"gluttons" poems
Time and time again, we experience things that we assume are great,
We soon find out that each thing would lead to our eventual fate.
It’s hard to trust someone that has lied to your face,
It’s hard to get over the past and move on to a new place.
Sick and tired of liars, cheaters and the weak minded,
Living life day by day oblivious to society; blinded.
Saying that things will get better and continue forth,
Believing what we hear daily and henceforth.
Taking in every little white lie and replaying each word,
Ignoring the atrocities that may have occurred.
You claim to be someone you’re not and neglect who you really are,
Actions contradict your words, how truly bizarre.
The words you speak turn to silent tears,
All you stood for is dead after all these years.
Time can’t change the past; it determines what may come,
Time can only heal the hearts and minds of some.
Even if we’re given all the time we may ever need,
Some still can’t hide their lust or greed.
Gluttons for attention, sloths throughout the day,
While pride, envy and wrath control all we ever say.
Those truths that you claim are real are far and few,
Lie to me again and prove to me that hypocrisy, thy name is you.
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 2:14 PM UTC
Mean girls wear the latest styles
Have fake smiles
Gossip, compare
Sow division, despair
Their gardens grow in shadowy places
Behind walls, in hidden spaces
Their nectar has a bitter taste
But flies are not discerning
They swallow like drunks, cheap wine
Sour acid, their own sublime
Gluttons crying “More and more!”
Rise up in a pungent cloud
And acid rain comes pouring down.
The vile liquid which they spread--
Their sustenance, their daily bread—
On filthy lips, feeds new seed heads.
So their gardens will always grow,
Filled with thorns and jagged rows
And roots running and deep and long and strong,
In the dark, where they belong.
Nov 4, 2016
Nov 4, 2016 at 3:55 PM UTC
My country right or wrong
we shall still sing her song and bombs away
on you
Bombs away on FDR we think he got away too far
in giving peasants below, our merit, the audacity to inherit,
our country 'tis only for me'
We'll work you until your flesh falls off, nine till five is not enough, to sell our gizmos here and far, to gluttons all alike
Ooops! (melody old man river)
... Oh tote dat barge and lift dat bale,
ya gets ah little drunk and ya lands in Jaaail
Pull yourself by your own bootstraps, who cares if opportunity naps, while the "America Dream" fades away
cause thirty years of us
America ' tis only for me but not those signers of Democarcy
in Philly where they took that oath, on that **** parchment
I abhor,
on that damnable parchment I ABHOR!!
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 11:35 AM UTC
The message is simple, the delivery hard,
even as his eyes cut holes for it to enter.
White rims that flash, like beasts that spar
Natural strobes flicker, to thicken the black center.
When intent is replied with padded knuckle intent
Ungraceful, his neck turns past comforts vector.
I turn away to close a window from the storm.
Thought pathways like drunken footprints stepped
but a spark in the cloud of numbness replies.
My clenched thumb releases his bicep
And the arthritic cogs inside us violently un-subside.
Those muscle strings in my handwriting
to the letter the red bull replies,
but rain breaks my gaze to the window.
Knuckles like bruised alps in formation;
the boy’s got blood lightning in his eyes,
And so have I. ***** in the sockets I’m pushing on,
to revel in colors of my ****** mind’s sky.
I hurt myself to try telling that one ****** idea.
Tasting the punch, spitting iron, my Boxer I despise.
The classic writer’s hand ache makes me relinquish my pen.
Those axons, which lead to nothing,
they have now reached it.
Flayed to the winds.
The eye’s blinds closed completely.
In darkness, rasping breath resounding
and the lungs like strained gluttons for life
are clearly mocking the hearts desperate beating.
I put the pen horizontal to the desk.
It possesses all the use of a dead man’s organs.
But the sway, rains sweat from hair down to skin,
Then to polish the padded domes of pain.
When flesh rolls like thunder, bones crack like lightning.
His legs, my pen and both our minds are jarred from this refrain.
And upon the strike,
I’ll polish words and pad their meaning,
Punch the reader,
And enjoy the force that they contain.
Aug 25, 2013
Aug 25, 2013 at 7:18 PM UTC
This year was different
or was it me?
same Trafalgar crowds
link-armed-laughing
pigeons
puff-chested gluttons
different air
full of afterthoughts
I could almost touch
fluttering away
like rusting leaves
on winter's breath
I waited
on our bench
dark cold
stark old
wood
lovers kissed shyly
birds squawked
she laughed
eyes wide
flushed cheeks
Valentine's heart pounding
in a fledgling chest
I wondered if she were me
willing me to remember
hugging him close
I longed
to melt inside her happiness
old words, love and burger-boxes
where do they go?
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 6:19 PM UTC
Gravy boats filled with piping hot gravy
Grand upon a slice of meat
Generous helping must be served
Great times had mopping every morsel off the plate
Gourmet chefs make oodles of it in restaurants
Gluttons woof much into them
Get me some now...
Jun 23, 2013
Jun 23, 2013 at 8:50 PM UTC
Down
Down,
Through the sulfurous haze,
Dante stumbled,
Lost in a
Fiery
Maze
Is this hell or a hammer film set
He asked himself,
Grinning with regret
A demon
Dressed in tattered lace,
With
Fangs and makeup,
A boneyard
Face
"Welcome to the pit, where
Sin abide
And
Dracula's got a VIP ride
The first circle
Fog and gloom
Looking for a friendly face,
I hope to find one soon
Next the gluttons,
Oh what a feast,
A banquet of souls
That never ceased
The brimstone smoked,
And ghosts of
Sinners,
Just happily joked
"Is this hell or a cryptic comedy?"
Dante laughed, lost in absurdity
The third,
greedy souls did cry,
Stuck in the mud,
Can't buy a thing
To
Satisfy
The Sinners dined in darkness,
Yet they slept
Until Dante shouted
"This is the wrong set"
So down to the deepest depths,
Where bat's flapped
And twisted,
Dante's glasses
Got slightly
Misted
But in the end
Dante found a seat,
In hells own cinema
Complete with a
Treat
A demon with a smile,
Made popcorn pop
And said
"You're in for a shock"
Dante sat back with his eternal snack,
And watched
As the credits rolled
"I'm never coming back"
Apr 26, 2025
Apr 26, 2025 at 6:05 AM UTC
the other side of shatterbox's wall
is my room
stretch my hand out
feel the warmth of sun on bare skin
turn my closed eyes to the sky
and drink in the day like wine
intoxicating and bitter aftertastes
but cool and filling the senses
i slake souls thirst for essence of a gluttons bread and butter
taking the dreadlock girl to bed with me
she makes headway to her notions
of making a home here and finding a reason to stay
but i am wary of the fast female now that
i am so entangled within the gears of this past one
my lusts seep from her and soil the sheets
she laughs at this unconcerned
we go for dinner and we laugh and play
on the beach
she loves to be in love
she loves to whisper under the sheets long into the night
even when we are the only two there
i dont want another relationship
i dont want to repeat the last one
grapple with eachother till dawn
and smelling like fresh *** we dash out to the store
get doughnuts and coffee
she eats doughnuts the same way i do
i dont want a relationship
its the wine talking
but the shatterbox man next door
has reminded me that its too easy in this world to end
up alone in a room with nothing but your thoughts
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 10:41 PM UTC
It's hard to change any cult
More so the jealous from the occult
Faculty of the melting mold of mind
Zealous of inflicting conflicts of all kind
To the just and graceful among mankind.
Brazenly different from vogue dears
conspires to inspire its rogue peers
To smear even slur on godly seers.
Constantly configures to figure out,
Anything, by any means to spy out
The faintest attribute of the virtuous
Contributes to trigger the rash jealous
To fling out and pierce the gall
to gush out to spread and stall
The arteries, nerves to blood-en
the face and the cheeks to redden
Nose and the chin to harden
Ear lobs to burn and burden.
The jealous is well known
Yet the cause is unknown
Why does it vent its ire
Dent and impair the fair
Engage in freelance
To abuse in parlance
In parliaments of vanity fair
The evil avail many a company
Of gluttons, covetous avaricious
sloth, sensuous pride and many
Engage merely to rage in ferocious
Fire, the fuel of the evil in the savage dark ages
obsessed in rampage and carnage
All celebrations become aberrations
Of the essence of celestial presence
The din dares to dampen the spiritual
Asphyx the specifics in fad rituals
It is difficult to change the cult
of the stinky melting mold
of the evil minds that find
new felony ways to inflict conflicts
To the just and graceful lives
of the peace loving among mankind.
Dec 14, 2018
Dec 14, 2018 at 10:09 PM UTC
Time spent on the faceless. Smooth skin turned abrasive
By the scaled scars, my broken heart has created.
Serrated blades of blame pierce our veins and,
Trickle down pain through broken water mains.
A gluttons dinner bell hangs above the poor’s poisoned well.
Dead men don’t feast. Lead a horse to water and,
Wait for it to drink. Watch the self-defeat. Hand-made desolation by men with no faces.
Puppet string desperation keeps us in our places.
Jun 21, 2021
Jun 21, 2021 at 4:23 PM UTC
1991
I realized
We were both born
in rotting soil,
plastic toys fed
by Arabia's oil.
Eyes closed,
ears behest
to broadcasts, we,
could NOT protest.
That was the beginning
of our mass destruction,
but cribs offsides,
we slept soundly,
thanking our stars,
proud to be Americans.
10 years dormant,
the lyrics laid,
enough to stick,
but their irony to fade.
Until grade school,
recess goaded,
as burning buildings
on our side exploded.
The imminent threat preloaded,
in airports we shed shoes,
forever coded.
The broadcast — our center
was the theorem
that planes, oil, and Arabs
risked everyone's freedom.
But when we raised hands,
to ask why, teachers said
hail red, blue,
and especially white.
We forgot our roots,
because the Ellis Island trip
was obviously cancelled.
So we read headlines,
instead of Orwell,
the day 911
called for a police state.
Trusted the government
and ****** Muslims,
the day turbans
meant hijacking planes.
Pledged allegiance
disguised as freedom,
the day war
was declared
on Saddam Insane.
Our flag revealed
a sham feeding flames,
angst-ridden
teenagers
we became.
With raised middle fingers,
instead of hands,
to Green Day lyrics,
**** Amuricans.
Because only idiots
press a red button twice,
when mass destruction is the price.
And only villains
make children orphans,
while victims drown
in New Orleans.
And only gluttons
eat caviar with silver spoons,
tainting forever
a nation's youth.
Entrenched in dunes,
we boarded blind,
to debt,
death, and
jaded minds.
Blamed by perpetrators
in dollars and change,
for a guerrilla war
fought in vain!
Voted Obama,
with Osama slain,
and soldiers withdrawn,
we hoped for change.
PLEASE, we cried,
JUST STOP!
We are CHAINED —
to a bulldozer
that has NO BRAKES!
…
So the broadcast said recently:
We are losing control
of the Middle East. And
Al-Qaeda is far from weak —
ISIS: THE PHOENIX OF HUMAN GREED,
We just turned off our TV's
and looked up,
the kids who gave up,
thanked Musk — our atlas,
not yet shrugged,
whose vessels of stars
will rocket toward Mars,
from this godforsaken
civilization
built on hate.
And when you tell me, ***
"We were both born in 1991,"
I can only sigh,
and breath sympathy,
for our dark history.
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 8:57 PM UTC
Carefree drizzles softly sings as bliss and ease taken wing.
Gaze upon the auric blooms while sweet melodies, mellowing.
Alleviate our friend's crises, their debts, paid in purple silvers.
Eliminate those pesky mortal threats, lest blood spills in liters.
Toward our star, astride the verde, vibrant beauteous noise.
Abating virtues, without the merde, cometh Byronic poise.
A smoken distance, famished flames, fiery tongues yearning.
A fearful master, ***** dames, merry songs flowing.
Parallel meridians lovingly caress floating wisps of white.
Quarreling impulses embracing soaring orbs of light.
Bright.
See... sigh.
Lavender shades cushion our convents of misty mysteries.
Serene panacea tease me upon sapience; argent histories.
Ebullient crush casting glaring lights into the hostile wind.
Beneath dusky whirlwinds come hazel sparks of sand.
Glory guilty of detested crimes, anon trembling tears.
Inspiration follow thy limelight; guidance of young seers.
A canvas of blue, emotions ablaze through one hundred days.
Amber pillars burdened with wishful horizons... come what may.
Never believe our luxurious dreams under the rainy rainbow.
Drowning in sunshine, tis the era to escape the clutches of limbo.
Cease our anthropocentrics to soar on frozen blooms tonight.
Taste vermillion pain, lest we be gluttons, spying; useless insight.
Mirrors refracting broken perfection, for ever-clear prisms.
Commit altruist favors for all our mistaken rhythms.
Behold the mind, mightier than a sword, bitter tool of priests.
Crusading zen, grander than any reward, come join the feast. <3
Aug 28, 2010
Aug 28, 2010 at 5:13 AM UTC
We show the fatigue of Twelve hours
of duty, to care for those that
Cant even breath without our care..
When we leave those that we wish
could survive till our next shift.
We go to grocery stores to find
our next meal,
but shelfs stripped clean...
By those who don't need,
but horde more than there need,
for either greed or profit.
We weep,
for we are holding our hands out like Oliver!!
Sir, Madam do you have anymore,
As we weep with empty stomachs..
making do with the scraps left behind..
"Sorry not till our next delivery,
But ill be at work then..
A tear drops lonely down a cheek.
Yes I've seen eBay, or online selling sites...
They make me sick to my heart,
to think I may have to save these gluttons
on an empty stomach.
But I don't judge
I just drop a tear for those I lost the
night before.
I tried,
they tried
but this venom, sinks in fast..
I wear the scars on my face, the masks digging in,
the cracked skin that I don't have time
to moisturise as I know its been a twelve hour shift.
I only sleep a few,
my moments of peace and tranquillity woken
early...
My beeper goes off, were on call..
At least I got more than most,
I give myself a two minute stretch,
and a wake up call, then I'm in fresh gear,
sanitise my hands, and put gloves on.
I'm fearful of this virus, as many have fell like
warriors on the battle field, now breathing through
masks of life and death.
But my vow of care is strong and I shake off
this fear, and walk into the ward a warrior
of positively.
"I will care for the fallen,
I will hold a fearful hand,
never will I let anyone go.
But I'm only one in a sea of many.
If I can keep on breathing till they have strength
its a win..
Mar 31, 2020
Mar 31, 2020 at 9:19 PM UTC
I left with very little, expecting a week or perhaps two in the city, quick cash and then home to the sand of my beaches and the touch of my bed. It has been exactly two weeks and I am starting to say that I live here. There's an exhilaration attached to the detachment of a one-way ticket, I am a thousand people a day while being none, I can walk away from conversations without feeling guilty, there is not one person who cares enough about me to bother with my affairs-it is absolute freedom. Yet there is a loneliness that hangs on the hinge of liberation...a traveler has the world in their heart. We cannot stop ourselves from stuffing our experiences inside, gluttons of the road with the horizon in our eyes. Sometimes, though, we lose sight of what we wanted all along and then begin to search for what we desire, which becomes blurred and tangled by time zones and climates and languages...our stomachs are always empty and our chests are always aching for the unknown. It can break a person. I was on the bus back from East Hampton when an older man asked me why I was crying:
"I don't know", I said, "I suppose I just realized that this city takes everything from you, and you must prove yourself to earn it back".
He told me what they all do:if you can make it here, you can make it anywhere
I turned back towards the window before asking, "when you came here, did you have nothing, too?"
The man nodded and smiled. Maybe he was lying, but he gave me 50 dollars and paid my cab fare. I hugged him goodbye and he wished me luck. I don't know how he knew I was completely broke with no way to get back to my apartment, but I cannot imagine the forty-block walk with three bags. There is a kindness in a fellow traveler, one more seasoned than we are, who will always understand what it is to be poor and hungry and tired. But we chose this life, I chose this life, when I stepped on the plane with no way back. I realized this as I was locked atop a rooftop in SoHo, watching the pink and blue of sunrise with champagne on my lips. It is okay to admit your inadequacies, to ask for help, as long as you appreciate the sheer genius of the universe. That, after all, is why this life calls to us.
Aug 6, 2013
Aug 6, 2013 at 3:53 PM UTC
i guess you don't own the world
china owns a big lump of the world
and a good slice of the us too
bill gates and warren buffett
got a lot of coins in the pocket
but not enough to own the world
the insurance companies
the banks the russian mafia
fannie mae or freddie mac
bono acts like he owns the world
berlusconi i guess, surely would like to
what about the pope or the big news
mcdonald or the duck donald duck's uncle
would be a disaster if they owned the world
big waddling gluttons goes quack, quack, quack
and father disney behind it all is dead
so who is left to suppose to own the world
the prince of dubai or me?
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 9:08 AM UTC
Distorted beauty and ****** up dreams.
Tell them not to worry, one day your kids will suffer too.
It's just so ******* funny
It's just some stage of insanity
It's just one more slip
I wont fail with another attempt...
Who gives a ****
Disowned and Accident Prone
Forgotten and Abused
Need I say more
The world is a waste of my time
Everyone in it shows me I'm a waste of theirs
We are all selfish, money hungry, pieces of ****
Is this really living?
I don't think so.
It's just the beginning stage of death
Think about it
What do you feel more of?
Pain?
Pleasure?
That's what I thought.
**** you.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Distorted beauty equals ****** up dreams.
Tell them not to worry, one day their kids will suffer too.
It's just so ******* funny
This growing stage of insanity
Give me one more slip
Promise I wont fail with another attempt...
Who gives a ****
Don't pretend that you do.
Disowned/Accident Prone
Forgotten yet somehow abused.
Need I say more?
The world is a waste of my time,
Don't tell me I'm being dramatic,
Don't ******* tell me I'm wrong!
I have proof
I'm not crazy
Everyone shows me I'm a waste of their precious lives.
All we have devolved into are self sufficient, greedy, gluttons of want.
Is this really living?
No. ******* Way.
It's just the beginning stage of death
Think about it.
No. Really think hard and long about this.
What do you feel more of?
Pain?
Pleasure?
That's what I thought.
**** you.
Sep 16, 2010
Sep 16, 2010 at 11:42 PM UTC
I kept my hands clean today
No unholy things for me today
I snubbed my neighbor twice
For twice the heathen greeted me
I gave him barbed advice
For each time he had cheated me
I kept my hands clean today
No unpleasant things for me today
I went nowhere where one could find
Sinning folk or those in need
I chastized a beggar who was blind
Accused a friend of pride and greed
I kept my hands clean today
No ungodly things for me today
I avoided adulterers and ******
And gluttons, thieves, and tools
I gave a penny to the poor
And two cents to a fool
I kept my hands clean today
So God, why didn't you bless me today?
Feb 11, 2010
Feb 11, 2010 at 7:51 PM UTC
Approaching customs, my father slowed the car.
"Time to eat! he said, and pulled us to the side.
He'd bought peaches from a fruit stand,
Forgotten they'd never cross the border.
Never one to waste, his plan unfolded.
We stood beside the car, peach juice
Trickling down our arms,
Falling at our elbows,
Gorging a delicacy turned to glut,
Making memories of forced generosity,
Gluttons of fruit, victims of parsimony.
My mother knew what was coming:
The cramps we kids would have
From smuggling peaches
In stretched bellies
Into Canada.
Dec 6, 2023
Dec 6, 2023 at 9:40 AM UTC
Searching, scattered.
Broken, shattered.
Floating debris in an angry ocean.
Medicate, obliterate,
Facilitate prideful hate.
Counterfeit reality, fleeting in motion.
Intolerance, slavery,
Damnation of bravery.
Ego-driven exchange, seems to be the notion.
Betray and conspire,
Jump in the fire.
The mask of foster, neglects true emotion.
Complacent, denial,
Appeasing the vile.
Pat on the head: "Good Dog..." Devotion!
Gluttons acquire,
The bigot empire.
An Icarus fate, will be dealt by the sun.
Add and subtract, obscure the equation.
Media diversion = systematic persuasion.
Branded by fear we await "The Explosion".
But looking out and not in, ensures death by implosion.
Sep 3, 2016
Sep 3, 2016 at 3:51 PM UTC
Giles Corey
What is there, really,
Left to say
When you cannot trust
The honest pay?
Do you, really
Hear the sounds,
Of the clocktowers
coming down?
I do not, really,
Know the time.
We're just acquainted..
No friend of mine.
No friends at all
Are mine, per say.
Just folks to call,
From day to day.
From day to day,
And dusk to dusk.
There's nothing left
But empty husks.
I'd gouge my eyes
With forks and knives,
If that would bring me
To Saint Ives.
Gouge my eyes
At sight of her
Hopes I despise:
empty aquifer.
That saturate the souls
Of bedazzled bums
And homeless ******
Sent to pick the crumbs.
Great fallen father
Oh, dying mother
What way is water?
Who hid the shelter?
Your sons and daughters
Are frightened now.
They cannot win
They don't know how.
We all have fears
Of how we'll fare
When you say,
"We need more engineers.
To build the cities
And the gutters
And the gluttons
And the guillotines
And the gilded glaves that gorey Giles brings.
To pile the stones
On our frail young frames
As we're forced to cry
To **** our names,
"More weight."
Nov 8, 2011
Nov 8, 2011 at 6:48 PM UTC