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WS Warner Sep 2011
Against the saturated
Horizon of dawn,
Loitering in the dark timbre
Of emerging consciousness -
Dissipating somnolence
And preemptive despair,
Tacitly adumbrate the
Yawning abyss.
Chastened by the cunning and
Lubricious nihilism,
Igniting fermented provocations,
Silent subterfuge; death,
By mirth - the inane;
Lament of the mundane.

Fallow paradigms, accretions of
The last gasp -
Evaporating empty liturgies
Of suspicion;
Charity and equanimity -
Lost in confinement,
Triumphant avarice bearing
Descendants
Of intransigence;
Wielding imperious
Schemes of orthodoxy.

Pollard fragments of
Silken tapestry,
Miasma draped depression
Abridging;
Conversely,
Permuted flurries of anxiety
Dislodge
The vestiges of meaning
That abide
In brazen equivocation.

Tributaries of dogma reach
Their confluence,
Watershed moment,  
Numinous effusion
Streams naked epiphany,
The precarious vision -
A gesture of providence,
Certainty and contingency;
Gratuitously derivative, life
Equals choice.

Verdant branches of intention;
And opportunity the vine,
Live forward -
The pen, my voice,
Piquant conduit pouring,
Exuberant wine.

Footprints found in givenness
Underline,
Penumbrae of my soul;
Mirrored silhouettes,
Thoughts and words engender;
And in verse adorn
Fecund soil, Line after line,
The cosmos altered,
Continuum of permanence -
Artist’s art articulating
Essence of my imagination,
I proliferate, I design
Phrases unique,
Participation mystique.

Words creating world,
The apparatus of infinity
Heidegger, ontologically precise,
Language -
The house of Being,
Ineffable, Promethean
Literary devise -
Envisioning possibility,
And abundance to allow,
I occur
Inhabit
Manifest
Future phenomena
Experienced as now.

©2008 & ©2011 W.S. Warner
Fish The Pig Oct 2014
you're so **** gorgeous
and I'm so **** not
you're the envy of the nature
which you gratuitously stomp on.
ugly girls have ugly hearts
and my ugly heart
doesn't want you around
I don't need this competition.
I don't need to feel this bad.
You're drop dead gorgeous
but I wish you'd just drop dead.
dan hinton May 2012
Look at that ***
Just one more look
Before you walk away.
I thank God
That we have women
With blue faded skin tight jeans
When I’ve been breaking my back
Working like a dog
When blood sweat and tears
And violence are so gratuitous
With people sinning gratuitously
Don’t we deserve to sin a little?
To indulge in a little flesh?
When there’s drugs and violence
On the streets, people dying everyday
And not even making the news
We could do with a few more
Blue faded skin-tight jean cowgirls here today
A few more cowboys showing how the West was won
A few more days of reckoning
And a lot more hell-to-pay.
People have little respect for others today
There’s nothing to threaten them, and nothing to fear.
It’s good to see the bad guys finally on the run
We could do with a few more blue-faded skin-tight jean cowgirls
Here today.
Brycical Dec 2011
I am called a scrooge
as I dislike this greedy
grimy "holiday" of gorging
gratuitously on cookies dipped in mashed potatoes.
People grabbing & gouging
for electronic pop culture distractions
to celebrate the "birth" of a baby
from a lady who claimed to be a ******.
Everyone expects something
to be given, pressure permeates
those souls who wait 'till last minutes eve
as laborers looking for reprieves of this
audacious onslaught of wild eyed drooling
consumers
while I shutter at home watching TV's screaming
Why wait 'till the "holidays"
when you could have gotten that anytime?

Kids with detailed lists of wants make parents
feel like **** if the money's not there--
traveling to visit relatives the family cares little about
while everyone sends fake happy cards espousing
happy scenes of fireside matching sweaters next to a
tree cut from outside brought in--
a metaphor for the biannual church families
dressed up to sing hymns and drink wine.
So you can call me a scrooge,
or even a grinch,
I don't really give a ****,
cause I've been giving gifts
consistently loving thy fellow man.
When people say they're tired of a person, often a friend—
Do they mean, exhausted with the idea of submission to their actions
Responding to their preferences
Falling prey to all their ways
Or hearing them drone loquaciously
Putting down disagree-ers gratuitously
Speaking of themselves, about very little else
Until all hope and faith in them has deteriorated beyond all mercy?
I am yet to confirm
What is true beyond all else
Gone through the Rubicon,
Universal to all nations
But why must I tolerate a monk
That devoutly praises himself to the depths
Beyond all fierce comprehension,
His devotion remains a quandary
Sam Hawkins Jun 2017
With lift-off intention I jumped to fly.
I was something like root grounded tree.

Taking flight was so absolutely hard,
though my guru counseled me.

With acquired and studied implements
I tried to cut each holding.

My intellect in truth was rather dull,
though Spirit bolding.

In hieroglyphic's manual page 222
I intuited hints, incantations true.

Here for scheming:
Fly-O  Fly-O  Fly Fly-O!

I recited that fortissimo for a week
in lucid dreaming.

Then my weighed body, my un-weighed soul
together I suppose remembered it simply,
that God had intimated flight for me
(gratuitously gave).

In classical mind's eye I spied
Icarus sploshing in a wave.

Entered in-- Ab-or-ig-inal Self.
Whoa, I said, hello!
shocked at that showing.

I know... I know... I know...
with ease -- be natural, just be still.

Unequivocally state
(this way make your start)
I need help.

so I believed it
I spoke it

and then I sailed and sailed away
with freedom, my heart.
PK Wakefield Dec 2010
hard soft i'm large and groaning a fit of plastered excellence in my ambrosia fountain of giggling fornication this city is grandly exalting and flustering mightily incense of femmes du *** who art graciously ******* with a their boisterous choir of laughing *** or the men groping seriously their frail fair trackmarked beauty and they finger their air and lush and spit gratuitously their eyes upon their *******

                                   and they like to laugh with their haughty whorish
breath            a longing barely chained loosed slowly in splattering
                 abscesses of lust                
      ;         asinine men go and plead sourly your heads in thighs sweating
anorexic ***. your Are
         is
                                               just
cosmic
                   lice
Marshal Gebbie Nov 2009
Cry not for what you do not have
Bleed less for what is given,
For the cruelty in your fellow man
Will paint how greed is driven.
The silent fields of Sobibor
And Dachau's dull grey light,
Pay testament to past largess
In what is wrong and right.
Conception's teeming contest
Has dispensed your primal luck,
Your greater expectations
Have run, gratuitously, amok.
For what you are is what you get
This mirror's image barks,
And delusional ostentatiousness
Reinforces those remarks.
Seek not the golden rainbow
Nor pursue the greener field,
For disaffected affectations
Promise you a simple yield.
Learn to love the skin you live in
Irrespective of the warts,
Live within your  limitations
Despite disparaging retorts.
Count the blessings of the moment
Take each small step at a time,
Come to terms with who you are
And you will find it all...sublime!.



Marshalg
@theBach
14 November 2009
Default African,
Yes I am,
And a disgrace for that matter,
Yet African with Katekism,  
I am supposed to be,
Come rain, sunshine or high waters,
I have betrayed you Africa,
I have 'back-stabbed' you in the face,
And spit rotten phlegm in the wound,
Giant mother,
With this badge of slavery I now proudly wear,
**** me.  

Never have I washed my father, Or mother,
Never have I washed my grandfather or grandmother,
Neither of these have I ever dared looking after,
Yet today,
I assume total custodianship and curator-ship,
I take care of some grandfather and grandmother,
Somebody's father,
Somebody's mother,
Somebody's grandfather,
Somebody's grandmother.  

Only yesterday I was told,
Your father and mother passed away last year,
And so did your brothers and sisters,
And they were all buried like dogs,
Their burials were the talk of town,
How could you let that happen,
How could you,
And I am these enermies' comfortable door mate.  

My grandfathers were colonised,
Because of our rich land,
And now I have been extensively colonised,
Because of their pound,
Because of wanting to be a Westerner – overseas,
Away from you,
Continent of respect and dignity,
Continent of dance and song,
A continent pregnant with untold tales.  

My sick mind has been colonised,
Graduating me into a nefarious modern commercial slave,
Just but an echo of an old tune,
A worse slave than my ancestor,
The Kunta Kintes,
I am a cheap voluntary slave,
Who has been gratuitously deserted by his values,
The African values.  

I stand accused before myself,
I am a cumbrous culpable default African,
An African who has lost his ebullient Africanness,
A charlatan ******* African on a detour,
A dismantled, shameless self destroyed pimple,
A nauseating counterfeit second hand African,
An extraneous stain on Africa's underwear,
I am of as much value to Africa,
As is an over- used ****** to a  filthy growth point *******,
Regrettably, that is the African I have become.  

How I wish I washed my father and mother,
How I wish I washed my grandparents,
How I wish I took care of them,
The wish is killing me badly,
I may as I have  run away from you Africa,
But never from Africanness,
Litres of your blood flows in body pipes,
I am because you are,
I am a default African.
Ann Beaver Mar 2013
Giant, gruff, grinning
it grabs gratuitously
at my body.
Grumpily grappling
onto my arm
and throwing.
I grasp at green air,
I find only the graceless
graininess of gravity.
It, grunting,
grips my insides
and greases the ground
with my grimy gremlins,
my greatest, grueling torment.
******.
Samantha Jones Sep 2012
deep soft warmth encased in meek palms
fingers smooth
and formulated truths
each groove parts seas of future loves

following the mold laid out before me
thoughts and mind flow
out of perky fingertips
through the barrier of time
a pen is gripped as my head tilts slightly

a journey takes place
to watch you hold my own
gratuitously

and now, as time allows
your grip becomes tighter
the swell of a ravaged soul
protruding, a once favorable innocence
now drowning
lines
cracks

i feel your heartbeat
PK Wakefield Dec 2010
asoftquietafore;
                                 B OO   M!
grunting swirl. the speakers speak intangible friction
who's so slightly an empirical fever
nursing gratuitously the male flavors encumbering
the ego flecked freckles *** lisping
    elegantly cambered waists                shrines of molten ecstasy
but my lady niggles sporadic splinters in my sheath
and i
             splay the courageous night
                                                               and penetrate her plaintive giggle
andrideayellowbuckingmetal
to her supreme station
                                        and palm her credibly
with every effect of my huddled fibers

                where she is gently wet      
a winsome hollow
                                  in where
   is

                           springhotlycaked     light boisterously exploding
and a pink breaking every other colour
   i slave mightily to it's hairless stubble and i stumble
rightly dumb
                            at her close cut whisper
slanting ardently a moist bolt of night
                     aggressively passive
                                                               and patient
she cups my puddle
                       and
                    with
                      lips
                   purely dirt
                 she scrapes me   perfect
Dallas Phoenix Sep 2016
I'm sick of bringing welcoming baskets to my brain-dead neighbors;
They reek of reoccurring favors and fading candle labor;
I mean...
It's to a point I fell asleep by the wishing well;
And woke up counting sheep frolicking piggies playing kiss and tell;
Debunking trumpets of cachet telekinesis;
I'm a hidden sinning villain with chewable junk as his personal Jesus;
Evade gratuitously from all kinds of communication;
Never wanted the attention, but I caught it's contamination;
And my face melted;
But kept a defunct smile just in case;
I need to worm through the dross and cut myself into the chase;
I'm a motley of misinterpreted mayhem;
A clothing shop for a wandering vagrant's cloudy stray phlegm;
Trying to comfort the uncomforted;
My life is just a Death Row inmate's last words with unwanted conjunctions;
But somehow through misery
I pride myself imageless and infinite;
Reeling in the years to blow that last smoke before the finish;
PK Wakefield Nov 2010
she '
           s a bigflavor
stuffed with agile bones
and gracious stocky elated heat. winsome flush density: that to(o
which i'm merely malleable metal
some gold, palmed freshly
in the grove of supple magic
a boisterous thigh and i,m love

                        I,m

massive.

i
  ' m witless charming music i
                                              m '
clumsy lighting gnashing slow
at lewd digestible ****** of your swift
fiber shedding miracle or you
                                                     my quavering note
      of pure violence
                                         stabbing rightly my paunchy ego
    and bleding
          i steal into your absolute cherry and marvel
viciously the timber of your soul
which burns and freezes gratuitously like the sun and earth
who are lovers like we
effortless
     and
                                                    )ETERNAl
when in the world’s (supposedly) leading democracy
a new president starts his office with

     making life more expensive for average home owners
     signing orders threatening the health of millions
     restricting the publications of researchers
     denying global warming
     encouraging coal and oil companies
     forbidding federal employees to talk to the media
     going on fantasy trips about “alternative facts"
          to justify his ridiculous lies
     blaming the media when asking questions and checking facts
     barring leading media companies from press conferences
     waffling about his Russian connections
     refusing to release his tax returns
     ordering to build walls to keep out all those aliens,
          like the old Chinese did, to little avail
     issuing poorly formulated presidential orders
          causing confusion and harm and even deaths
     banning even green card holders from entering the country
     filling his cabinet with all the alligators from the swamps
          he promised to clean during his campaign
          people who know how to avoid paying taxes and beating the     system
          but have no clue how to govern now that they ARE the system
          and think they can run the USA with its 350 million citizens
          as Trump&Cronies;, USA, Inc.,
          like their private family businesses, for profit
fraternizing with kings and monarchs & wannabe sultans in the near east
     'democratic dictators' in the far southeast
      and wannabe czars in russia
but hesitating to confirm ties to old allies
     in Europe, NATO, and the Far East
suggesting that having undeclared secret meetings
     is quite OK for his campaign team members
     his son and son-in-law & cetera
nominating well-known union busters
    into the Federal Office of Labor
    and a billionairess widely unaware
    of the existence of non-private schools
    as Secretary of Eduction
banning grandparents. grandchildren
     as well as aunts and uncles
     of gratuitously selected countries
     from joining their families in the USA
 believing that the US president & his cronies
     stand above the law 

[ctd. fron line 2...] THEN
it is high time to seriously ask
what concept
    if any
of democracy he has in mind
In view of ongoing developments, this poem is a work in progress and will be updated whenever significant "presidential orders" or some such become public.
(this endeavor more self directed to progeny,
whose psyche wounded, strafed, and nicked.)

Incumbent upon me own
     purring impetus, a sincere
desire arose NOT to ask
     thee anything, but mere
lee accept father's shortcomings,
     which time constraint here
which poetic expression hoop
     fully evokes thee dear

daughter (Eden Liat,
     a whip smart,
     mature first born),
     who didst bear
witness to unpleasant
     super charged rage
     undoubtedly breeding aversion,
anger, disgust, hostility, embarrassment,

     estrangement, hatred, ill-will,
     loathing, repugnance, shame
     when we lived at
     1148 greentree Lane,
     and 734 West Railroad Avenue
neither riches such
     as precious metals,
     jewels, gems, et cetera,

     could never buy
thee equivalent of
     an admirable, equitable,
     and inimitable
     "star student" die
ving (figuratively) into
     the thick of life,
     which grueling, sans fierce

     exertion bore fly
ying colors, where Lower
     Merion academic instructors
     (kindergarten to twelfth grade) high
lee touted your
     above average aptitude
viz, dominant intellectual
     bent intrinsically, genetically,

     and enigmatically brewed,
which "smarts,"did
     advantageously inc clued,
perhaps even a sum mattering
     of intelligence quotient
     girl scout points froom this dude
yielded a metaphorically harmonically,
     and compositionally complex

     cerebral edifice etude,
oh...and of course being
     nursed by "mother"
     as moost vital infant food
to foster (long hall)
     robust body, mind
     and spirit that
     did more good

then harm (I hardly
     aver no critique
     posed against breast milk)
case in point attributes
     your physical health,
     when rarely did thee ail
accessing apportioned medicaid
     resources, the pediatric

     service provider would avail
exempt from common
     child hood diseases
     (nearly all eradicated -
     at least in this country)
     with proven inoculations,
     which only minimally caused
     uncomfortable side affects,

     and for the most
     part did derail,
yet...no matter this dada
     strove not to fail
as thee paternal parent,
I recognize resentment,
     that oft times burst forth
     like a furious gale

     (putting dear old Florence -
     yes her of cane to shame)
if this muggle able and willing
     to wave a magic wand,
     and turn back
     the hands of time
he would revisit those
     instances, when hurtfulness

     thee em man hint
     beautiful darling daughter,
    would even resort to mime
to communicate the
     inadvertent hostile environment,
     ye and the Punim unfairly weathered
     asper blistering crime,
asthma person appeared as a ***,

when this "sir" with hate,
     and/or mother
appeared ill suited tubby
     legal birthright guardians
     in part attributed,
one or both of us
     vowing school of hard knocks
     tubby a flunked out “FAKE” alum.
ConnectHook Apr 2018
Apr 28
Hi all !

Having a great time here in post-modern poetry.
We’ve been on the island since Sylvia Plath croaked in ’63.
It’s been a bit smoggy, incoherent  and gratuitously cryptic, but the prison-guards are super-nice and they let us write Haiku once in a while. There’s this MFA creative-writing place just up the road from the gulag, it’s really charming. They publish a chapbook that 4 people on the island read. They also host workshops, like How to Find Your Authentic Voice and Pushing Language Beyond the Boundaries. Last night we saw some non-identity-politics-driven verse in the nearby wilderness reserve. It had beautiful plumage and made totally weird sounds. (Hey Dylan, you’re remembering to feed my muse, right? Don’t let her out after 5 since she might stay out all night. She does NOT like the free-verse abstract work. Feed her the structured message-oriented stuff to the right of the editorial literary-elite. Thanks ☺ ) Anyway, we’re trapped on this island so if you find someway to get us off, do your best.
PLEEZ tell the editorial prison-guards that we are working on our English Lit MA degrees.
P.S: send the Maya Angelou and Adrienne Rich books soon !!!!!
                                                       Love,
                                                     ­     Rita Dove’s Bookshelf
PROMPT:   draft a prose poem
in the form/style of a postcard
“Query”
from a word miner non-trumpeting
Beatle browed quarry man.

One emailing digital commoner bemoans assiduous,
zealously yearning xing worthy values undergirding
the storied renown quintessential peaceable operation
nations marvel lately kindling justice,
institutionalizing hope, gentility, freedom, equality.

Dummkopf Donald Count Drake
Hula iz destroying cradle,
where forefathers/mothers begot
America. He shows no demonstrable diplomacy
DURST donning duplicitous damning dingbat drive.

THUS...SPAKE
ZARATHUSTRA GAVE ME THE GREEN LIGHT

I call out President Trump blitzing, donning,
and flagrantly hoisting his arrested development
proof positive he lacks the acuity,
diplomacy, and generosity to invite kosher
or Goyim mandates.

As an anonymously, devilishly,
grouchy voluntary member
(as well a deplorable basket case)
of the one man literary duh vice squad keeping
a mostly straight and true reputation for Hilary Clinton
(versus his claim of her baseless crookedness,

she evinces qualities immediately evident
asper an old gnarled hickory stick), I will
stick tommy figurative guns in an
attempt to staunch the figurative bloodletting heaped
upon admirable Democratic constituents.

Concomitant with this near impossible mission
will be my unbiased opinion, that our FAKE
commander in chief aspires to abrogate,
denominate, and generate demonstrable gimcrackery,

invidious kleptocracy, and incorporate
questionable statecraft.
Analogous to an old chestnut tree apothegm
(well rooted to create self serving,
vassal hating (viz vacillating),
retreating, and re: tweeting

from conscionable, fashionable,
and inimitable laudable official,
regal unequivocal x all did (re: exalted)
gratuitously justifiable management,

this citizen banker does hint intend zealous altercation,
but bestir commonwealth, dutifully engineering
fairness, given hover into jaundiced keeper
LivingSocial lee, man hooverring
opprobrious presidential qualities!

Pointblank obnoxious
quintessential recklessness, subpar,
tacitly ubiquitous voracious
wickedness, xing yawping zapping,
and brokering capitalistic
demagoguery constitute
just tip of the metaphorical iceberg.

His blatant, downright
**** the **** the torpedoes
unleashed viciousness woebegone
lake luster personal gain
to shore up claque king coterie
of family, friends and wu tang
clan, wracked worst world wide

White House den of thieves, which wake
formerly somnambulant populace
to the utter void of requisite skill
unfairly acquired via host
of apprentice television show.

The terrestrial terrain teams now
teems with thuggery, skullduggery,
and raggedy quality people opposing necessary,
manifold linkedin kneads jettisoning important
human goods fleecing essential democracy,

compromising basis authors
of Declaration of Independence, and
framers of Constitution rang the
bell of life, liberty and pursuit of happiness.

The zero sum game trampling, traipsing traducing
basic birthrights botched, bumbled, and blithely
desecrated, via tattle tale telling,
tee totaling, trumpeting tyro
leaves tracks of depravity, gallimaufry.
Thus, (in my humble viewpoint), this mister Donald

(meister usurper  power monger meanwhile iz
***** kneal son nilly, higgledy piggledy, and
wantonly indiscriminately sans,
helter skelter lapsing into  
figurative seat of his back *** while
steam rolling, and letting swing
the wrecking ball like a Golem

howling, jabbering, snapchatting on the loose.
Trademark bully tactics trumpet
his abominable, execrable,
and irascible back *** steam roller
tactics to divert attention,

whence he plopped his paws into as
many profitable, questionable,
and reprehensible theatrics to offset
the mounting evidence of his nepotism
oozing pew tin utterances bring

cataclysm Cat toss trophy at mice elf
and doorstep of average American, who seem to
cower, fawn, and grant high jacking
identity guard, which crass
flagrant indiscretion inflict opposition
to progressive quests.
Sometimes it's better to need to apologize
For an unjust ****** to wake up the sleep
Of anesthetized  conscience that is moves
Relentlessly towards doing grave hurt to
The public . That this strategy not  be too
Gratuitously deployed it must needs be
Paid for by a self wounding duly inflicted.
Robert Ronnow Apr 2023
“There’s nothing you wish for that won’t be yours
        if you stay alive.”  --Beowulf

Winter has arrived and the wind cuts through
the parking lot under the el in the Bronx,
streets stretch out in their directions, events
in their mere chronology have no relation.
Old friends face certain dissolution
with perplexity, comity and humor,
look with gay eyes on their future
in a forest or a city, someplace.
Snow outside, despair inside. Homelessness.
Raccoon tracks cross the soul. Prostatectomy.
Winter mix. Don’t relax. The difficult
dangerous season when weak creatures die
and the strong barely survive. Leave me alone
with autumn, an autumn like last autumn.
Don’t stand around my bed, I won’t be in it.

Jack’s in jail. His panic attacks are like
an AI on automatic pilot
who wants to live, just like the rest of us
under the eye of eternity or
running in new snow, loving that feeling.
Some people go dancing in fishnet stockings.
Effortless mastery, success without practice.
Fractals without chemistry. Do the small
things first, clean the house and bless the guests.
Sick of Krshna, sick of salad, sick of self.
Sick of meditation. As I lay dying
the full moon’s rising. My existence
is indivisible from the wry Creator’s.
I like the old Rhymer, his smile resplendent.
It’s Death, not the Jewish king, in your rose garden.

I ply my arts all day alone. All I have
is all I do not know. The past isn’t dead
it never even happened. Learn the changes
then forget them. Keep on learning and re-
learning them. Down the steep and icy trail
through hail and storm. Take into eternity
my hail and farewell. We’re living in the
Anthropocene. Indestructible garbage.
Bulldozed landscape. Big Brother, dead father.
***** of the tiger.  Getting thought to twitch
the prosthetic. Mischievous, malevolent,
militant thistles. Or just plain polite
Americans, afraid to get shot.
Bump bump bump down the igneous rocks of life,
take the boulders two at a time down.

Old-timers bagging groceries, low social
security for the security guard.
Situps, pushups, fix yr brakes, fix yr leaks.
I know what’s gonna happen before it happens.
Polar bear mugs wino exhausted by that earlier,
irritating, constant need to survive.
Surrounded by history, neither seen nor heard
from again. And a deaf mute in a pear tree.
If it’s human, nothing’s wasted. Pasted
into a big wet kiss or posted
on the internet. Stolen from the pockets
of the dead, burgled from living memory.
Most art is dispensable, ***** and *****,
vaginal lubrication, prostate enlargement,
the unknown, anonymous man named me.

I’ve been wrong before and I may be wrong now.
Things fall apart. Or maybe not. Maybe
it’ll all hold together 10,000 years more
after all we’ve observed a galaxy born
13 billion years ago, a faint red blur,
and microbe partnerships on the ocean floor.
The good life’s all around us smiling
girls on bicycles, dogs on leashes,
equality is mandatory.
Sweet solitude and privacy, quiet
sitting spot, write a little, read a lot.
Tip generously, gratuitously,
like good luck. Haircut, cabride, dinnerout,
to eat a continent is not so strange.
Does Jack even exist? I doubt it but

the class of transformations that could happen
spontaneously in the absence of knowledge
is negligibly small compared with the class
that could be effected artificially by
intelligent beings, aliens in the bleachers.
Japanese knotweed also known as kudzu.
The Chinese navy also known as t’ai chi.
Water shortages. War and wildfire.
What you’re scared of and what you love. Contracts
and deliverables. Hate speech, fate.
Humor or ardor, I can’t decide.
Dad’s steel-toed boots. Leaves, flowers, fruits.
Things are said, mistakes are made. I’m driving
pontificating on geopolitics
when an archangel flies into the windshield!

Lost my timepiece, lost my metronome.
Well, music is a manufactured crisis.
Caloric restrictions, control your addictions,
desire to be famous, propensity for violence.
The profusion of species contents me.
Wilderness comes back strong as cactuses,
chestnuts, coral. No more missile crises.
Eat less, an empty belly’s holy.
Horselum, bridelum, ridelum,
into the fray! World order—not my problem.
Only meditation can save your soul,
should there be such a thing. There are actual people
half woman half man running past me
and dream people in movies half language
half light. Or they lie under polished stones
embossed with actual photos of themselves.

Learning who you actually are is difficult
as sitting still 10 minutes w/o a thought or want.
To get lucky you gotta be careful first.
Knowledge of death without dying =
early retirement. Counting your blessings,
a healthy activity. No solution
to death’s finality, and such a blessing
awaits me, too. If you’re suicidal
they call the cops. The audience is full of glee.
Watres pypyng hoot. Chinese characters. Quantum guesses.
Most failures, and most successes, are in our future.
I embrace wild roots and run through streets
with arm around my girl. Inmate #427443.
Poetry and surgery—they go together
like a horse and buggy. Cheerful as a flock
of chickadees. Looking for a lost horse,
I hear Appalachian Spring!

Look one way, from another come the heart’s
missed beats. Much better to look slowly,
labor for the success and happiness
of others, even the old and frayed.
Look it up. There is no death, just perfect rest.
Look more closely. It will be gone in a few days!
First entertain, then enlighten if you can.
Is it stress? Yes. Tired of death? It’s what it is.
Let’s play sports, have ***, live a wonderful life,
give generously. If you see a hawk on a bough
at field’s edge beyond the corner you should have
turned, maybe it’s a sign to go on, alone.
No body, no soul. No mirror, no black hole.
No mission, no hero. No applause, no noise.
No experience, no nonsense. If words can
be arranged in any order can they be
of any use in foreign policy?

Disappointed, didn’t get what was wanted.
Forget me not, is that all I want?
A catbird account, a mockingbird account
and an owl account. Then, and only then,
nothing’s missing and nothing’s left over.
Jail or zen mountain monastery
hiphop artist hypnotist bebop trumpeter
unknown soldier black bear bad bladder
ice cold beer poker player wry Creator.
If not one way, then another. Otherwise
give me your 5-10 best hiphop artists. Can
they take the sting out of life like bluegrass, jazz?
Mimics, woodpeckers, sing-songers, hawks,
chippers and trillers, whistlers, name-sayers,
thrushes, owls and a dove, high pitchers,
wood warblers and a word-warbling wren.
Unusual vocalizations.

We have hope that everyone alive is
essential, consequential. The commonplace
and everyday is sanctified. Nothing else
special need be done but stay alive.
Don’t lose passport, don’t be late to airport.
Insects are pollinators, insects are us.
Romance without finance is a nuisance.
November, however, is sweet, sunshine
through bare trees, dry brown leaves companionably
visiting among the dead. When middle school lets out
at the periapsis of Earth’s orbit
that’s the face of joy. Each leaf out and Jack
in his boxers. If you run over a chipmunk,
a groundhog or a skunk, say a short prayer.
One can’t help being here, queynt.

I live in a state so blue there’s nothing I can do
to change man’s trajectory and if I could
what angle of re-entry or ascent
would I choose? Grace is what we get
no matter what. Come the tired end of day
Jack thinks why not waste time watching tv
but the next day he has a hangover
like Ernest Hemingway or **** Jagger.
Your soul is immortal. It exists outside
of time. It has no beginning and no end.
If you cannot accept this, forget it all,
do not even begin. It all goes into
the same church service and comes out babbling
for God to appear. The shorter the service
the better, less passion, more resistance. Joy
may outlast the holocaust. Get it while it lasts.

The material world is reality, my friend.
Reality is not always what we’re after.
I like Jack’s confidence, that working the problem
will result in better outcomes than guessing.
Confidence is the feeling you have
before you understand the situation.
A hawk hunting or just floating waiting
for inspiration, a heron rowing east,
an owl’s quiet hoot even simpler than
the pentatonic bamboo flute.
What’s not to like? Ice cream, yogurt, profit, tofu.
Mosquitoes this summer are relentless,
heat and humidity, merciless.
Ice will ice those little *******.
Killing time before it kills me. Ha ha.

Whatever forever. Poetry is plumbing
your unhappiness habit until you reach joy.
As I think of things to do I do them.
Thing by thing I get things done. I think
that’s how my father and his father did things, too.
“Away up high in the Sierry Petes
where the yeller pines grow tall, Ol’ Sandy Bob
an’ Buster Jig had a rodeer camp last fall.”
It is the older man’s responsibility
to protect, not as a hard-charging archangel,
Jack’s joints couldn’t stand it, or hero
but as a rational participant,
cool, caring and completely zeroed in.
Culture or religion is an answer to
the problem of what to do and why do it
when your cancer makes poetry from
losing the argument with yourself.

To die spiritually in the hot sun
and the body go on climbing, haunted,
hunted, nature’s intelligent partner.
People are the element I live in, or else.
Call for the elevator. Wait for the el.
Snow on the Sonoran, each saguaro
wearing a white yarmulke. Creosote
smell as snow melts, ocotillo buds out.
Man needs help from every creature born.
The blackbird contains death but it’s bigger than death.
It’s more like God but an ironical god.
Smaller and funnier than God, impossible
to regard directly, gotta look sideways,
aim binoculars left, right, up, down—
missing every time. There’s nothing you wish for
that won’t be yours if you stay alive.
Aditya Roy Jul 2019
Thence, to rise and to shine
Shining Shoes like the boy who dreams to shine guitars
With a box full of things, that I don't even know
What they were meant for, a semblance of freedom
Or some kind of splendid intertwining of these circumstances
My preceding circumstances could be less like my inhibitions
This is the house I always come back among old and missing things
Like a sold case for lost typewriter
These screenplays are written on borrowed time

I come in thy lassos of the sky
Really, is time an object and my preferences are lying about
I am pensive near the fire that I so desire
The attention I aspire for, and the friends I'm grateful for
I gratuitously ingratiating my missing pleasures
The road was taken, and some freed were less
Lost by the surrounding *******, I made haste
Landing upon a metaphorical desert
I was forced to look at ways to leave this road for dated people
Who reminded what it felt like to in the fast life
Theoretically and tersely, I make debate about things I understand
I have hopes and dreams
Being humble is one of them, but, I cannot think of any reasons
To be arrogant, but, you bring out the best in me
And make haste leaving me in my hate and agonizing feeling
I preeminent and imminently expectant of the recesses of sextants tanks that thing in this ziggy stardust
You were once a roll-roll star, you lived by your words
But, they reminded of how you never thought you were an artist
Until someone proves you wrong about your ideas
And exchanges them for incessant doubt
Like a man at sea looking at broad horizon
These are parallel perceptions of how you are brought about
In your life
And my life
You might be slovenly, and that makes you the title
Stolen by some man at sea
Instead, your heart was stolen by the man with the telescope
On a midnight cruise from a distant lighthouse
That signals through the cloudless climes and surrenders ships
Forbidden, like a sea of endless *****
Fulcrum Reaction And Loathing
Doggone poet laureate
wannabe his index finger wags
nonverbally naysaying those,
who doubt mine posthumous
fame and fortune, which snags
eternal renown within pantheon
of storied writers such foolhardiness nags
yours truly keeps bad company with hags
unemployed day after Halloween,
whose outsize egos deflate
analogous to activated airbags.

Apology in order implying
aforementioned slander of witches
despite abandoning (me) mummy for dead
subsequently necessitating zombies
of Sugar Hill rushing to ominous scene
doubled over while laughing in stitches
unwittingly jump/kick starting
slapstick spiel opening up
supporting improvisational pantomime niches
allowing, enabling, and providing opportunities
fostering the ability to ad lib:
abbreviation for Latin "ad libitum"
unexpected theatrical glitches.

Creative wordsmith frequently
replays silent film
constituting mein kampf
taking lock, stock and barrel
of untapped natural resources,
thus he tries to discipline himself
assigning mental, physical
and spiritual tasks
to challenge body, mind,
and spirit respectively
indifferent to superiority
of others similar talents
verily, specifically, and
particularly crafting poems.

I envy those considerably years
née decades younger where
access to sophisticated technology
offers ability to brainstorm with their
multitude of social media platform
nowadays mostly wireless paraphernalia
can launch instant webbed wide world
devout following bearing witness
to hypothetical individual
gratuitously emulating wing and a prayer
lest he/she disappoints,
hence experiencing unwelcome jeer
if not earning bajillion dollars
while still a babe at *****
distraught and filled with despair.

Topsy turvy global times as sons
and daughters rake in predominant wealth
courtesy commodification of their name brand
if necessary utilizing
advertising subliminal stealth
messaging think uber twittering, snapchatting,
to lyft buzzfeeding, et cetera acclaim
documenting fitbit
hulu jimmying livingsocial
thru sickness and/or health.

Peculiarities (mine) hashtagged as weird
cause pecuniary circumstances
find me poor as a Unitarian Church mouse
yet if/when being triangulated by poverty
unexpectedly and suddenly squared
with windfall such as winning
the humongous Powerball
(October thirty first 2022)
strangers claiming kinship neared
brazenly approach unnamed sexagenarian
pencil neck geek long haired
attempting to become best buddies
literary endeavor feeble effort
conclusion blithely aired.
Dr Peter Lim Oct 2021
Life as is gratuitously  bestowed on me

      I will ever cherish but never blemish her beauty
Ken Pepiton Dec 8
May we presume… our duties
- stop reading at any point
- no blame- no claim
- this got some past Pearl Harbor
- laughing,
- at prodigal riches Jus Bellum ******

Quest of the day,
by chance taken,

you feel our shared wish
to know why

the old orders form doctrines dividing

soul and spirit,
ambiguous,
at worst same
which is worse or better
memorializable realizations,
ambivalent, at best… valorous guts

faithful core, sound mind

love enemies, death,
before dishonor.

-girdle of truth, guts.

Gaseous we form, steep, indeed.
Pressure adjust
with a yawn.
Deep Silicate ooze
from some directions.

Every player makes a telling.
Best life on Earth as prayed.

The common story, the court
of public opinion, live
from a mindform retired,
asking -already  asked
by whose authority
may we ask,
must we retell it?
-- I love to tell this story,
of a liar who loved wisdoms
dust motes dancing
in sunbeams

Thou shalt not bear false witness
against thy neighbour.

Close as we found to:
thou shalt not lie…  bear witness

-bear, weigh down on…
take a bead, flat out
lie about a neighbor
on the whole true planet,
that is a wonder
to have being in.

No other's witness, diminutive
visions stretched
to contain paid
attention,

miracle
signum, prodigium, and virtus

see wonderfilled
by leaving
the legend written
on heart discs,
in the cloud…

little white pebbles
to follow, meandering, mean
mental deep significtioncy team
-Hansel's second walk
into these woods, used pebbles
because breadcrumbs get eaten.

Believe me.
We know.
Grimm Ache
to b'com'abit
of worth within
the story re-deveil-ed
uses religious reasoning,

smile, slightly,
at thinking rational
share, taken breath
of life, equal share.

Without money, without price

take and eat, discern the seed,
sow it grow it, eat it your self.

This next part gets steep;
This was not bad so far, same muse
used, but it runs on air, fair excuse.

On Earth, as it is
we live and breathe
and have our being.

Mortal, non eternal being,
brief
seed self soul spirit will
to may perhaps
being sown, so far
so good, living on

past the bone tied to bone,
dry bones, can these bones live,

so will
to prosper manifests
will so

we may imagine we

can, indeed, we can

find just cause
for making peace,
where no peace has yet been,
becoming final mortal form
artful being naturally chaotic
at the bleeding edge, close up.

Zoom out, use your movie eyes, see
from any POV, we are living witnesses,
stirring
up the ashes
of our oughtabins.

experienced
ex + peritus "experienced, tested,"
from PIE *per-yo-, ed form
of root *per- "to try, risk."

Per, 3 of 5, haps we used.
Past tune, tense time tied
experience, re-allied in Truth,

fairly daring my fully armoured soul
to face my informed shapeless spirit.

Laugh, inside, feel the weight, breathe,
and think life all one initialized algorithm,

an I'll go rhythm,
per 1, forward,  
per 2, lead on,
per 3, risk trying
per 4, strikes impression,
per 5, deserves familiarity
"to traffic in, to sell,"
via the per notion
of "to hand over" or "distribute."

steep or deep, as above, so below, yada.
'gotta license per usual ritual yada per
It is the hypothetical source of/
evidence
for its existence is provided by:
Sanskrit aprata
"without recompense,
     gratuitously;" -- no charge, freebie, giveaway

Greek
porne "*******,"
    originally "bought, purchased,"
        per-nanai "to sell;"
             as per usual ritual business trafficked in
          Latin
      pretium
"reward, prize, value, worth;"
         Lithuanian
perku
        "I buy."
<per-#etymonlinev52726>

It forms all or part of:
    appraise;
  appreciate;
depreciate;
interpret;
praise;
  precious;
   price;
     *******.


Moving, characters,
minds we give POV

A personal best, today… I'd say,
if I were another
in my mind.

Reproving experiences.
Legends realized  
At temptation
to test person
hood worth
to the whole weform
informing our swirl
in mind,
in spirit, and in truth,

discernible poetically,
as slight smile feelings thought.
- hum of life around me

The glory of any wine is joy,
our strength is the joy
of eloheem, the host
of heaven as is e
ai, indeed the very spirit
in the idea
first peaceable
indeed mere thought
bought, using patience, pure,
without hesitance,
principle thing
to get the win weform
this wisdom, which is packaged
with understanding,
post experience
we all have access,
in the whole truth package we swore
to tell…
we  define our terms assisted, 't's
bein' how we come
to have these screens,
seen free as far as
we can see,
from many points
of view, seeming fractured
ancient attention spans
creased old folds, sacred
scripture… salted old roles,
form old faded preverbs preserved,
parchments, lacunae, and palimpsests

Spirits from letters let be preserved,
a host of those abide with me,
accounting for sweet hours
in prayer, for sweet hours
in after words, smiling,

We once stood toe to toe
with iniquity himself, and took the bet,
went all in, thinking, I already know.
My side won the ball game,
it is my own head
on the line.

Plural I, laugh inside,
  a we aware peace cheats,
     from war's POV, asks us:
-wombed or un, any man kind,
attempting preverbial believing.

As man hold true at core… die for
true, no lie, tried, and died, deep

Peace, past understanding, hold on,
this goes all night, sometimes.

Who is a wise man and endued
with knowledge among you
let him shew out
of a good conversation his works
with meekness
of wisdom.
---
But if ye have bitter envying and strife
in your hearts, glory not, and lie not
against the truth.

Such wisdom descended not
from above, but [is dark chthonic]
earthly, sensual, devilish.
---- what if devilish meant mm-use-d?

For where envying and strife is ,
there is confusion
as when peace happens
in a mind
on guard
against two things, confusion
and every evil work.

{Feel free to assume all ritual formulae}
Good luck.
No war chants, no bad spirits here.

distant shout
  TOWBRA'

eeha abba embodiable I know
  beauty and truth, ra' Eber memory
  know how

to hold a people
in mind, a we form,
ceremonial memorial muse arousal,
      Those we knew,
who steered us once,
   we find them
in our peaceful rest, long
   moody blues calm, lingering  
    to laugh inside, we knew
the same truth's we made the same peace

when eating fresh fish, beware bones

But Wisdom that is
from above is first pure,
then peaceable,
gentle,
easy
to be intreated, full
of mercy and good fruits,
without partiality, and
without hypocrisy.

Hypocrisy is the art
of affecting qualities
for the purpose
of pretending
to an undeserved virtue.
Because individuals and institutions and societies most often
live down
to the suspicions
about them,
hypocrisy
and its accompanying equivocations
underpin the conduct
of life …on Earth, in orbit
{ed said carry on bear witness}
Imagine how frightful truth
unvarnished
would be.
[Benjamin F. Martin, "France in 1938," 2005]

And the fruit
of right-use-ness is sown
in peace of them that make peace.
James 3:13-18

Used, right, still good. Usable still.
Peace in patience, sharing any good a muse is used to fabricate peace.
Yenson Dec 2023
Less than two hundred years ago
your ancestors were still being dehumanised
as they have been for centuries and centuries before
So hurray and bully for you
that now you stand tall and proud
and like The bugle-master or Drivers of old
you are tasked
with trying to dehumanise one of your brothers
Hey! you are a free man
your Handlers tell you
forget your ancestors were once mere chattels
but look, you are one of us now and we all stand together
This is about Power and Revolution and destroying
anyone we gratuitously determine is an 'elite'
this is our 'one sided truth' and as always you cannot disagree
Less than two hundred years ago
your brothers who talked revolution
soon floated down a southern river or hung off a tree
they, of course did not have a 'one sided truth' to tell
what do dehumanized chattels know about effective propaganda
or fabrication, distortion, misinformation or misrepresentation
when even now, you and some of your brothers and sisters
still do not have a clue
Look how easy it is turning you against eachother
mixing and boiling your little heads till you're shanking eachother
and chasing pennies or dancing and singing
So stand tall and proud
Its them and ua, we tell you
Do as you are told and cry out your solidarity, 'brother'
Show how far you've come
in over two hundred years and centuries and centuries
Hammad Aug 2020
Far beyond the horizon
the show begins
and the sun
starts to set
Painting the sky
with red
and many shades and blends
of orange
It's the hour
when sadness descends
gratuitously...
Ripples of light
fades away...
and so the birds
call it a night
so why are we
standing on the shore,
watching this spectacle
and still wandering?
goldenhour sunset wandering love

— The End —