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I gave into a subtle beating,
Wrought once by Eros’ tasked -entreating,
The winds confound I lost my heart and…
…she of black-haired, eyes, dark beauty;
warm-rosined cheeks of nature gladdened.
For Pallas' claim, -said we both were saddened.
And me a farmer, she a princess,
I of yoked-labor, while her suitors, -the best.
Doth Father-King did mantic challenge, that challenge being sought in no jest.

Accosted me the low-ly suitor,
He gave of me a challenge -the worst. He sent me to the serpent’s folly.
With dagger and heart, whirlwind passion, sought I did the guiles’ jolly.
Up the cragged wind-swept mountain, past laurel berries, trees of holly,
Into white polished marble temple to the folly of a lair-born beast.
Gave my most but just a farmer, heart of swelling beat untempered.
As he set out, devour meal thus conquered, came she the dark-haired raven beauty, with shrieks and wails doth shocked the serpent, he surprised I plunged my dagger. Serpent dead she held her finger to my lips and then did whisper;

“We of Pallas judgment true did, find our love rise from ash-field –lister.
Tell of this you will to no one, you the boy who captures fair-heart,
To father you shall be a hero, deception we of female -impart,
Cleverness you must now fashion, must fashion your will to a high art,
Something of a nature now you must know,
Like the serpent-challenge dealt your passion a blow,
Apples will not save you once and,
Once as King and you my hus-band,
We the two of Pallas’ favor, love forever shall we savor,
I the half of you shall sing, you the half shall make me King,
We together, rule forever, we of two sides brawn and clever,
No serpent ever come between us, now that we a love -Athena’s!
Go now and this be our se-cret, marry me and never re-gret, all is yours and I your egret!”

Of this I did sit and ponder, on that hill of temple, off at yonder,
Me of fields, dirt-laden squire, she at court make of me a liar,
Is her beauty, hand a console -to the surety and loss of my soul?
Run I did to the city my way, storm gates to the court and did say;

“These, the teeth of folly’s serpent and she will be my wife on this day!”

Aged now and sit here, grumble...

Kingdom of deceit into which I crumble;
Woe to me how didst I tumble?

In rush to love perhaps did stumble?
In later years now here I humble;

...love was not worth all the trouble.
Old English-style rhyming verse. The classic mythology of the man entranced-by or enslaved by the serpent and rescued by cunning, trickery or deceit on the part of the female. This tale is as old as written history.
K Balachandran Sep 2017
Embedded in ancient myths, each moment
of life one lives is out and out mysterious .
In the firmament at night, every star
that is winking at you is a memory
refracted to interstellar depths by
laden layers of light years.

Swimming in this lake of kaleidoscopic dreams
I encounter fish with every countenance,
imaginable; wishes all, from lives past, far and near,
some even aberrations from future

Sometimes during such
underwater explorations,
I see myself flying above
numerous planets,
dressed in transparent
dark nights or moonbeams
spun from wishful dreams.

In one of those trips
to the present,defying laws,
I see you, sitting there
frozen in time,
like a work chiseled in  alabaster
all smiles,among your deer friends
all lovely does!

In a flash, magic carpet of time flies back
I remember you, our encounter unforgettable!
The wily tiger, in the guise of a lover, you
were getting closer to the deer, pure at heart
so naive to the guiles of the forest.

As you were about to spring at her
Your eyes, met her steady tranquil gaze,
that spoke of love and compassion, infinite.
Remember,you froze, as if by a spell,
struck by the force of  nonviolence.
You are still there, even after avalanches
of million dense memories,
a tiger, all killer instincts frozen,
still trusted among the deer, your dear ones.
Now I can see your eyes zooming around
for the mystery to be revealed;
meeting that ancient deer again, for final resolution.
MdAsadullah Dec 2014
A soldier controlled by his heart.
Had a bright sword to cut apart.
An author controlled by his mind.
Used pen with wisdom designed.

Soldier was a strong, hardy fighter.
E'er bullied the young, weak writer.
Lowly pen was no match for sword.
Inharmoniousness, always discord.

Firm soldier in winds admired trees.
Author liked grass in gust or breeze.
Tolerated intimidations with smiles.
Concealed his anger with guiles.

Mildly used poison day and night.
And sharpened pen's nib to fight.
One day pen broke sword in two.
And soldier's soul bid him adieu.
Ceryn Feb 2013
I am calm in my ways
I never react to any disgrace,
I rarely give my point of view
And still I never find a clue.

I am calm to life's surprises
I never reckon presented chances,
I just see everything lightly
To preserve my deep serenity.

I've always been calm and collected
I never mind if I've been rejected,
Neither do failures nor flaws can break
A heart that's always been at stake.

I see to it that I stay calm
I never put my life to any palm,
Mine has always been so precious
Even when the world can get so tedious.

But now I don't understand everything
All that has lately been happening,
Clueless faces and secretive smiles
Speaking eyes, a look that guiles.

Responses can shiver you straight to the bone
Bizarre lines he can never hone,
Sly endeavors of reaching a star
Minding not how hard and far.

My inner conscience's set to commotion
Not even ready for a straight revelation,
When the time comes an iceberg breaks
A smile could be shown by a girl who fakes.

How about the first one to make me know
That life is just a playful show,
Everything could be played with roses and gun
When a problem arises you can always run.

Comparisons are made of which is which
Torns that have been made, how can I stitch?
When all the pieces seem to be badly fragile
Is there a chance to put them still?

Well I don't really mind if confusions linger
All the shocks in the world, I'll never be a receiver,
'Cause they might all get knotted in my complicated mind
These impossible problems and trials of any kind.

Still I hope everything going to be fine
Whoever is that deserving star to shine,
But take note that I never give it all
Always cautious of a painful downfall.
JR Rhine Dec 2015
For Aleš, who reads pacifist novels during wartime

I

For the Millennials:
Victims of opportunity,
Saviors of humanity.

Muse-less, useless, a twentynothing!

We, the Confounded Chiliads,
are the electrified pulsating
offspring of the digital age:
Serendipitous,
enigmatic
vagabonds of the modern world.

Standing juxtaposed between
two centuries,
two generations:
Redeemers of the new millennium.

We’ve read the writings on the wall,
for they have been by our own hand.
Blood dripping down the fluorescent page,
the endless scroll that consumes our gaze.

Gaping holes in our hands and feet,
screaming telephone poles pin us to the magnetic current.

We are trapped but we are not alone.

With every word we bleed,
with every eye to our flesh,
our cries are drowned in the digital void.

We have been washed away by alluded idiosyncrasies,
never unanimous nor harmonious;
feeling our fingers tie into knots,
mangled, finagled, wringing, hovering like a
Ouija board over menacing letters.

We close our eyes and feel them
burning within our skull.

So many voices, so many bodies,
pouring into our thoughts;
endless rainfall
drowning the long coveted silence.

So desperate for the parting
of ***** storm clouds,

for a sign from heaven
to pierce through the ceaseless night,

to cast its lovely gaze upon us
like a father’s warm and gentle hand,
lifting up downcast faces.

We toil in our anguish,
suffering information overload;
a whole race of individuals
accumulating into a massive “I told you so.”

Every wish, every genius mind,
every glance into the future,
every crystal ball rubbed,
Electric Eye awakened

as the dream sighs into existence;
the blending of fact and fiction
in the prophesies of Fathers Orwell and Huxley:
maddened forlorn oracles of modernity.

As we cross the rivers of Babylon
to find ourselves swimming in
the Fountain of Youth
we escape dripping, exhausted;
aching bodies shivering.
They drape expensive towels around us,
breathing warmly on our exasperated shells
of humanity.

Our mortal vessels no longer capable of
carrying our fragile identities,
we leap out of their torpid mouths
exposing the gelatinous crustacean.

Amorphous brain matter
sponge-like, soaking up
the sweat of our plunder and plight—
Clinging desperately as our liberators

pry us off the wet earth
like barnacles off a ship’s keel,
wringing us out
over the supper bowl:
the thin soup of mortal consciousness.

Feeling our voices and vices,
virtues and virulence,
mingling together;
meshing into one.

The hive mind descends upon us,
protruding a gaping straw
from its abdominous being;
sticking it into the electric ocean,
proceeds to **** life up into its
wrinkly, sickly tightened mouth.

Past the gleeful tongue,
down the throat;
tumbling over each other aimlessly
in the darkness—
limitless potentialities.

Directionless;
ambiguous
voices in the dark:
cavernous, mindless cacophony.

Echoes bouncing off
the windows of my soul,
I tumbled into the darkness
lost, and afraid.

“The world is yours!”

I never feel my feet stop moving.

Our nightmarish episode of consumption concludes,
leaving us moaning, naked, confused in the depths:
Haunting spirits wandering these novel dwellings
built on the backs of the olden brutes
and the barbarous archetypic minds of the Marxist prophets.

In this world of post-civilization,
we are post-human(e) in our efforts;
unable to gain a foothold in the foundation—
more quicksand than earth and stone.

Our seeds were thrown to the weeds and the crows.

II

Muse-less, useless, a twentynothing!

I glance at the others: gangly gangrenous guiles!
Feasting on each other, never growing any stronger;
clawing out each other’s eyes, spitting in their mouths,
screaming utterances most foul in their ears.
Climbing over each other in the obscurity, unseen.  

I want them to take my eyes.
I want them to take my ears.
I want them to take my voice.
I want them to squelch the flame
that burns within my cadaverous chest.

Surrendering any chance of agency;
if there were hands to bite,
I couldn’t see.
I hear the voices shouting,
but I can’t cut through the discord.

What if I hold my breath?
But I know that won’t last.
Feeling my lips turn purple,
the kick drum in my chest:

furious relentless crescendo
pace quickening mind’s racing
all the sins in the world
rotting in my soul inescapable
pounding at the door
clock ticking through the floor
lungs shrivel can’t take anymore—

Exhale.

Panting, hands on my knees,
ears perk up to the sound of malicious snickering.
I lift my gaze up to an eclipse of the moon,
so ghastly in fresh blemishes plaguing its majesty.

Squinting,
I see smiling faces,
eyes full of mocking laughter,
belonging to snide children
anxiously peering into the crowded fishbowl.

They watch us squirm without water,
dancing in aching bodies,
craving the touch of something cool,
and refreshing.

They dangle hope and promise like
lifeless puppets encircling
an infant’s crib.

I watch them tie onto simple strings:
wealth, and
power, and
love, and
belonging.

Reaching higher, and higher,
straining formless muscles,
feeling weakness overcome
creeping up like a tired conscience
climbing over the golden crest
atop the transparent foothills
encased in the nicotine screen skyline.

It hangs its head low
on its hands and knees,
lifting up a weary voice
so familiar and ignored.

A final sigh ringing in the ears of a generation:
A cough, and then a final weak sputter:
“I Told You So.”

III

Muse-less, useless, a twentynothing!

Anchored to the next big thing
sitting below deceptive still waters
murky mysterious
loathesome beast
peeking an eye out to catch us peering
over the edge of the docks
a glimpse at the promised eternity
immortality
delusion of grandeur
our eyes to the shore
nostalgia preserved
in the retellings of folklore
childhoods never forgotten
for fear of being lost in the present
and the forthcoming future
always a step away
how can we move on
when we’re busy cutting off our legs
to be eye level with our inner child
more like an exoskeleton
more exposed than our need
to grow
we sit huddled in our bemired despair
grinning sheepishly exposing our sin
crying out to the gargantuan
overlord of childlike fantasy
wielding our innocence
like a button-eyed ragdoll gluttonous treasure keeper
playing with fire in the alchemist’s den
so close to our material wealth
with the flames roaring lapping at our heels
feeling the dock begin to break from dry land
from the weight of our inflated consciences/consciousness
following the fangs of the snake to our parents
on the shore
with one hand sweating on the television remote
strangling in its grasp
they have no choice
but to squeeze the pump
harder and faster
legs of flesh and bone
break and give way
we begin to drift from the shore
pulling closer to the murky behemoth
that lurks under the perpetual offing
in the empty horizon we cry our broken hearts
into its cosmic bowels
feeling ourselves being sifted through
the hungry machinery of death
eyes luminous we shield our faces
from its rapturous gaze
fearful of the pillar of salt
that will stand in our place
but we look back
we take our hand off the plow
with ***** and Gomorrah at our backs
we peer through the electric eye
the sands of time
pouring through the hourglass
that spits us into the depths
of eternal strife.

IV

Muse-less, useless, a twentynothing!
Twentynothing!
Twentynothing!
Twentynothing!

Tw­entynothing in the classrooms!
Twentynothing in the workforce!
Twentynothing in the bathrooms!
Twentynothing in our parents' wars!

Twentynothing in the golden streets!
Twentynothing in the broken homes!
Twentynothing in the dusty libraries!
Twentynothing in the TV's drone!

Twentynothing in the Promised Land!
Twentynothing in the songs we sing!
Twentynothing in the secret plans!
Twentynothing in freedom ring!

Twentynothing in hands over hearts!
Twentynothing in our love in bed!
Twentynothing in the obscure route’s start!
Twentynothing in the lies we've read!

Twentynothing in the lives we fear!
Twentynothing in the scholar’s debt!
Twentynothing in our guns held dear!
Twentynothing in the tables set!

Twentynothing in the colors of skin!
Twentynothing in the reality show!
Twentynothing in the losses and win!
Twentynothing in the nightmares below!

Twentynothing in the kisses we hide!
Twentynothing in the I O U’s!
Twentynothing in the chanting of pride!
Twentynothing in the love you too’s!

Twentynothing in the hope we give!
Twentynothing in the dread they moan!
Twentynothing in the time we live!
Twentynothing in the chance we own!

Muse-less, useless, Twentynothing!

In the post-modern world aimless!

We, the Confounded Chiliads:
We are dangerous,
We are longing,
We are hopeful,
We are broken,
We are serendipitous—
We are eternal.

We Are Twentynothing.

…and that’s **** well something.
Written in Ginsberg's shadow.
Andy Plenkers Mar 2012
I'm a lodestone for misadventure.
These soles are worn thin by the miles.
This soul is wearing thin from the guiles.
These porcelain faces and mannequin smiles.
A game of taunting and jeering.

Who's to say, winner, loser?
Who's to tell you how far you have come?
Maybe not better than all, but better than some.
Grey areas, gray matter, I'm not dumb.
This is a story, it has just begun.

I've got it figured out, but I don't.
Contemplation, thoughts.
Nostalgia and doubts.
I've got it all figured out, but I don't.
CeilingStar Dec 2017
The Black Queen rules
Great and terrible
She manipulates fear and loathing
She injects it into her people like morphine
Seeping into the cracks of broken hearts, damaged souls, weakened minds

She is ruthless like the sword of a merciless knight
She is the clenched fist that grips the stiff iron blade
The mocking gleam as it cleaves innocent
She is the panic of control, the dark of the night, the love of hate

She is the man who watches his family die
The mercenary who was made to do it
The King that ordered the bakers family to die on account of his wife choking
Misleading and taunting and tempting

She is what brings down kingdoms, worlds, people
She is the mold that rots the roots of a  family tree
Her poison runs thicker than blood

The Black Queen does not forgive
She will never release you from her guiles
She is most of all, a trickster
And like a trickster she hides her true colours under a black veil
So that when you are taking your last breath
You will know
To have vengeance is blood
And blood is red
Not black
KG
Priyam Jul 2010
Stand still,
And stay quiet if you will.
Upon the scene that I shall paint,
softly now tread;
Upon the roads that divide,
Are crusts of dreams ahead.

Rising to the bright moonlit skies,
Do you see your innocent lies?
Lies keep you sane, keep you sound,
That keep your kites flying
Whilst you smile on the ground?

Do you see the veiled broken hearts
Beneath the pretence and the guiles?
Their fake glee, the fake smiles?
In the silver sea of the stars,
Do you see the hope that spreads to miles?

So stand still,
And stay quiet if you will,
Behold the beauteous silver skies,
And then tread softly on the light beams;
For they are your own innocent lies,
Your own sea of stars,
Your own little dreams..
Carsyn Smith Apr 2015
When I do meet the gun that will not fire,
I cross the trigger that has yet to rest.
My heart yearns for the ear of a liar,
a dark cipher and gnawed gold in his breast,
as fingers ache for the truth in his eye,
gilded guiles, a world he keeps private.
In a dream he shot me sweet as a sigh
with a touch fatal as any bullet,
but dreams melt like red and blue to purple,
creating a world of passion and pain --
he is a chained ankle and an angel,
a cold-shouldered knave and soft summer rain,
     a night vision of hope and black regret:
     a misfired gun I will not forget.
Kav Birch May 2015
Tears streaming down my face
as volcanic emotions rupture the seams of this frail earthen vessel
and as molten fears roll down hardened cheeks
they remind me of broken cisterns
trying to carry the burden of
precious water to thirsty souls

Tears streaming down my face
flow from a place dark and cold
beyond the surface smiles
and feminine guiles
lay a pain waiting to explode
it’s been brewing for years
and the threads of this patched soul
can’t conceal these putrefying sores
anymore

And so they flow with the passion
of rivers on a quest to find the shore
seeking answers mystic as ancient folklores
corroding tightly concealed dungeon doors
waking painful dreams untold
Yes these tears stream down my face
and this time I’ll let them go

let them flow upon diseased waters
bringing purity and wholeness
like HIS Blood that has saturated ***** sheets
I'll let them caress this pain
rain washing this soul clean
I’ll let them remind me of where I’ve been
my tendency to sin
the hope i can only have in HIM

I’ll lay myself upon HIS brazen altar
pour these tears upon HIS throne
Allow this cistern to be remade whole
sweeping away the dust and the cold
I’ll come home
to that place of rest in YOU
KLD 30.10.05
Tasneem Moosa Oct 2017
You no longer see me, is my face not as it used to be?
Has my body that has changed, added to us growing estranged?

I yearn for your touch, the reverence of your love.
Building fire in my veins, causing short-circuits in my brain.

Not the cold distant lover, this man that dreams of another.
Is it my mind playing guiles? Wishing that’s the reason for my trials.

Is it beauty that you seek? I offer beauty yet only skin deep.
I cannot give you much, apart from my undying love.

Shall I change my looks? Be someone else to get you hooked?
Will you want me more? Displayed as a porcelain *****?

Rejection breeds desperation, with it my infatuation.
I am dying in frustration and your eyes hold my damnation.
Arlene Corwin Sep 2018
The Highest Prize

I am not intelligent;
IQ middling, slow to think
(except when I’ve had caffeine’s drink))
I know people whose vocabulary,
Skills in math and history
Outdo, surpass and outshine mine
By kilometres miles,
Eclipsing talents, each outrivaling  
My wiliest of guiles.

And yet, and yet
I lie or sit
And never quit
Creating verse.
My biggest blessing, little-lest curse
To (all the time) be struck by phrase
That never hazes,
Never dazes or confuses.
Simply takes my life and uses it.
Perhaps fusing the parts, (I hope)
Unjoined or compromised or *****.


Of course, being the seated type
That learned to type when just a tike,
I snap things up and write them down,
Typing up and clipping to with paper clip
Each page of quip and deepest scrip
While taking ownership of ideas wise
And ideas definitely dippy.
*

I admit, without self praise,
That I’ve been blessed with artist-joy.
(A gift I didn’t have to buy
It being given me for free).
The gift to knock together, forge concoct,
Then synthesise chords, words, whatnot…
The highest prize I could’ve got.

Perhaps intelligence is overrated.
One can feel complete and sated
By a zillion other qualities:
Not sensory but definitely
Meeting needs:
Ones that feed the world as well.
All other prizes, as you know,
Gone to the hell of false impression’s phantom spell:  
Of no importance whatsoever.

The Highest Prize 9.30.2018 I Is Always You Is We; A Sense Of The Ridiculous II; Arlene Nover Corwin

(written certificate)
*(scatterbrained, silly or eccentric).
Becca Addams Jun 2021
I sit here alone
My thoughts provoked
Sinister guiles
Plotting my end
Tempt me no more please
End this cycle
Thoughts renounced
Disappointment announced
Calling for anguish and despair
No more I beg
But chains I cannot shed
Tears fall
Blood boils
Incompatible but none to blame
Worthy is question
Doubt is present
Resolution implausible
Dada Olowo Eyo Jun 2019
How easy for men,
To fall prey to the guiles of women,
Abandoning proper critical processes,
To simply thinking with their phalluses.
From boxing greats, to TV legends; football idols and Olympian gods, the malefolk have continued to give in to fleshy dictates that result in scandalous events that have 'shocked' the 'world of women'. But will men ever learn to use what's between their ears rather than what's darling between their thighs...hmmn?! SHAME.
Yenson Oct 2021
Hood gangsters and loony thugs
stalking for pittance
chasing bravados of the lame brains
pedestrian warriors
of alleys dissecting solidarity of morsels
franchising anodyne flairs
dopes of all seasons and red beasts beasting
mental stalking per psyche
my mind a freeway for rogues and imbeciles
to marsh trundle and vandalise
dimwits see tarmac chevrons and sign posts
I know side trails
made by years of natures sweep and nurtured tends
yet hidden in plain sight
he who knows the guiles of the hunter also knows the ruses
of that in crosshair
the spiritless ghosts and their entourage of goons and miscreants
are nullified on hallow grounds
my spirit is always victorious as the spawns of Cain loose themselves
in mirages and quicksand
shambling tripping messing missing falling and failing over and over
the tragedy of criminals fools and simpletons
Yenson Jun 2022
in criminal's hock

slaving restless ghosts

reverberating themed dirges

from floored mutiny of flawed pocus

shackled in the dire mire of  vapid witlessness

in their majority of woes they find their majority of woes

fickle feeble nonentities wallowing in the obscenities of puerile haze

scatter-brains find futile guiles in hicks' dud armouries

our graceless ephemerals twist in hyperboles

indentured Sisyphus' controlled

toiling at replicating alike

blinded by jealousies

in prisoned minds
Yenson Dec 2020
All the textbook stuff rolls
trade by batter
while we check the chains
below decks
the masters of commerce
thieves with guiles
the nameless pigs of pigs
go rope studs
take sea horses for farms
if they scream
or dare protest their fates
toss overboard
power and control is ours
anyway which way
any ****** which way
white is white
all others hues are tainted
to be manipulated
to be controlled and used
we're world artists
we can whitewash and erase
tell colourful history
for the devil's in the small prints
the fork's in our tongues
which we hide to control the controls

— The End —