"glib" poems
I see you!
You’re a chancer, an unusual impulsive, persuasive & promiscuous soul; unconcerned with remorse or guilt!
You’ve created a life & career through crazy schemes and dreams!
You have a certain glib, superficial charm and an impressive sense of self-worth and I liked that; but not the drama.
If only you’d had the gumption to formally introduce me to the genuine you, without fear of rejection; you ****** fool!
X
Jan 31, 2018
Jan 31, 2018 at 9:02 AM UTC
Hard light bathed them-a whole nation of eyeless men,
Dark bipeds not aware how they were maimed. A long
Process, clearly, a slow curse,
Drained through centuries, left them thus.
At some transitional stage, then, a luckless few,
No doubt, must have had eyes after the up-to-date,
Normal type had achieved snug
Darkness, safe from the guns of heavn;
Whose blind mouths would abuse words that belonged to their
Great-grandsires, unabashed, talking of light in some
Eunuch'd, etiolated,
Fungoid sense, as a symbol of
Abstract thoughts. If a man, one that had eyes, a poor
Misfit, spoke of the grey dawn or the stars or green-
Sloped sea waves, or admired how
Warm tints change in a lady's cheek,
None complained he had used words from an alien tongue,
None question'd. It was worse. All would agree 'Of course,'
Came their answer. "We've all felt
Just like that." They were wrong. And he
Knew too much to be clear, could not explain. The words --
Sold, ***** flung to the dogs -- now could avail no more;
Hence silence. But the mouldwarps,
With glib confidence, easily
Showed how tricks of the phrase, sheer metaphors could set
Fools concocting a myth, taking the worlds for things.
Do you think this a far-fetched
Picture? Go then about among
Men now famous; attempt speech on the truths that once,
Opaque, carved in divine forms, irremovable,
Dear but dear as a mountain-
Mass, stood plain to the inward eye.
4.6k
#*Multitudes will be liberated by that recognition;
and although multitudes obtain liberation in that manner,
the number of sentient beings being great, evil karma powerful,
obscurations dense, propensities o too long standing,
the Wheel of Ignorance and Illusion becometh neither exhausted nor accelerated*.
The Tibetan Book of the Dead
translation: Lāma Kazi Dawa-Samdup
Free Tibet your sticker tells me…
Yes, I think, perhaps I should –
and the noble thought compels me,
uninformed, half-understood.
Will their freedom help my Karma?
Upgrade my reincarnation?
(Soul who could not dare to harm a
fly… much less a Buddhist nation.)
Not to justify aggression
by the ever-brutal Commies,
let us grant no glib concession
to the Maoists – or their mommies.
Slogans echo in the void,
shining in bardos of the dead;
stopped by the light, I am annoyed
impatient for the change from red.
A bumper crop of human woe
beams forth a mandate to my brain
while red Dakinis circle slow
in Buddhist hells of karmic pain.
The eastern concepts here diverge
and bow before brutality.
They make this driver long to merge
with incorporeality.
Then I glimpse a monkish fellow
swathed in saffron, calmly seated.
His, the cloud-borne sage’s pillow;
mine the traffic; stalled, defeated.
In his gaze of stern displeasure
I perceive the orient stars
calculating man’s mismeasure
trapped, exhausted, among the cars.
Flanked by Spirits wreathed in fire
he extends an accusing hand:
Western slave of base desire:
come and liberate my land !”
I meditate before the stop light:
am I ready for the task ?
Should I just refuse it outright
Can’t it be someone else ? I ask…
Must I free this mountain nation
from the Buddha, demons and Reds?
Shall your sticker’s declaration
shatter the yoke and raise their heads ?
Somebody ought to free Tibet,
and heed this Himalayan cry.
Maybe we should get upset…
The red light changes. Cars pass by,
predestined for benign events
and unconcerned for persecution;
oblivious to dissidents
awaiting execution.
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 9:14 PM UTC
Little ones they run, forever young,
Avoiding the pain while strung
Upon their good times with glib tongues.
Confide, Relied, And Died.
Slip, Slide, Rip, Glide.
Never could they see my bleeding soul
That dripped the color charcoal,
Yet for me, there was no extol.
The light shone through those eyes
And what it does to me defies
All life has shown me it implies.
Confide, Relied, And Died.
Slip, Slide, Rip, Glide.
I fight the demon with these words
To ensure the avoidance of hazards
Of the knife, in hope of being lovebirds.
Sighed, Relied, And Guided.
Pried, Tried, Beside Her, I Flied.
Jul 2, 2011
Jul 2, 2011 at 8:30 AM UTC
So rough the goat will scratch, it cannot sleep.
So often goes the *** to the well that it breaks.
So long you heat iron, it will glow;
so heavily you hammer it, it shatters.
So good is the man as his praise;
so far he will go, and he's forgotten;
so bad he behaves, and he's despised.
So loud you cry Christmas, it comes.
So glib you talk, you end up in contradictions.
So good is your credit as the favors you got.
So much you promise that you will back out.
So doggedly you beg that your wish is granted;
so high climbs the price when you want a thing;
so much you want it that you pay the price;
so familiar it gets to you, you want it no more.
So loud you cry Christmas, it comes.
So, you love a dog. Then feed it!
So long a song will run that people learn it.
So long you keep the fruit, it will rot.
So hot the struggle for a spot that it is won;
so cool you keep your act that your spirit freezes;
so hurriedly you act that you run into bad luck;
so tight you embrace that your catch slips away.
So loud you cry Christmas, it comes.
So you scoff and laugh, and the fun is gone.
So you crave and spend, and lose your shirt.
So candid you are, no blow can be too low.
So good as a gift should a promise be.
So, if you love God, you obey the Church.
So, when you give much, you borrow much.
So, shifting winds turn to storm.
So loud you cry Christmas, it comes.
Prince, so long as a fool persists, he grows wiser;
so, round the world he goes, but return he will,
so humbled and beaten back into servility.
So loud you cry Christmas, it is here.
3.4k
Virgo in the ascendant,
Saturn in decline,
A retrograding antidote,
A calculated rhyme;
Overtones of melancholy,
Undertones of mirth,
A surfeit of misfortune,
Of musery a dearth
Faithless Fortune taps her foot,
While plotting my demise,
A rhythm most unruly,
A metaphor unwise;
In minutes and in seconds,
She wreaks havoc on my pen,
A glib faux pas, no coup de grâce...
And so I start again.
§
_My zodiacal tendencies,
Triumphant in their prime,
Fade to skepticism
As life spins on a dime._
Nov 11, 2021
Nov 11, 2021 at 2:22 PM UTC
'Listen, now, verse should be as natural
As the small tuber that feeds on muck
And grows slowly from obtuse soil
To the white flower of immortal beauty.'
'Natural, hell! What was it Chaucer
Said once about the long toil
That goes like blood to the poem's making?
Leave it to nature and the verse sprawls,
Limp as bindweed, if it break at all
Life's iron crust. Man, you must sweat
And rhyme your guts taut, if you'd build
Your verse a ladder.'
'You speak as though
No sunlight ever surprised the mind
Groping on its cloudy path.'
'Sunlight's a thing that needs a window
Before it enter a dark room.
Windows don't happen.'
So two old poets,
Hunched at their beer in the low haze
Of an inn parlour, while the talk ran
Noisily by them, glib with prose.
2.3k
We shall wipe you OUT
We will ERASE you
We are the children's of Cain and that is what we do
I come from the lands of the Baobab tree and Cocoa Tree
Steep in the tradition of revering life and nature all free
By my wits and honest endeavours toiled and earned my fee
Never harmed nor injured never stole even a penny wee
Paid my dues and gave when I could always busy as a bee
Now YOU the children's of Cain spake and declared
We shall wipe you OUT
We will erase YOU
I come from a land that knows parched earth and hunger
Where great rivers flow yet clean water comes in little beaker
Proud animals run free and only the rodents are for hunter
Trees are fertile with fruits aplenty and vegetables are litter
In gleeful kin and merry we share harvest with each other
Now you the children's of Cain spake and declared
We shall wipe you OUT
We will erase YOU
What is my crime pray tell me when in honest endeavour
I gave and shared my wages and food to an errant neighbour
Who repaid my kindness by robbing mine with cruel vigour
And whilst I remorsed such vileness with fervent pained ardor
They riposted, a trip back to your jungle is what we will conjure
Now YOU the children's of Cain spake and declared
We shall wipe you OUT
We will erase YOU
Children's of Cain know nothing but death and destruction
You came to ours and plundered all you could with ruction
You stole, fornicated, ruined and destroyed with glib seduction
Modern times has merely refined your vainglorious disposition
Distinguished misrulers, liars and evil masters of misappropations
We shall wipe you OUT
We will erase YOU
Children's of Cain OTHERS know all YOU do is ****
Like your FATHER killed his BROTHER
Like your FATHER killed his guiltless BROTHER
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 11:15 PM UTC
Bear with a sore head
Takes coyote on post haste
Bore v. Trickster tried
Hung court just verdict
Bought ideologically
Branded! Brig banished
Like Guantanamo
Force fed on stale chalk
Red glib ref to beasts
Totalists with clubs
Tabulate ***** ad hoc
Bring shame to beating
When stops suicide?
Noble savage survives best
Practice leads young straight
Where head caravans?
Lossless nomads swim through sand
To moor oases
Connect with bazaars
Extra-exponential rock
Scissors paper cuts
Exacto-knifed sharp
Cards tabled until sure things
Made deals pay upfront
Cold hard confidence
Wannabe men drive sweet game
Put all together
Touch trumps tears takes no prison
Uncaged roam space free
Our place ancients planned
Body mind spirit heart team
Here earth *** soils worms
Compost ground debris
Bred sustenance seeds rich peat
Brings about the end
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 2:26 AM UTC
Make love to me with
your poem ,your poetry.
Flow slowly-do not rush it.
not so fast.
Let your words last.
Stroke me slowly
Put your back into it.
Caress my totality
Draw me into your world
let me succumb -to your glib tongue
I hear your commands
As you slowly express
how capable you are
Expanding my mind
taking me places I've never been
Firmly holding me in the grips
of your suspense.
I was tense
Waiting for the end - you letting me
down gently as your poem ended
I bask in the after math-of a poetry bath
Thinking of the ecstasy of
where your poetry took me.
I let down my hair-because
you swoon creativity
I get off on your enunciation
and affections- inflections
Word erections-sensitivity
and vulnerability
Allowing me to feel every word-
as you speak slowly
you enter me with your "diction".
Slow and easy you speak to me
Stroking me with your poetry...
You took me to peaks
of ecstasy-with your
sweet glib tongue
and that's why I -
let you make ...
Make sweet Poetry to me..
.© Vicki Acquah
Oct 15, 2015
Oct 15, 2015 at 9:09 PM UTC
**Deception wearing the mask
of a kind face sowing dreams,
roamed for too long these towns,
around the globe,
that erupted with mortal force,
deciding at last enough is enough.
moneybags having stone faced elegance,
in place of heads, travel in their stretch limos
in the company of swindler princes,
wizards in money juggling
at the foyers of seven star hotels,
where the false suns dawn
at sunset blackening out truth,
they stepped to the tunes
holding hands of power,
the beauty without a heart
goes around with the plastic mask
that transforms according to the stage.
they who charm you with
glib talk and usurp power,
at favorable climes
jump upon unsuspecting
hotel maids, like
resurrected ghosts of vampires.
Every street is dark
with heaped carcasses
of hopes, birds died
at their flight, in ways mysterious,
falling in thousands,
in front of the stunned faces,
of lovers, husbands, wives,
families are looking distress
on the face, every passing day.
The octopus sitting at his
secret castle in water pulls string,
continues winning spree,
as no one raise their voice.
Not any more;
the waves of people,
seething with anger would lash,
against the citadels of evil empires.
The rebel forces have their cause,
this war, the eruption of masses,
will gather momentum, they won't lose.**
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 10:24 AM UTC
While introspecting
I came closer, to myself
Being distanced
I forgot the language
In which scripts were written
Became myopic
And veered farther
Enjoying being away
Lost in the din
Never realizing
I was being swept away
From myself
While my soul yearned
For a rendezvous
I was oblivious
Seduced by the glib talkers
Became gullible
And yielded to the manipulations
Was a hallucinating ride
In the scariest roller coasters
Mind in a jumble
Entangled in the web of lies
Now, I have come back
From the brink of oblivion
To myself
Once more to listen
To my soul and heart
A union
After a struggle
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 7:46 AM UTC
Dressed as humans, we pretend to be civilized,
glib talk, fine clothes, all smiles;
conceal the naked ape, trying our best, with pretenses,
but, it bares its teeth, at the first chance.
we know its a game of concealment and camouflage,
still we pretend everything is hunky- dory,
I am a military strategist who loves that art,
sweetheart, you a con artist par excellence,
we are the best of this species,
we thrive, prosper and proliferate.
come, let's dance, dance in this unholy hour.
Nov 5, 2012
Nov 5, 2012 at 4:55 AM UTC
Jack ropes and merriopes
In solicitous rhyme in fer derilious velope
envy implicitous insectuaryan harridannous
Ensole brodequins forbearing to lace
Trace elements of that remaining empoisonous
For failure interred
Is succes disinterred? And if so, form where?
Where derinferred strands failure unerred
By error masked muscovado coloured Breadth
Pneumonic, perhaps caustically mate
Aerial’d on the glib side of acoustical elimination
Veritable under pooh stick discrimination
Matte clouds of drab depression ove in
An area of low pressure
According to yon hypothalamic forecaster. Core has ter
Fail lently viola lapidavitious stretch so she as
fer ter rousse fer ter kamuskova. An epic
Scribbled on der calen.
Sole of brevity then being approximately an inch and a
Bit minus that
Torrent all yendergelpin cleaving
The very schism wit! It cynicism
Be as may be a pea, no spelling bee entrusted
Where? In there? In that jumble of line?
Barely knows his lime from his rhyme, or indeed
Lime from lime.
He’s just trying to fill up that calendrous space
And make some sense of it.
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 3:19 PM UTC
bernie the cheese
collapsed at the side
of the road
his measured response depleted
he watches as she folds up
her neat and meticulously spelled words
plied on silver tongue into her rucksack
and through such ******* ********** of kings english
she entices him ever onward where
faint lines can be sought
and yet to be found
that echo the face of true madness
its laughing sweating continence
painted with watercolours and
can only be seen in the reflection of
a mirror reflecting another mirrors image
her face slowly releases its dire grip
and her eye looses it screaming aspect
as she finds herself alone on the ***** alleys cobblestones
the battered dumpsters spilling treasures for the divers to find
she begins to hum a beatles tune from '63
and fingers the lace shawl hiding her deformed mind
trying once more to capture that vast lost feeling from
girlhood that dances a
dubious little jig on her headstone of the heart
singing 'lookie here....look at whats buried here'
she remembers his face but not his name
he drove a silver buick with a skull painted on the hood
his blond features engraved in the notions
his words mixed with foul smelling chicken soup
he was a soup of the day in her salad years
bernie the cheese
chews on the charbroiled taste of his
blowup doll lover's lips and tries to say
the three magic words
'made in china'??
his own words spent he casts about
in terror for a phrase or two to quote from
the masters of deception
who gather round in long grey coats
sinister eyes on the fruits of his labour
their wooden faces warped by rain
their mouths only a dim perceived line of
mumbles written in childlike scrawl
on the backs of closet doors
we hide here because we cannot see
therefore we cannot be seen
you cant touch me because i cannot feel
they gift him at price unnamed some loose parable
naught more that glib reprise of his own perilous straights
his is the beast that labours in their stead
he is their human face
she is but the road they walk today
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 7:36 AM UTC
a medley of mange
this group of misfits
laughing dancing
and grazing the strange
unconventional freaks
outlandish and odd
parroting our priests
and glib of our gods
mocking our trials
poking fun of our kings
curating our flaws
as they jump and sing
bent and dimented
indignant to drones
lippy and pert
these rolling stones
theater people
Mar 7, 2019
Mar 7, 2019 at 4:31 PM UTC
Blue floor, blue chair
flowered curtains and
a view of fields
beyond the window.
Bed, unmade.
What history does
that hold, I wonder?
Radio plays, chatter, soft footsteps.
The Big Man arrives.
Kind, gentle, dark eyes.
Soft voice, good hands.
Pulls no punches.
This is what will happen.
He says, do I understand?
The words, of course I do.
The impact? Let's see.
The gas man arrives.
Banters jovially.
Nice of him to try but
I'm beyond all that.
He knows how to put us out
but his experience
of the experience?
Minimal. I asked.
Always throws them, that.
When you ask them if
they know what it is like.
So easy to be glib without pain.
This risk and that.
Do you understand,
they ask once again.
Sign here. "Good luck."
Never had a surgeon
Say, "good luck" before.
Sun's gone in,
It's raining now.
Jul 25, 2011
Jul 25, 2011 at 11:37 PM UTC
50:53
Strobe
when revealing a smile variegated
your polychrome
soul within sight
does not know where to go but to pine away
from the single light to touch
the innards of your button-down
making intimate the body contorts dancing with another
a minute past a gyratory
if belief is a grave: let stasis be metamorphosis.
this rained-on house will not give way any minute
else there is the wreckage springing from a singular
hiding behind the music ballasting ground
and from a convinced consequence of being
became fracture as if salacious to withdraw nothing but noise
from the quiet or vice versa. If when breaths were postponed, inert – they will
start estimates from outside
the neon sign that says Pulse and reimagine the lives when divorced
from the daily, and is then summarized
in a fusillade. When on the ground
they must have been dreaming of wings, or falling asleep
constantly with a warm body stranger tomorrow in that evening
a contingent
this place they have not reached yet against their head
said it was the most sincere of blankness at any given rate,
when movements statistical, numbered, unwarranted like a metaphor
or a glib downpour – the aftermath
becomes sleep so tender with a dream which resonates
They must have been dreaming of wings but by the time when someone
waiting for them
inside homes, they have already flown into days.
Jun 13, 2016
Jun 13, 2016 at 10:23 AM UTC
---:$:---:$:---
There he goes
the Democrat's fool
the Republican's stooge
a New Order tool
He thinks his candidate
tells the truth
He's heading for the
voting booth
There she goes
those lies are glib
her female hero
promotes Woman's Lib!
For corporate governance
they're all in
They got that
Jolly Roger Grin!
There they stand
The brave Senators
The political nightmare
Dogs and curs
You're out of work
and in a jam?
Just email your
Congressman!
As far as our
Fearless Leaders go
they're no better
they're politicos
For corporate governance
they're all in
They got that
Jolly Roger Grin!
At the end of our rope
we choke and dance
but we keep our
political stance
We listen to their
clever quips
kissing babies
with rotting lips
But they are poisoning
the water we drink
the air we breathe
C'mon folks!
THINK!
We have power!
We have might!
We gotta think!
We gotta fight!
The Constitution's
eroding away!
The Bill of rights?
Ha! Gone today.
In the end
We could WIN!
There's 99 of US to only
ONE OF THEM
For corporate governance
they're all in
They got that
Jolly Roger Grin
SoulSurvivor
(C) 2/17/2015
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 5:25 AM UTC
zamisli da sva moja sećanja
upletena u tvoje pletenice
naglo promene smer
i pretvore se u budućnost
bi li tada bila moja krotka srna
ili bi pletenice rasplela
pustila da se raspršim kroz vreme
da mi lice posivi
kao da je od jesenjeg vetra sačinjeno
zamisli da svi moji koraci
upleteni u tvoje vekovne bore
naglo promene smer
i pretvore se u suze
bi li njih sirote u svilu svoju primila
ili bi korake u glib usmerila
pustila da se zaglibim u vreme
da mi osmeh posivi
kao da je od jesenjeg vetra sačinjen
zamisli da svi moji dodiri
dok se šarene širom tela tvog od reka
naglo promene smer
i postanu godovi u tuđem orahu
bi li tada haljinu rastvorila
svetlošću sveće grudi umila
ili bi dodire po žiletu prošetala
tom krvlju plavom nebo i jezera oslikala
u sivo jesenji vetar odenula da se vrti u krug
bi li od sećanja postelju sačinila
prozore zatvorila
bi li od koraka oblake izatkala
svetlo utulila
bi li od dodira gromove sastavila
naga i topla
sa jesenjim vetrom ljubav vodila
bi li se to tako željna usudila
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 5:15 PM UTC
hello Edvard. i have no umbrellas for your armaments .
only your conspiracy and the last ******* ink dark thinking.
bright charlatans engrossed in their glib de menthe.
no harm in it.
only your heresy is more beautiful than blinking. wink dark slinking -
into frightful. hooligan moons blast evening. again, we miss.
no heart in it.
Dec 19, 2012
Dec 19, 2012 at 12:05 PM UTC
Formidable in flow and essence,
beauty is her power, cascading like her dark hair,
an invading army of one,
a natural seductress, at ease,
under the red banner of amour,
held out in front, she advances;
all impregnable forts willingly fall.
Her amatory machinations are
perfectly crafted.
She is a strategist,
when each of his senses advances,
towards her, she retreats,
when they frenetically chase her,
she stuns with her soft power,
the scent of this woman, makes him weak,
loose his bearing,
even when his senses are overpowered,
he poses like the victor of her passionate heart.
His every weakness she knows better than him,
but each moment covers up to make him reassured.
She is a colonizer,
glib talk, kind acts, a heart glittering like gold.
Oh how well she reigns over his heart!
She essays divide and rule,
each of his senses has
their way of seeking gratification from her.
Once he is perfectly under her control,
she transforms in to a whirlwind of love,
lifts him like a leaf,
and send him flying in pursuit,
of the high point,
consciousness can reach at the present state-
that feels like death, in a miniature form.
Apr 3, 2013
Apr 3, 2013 at 6:08 AM UTC
Hey you
ignorant uneducated
prideful loathsome
self-righteous glib
donkey
Take your opinions
Dice em up
Marinate them
Throw em in a ***
Bring to a boil
And simmer on low
Plate it
With bias on the side
Stare at your meal
And salivate
Like the dog you are
Chew it slow
Taste every bitter
Gritty crumb
Maybe then you'll
See your reflection
In the bottom
Of your dish
And be just as
Disgusted as me.
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 6:33 PM UTC
Burnt pills, The southern germ fasting northern lights and serene akimbo.
some jagged ripples and the placid godiva
our horse, back, but our blind worms !
the stumble of surety, limping through the coffins
of our glib sleep.
we unmirth the Ferris Wheel
but have no one.
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 7:25 AM UTC