"gloating" poems
These days have ebbed
as Love's swell was checked:
the waters in some places
- all but dammed!
But now at last
I sense the rising tide
and thank Temese
for the current's turn;
now following that great writhing snake
to where its pulsing head will rake;
over the mucky soiled watery beds
of Woolwich
Greenwich
Limehouse
- and under -
Tower Bridge
To that great gloating sight
A crown of a billion lights
Blazing day and night:
And somewhere within
In the slick oily warmth
Our flood tides mesh,
As over each other we wash.
Hard thrusts
wicked deep cuts
given and received
are recorded in that great mirror smoked!
where with a tug and a shove
on the banks
in the streets
through the loopy twists
everything prospers in the glow
as the decades decaying flow;
each ***** bud
red with new blood
one after t'other
flowers
before their purple petals scatter.
Let's on the luck o' the dice
(you 'n' me!)
ride out
on the flotsam and jetsom
that has carried us this far
and as pleases
merge.
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 2:32 AM UTC
elephants stomp with stone-laden feet
back and forth, back and forth,
creating cracks in my already-battered skull,
weakening the very foundations of my sanity.
their trumpeting echoes through cold corridors
flooding my thought capacity to the brim.
a tightrope walker stretches me, thin -
i feel the shifting pressure of her nimble feet
treading the territories of my weathered frame,
back and forth, back and forth,
my skin reddens beneath the incessant crossing
as the sinew within me starts to atrophy.
in my chest cavity there is a ring of fire,
manipulating my lungs and feeble heart to mere ash.
two golden eyes seen beyond the flames,
ready to leap through them - without the
inconvenience of fear weighing down his agile paws,
both capable and likely to tear my veins to shreds.
a grisly strongman has my bones in his grip.
he smiles malevolently, gloating his strength over me,
squeezing the life from my cartilage - awaiting the snap.
i am cognizant of the sound, but i won't flinch.
next, the imminent collapse of my vertebrae -
i feel them crumble to dust. he laughs.
but it is in the pit of my stomach the ringleader sits -
commanding me into subsidence with every crack of his whip.
i want to meet his eyes but he only averts my gaze.
his twisted circus nearly through, the audience begins to dissipate.
i stare through the blurred smoke, desperate for his visage -
when i see on one of his faded lapels, the embroidery spells out your name.
-m.f.
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 12:03 AM UTC
White clouds floating
streams of dreams
sun above gloating
melting icecreams
sunbathers basking
applying cream
butterflies dancing
partying it seems
Everything appears to be smiling
Long may the sun keep shining
Jun 20, 2013
Jun 20, 2013 at 5:44 AM UTC
I lived my half dictionary life before I could
comprehend compulsory compromises.
Collectors arise, disguises and devices beeping,
chastising my blindness.
Gather geography from Afghanistan and Myanmar
graciously growing gold gilded gift horses,
gleefully gloating about floating far away.
My hoof beats above concrete match my heart’s defeat
across borders and mountains
embroidering cardboard cut-outs
calling deserts, decorating front covers.
Exhaling handcrafted letters for my missing half,
half demanding highest caliber commanders and half commanding completion.
Jade jays joyfully lay arrays of bouquets
fragile flowers decay faraway
in jawbones and jail cells.
Begging farewells in a hotel’s lobby
began my hobby,
early morning coffee and carbon copies
concurringly cocky around his dead body.
Gang ciphers for cartels are
Christmas bells hissing at collars,
half dollars embellishing bar crawlers
godfathers hollering at car haulers.
Atrocities across cities attack,
attachable atrophies audibly ambush arthritic anthologies.
Anomalies begin apologies between apostrophes,
advancing autonomy arousing ancient animosities.
All eluding Antarctica,
giant frozen crests, multi-coloured ice
hidden in my illustrations
anxious for my distant half.
Friday cassettes and cigarettes
deliberately making bets following “M”.
Breaking bindings and finding “beta” in alphabet,
may feasibly end in debt.
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 1:51 PM UTC
It came to end
Suppose you could say
Delivered by friend
In a delicate way
No harsh intent
Or gloating prowess
Just time well spent
And heartache suppressed
I've fallen before
And quickly back up
Today, I'll be on the floor
Eyes shut, without interrupt
Apr 11, 2015
Apr 11, 2015 at 4:19 PM UTC
Closely relevant to the ideas
we shared,
they bring nothing to the table
when battle is on the fronts.
Gloating freely with no chance of a successful endeavor
and after everything that's come to surface,
your perception reflects which light
within grows stronger.
As one, you are nothing.
Together, we will rise beyond expectations.
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 13, 2013 at 7:15 PM UTC
We mourn in silence
as sun shines everyday
trying to bring rays
of hope and smile
to millions desperate
In darkness of the night
Moon gives hope
through the reflected light
of the golden sun
portraying the same intention
and stars chuckle by
like millions of orphaned
children wandering our dark world
Technology which brought in abundance
has left us in want
machines brought in to give leisure
has left us with no time at all
Virtual net which brought people
miles apart together has resulted
virtual bubbles of gloating egos
we are together yet alone and
isolated in this world of paradox
serpents of guilt keep dancing
around yet the cloak of fear
blinds us we ignore
and without even us realizing
all that we do
along with all other beings
residing on this beautiful earth
we just mourn
blasting our lungs out
in silence
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 1:05 PM UTC
Gloating before the unrequited,
We find the dashing, sanctioned, and corrupt.
Their brave hearts undeserving,
Granted only by the conquests of their fathers,
And the favoritism of Nature's *****
There were countless sleepless nights spent amid your memories.
Your cruel indifference, the Nightmare on my chest.
You are unworthy and wretched. Disgraceful and dishonorable.
Unfit and useless. Discordant and dissident.
Your true love is apathy.
And still, despite a noble effort,
I always find my thoughts ...
Returning to you.
Feb 6, 2011
Feb 6, 2011 at 7:15 PM UTC
You always wanted to be treated like a queen, like a princess.
Be in a kingdom of love, faith, hope, care, respect, and honesty.
Acting as if your life was filled with fairytales, filled with possibilities.
Drowning with the thoughts of battling with once upon a time and happy ending.
You once painted him as your knight in shinning armor.
Described him as your light in a place that's filled with darkness.
You wrote everything perfectly, but on what reason? What purpose?
Were you just overwhelmed by fulfilling the thought of being with him?
Two different paths to take, one choice to make.
One choice to make.
One path to take.
And without hesitation you choose him, over and over again.
Little by little you started to wonder,
What was really the purpose of doing this? Of being with the knight that shined light?
Did the light made everything clear? Or did it just blinded you?
Still you've got no answer, you're lost in your imaginations.
Your knight in shinning armor? Did he really saved you?
Your light in the darkness? Did you really see everything?
The path you took? Was it really the right path?
You should be saying yes, but why are you gloating?
Didn't you want this? Didn't you prayed for this?
Didn't you waited for this? Didn't you work hard for this?
The story you created for how many years just to make your life magical,
Yet you're stuck in your own fairytale that has no spark anymore.
Jun 6, 2023
Jun 6, 2023 at 10:20 PM UTC
I sing the seagulls tune
I fly beyond the horizon
And the gloating moon
I dive into the depth
Of the salty swoon
Sweeter than wines bitter regret
Higher and higher far from the net
A Fisher man's blade has no respect
I take my fair share this I know
But stripping the ocean a big no no
The coral is damaged the drag is a creep... abalone can't run they'd much rather weep
The poor whales a whoop
With sharkfin tales in China soup
So make up your mind
Or am I wrong
Then help me to sing
The seagulls song
Aug 27, 2018
Aug 27, 2018 at 5:45 PM UTC
When did news parody
stop being funny?
Was it somewhere between
Alan Jackson’s 9/11 cash-in
and Donald Trump’s hair?
Was it BoJo stranded on a zipline over London,
or Cameron’s alleged porcine relations
(bizarrely black-mirroring fiction)?
When did the news
start doing Chris Morris’ job for him?
When did they start
pre-satirising the headlines?
“No evidence mermaids exist,” says US Government.
Swimming pool evacuated after prosthetic leg is mistaken for **********
Robots follow Marco Rubio to South Carolina.
I swear, I didn’t
make any of those up.
The actors on Saturday Night Live
are more statesmanlike
than the Presidential Primary Candidates they’re lampooning.
How the hell do they breed these
creatures? These gurning,
overgrown foetuses with their
conveniently dead ****** sisters to get
all wet-eyed and tumescent over,
their boomingly hollow controversy and
their total, catastrophic
crashes of personality.
These loathsome
organic constructs who would seem
more relatable and trustworthy if
their image consultants made them wear
Nixon masks for every
public appearance.
When did it all become
this strange, sick spoof
of itself?
Is there no one left in Britain who can make a sandwich?
Man dressed as penguin receives more votes than the Liberal Democrats.
Piers Morgan given jail time for illegally hacking ‘phones and gloating about it.
Okay.
I made the last one up.
Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 at 6:07 AM UTC
"io sol uno."
-Dante, Purgatorio
There I was,
the comic-tragic star of my own motion-picture,
bold beneath the springtime Italian sun hung high
--a heavenly fixture,
illuminating the gold-leaf enframed frescoes in
kaleidoscopes of colours,
baking dry the pigeon droppings upon the flagstones
they smothered,
where I, in all my self-serving recreation,
posed proudly in a costume of my own creation,
an operatic villain clad in a billowy blouse of black,
the Campanile Tower like a sentinel behind my back,
as movie cameras panned and zoomed,
paparazzi photographers capturing me
and freezing me,
in all my wicked, medieval glory,
floating and gloating in the dank aroma of the Venetian seas,
*"I'm the shining star!
--Look at me, look at me!"*
-the super-special star I always knew I'd be,
a painted parody,
a harlequin of displaced passions
for all to laugh at and see,
before slipping silently
into the ornate basilica,
dim and dark as night,
thanking Mother Mary (for nothing) as I sparked
a votive candle's light,
not really sure or caring
where my life would lead,
just as long as the Azure Queen
shed Her Grace on me,
me,
me,
...until I fell
and fell
to the mockery of a home
I made in Hell,
hard and forever and fast,
the only fool left alone in my solo cast,
adrift with no direction,
****** and lost,
me and my frivolous theatre,
squandered an an extravagant cost.
_____________
"io sol uno" means, "I, myself, alone."
This poem is a true-life story.
__________
See the Piazza San Marco, Venice, Italy:
http://www.carfree.com/design/pix/sqlg110venice_piazza-san-marco.jpg
Sep 13, 2010
Sep 13, 2010 at 11:01 AM UTC
A summers day ...we're floating and bloating ..you and i
we're bloating and a floating and waving as we cry ...
we're crying as we're floating and a cloud is passing by
I ask it "are you gloating ? " at my bloating friend and i ?
"Dear sir" replied the cloud that was a floating up on high
I see so many bloaters and so many as they try..
to understand the nature of a floater floating by ?
Is such a wonderous thing and now.. i bid you sir "goodbye" !
A moonlit night we're floating and bloating you and i
We pass the moon the stars all swoon.."good evening" as we cry..
And as we float the endless sky..and never knowing why ?
we're floating and a bloating ...floating you and i
Sep 24, 2013
Sep 24, 2013 at 3:02 PM UTC
Like a warm breath of air
He hovers in my memory
No superman, a meek soul
Not one to squander his time
But one who worked day in and out
To feed those
Whom he loved and sired
What was he?
A teacher, a farmer or an artist
I cannot say precisely...
All I can say;
He was each of these
Rolled into one
On holidays I saw him
Shut in the loft
a brush in hand
His fingers moving over the canvas
The steaming tea by his side
Untouched and getting cold as ice
Unmindful of everything around
He sat by the easel in the attic
Focussed only on the strokes that fell
When a distinct image shoots out
As the moon from behind clouds
A wave of satisfaction would gleam
Across his face,
His frantic nerves at once hushed
Bearing the look of one
Who, in an instant, conquered kingdoms
He would view it from different angles
Never seeking anyone’s opinion
But gloating if he saw
Our admiring eyes fell on it
Being artistically inclined
He lived more in the world of art
But gradually things changed
To his fright, he found his hands shaky
And the lines on the canvas
Going tremulous and disjointed
Couldn’t hold a brush!
On diagnosed of Parkinson’s disease
His world abruptly lost its sheen
He saw the disease weeding
Its way into his life
Suddenly grown old
He lost interest in everything
We saw him sitting in his armchair
So immobile, for hours on end
His eyes stretched to a far horizon
We displayed before him
Paintings once born of his imagination
To see if his world would brighten
And it worked!
Recently, in one of my dreams
I saw him sitting at the foot of Michael Angelo
To learn the art, he couldn’t perfect
In his life time!
Jan 22, 2018
Jan 22, 2018 at 8:44 AM UTC
at a pool party to celebrate no drownings
one hundred lifeguards, laughing and gloating
water was splashing, music was pounding
until they noticed jerome moody floating
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 7:51 AM UTC
She arrives in high stilletto’s
And a miniskirt so taught
That the boys are all distracted
And our job becomes a rort,
And the office girls get ******
And production spirals down
So then our new Middle Manager
Rolls up her sleeves and goes to town....
She sticks her oar in frequently
And stands with jutted hip,
She’s territorial dynamite
And serves us gloating lip.
She often curries favour
With Department Heads and such
And makes a fuss at our expense
Which irritates so much!
She has a way to circumvent
The types she will not face,
In using her authority
To snidely put them in their place.
Her manner is too sharp
And too dismissive for my taste
And the condescending smile
Has me grinding teeth to paste.
And the way she stands and taps her toe
And glares beneath her brows
Has the office juniors panicking
And avoiding, as allows.
There’s an issue over paper
And the telephone account
And the petty cash, though balanced,
Is a questionable amount.
Historically our working week
Has employed a give and take
With an easy flexibility
That allows us all a break,
But the new Middle Manager
Has reversed the mode of work
So that everyone competes
And the roster’s gone beserk!
Her manner’s often strident
With a whiplash to her voice
And the snarl of her vindictiveness
Leaves us all with little choice
But to bend our backs to labour,
Work our fingers to the bone
And suffer her till knock off
Then, thank God, we’re fleeing home!
There’s a memo in the “In box”
Rumour has it, from on high,
That due to overdue restructuring,
That some redundancies are nigh.
And though there’s great reluctance
And some measure of regret...
It seems our new Middle Manager
Has got her notice...Sorry Pet!
Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
15 January 2011
Jan 14, 2011
Jan 14, 2011 at 4:38 PM UTC
whoever falls in love first
looses
and i am a sore loser
and you are a sore winner
stop gloating
so i can stop crying
Mar 20, 2014
Mar 20, 2014 at 4:50 AM UTC
They all stood around her, bowed quietly, watching and reflecting and remembering how this day was anticipated. Each engrossed in his/her memory of her and how they saw her eventual end.
Tom thought, ‘Perhaps if I had talked to her more often, this would not have happened’.
Hilary thought, ‘I should have prayed harder, maybe if I was better, then God would have heard my prayer’.
Annie thought, ‘I told her a million times, don’t do that, it will **** you. I guess it finally did’.
Ralph thought, ‘Why didn’t she just call me like she always did?’
Sam thought, ‘Wow, she finally did it, just like she always said she would!’
Andrew thought, rather methodically, of the steps that she would have taken to reach the final destination.
Gene knew exactly how she did it! Hell, if she revealed further, some would say, she even instigated the whole thing.
Pam was undoubtedly gloating, ‘Now she could have it all – the man, the cash, the jewellery ...’
*No one knew though that she was watching all of them from just above, hovered in a corner. She was surprised that she could hear them think even though it was in whispers. She was sad, and happy and in fact after a while she smiled, ‘on to plan B now!’ She was looking forward to all the frightful nightmares she could give each one of them. Heaven can wait or possibly hell but if it’s going to be eternity, she has certainly got a lot time in her hands.
Just then, she felt a vacuum **** her in and she jolted back into her body. She could see them, in fact, her eyes were open but she couldn’t move, she couldn’t speak, she couldn’t even blink!!*
The Doctor arrives and lets the family and friends know, “I’m sorry, she’s comatose and right now I am unable to tell you much, we have to keep her here to run further tests! It would be best if just one or two of you stay with her.”
They look at each other and without saying much leave the room one by one.
She’s watching and actually screaming and shouting but no one reacts; to them she’s motionless. She curses and finally stops and just stares at the ceiling.
That was five years ago; she’s in a beautiful room now but she’s still just staring at the ceiling...
Jul 7, 2013
Jul 7, 2013 at 11:26 AM UTC
St. Catharines light in the afternoon: lead oxide, pink white, dry mud shadows.
They lay on her living room carpet and Anthony gloated over Milly
Her cotton nightgown, her long back, and round shoulders: proof at last.
"So this is gloating. It is better to gloat than to doubt. It took me a long time."
Her clean faded quilt brought from the balcony rail: it
Smells of clean laundry and cold air and the thrill of their power.
He’s proud to be the lover of a heroine,
And happy that he can see her this way.”
Picnic kisses tasting of smoked oysters and beer.
There were never friendly kisses of love before?
"Milly, I love hearing how you defied the adults."
He told Hansel and Gretel to her child, who had strep throat,
And told it again, knowing it would work,
Seeing the bookshelves, seeing her notebooks,
Knowing that he would have his life after all:
The mispronounced words of a solitary reader,
The red skirt on the chair, the gold necklace of coins.
Paul Anthony Hutchinson
www.paulanthonyhutchinson.com
Copyright Paul Anthony Hutchinson
May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 11:29 PM UTC
Wisdom has built her kingdom
She has set it on top of twelve pillars
All Killers
Who have ate the meat of the pigs and turned water into wine
And have invited Pharisees, adulterers, meth-heads; all combined.
Then Jesus said
"I'm pretty sure hominins are **** sapiens with back problems."
And they all laughed.
Socrates and Aristotle
Plato is undeniable
Something like eating food in the secret
Gloating on society like a stolen bullet.
"Are we right or are we right"
Or are we like Apollo
Who ride the muse and have love affairs with every girl in sight.
They have no shame at all
All them Freudians and the unconscious
Bearing information that is tied to foreigners
Who would steal and ******
Burn incense to Baal and other gods
Who misleadingly guide us like untamed dogs.
We have evolved
Brought the flies with us and turned them into stone
Patiently awaiting for the next evolution
Or a different revolution to tie us down
Like the gods we are not...
Jan 20, 2013
Jan 20, 2013 at 12:21 PM UTC
when i met you
you were at the hands of ghouls
a gimping coterie of Satan's
who pleasured at the torments they inflicted upon your innocents
who bound your feet
bones in a vice
making you
their Chinese fantasy
a delicate *** trinket
a manacled smooth petite beauty
in agony
bending you into twisted branches
those heartless devils,
drinking red ice cocktails
you put your heel on their throats
by craving death
that will teach them!
gloating at your fear
filling their emptiness
with your trembling
your dreams faded
into the body of a wounded kitten
has God
given us the cold shoulder?
hacked angels wings to stumps
and left the doors to hell wide
leaving your soul a torn crag flaming?
little girl on fire
screaming in the cave of self
would he weep at your alter
and kiss your scarred tissue
begging your forgiveness
lamenting his snide toys of fate
sweet cursed apples
and sly snakes
twisting raptured seductions
your life, cross and curse
a burnt offering
a blood light blinking
with no fire escape
oh
Eve
blamed by the idiots of religion
for everything
only a child
who sank her pink mouth into a serrated moon
now always weighing death
bathtub ****** red ribbon glamour
dreaming paraphilias tide
eyes a ghastly vacancy
floating like a feather
mud,
tabernacles grave
a buoyant shell
sinking
in crimson clouds
a smiling dread
what does it take
for God to redeem himself?
must we storm paradise
before he fills you
with perfumes bliss
and effulgent lights embrace pours through your soul
like lanterns rose sky?
Jun 11, 2018
Jun 11, 2018 at 1:51 PM UTC
Even though my wounded pride
May wish to shower its havoc
And share its discontent
Spreading battles over many dark lands
Seeking its vengeance
As the sweet taste of the enemies pain
Would serve as the greatest aspirin
As breaking the smile of my
Gloating enemy , for my failure
Would quench the hatred in my heart
Like a thousand harsh winter
For that is where I stand
In a frozen land
Dare I melt the sea's of my frozen heart
As i sit in such silent peace
Though I may incline not to enter
The harsh world of relating
Where ego's smash against my heart
Alpha's roaring over my meek self
Leaving splinters in my bleeding heart
As they trample over me
Dispel yourself
For i seek the silent blissful path
Worthy yourself greatly , you may do
But I am a weary soul
Who grows tired of daily battle
And bored of your disrespect
Come only if you rest
Rest I must in Gods heart
And seek his help
Melt my heart Oh LORD
And cushion me in this world
As God you may be my parachute
And drain my vengeance
For its toxins , poison my blood
And spill me into darkness
A warming heart brings new remorse
To my violent soul
Shining a new light on all my errors
I seek forgiveness in the Lords presence
As I seek the new
Melting sea's renew memory's
Of broken hearts
The flow of new loving essence
Caress my many forgotten parts
Like a wet kiss from lost Love
Bringing tears and joy
In the same breath
Keep Away Keep Away
For I bath in the Love
Of lost nostalgia
Though the Love of lost lovers
Had raised me
That the stars were sprinkled
And sparkled in my heart
They felled me Like the giant Red Woods
Of California
Though I lived in the shadows
Of such heights
I seek the new
As I thank all the love of all lost love
With all the grace I can humbly offer
For their heights will become
My Stepping Stones
Mar 1, 2014
Mar 1, 2014 at 4:40 PM UTC
Where are you, O valiant knight,
riding on your quest?
Capturing your deadly foe,
your metal for to test...
O'r the mountains lies the dragon,
secure within its lair.
It's gloating over victory...
it ate the maiden fair!
And so you mount your steed,
silver glinting from your spurs,
sally off to slay it...
avenge the death of her!
Oh! Is not this dragon beautiful?
Yes! An AWESOME prize!
With crystal wings and citron scales
and sapphires for eyes!
Emeralds on its sloping breast
rubies are its claws
fangs of alabaster
line it's fiery maw...
Perfumed incense, spicy smoke,
from its mouth a butane flame...
Once you've tried the dragon once
it is hell to tame!
Have you your armor fast secured?
Does the visor block your view?
You may chase the dragon
or it could be chasing YOU.
When will you turn and rend it?
Tear the ***** APART?*
Strap your lance to your steed
and pierce it to its HEART?
Now, if you are victorious
you still must have a care...
for its blood is virulent
that cup you must not share!
You could quick behead it.
Mount it on your wall.
But it could poison you instead...
my! *How the mighty fall!*
So ride off in the sunset.
Leave the dragon where it fell.
It will slowly rust away...
*and blow back into HELL*.
SoulSurvivor
(C) 12/19/2015
Dec 19, 2015
Dec 19, 2015 at 9:27 AM UTC
here comes the covetous queen
peering down with her bulbous blues
seduction tricked her minion man
"a servant's life for you"
farewell to your well-wisher friends
songs sung and summer's glee
her slow-burn scowls
and gloating glares
turn life to memory
suffocate and choke your cries
you've been deceived by a skeleton face
a spider waits with silent demands
to ****** without a trace
conceited veil of pride and triumph
beaming fire with her frown
there's no beauty to her majesty
just a pitiful, tarnished crown
Feb 10, 2011
Feb 10, 2011 at 9:17 PM UTC
Charles ate a Rocky Mountain
oyster shell from the spleuchen
of a bee resting on a bed plate,
but then fell asleep.
Glandular curvulas search for
the meaning of life;
to **** and be ****** by the nerve centre.
Clooties of the Yellowstone national park
make regretful decisions, that lead to excessive
crying, and dry/wet heaving for
MTV'S SPRING BREAK BLAST:
The ending is on pp.22 featuring beam rays
telltale sign of stirless beaches and nights irritating
my irritatory sun causing me
to
fumble
from the letter shape of my family tree.
Quintessentially, but not really, reptilians smiled
to eat sour investment of telltale
signs of testicular cancer,
while sending SMS messages to
acquaintances blabbering
"Come over and watch a movie ;)"
and gloating of recently acquired masseuse skills.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 3:27 AM UTC