"goad" poems
I do not swear because I am
A sweet and sober guy;
I cannot vent a single ****
However hard I try.
And in viruperative way,
Though I recall it well,
I never, never, never say
A naughty word like hell.
To rouse my wrath you need not try,
I'm milder than a lamb;
However you may rile me I
Refuse to say: ******
In circumstances fury-fraught
My tongue is always civil,
And though you goad me I will not
Consign you to the divvle.
An no, I never, never swear;
Profanity don't pay;
To cuss won't get you anywhere,
(And neither will to pray.)
And so all blasphemy I stem.
When milk of kindness curds:
But though I never utter them -
Gosh! how I know the words.
3.3k
By: Cedric McClester
Sister Sara’s talkin’ ‘bout reload
I think she’s tryin’ to get my goad
Those who says don’t build it there
Don’t want it built anywhere
You can shake your head and sigh
But it’s American as apple pie
It’s American as apple pie
As American as apple pie
As American as apple pie
As American as apple pie
His campaign ad’s imagery
Of Nine/Eleven is on TV
I hate to even say his name
Because it’s clear he has no shame
You can shake your head and sigh
But he’s American as apple pie
He’s American as apple pie
As American as apple pie
As American as apple pie
As American as apple pie
Divide and conquer
Has become a tool
Cos they don’t believe in
The Golden Rule
So who is it they think they fool
The uninformed and unschooled
It’s American as apple pie
As American as apple pie
As American as apple pie
As American as apple pie
We don’t seem to know no more
What it is that we stand for
Some say freedom
But I’m not so sure
When hatred and division
Is at the core
Of what we’re seeing nowadays
So openly as it plays
It’s American as apple pie
As American as apple pie
As American as apple pie
As American as apple pie
Divide and conquer
Has become a tool
Cos they don’t believe in
The Golden Rule
So who is it they think they fool
The uninformed and unschooled
Sister Sara’s talkin’ ‘bout reload
I think she’s tryin’ to get my goad
Those who says don’t build it there
Don’t want it built anywhere
You can shake your head and sigh
But it’s American as apple pie
She’s American as apple pie
As American as apple pie
As American as apple pie
As American as apple pie
(c) Copyright 2015, Cedric McClester. All rights reserved.
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 1:33 AM UTC
Hide your disappointment
Lock it all away
Wait until it burns you down
Or sets in, here to stay.
Never show your weakness,
Tuck it deep inside
Keep it out of sight and mind
Until your thoughts collide.
Cloak your heart's desire
Don't let wishes in
The drive that takes you onward
Will never let you win.
These lies fire the defeated
They goad the aimless on
And if you listen to them
You'll soon be good as gone.
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 7:39 PM UTC
I sit alone in this connected world,
separated from the selfishness I see spreading
amongst everyone around me
with everything to gain by filling their hands
before filling their hearts,
by silencing their inner voice
and shouting out loud.
It must not be hard to live life in the singular,
letting words and sounds crash against guarded ears and eyes.
The true trouble starts when a mind becomes a collective,
letting in every thought, every notion,
leaving judgment to fend for itself.
It becomes harder to keep your identity in an overflowing sea of mediocrity
from not allowing any idea to rise above.
How does one feel empathy when living life in the former,
cast away on an inner island?
Is it a feigned truth to goad the soul
into cooperation with a strictly selfish mind?
Is it the weight of expectation crowding out viewpoints and virtue?
I can’t tell because for once in my life,
I stand staring at this alien concept
and see no wisp of familiarity floating in our shared air.
So my lungs seize at this ether bereft of merit, and I collapse.
Only to wake in a suspended reality,
one where the naïveté of my mind
rationalizes the incongruity of the external world
long enough for me to delve within.
In these cloistered rooms of society,
I find sparks without kindling,
wasting away into ash,
I find whispers discarded from distracted diaphragms,
but most importantly, I find recognition,
recognition of this middle ground,
neither reached nor acknowledged by that strange outer land.
It is in these discarded thoughts
stowed far beneath consciousness that I seek my own truth.
Jun 26, 2012
Jun 26, 2012 at 1:24 AM UTC
?¿?¿?¿?¿?
secret in creation
poetics set in code
difficult translation
they ***** me like a goad
wanting to improve
wanting to impress
do i write this for myself
or follow all the rest?
written in frustration
and when, at last, i read
my own words do obfuscate
quite puzzling indeed!
perhaps you have written one
then you may have been
trying to solve their riddle
for you don't know
what they MEAN!
soulsurvivor aka
Write of Passage aka
Invisible inc
Catherine Jarvis
(c) 6/13/2015
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 10:40 PM UTC
In an alternate universe,
the light would be more friend than foe.
I need not entrench myself
in the sturdiest foxhole...
The deepest burrow.
In an alternate universe,
shadows would not goad me
into submitting to leverage.
Spotlight would be on,
and I would take centrestage.
In an alternate universe,
the world would perceive
with magnanimous eyes.
With no malicious intent,
with no obscure motives,
all twisted and bent.
In an alternate universe,
I would readily reveal myself...
As an entity and not a martyr.
In my heart, there'll be no worry.
Because there'll be no fangs
amidst the jubilee.
Only smiles that would draw out
the best in each other.
Jun 7, 2016
Jun 7, 2016 at 9:54 AM UTC
1282
Art thou the thing I wanted?
Begone—my Tooth has grown—
Supply the minor Palate
That has not starved so long—
I tell thee while I waited
The mystery of Food
Increased till I abjured it
And dine without Like God—
—
Art thou the thing I wanted?
Begone—my Tooth has grown—
Affront a minor palate
Thou could’st not goad so long—
I tell thee while I waited—
The mystery of Food
Increased till I abjured it
Subsisting now like God—
2.5k
pieces of flotsam
soak and float on the paper,
jetsam thrown to lighten
the load,
or goad,
the alligator, away
the guttural noises, sound like harsh
commentary the closer the
gator
is allowed to get,
not wanting to look over the shoulder,
but stop in for biting remarks,
the gator's teeth are so large and famous
they have names and voices;
"punctuation or punctures, I can help"
"point of view tch, tch, tch"
"your grammar needs work"
"doubt you will finish"
"no one will read IT"
"you will never find the right word"
"is your audience a six year old"
"borrrrring"
"what a croc"
"are you enjoying what you are doing?"
"successful writers are all published"
"you call that a sentence, keep it up and it will be a death sentence "
"how many tenses can you misuse in a paragraph"
and these are the names of some of the smaller teeth,
the molars, are more than a mouthful,
have polar names, that would leave anyone cold,
even the bold,
and shall not be put in print,
they bring out the PTSD,
imprinted for eternity, by
the gator which
comes at the sounds
of splashing, flailing, and failing,
as the pounding of the heart,
the deepened breathing,
as the ink from
the pen, unfiltered,
leaves nerves and veins exposed,
while leaving to find home, a safe haven, a storybook ending,
away from the gator's keen sense of
overt criticism, intended to gut,
and eviscerate, cutting remarks,
putdowns to hold down and under,
the piece that IT is trying to tear off
while spinning or shaking the head
side to side, which is both NO!
and to bash the will, the self-esteem, into little pieces
of me...
and my worst enemy,
my internal, infernal editor,
with the voracious appetite for self-defeating
Mar 8, 2014
Mar 8, 2014 at 12:08 AM UTC
\/
|
it is
a skittish
little beast
though
nothing
harms it
/\/\/\ in the least /\/\/\
●•○ a living thing ○●•
○●•° of red and black ●○•°
○●°••●○●°if you touch it●○°•●○●○•
○●••●•○°○●it attacks!●○°••●○●•
this lizard snaps
this creature bites
it will engage and
hang on tight! So
be careful where
you step • because
of poison it's adept
as you're walking
●•°○up a trail • carry••○●
••●○••○sticks and do●○°•●○
●°°•●○°○•●not fail!○●•°●○•●○
●°○• Gila Monsters ●•○°
\/\/\/ you may goad \/\/\/
so watch it
○•° son○●°
●°• they●°○
○●own●○
●°•the○●°
•°○● R○●°•°
○••●O○°•●
°•○●A●°•○
°•●○D○●°•
○•°●○•●
°●○•
°•○●
●○°•
●○.
●
Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 1:22 AM UTC
Not every man is gentle in his life
but you remained a gentleman
Through all your pain and strife
My childhood years
when you stood strong and tall
Sparkling eyes with love
entwined the ivy on the wall
within your garden, hedged around
a paradise of fruitful ground
and I in childhood flushed
transfixed I stand
awed at the gardeners magic hand
Here for you
there was no wretched bottled smell
An alcohol free paradise
An alcohol free hell
How you loved to hear the wild birds
sweetly sing
And see your world re-live again
in Spring
"How calm" you said to hear the rippling stream
A beauty unaware to me
You thought me how to dream
In all your yarns
attention held me mute
but if my heart allowed
I wouldn't dare dispute
With flitting years
your speech you tried to goad
But you my aged friend
could still my thoughts behold
Your every limb that moved
so gracefully before
by life's uneven cobbles
were battered , warped and sore
You fought a loosing battle
with your bottle eager hand
and I watched your spirit slip away
like a fist of dried out sand
The tears rolled down my face
as I kissed my cherished friend
I thanked your god for your friendship
and your dignity to the end.
Oct 31, 2010
Oct 31, 2010 at 4:56 PM UTC
Two blind men met. Said one: "This earth
Has been a blackout from my birth.
Through darkness I have groped my way,
Forlorn, unknowing night from day.
But you - though War destroyed your sight,
Still have your memories of Light,
And to allay your present pain
Can live your golden youth again."
Then said the second: "Aye, it's true,
It must seem magical to you
To know the shape of things that are,
A women's lips, a rose, a star.
But therein lies the hell of it;
Better my eyes had never lit
to love of bluebells in a wood,
Or daffodils in dancing mood.
"You do not know what you have lost,
But I, alas! can count the cost -
Than memories that goad and gall,
Far better not to see at all.
And as for love, you know it not,
For pity is our sorry lot.
So there you see my point of view:
'Tis I, my friend, who envy you.
And which was right still puzzles me:
Perhaps one should be blind to see.
2.1k
I was
no fool
and here
my favor
was one
that overcame
a voice
of salacious
mold and
might throttle
my goad
and too
berserk with
her bare
in this
fold with
Carroll Stream
that extreme
today in
Carol Stream
there was
the cold
went to
bed with
a sweater
just to
wake a
buddy in
Claremont weather
that a
whiplash tomorrow
made best
picture in
ole LA
Jan 31, 2019
Jan 31, 2019 at 12:12 PM UTC
In My Many Travels and dealing with the challenges of MAN'S MIND, Teaching and Learning with each STEP; I HAVE THIS "BURNING" DESIRE , For the "W H Y S " of life. SO, I ASK OF YOU !! Have you ENCOUNTERED ANY OF THE "FOLLOWING " ?___________(#1)= The Trail we Leave Precedes us, BUT the Shadow, do WE Lead or Follow. (#2)= "SHUCKS" said the Cowboy as He climbed upon the Steed, forgetting to put on His SPURS, NOW what would GOAD the Ride, to the SPUR store "OR" would a collection of SHARP words "WORK AS WELL" ? (#3)= Don't Tell Anyone, BUT, I have found a WORLD where the meaning of words are OBLIQUE to the words we use, Can YOU believe it, I've seen them ! (#4) The NICE THING about being OBLIQUE, when using "HIDDEN-MEANING" words and Allegories, the "ENEMY" *CAN'T Hear the words of TRUTH COMING! (#5) Do YOU realize that Glistening afternoons "USUALLY" result in "SHINING" attitudes for the Evenings; "GO FOR IT ! (#6)= For Those who are Still Rehearsing their LIFE; It's time to go Stage-Front, Turn off House lights,,Bring-up the SPOTS and see what "GOD" has in store for YOU ! (#7)= I USED to smell like Canteloupe, THEN, I discovered "ESCARGOT", NOW I Smell like an "OIL-SLICK" , What is? The Price of a Barrell today ? *(#8)= MY Songs are Not Just Words Written on Paper, BUT the Voices from My VERY Heart and the Melody Has JUST Begun ! ___"EVEN AS I held them up to the GREAT-LIGHT WITH HOPE= "YES" *TRULY I Understand NOW the "W H Y " of "OBSCURE OBSERVATIONS".......
Nov 18, 2010
Nov 18, 2010 at 3:16 AM UTC
A growing sickness
Flowing through my veins
Burning away inside, eating me away
As the darkness takes over from within.
Lapses in sanity, I find myself lying
In cold sweat, falling through the chasm
And I know its only a matter of time
Before the demon inside has arisen.
A manic bloodlust takes over my being
I ache for the violence to be set free.
In their dead eyes, I see reflections of mine
A murderous gleam shining within
As my face stretches into a smile that isn’t mine.
Every fibre of my being, repulsed by myself
Petrified by the beast I have become
I cry out in pain and anguish
As I feel Him taking over again.
Under the light of the gibbous moon
I revel in my madness, as her
Screams goad me on and take me
To the precipice. I stand grinning at
Her broken,bloody form in the earth
As she whimpers a pathetic plea for mercy.
No one knows of my disease; He only
Claims my body for himself in the dark
Leaving me behind to feel the horror and disgust
In the cold, grey sunlight.
Every night I struggle inside
I fight against my inner devil, pleading
For reason and humanity to return
To the twisted ******* I have become.
He stretches my face into a wide smirk
Reminding me of that exquisite, repulsive
Scent of flowing gore; He coaxes me,
He cajoles, He beckons me to join Him
As my will weakens and my body surrenders.
And so ends my tale, I have lost myself
To the contorted insanity I bred inside.
Horrified, repulsed, revolted with my being
My death only entices me now
Promising relief from my unholy illness.
But I know that small comfort is lost on me
Eventually, He’ll possess me entirely
And in the remorse of this truth I lie
And I feel Him return inside, eagerly awaiting my demise
No more can I hold out against Him.
No more can I wear the mask of Jekyll.
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 10:53 PM UTC
Dear drowning soul in blackest sea,
what keeps eyes blind to Mercy’s plea?:
“Come unto Me who bear sin’s load.
Find saving rest from Satan’s goad.”
What angel of light or dark could give
the help you crave that you might live?
There‘s only One can bear your weight.
His cross alone is Freedom‘s Gate.
Nov 19, 2021
Nov 19, 2021 at 8:49 PM UTC
Through silver maple and winding hedgerow wind-songs sough April’s hearsay. In stoic silence, spring’s axes—shuttered trunks—goad their fruit’s swelling. Clouds tumble in like sea foam, blue splinters flashing out: incorporeal troposphere, a halo entrapped by math.
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 6:00 PM UTC
U no, eat sins two mee,
u guise knead
two loose wait
sew hear, aye woosh
two
offal ewe sum add vice
Ewe can star art
**** ditto menation
aunt u knead too exorcise
Moove eat, keep mooving
moove mulch; doe nut ****
down two mulch, move you’re *****
inn smell poorshuns
Ant walk two da shups
in stayed off you sing da carr
Dee impotent ding
hiss da wheel
four wear they’re’s
a wheel, they’re’s all weighs
a weigh
goad lick
loose wait
anne stain hell tea
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 4:32 AM UTC
Sweat drenched bodies tangled snake
like, lips entwined like pair of swans.
One palm grasping the waist
Other holding the mound on chest
Like some ruthless dictator holding humanity.
Traverse on my body’s conduits, beloved!
Regale, relish, feast in its twists and turns,
And with your lips map the boundary
of your kingdom lying conquered in your bed.
With your mighty sword ravage
The territory of yours so long sealed,
Enter in it and let the din and moans to
not melt your heart. Be relentless
and unmerciful—press, pinch, bite,
Spike, goad, tease— make me beg then
Hurl like hurricane swirling in longing
and hunger, subdue only after taking me.
A night in your arms I want, beloved!
Gratify the five senses, bless me the bliss
of life this night. And with your
Measuring tape measure me inch by inch
Touch me those little places I haven’t
touched before, kiss me recklessly
And when you think its time enough
Then rain the seed of your love like farmer
Over my fecund body of field,
So that in time a flower of this
Night spring and wave and smile
in gentle breeze.
Only, a night in your arms I want, beloved!
A night in your arms is all I want!
May 8, 2020
May 8, 2020 at 5:51 AM UTC
Backward-man loves his dog.
Ties him up before and after
His walks, likes to goad his pet
Too, speaking as the weather wails
And howls then dog looks down,
Sad on his master dumbfounded.
A chain is worn as it scrapes
The ground connecting dog
To his master. They both love
The sound of it hissing as it strikes
The concrete pathways, sometimes
Man and dog feel free, not a part
Of each other, the chain may break,
And fear is for forks in the road,
The rusty pockmarked grip of his links
Have always been there on walks
Ahead and behind though it makes
Things confusing as if in a dance
And sometimes they wonder which way
They might end up after all—
And when the dark and golden
Rope, as always, is finally tied
To some old fruit tree, the man
Is happy his dog has both sun
And shade, but also has joy watching
Dog beg for ripe apples he cannot
Reach. Some people might come
To think that dog thinks those apples
Are not for eating. Everyone loves
Fruit, don't they?
Backward-man built his dog
A house as cold as a three-
Storied barn, out of things
He could not afford, things much
Too good for dog to not care
About, maybe man built dog's
House for himself, he cannot
Really impress his dog.
Backward-man likes to think
He knows what dog is saying.
Barks and whimpers have deep
Meanings, 'world is a good place,'
Dog says, but when pooch says,
'World is cruel,' crying, disobedient
Whines gets him a serious kick
Out of old anger from backward-
Man. And man can be a hell-
Hound on his own, the way
He twists and unravels the things
He needs, like truth and food
And love— that goes without
Saying for backward-man hates
His woman, but loves his dog.
Nov 30, 2012
Nov 30, 2012 at 9:15 PM UTC
Unfolding into itself, inviolable
in prosaic self-penetration,
a boundless repertoire
of shape yearns forth surreptitiously
from inscrutable amniotes to claim
time as its own:
Here a thicket
of sycamores, there a baldaquin
of pinnate branches, yonder
a periphery of marigolds, below
a cacophony of hyraxes, above
the corpuscle of a lynx, the mid-flight
jink of a darting swift and moribund
crawl of a mollusk;
Hymenoptera coaxing
their haploid broods into teeming
life as a cell of the swarm
and viviparous apes cajoling
suckling chimerae at the fathomless
fountainhead of a rosy breast;
Higher still,
Cirrus cephalopods traversing
the trench of sky, dandelions
hitch-hiking the drift of a barren plains'
wavering hum on cockchafers'
forewings and a turbine's
bombinating pulse, the chattering
of roots ravenous for depth --
Jittering bangtails the hallowed echoes
of lascivious manes --
inchoate sprout-hood the daedal
nonage of towering evergreens --
the plaintive shrift of elegiac
redbreasts a goad to silent elation --
A likeness unlike
(vocabularies of vertiginous blinds)
(the eyes of ignorance closing)
(the mouth of the mystery)
that spurns the truth of tongues
is nature naturing.
Dec 21, 2015
Dec 21, 2015 at 6:06 PM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
Sister Sara’s talkin’ ‘bout reload
I think she’s tryin’ to get my goad
Those who says don’t build it there
Don’t want it built anywhere
You can shake your head and sigh
But it’s American as apple pie
It’s American as apple pie
As American as apple pie
As American as apple pie
As American as apple pie
His campaign ad’s imagery
Of Nine/Eleven is on TV
I hate to even say his name
Because it’s clear he has no shame
You can shake your head and sigh
But he’s American as apple pie
He’s American as apple pie
As American as apple pie
As American as apple pie
As American as apple pie
Divide and conquer
Has become a tool
Cos they don’t believe in
The Golden Rule
So who is it they think they fool
The uninformed and unschooled
It’s American as apple pie
As American as apple pie
As American as apple pie
As American as apple pie
We don’t seem to know no more
What it is that we stand for
Some say freedom
But I’m not so sure
When hatred and division
Is at the core
Of what we’re seeing nowadays
So openly as it plays
It’s American as apple pie
As American as apple pie
As American as apple pie
As American as apple pie
Divide and conquer
Has become a tool
Cos they don’t believe in
The Golden Rule
So who is it they think they fool
The uninformed and unschooled
Sister Sara’s talkin’ ‘bout reload
I think she’s tryin’ to get my goad
Those who says don’t build it there
Don’t want it built anywhere
You can shake your head and sigh
But it’s American as apple pie
(Chorus)
She’s American as apple pie
As American as apple pie
As American as apple pie
As American as apple pie
Cedric McClester, Copyright (c) 2016. All rights reserved.
Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 5:29 AM UTC
So much magic and mystery in,
only your tiny spark.
what is there to pin?
But that devious shot in the dark.
Already lit it's growing.
So fast and hot,
I wonder what's not showing.
For that's not everything you got.
You may think this a goad,
It's just nothing else fits on this road.
Would it be a fantasy?
To think of a courtesy?
On your way,
I hope your light never fades.
Only to grow by day,
Showing all the shades.
May 17, 2021
May 17, 2021 at 3:51 PM UTC
it is time
it is time for ***** weather
mingles and prickles elastic and fawn
ecstatic inch and itch spastically
goad and trample and leach
all a squirm
a thawing squirm of ***** restlessness
the energy of springtime
then winter dumps its load again
Mar 1, 2023
Mar 1, 2023 at 7:40 PM UTC
Wet and cold
driving dirt roads
rain pouring down
onto the ground
Water standing in the tracks
and running down every crack
begin to slip and to skid
turn into it in a bid
To regain some traction
it works but only for a fraction
of a second, so I turn the ****
the mud begins to spray in globs
Now in 4 wheel drive I proceed
should be enough to do the deed
of getting me on down the road
so the truck still I goad
Forward into the muck
hopefully and with some luck
we make it to the end
then my frayed nerves may mend
But then the bad news sinks in
we have to turn around and do it again
the cow tracks look like tiny lakes
now out of the truck each step I take
My foot sinks an inch or three
so I step to the side under a tree
try to walk on grass and roots
getting taller as mud sticks to my boots
Almost there I see the door
of the mud I want no more
into the deer stand I climb and sit
a reprieve from the mud for a bit
Three hours later constant rain
back out into the cold mud pain
tripping and sliding back to the truck
for the trip back in the mud and muck
The muds not deep it’s just real slick
depending on the route I pick
halfway back, spin sideways
not into cactus or a tree I praise
Slipping and sliding is great fun
but right now I long for the sun
you see the truck I drive is not my own
father in law’s out on loan
So get it stuck or bang it around
I will never live it down.
back to the gate no incident
onto the road no fender dents
This is day one of the hunt you see
so three days left of this for me
100% forecast of more rain
and those **** dirt tracks don’t drain
Sep 17, 2016
Sep 17, 2016 at 9:08 AM UTC
An ash tree stands
at the place of creation
it is called Yggdrasil
A high tree
well-proportioned
the source of the dew
mother of winds
Green it is
standing over
the well of fate
Its roots draw
from the waters
that freshen that well
In old English there is a word
Treowth
it means both
tree
and truth
This tree is truth
its latticework of leaves
and branches
more intricate
than the Milky Way
It is a lung inverted
inhaling heaven's mists
exhaling the wind
It is our guardian tree
planted by a mighty race
that came before
A sentinel of hope
a goad to good works
and the last remaining sign
of a dawning
when the human mind
was first formed.
Rest now in its shade.
The final journey will soon begin.
Aug 1, 2016
Aug 1, 2016 at 4:43 PM UTC