas nothing can help us from taking an epidemiological knock
by Mao a la Trotsky, a la starvation wages via phony-baloney stock
in the image of Pol *** a la Lenin contrary to righteous John Locke
Our fused-egg brothers gestate together, flying as a migratory flock
dolled up in vestry wardrobe: papal bikini brassier, ******* & frock
awaiting George Orwell's 1984 English socialism known as Ingsoc
X number of years before Nancy Kwan wed ski champ Peter Pock,
& after Bob Ripley's Oriental/Occidental miscegenation ****** talk
as it was curlier than was Nimoy while he portrayed Vulcan Spock,
whose sweetness was unrehearsed, unrestrained & of a sickly mock
once taken, out of time as taken twice daily on any ol' broken clock
flesh stripped & exploited as the flightless relic of Earth's great auk
enjoying the laze of Sunday oblivious to extinct Darwinian schlock
as chastised love is Leonard Nimoy-pitiable with chastity-belt lock
Upon a Massachusettsian shore puritans purified Plymouth's Rock!
Forever amounts to nothing in betrayal of Heinlein's empathic grok
Back off quack as I'll **** the next 1 of you applying scalpel to ****
as a dad must regarding neo-Kantian, fatherless-**** Johann Bach
Deep in hell's bowels fricassees Jew Elizabeth/***-to-Death Taylor
who did every Joe Nobody from Captain Crunch to Norman Mailer
A harlot ***** was she from 10 niggerly toes to scary mulatto tone
as hellishly deep in Liz's brain was a splinter of hamster wish bone
& her ***-end was broad from fat foods Safeway to her would loan
Beneath her 3rd world-chiding heft Larry F's lawn chairs did groan
as this princess of whales never said no to hog jowls and corn pone
which made an interesting cut-out to novices of the porpoise prone
There won't be another Liz till Rockefeller perfects a Warner clone
with the aid of sewing machines to hem-stitch hems that need sewn
& a positronic brain stem to achieve mortality previously unknown
since Alex Bell pilfered **** inventor Antonio Meucci's telephone
Truth is light that Illuminists keep shadowed, darkened & unshown
for Hank & Phoebe Snow and Johnny Winter who would not atone
Thomas Edison stole or bought the patents to ingenious inventions
that he was more than happy to claim as his brilliant contributions
to the wealth & state of inquisitive Mankind's Earthen conventions,
also he took credit for Biblical allusions to immaculate conceptions
Which Bible books Tom Edison wrote no G.E. employee mentions
as stealing, purloining and commandeering were his 3 predilections
True historians know well charlatan Edison's dastardly elaborations
To pinch a hairy, chapped man is wrong as it puts him in more pain
For century-old Harry Chapman Pincher pinching made him insane
His unholy joy was to lay prone with mouth open to catch acid rain
& then hop into the commode to affect a toilet-related ankle sprain,
not too unlike Richard called **** & Jean who liked the name Jane
whose corpulence demands a piano coffin burial with crawler crane
Formaldehyde replaced 7 quarts of blood that went down a drain as
the proverb fits: when there's nothing to lose there's nothing to gain
Alan Ladd snuffed himself over a self-destructive hatred for Shane
and because Sue Carol preferred men of height Ladd couldn't attain
without elevator shoes & leading-lady actresses walking in ditches,
the love-life that humbles a netted shrimp into paralytic twitches as
Alan often got nothing from Brentwood ****** & witches because
****** pimps don't scrape **** off them Hollywood swanky *******
Tragically it's true that God's in the details & Satan's in the glitches
when Hippocratic Oath-denying doctors say don't bandage stitches,
it promotes infection needing treatment that add to a quack's riches
Apply no anti-bacterial salve unless your unbandaged wound itches
Amerika will be a Marxian paradise after we guillotine the snitches
harvest their organs, cremate & consign their ashes to crude niches
Give me, give me, give me, I can subsist not on a mere, single bean
Hey cheapo, get off your greasy ***, take me to Dairy Queen as my
**** is shaved, bra's padded & all kinks are relaxed by Afro Sheen
Western ***** are fattened for slaughter as sloped slants grow lean,
for lack of appendix, tonsils, adenoids, warts, piles, moles & spleen
Refugees flee what's so repressively dangerous that it's forever fled
The bloodied blood biz passes pathogens to bleeders bloodily bled
It is a dreadful situation that ****** folks find difficult not to dread
A gent is obliged to face conflict face first short of living in a shed,
plying the rough trade, rough-necking with ******* or playing dead
When my cruddy teeth are encrusted I brush the crud off with Crest
while working drainward with this golden cake of soap called Zest
Like a woman on public assistance I refuse to let my choppers rest
There was a time when talk of quiz was a precursor to an Iowa test
My basic skills are determinedly under-cutting my housewife guest
whose stems run north to her malignant tissue free mammae breast
In movies shooting orphans with high-powered rifles is done in jest
'cause in Amerika making ammunition is what wage-slaves do best
When I'm not utilizing forks for recreational after-meal dog-jabbin'
I am staking out hog farms for the planning of gainful hog-nabbin'
or making log-planing modifications on my pine-logged log cabin,
before crossing teamster picket lines for wage-earning job scabbin,'
I take pains to avoid being skinned in a Jimmy Hoffa mob stabbin'
A thousand Confucian truths drive my happy dreams to nightmares
as bi-****** pass out on Calexico-Mexicali-low-calorie light beers
I haven't the moxie to skate through hydrants of fate terminological
as those 78 crumb-bums behind T.V. “comedies” wax scatological
Ernie killed Chip & Robby to stamp his father a cipher biological
He hadn't room for women for production smacking gynecological
The last time he looked skyward his thoughts weren't cosmological
S.O.B. Ernest cursed routinely at arthritis diagnosed gerontological
He gives not a harlot's hello for innumerable faults anthropological
nor to lend his energies to scopes that abuse harmonics hormonical
as he stumblingly falls prey to meanderings sickishly trophological
Lord of Hostesses salvage carcass mine from insults cancrological
Redeem me in sudden form humanoid of activities pathogenetical
We mourn in Gettysburg's city as unrepentant lesbians on probation
Defying errors inflicted upon soldiers who forsook proper vocation
Anti-poping Argentine Francis as he's ****** to Satan's invocation
It remains the best course to abide by stellar laws of spatial rotation
Whether one's nationality is Romanian, Finnish, British or Croatian
Lost people will eat food outside their region &
Ken Pepiton Oct 2019
Genetic DIY in my realm,
Glow, little glow worm, glow puppy or guppy or
maiden hair, modded to the max-men can
imagine, when agreeing to believe.

"nothing
imagined shall be impossible for them"
or the sense
that makes,

conveyed in words di
gestated long long long ago
ere toungues was tangled
and us and es and ds and hs and bvs

umlauts and tildes and tittles and jots
attempted to say it all after
it is written is/was
different than it is/was said, it is common

filth is now
called clean, in greek

with homophony rhymes and rhythms
'idin' aitches and gees us commoners
miss, out on the edges of the
fusion, with which,
those wild tongues was tamed, in time,
write the message, make it plain

in the school of the prophets, thems' the rules,
publish precizision bits of insight into knowables
known,
the knowledge of our
mob, told and re-told, told and retold, told and re
one moment.
A glimpse of a gleam of a photonic
spec, seen proper,
it was a germ-cell mod, in a word.

Spat, rather than spoken. A message at the level

where you nowgno this is possible -- a flick
of a gene switch on the ladder like
structure bhering message-engers up and down,

instructing structures to form frames on which you
may sublimate and recompose, upon a grain
of pre-pearl material,

pending loosing of that pen-ultimate lie.

Look, who's tellin' what to whom?
Like, Do Not Lose The Thread of History,

which happens to need re-tying,
from time to time,
like a shoe, yes, child, like a shoe.

Worthy to tie my own shoe, at two---
you d'man! Ex-clam, pure pearl polished

Big Boy, tied yo'own shoe,

Momma gonna buy you a diamond farm,

just over that hill,
you go see, someday, you will

Find a Diamond Farm, where the reality
of what coud be,
began to gestate, wait, diamonds are not for

ever.
Diamonds are for grinding gritty silicon to the
finest dust,

to force a sneeze, re
leasing, loosing, letting go, all the lies you knew,

to chew
well, raw liver-level, nasty tastin' pre-
digested crap from alchemical rantings
a guy said he seen
after some spit from a perfect stranger
got rubbed in to his eye,
pearly friction feels this way,
can't scratch it, gotta gum it,
roll it round
and round, like Redman,
or cow cud, a chaw,
a chew

someunsame, somesamesame sniffles,
in my realm,

swallow the final chawn and un spat lie,
and gasp at first glimpse of next.
In blow my own horn celebration of my Diamond Farm now saying at least the first line has been read twenty thousand times. In his lifetiem, some famous guys never have a single line read twenty thousand times, i'm jazzed, in an old hermit way.
Teagan DeVoe Jan 2015
22
Soft and turning the thing beneath the
tortured skull shouting at itself from a four story
window into the cavernous place behind the bloodied
face.
Tricking yourself into doing nothing at all.
Fold the washed letter and place it into your appendix where it
can gestate into the form I meant it to take.
What's the use into downloading into words of a language a thing
that doesn't belong there?
Like waves into bricks and paint to pixels
it is trying.
Megan Sherman Jan 2018
I danced with worlds, mid clouds of dreams
When I was young and you were sage
Imagination weaved in streams
Painted paeans for freedom's age
Cross jungles, waterfalls of joy
We skipped with wanton, childish glee
Dreaming, rocking to a fro
Loving seismically
Till the man shot me

My mortal carapace decayed
Became nature again
Back in the soul's truest abade
Where minds are one and zen
And how did you go on and cope
Me dear, gone from your den
Offensive they rank rude intrude
Upon the Peace we found my friend
Because the man shot me

I can't explain well but in time
My energy gestate
Became presence celestial
All light and love, no weight
The center of my heart lived on
In a bonny babe anew
Born in 1991
When Berlin's freedom grew
No shots can stop me

She a lover drift in dream
A playmate of cherubs
Who drift in streams upon a beam
Aura arrests and grabs
Year to year she grew afraid
Doth yet perceive the cynic's trade
And will for Love insatiate
No shot stopped her living like me

She grew a heart comely and plump
Like the marrow Thoreau craved
As through the wilds of life she tramps
Not wont to behave
Bears Love aloft, cherubic lamp
Through her the passion rave
Hearts for heroes; guns for knaves
River Oct 2019
You wanna heal,
Don’t you
But breaking the ingrained patterns of generations
Is hard
But you’ve grasped the idea
And now you just can’t let it go,
This notion that you could be stronger, healthier, more joyful— inviting all of life in through your senses
And just letting go
Of all the heavy burdens that have weighed you down for so long
You’ve spoken your burdens for years
But speaking never beget change
The change you ached for, the transformation you only theorized about
But what you didn’t know
Is that this idea of healing
Was a seed that was planted into your heart
And this kind of seed
Takes a long time to gestate
So even if you haven’t seen visible changes in yourself and in your life
Just know that the seed has cracked open
And is spreading deep roots,
Replacing the roots of your traumas
Your healing, when it is born and continues to grow in its visible manifestation
Will appear differently than how you imagined it
Yet you will be more overjoyed by its reality than by your limited fantasy of it
Your healing
Will be a revolution to yourself and to all those you have ties with
Some won’t understand your changes, neither will you at times
But just continue to listen to your heart, it’s simple, inviting song
And rest in all the beauty that is unfolding before you and within you.
Megan Sherman Apr 2017
To pursue the Heart's true bliss, that is the purpose,
To which thou dost have immortal *******,
Amidst the temptations of vicarious vice,
And the seductions of superfluous passion,
Made pale by deepest desire. To brood, to gestate -
like God's seed - by this impulse compelled,
To exquisite action. The devotees and loyalists of heart,
That to Paradise are heirs. ‘Tis reverential communion,
Rendered meaningful by Heart. To love, to give -
To love - and soar divine: that’s the knack.
For in Love’s dearth no immortal sheen,
Doth shroud the hankering human heart,
Hungry for passion. Alack the void that doth haunt,
And taunt the lovelorn. For who could deny,
The cataclysm of a cleft soul, bereft of another.
Who would not yearn to yield and syncopate with other hearts;
The perfect care of Love. Her benevolent palms beget,
Praised treasures worthy of psalms, rare and pure,
For her giving knows no church or nation, or ration,
That deprive a child or person from her warmth,
Which gives life, love, light, laughter, a truth,
For where is there protest? Who would laurels deny,
Blaspheme against her awesome beauty, take aim,
At her sublime stature that dost withstand,
A cynic’s trial, clinically executed, with cold, callow hand,
The Heart of God’s loyalists by shrewd scholar emaciated,
And enervated; Nay, no children of Paradise,
Imbued with glory commit offence against sweet lady Love.
Thus cynicism makes a ******* of anyone who doubts,
And thus twin hearts commit to paths that cross,
A truth that soars like albatross, to those who spy,
The things that are lesser seen, like Love,
Love is dove, she is peace and fire, on golden wings,
She aspires. Like one of nature’s dutiful bees,
Doing sacred work of Earth, committed to Life,
Be all her treasures honoured.
Megan Sherman Mar 2017
With troubled gait I, forlorn, went
To forests to hear message from spirits sent
Their music near imperceptible
My sullied spirit irascible
For its sad and slow descent

I had the vision of my self
Saw it in bad and woeful health
A death was creeping up in stealth
To send me to place of Love's dearth

The books have less wisdom than the earth
Which nurtures us the breadth of its girth
The homilies of hell have no worth
I gestate my soul awaiting rebirth
To arise from spiritual death
Megan Sherman Jan 2018
A goddess wrought in platinum aura sublime
Aloft, triumphant at starts and ends of times
All is created and all is destroyed there
Perpetual motion; thermodynamics flare
Men they try to copy her might, futile mime
For they can't emulate her deep disarming stare
Which transcends reason, inspires bards to rhyme
For the good and godliness in there
Outranks Medusa in enchanted hair
For I floated enchanted rapt in thrall
Enchanted by her bonny beauty rare
And her suppression through aeons the mind appals
But when henchmen of demonic devil's snare
**** her in the western warring call
Arrogant to think they'd suppress lady Kali's magic might
They will fail and they will surely fall
Irisidescent was her gestating glow
Glittering atman guarding all of space
Angels take us to see her to and fro
Show us in her the light of love apace
To deny her truth is a dank disgrace
We should regret that, repent and woe
That cultists **** her, proudly, in her prime
And make of diva's death a glutton's show
We are her children, but some of us do not know
She is able, what's hers is ours
A knowledge that begs to be devoured
In celestial, rare, immortal hour
Time not decreed from tyrant's tower
From her blessings wonderfully shower
Thankyou John for showing me
Temptress Kali, sweet, supreme
To her we went through eternity
Saw the celestial democracy
Of Christian and Hindu angels alike
Don't carry each other's heads on spikes
For knowing Allah's heart has light
Like all prophets peace their fight
Direction's guardians, Blake, Buddha, Ganesha
With love's light and earth enmeshed
Blake lamented spiritual decline
That children by Satan's plans in brine
But his flaming vision sees through times
And will path the way to freedom's climes
Buddha sat under the Bodhi tree
Knowing peace to set minds free
Hearts in confraternity
No you, no I, only one heart, WE
John the angel of the north
He told me John, didn't say which
I cried with pride when his enchanted drawl
Revealed a songstress from people's Liverpool
His message spoke to the one and all
Imagine the people, Imagine them all
Out with all that hates and that is cruel
Hate has made of each of us a fool
Ganesha, last but surely not the least
Has hankering heart of bright benevolent beast
The angel of the earthen east
Love gestate in him that never ceased
I saw him before, it was a while ago
But dressed in woman's form, with woman's glow
Vinayak the learned scribes would say
But all can know her either way
I saw her as one called Lexi that fine day
And it put an end to my dismay
To see us indivisible, goddess, same
When foolish man played dividing game
Gave "better" and "worse" to us as contending names
While he go questing for recognition, fame
But I do not resent that one for flaws
For all are irresistible to adore
Just want him to end this goddess war
That all men educated for
I digress, back to the flight
Where John took me on an epic sight
Next was angel of the earth
Diana of the heart and hearth
Lightworker born in tyrants sect
Learned how to love not genuflect
To hearts purity we would sure neglect
If we didn't long reflect
On fact that was surely killed
By one to who the devil shilled
What their fancy name: who cares?
To scare us with it: who dares?
She got our hearts on television
Appealing with her sweet precision
To love and brother her decision
Sought to heal the earth's contusion
Like Michael Jackson, arch angel too
Deranged as me, but sweet and true
To hurt children he didn't want to do
But give them nurture, play, they grew
The ones who really hurt the child
Are the ones who he reviled
Who sought to bring him down with lies
Again their victim empowered in the skies!
So many angels I could not count
Shakespeare whimsical on his pipe
Silent thinking thoughts so ripe
To think Lords slandered him as tripe!

Percey Shelley too was there
Chose to rebel shed claim to heir
Scaled the oxford ivory tower
and pamphleteered for freedoms power
Got kicked out in gray dull hour
But through time his insights rain and shower
As audience for devil are fewer and fewer
And peaces hope is ripe, empowered
Beyond angels, Shiva, meditator sublime
Is it audacity to ask what he sees in font of time?
Lids half open, rapt supreme
Painted with a pallet got from dream
Looked akin to Taylor, dancing wild
With heart and happiness of chiding child
That he akin to god reluctant to accept
But aren't we all Gods in retrospect?
That we are animals belong to tyrant taught
And in accepting that, our souls meet la mort
(If you read Plato backwards he fought
To encrypt truth of soul's genesis, answer sought: Really, it's stunning.)
Beyond shiva cosmic churning true
Said the blessed fires run through you
And I heard clear and remembering applaud
THERE IS NOTHING TO FEAR WE ARE ALL ONE GOD
There is nothing on earth as exquisite as you
It spoke turning my heart from red to blue
Said all the world is lordly love and light
A truth in which all nascent souls take flight
Musicians there, their sweetest songs unfurled
Their festival with all the time in the world!
Even ones in youthful splendour culled
By ones who will to hate heart's song and world
It was then that Lennon zoomed me to Kali
Swimming in that churning seismic sea
Sure as heaven a vision of eternity
And in a circle she danced fluid free
The circle was a wave and particle
Light, a string in theory, gave me fright!
For Kali I had been so rapt in thrall
I had not noticed THE GOD PARTICLE
Sounds crazy but experiments of thought
Are scientific method Einstein taught
For only in deepest dreams is it possible
To see what life could truly be
Thanks John for letting me climb your wings
And flying that particle over me

When we descend back to sprightly earth
The angels all changed place, assumed new roles
Diana cede to Jo, of equal warmth
Fought for lass and mass and for the proles
And Buddha went from northern angel sweet
To defender of the faith with God's trust replete
A role assumed by Jesus once before
As he ascend to god, irresistable to adore
The bit that got me most is this
And it gave me joyful bliss
I ascend to Buddha's southern role
See sunshine as a kiss, it made me whole.
Megan Sherman Apr 2017
I loved with heart only my self:
My woe stopped not, I'm in bad health.
I loved with heart all of creation:
It ended my heart's trepidation.

And I sewed my Heart in soils,
Of Love, which with the Earth embroils,
And I fed it with the blistering sun,
Of Truth, through which cosmic fires run.

For months and years my Heart gestate,
Till in Love's truth it ruminate,
When I awoke I was glad to see,
Harmony, my hippie tree.

— The End —