"heretical" poems
Power pulsating between my legs
Irrational intrigue between my ears
Alacrity asunder between my ribs
-Heretical human blender-
Serving up cleverly crafted cocktails
I am
Spouting sureness from between my lips
I am
Stirring in sweet sultriness
Soliciting sour sabotage
Submerging you in salty squeamishness
-Colloquial courtesan, curtly castrating consumers-
Inebriating you equally with inevitable irrationality
Welcome to my "Reader’s Digest"
Prepared especially for you with my psychologically indigestible
Jan 14, 2012
Jan 14, 2012 at 10:35 AM UTC
Galileo Galilei--
Physicist, mathematician,
Astronomer, philosopher--
You angered the Roman Inquisition
And later the Pope and Jesuits as well.
Your scientific observation
That the earth moves around the sun
Was deemed a heretical revelation!
Spreading ideas "contrary to scripture"--
A risky endeavor and path to take--
Guaranteed life imprisonment
Or a gruesome burning at the stake.
Under pressure you recanted:
"The earth doesn't move around the sun."
They say that under your breath you muttered,
"And yet it moves." You lost, yet won.
Though you lived under house arrest
For years until the day you died,
Your scientific contributions
To benefit mankind cannot be denied.
It's sad when dogma and ignorance attempt
To force dissenters into compliance.
It's sadder yet that in this century
Too many people still ignore science.
Our thoughts aren't shaped from cookie cutters;
Beliefs don't all fit the same mold.
Praise to the thinkers who soar to great heights
And break authority's stranglehold.
Praise to those who dare to defy
Petrified positions or views--
Who challenge our mind-set and open our eyes
To truth and awareness, despite jeers and boos.
- by Bob B
Oct 15, 2016
Oct 15, 2016 at 8:55 AM UTC
Finite Fjords ferried then forgotten
junctures Masking mashups
disunion unfound by everyone
slackface mouth agape
tongue in cheek spittle drips
words trapdoored out
vocal vacuum chords
strum silence
heretical heresay
the headlight sped north
Abortion of caged comfort
Abort wars, birth best
invent intentional acts
WILLED UNDEVILED DEEDS
BLEED BREED PLEAD
SERENITY WITHOUT ANY GRANDIOUSITY
Mar 24, 2010
Mar 24, 2010 at 11:25 PM UTC
As if I only have that much time to type
a lifetime's worth of beauty.
Or it may have only been
that seven minutes of memory.
Seven minutes to scream out
the glory of a first kiss, and
the shuddering surrender of an ******
sweat and fire and ecstasy.
They told me, when I was young,
that I had to find my love
and let it **** me.
Seven minutes of music
the world rolled back and Samsara
a mere smile in the lamplight,
just another of the gods' company.
I've found many loves,
and their knives tearing holes
and their beauty a weapon
and their innocence a torch
and their hatred a drug
and their pain abhorrent
and their abandonment a sin
and their touch heretical
and their eyes of jewels
and their words made of bullets
and their hope a sad Gypsy
theirs tears a lonely guitar
striking chords in me and
God forgive how good they feel.
I am undone, overthrown, emaciated,
torn out, weary, overcome, eviscerated,
redeemed, hallowed, sanctified,
all of this and more.
I love you.
I have yet to die.
Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 11:54 PM UTC
black top hats and heretical clowns
surprise! the circus is back in town
ladies and Gentlemen- we've a show tonight
so bed the kids and dim the lights
hotel ballrooms and cheap champagne
silhouettes of Falsehood and the infamous Fame
a gallery of harlots and libertines
blessed with the curse of controversy
suicidal salvations and casualties
religion built the bomb that burned the buildings
a ballet of East making martyr of West
they pulled their own trigger- shot themselves in the chest
creaky pulpits and dusty pews
a prayer to be one of the Chosen Few
but holy water won't cleanse these Sins
in time, all shows must come to an end
so bed the kids and dim the lights
it's time for a panicked revival tonight
clasp your hands- bound by rosary beads
baptism- your wants, prostitution- your needs.
Mar 7, 2011
Mar 7, 2011 at 4:26 PM UTC
Giving or not giving voice to the heretical words...
Understanding that the true love is a scarification.....
For being or not being....
True love inundating the conundrum
Like that sacred river of longing,
Sometimes flowing swiftly through landscapes
Astounding the lurid heart.....
The sound of silence passing...
Passions galvanizing the wounds and painful mares for enduring...
Trying to heal the injury...
Flying gulls beneath the lower bow, touching the blue waters of the ocean.....
Waves and sad memories dancing on the golden sand....
Shying away from the horizon line....
Vessels screaming and shouting their hearts out....
Swimming across the ocean of red burning coals,
Searching for that golden threshold.....
The colors spectrum giving the necessary senses to the lights of absolution,
When their senses turn inward.....
Gazing the mountain from the windowpane...
From the indoor side of that rain-rinsed windowpane.....
Sitting on that mountain and gazing at the stars....
Birds gliding across, like rainbow rising, spreading their wings, streaming..
Those birds flying in a variety of ways, ranging from gliding to soaring to flapping....
The crystalline steeping slopes of the mountain multi faces....
Being decorated with climbing ropes, heavenly as seen from above....
And the crystalline waters, steeping cliffs, hidden lakes and lush forests...
A sign of a divine love...
Understanding that love is like the Earth and the gravity,
Inseparable.....
Groans and moans leading to mortuaries....
Life being like walking in the middle of the park,
Embracing the crouch air,
Or embracing change by resisting the defensive crouch.....
And going deep into the human system, feeling like being born again....
The smile on face painting an episode of the past,
Engraving our hearts with golden debris,
Like a golden pyramid, contracting pyramid.....
Generating our consciousness and chasing away insanity....
Sounds of silence passing...
Being like a blue ocean...
Oct 8, 2011
Oct 8, 2011 at 7:18 AM UTC
something heretical in our sera
a peeking thing, half mischievous
and i, trying to see if you are my mirror if you
recognize the streak in me as your own something familiar smelling like the sweat beneath your arms the
glossy glint off your scleras the
trail of forest on your body
heretical
something wild in the the skin that slips beneath my hands like a
many-worn silk of some old god like a
selkie would feel about the centuries old earth and the
neverchanging of days, darkbrightdarkbrightdark
something freeing about the sting of winter air in my nostrils something
ripped away from my long exiles in the city something
replenished in the true empty fullness of a silent tundra a
dirt-covered snowbank a
grey iceflow on the water something
dissident and infidel about your soul and mine together something
potent in our marrow something
wild and
freeing and
dying
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 1:02 AM UTC
one day, I'll sit
and explain
each and every line
I'll weave a tale
of every heretical thought
that crossed my mind
I'll describe the emotions
that clawed their way
through my chest
Alien like
and came to rest
upon a page
sage like
in its green(ness)
Exhalting in its freeness
Yes, one day I will explain
and until that day
read what you can
take what interpretation
that gets you though
the gelatinous mass
that is Life
One day, I'll explain
until then
let's pretend
we got through this
together.....
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 3:10 AM UTC
Here's pain in iambic pentameter.
Iamb skill, like the lion that kills lambs.
'Cause I am Bill, not just an amateur.
I am will. And I will not give a ****
.
Mem'ries beat on, hear it all on your feet.
Five metrical feet, heretical feats.
I'm not pent up with pain that I mete out,
Burdened with truths I'm trying to eke out.
.
That's five pairs of beats alive with the heat
Of pain on this tragic perimeter,
Until it leaves no memory of doubt.
This ain't pain? Why'd I write it down again?
.
Live through spasms with enthusiasm!
Bruise some atoms, throw some glue right at 'em!
Jun 20, 2013
Jun 20, 2013 at 8:43 PM UTC
The manner of her tongue was a bit antiquated, yet her personality was heretical, rejecting traditions.
She is an ingenious paradox and I'm a little abashed to say that I'm in a state of extol.
However I came to the consensus that I will safeguard her inaudible heart, scorn every hint of dismay, and feed it to the vultures.
I have jettisoned my own grotesque nature, for she is my alleviation.
It might sound querulous, but she is the pinnacle of my languished existence.
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 5:14 PM UTC
*I contend that it is not my place to give testimony or
To tell what love is but that I must include love
Here now so that I can get on with my story
Intelligibly with the help of the word itself
Without any other ideas or explanation for it.
Dr. David Dosa, speaking on behalf of Oscar the cat,
Stated that Oscar was never wrong and that Oscar
Seemed to have some innate ability to know when a
Patient at the Steere House Nursing Home was going
To pass - going all the way back to when the cat was a kitten.
Dr. Dosa went on to say that the pernicious, anti-social cat
At the Rhode Island center would only cuddle up to those
Patients who were in their last 2 to 4 hours of life.
The talented Oscar has proven the medical staff wrong on
Several occasions when patients were close to death.
Dr. Rosa – when asked about Oscar’s accuracy stated
That Oscar was right 100% of the time and that to his
Knowledge or to his staff’s knowledge that Oscar had
Never gone in and cuddled up to any person who was
Not near death, something that he had to accept - that
The cat had better instincts than he – a doctor – possessed.
At present, I hope that I have sufficiently captured
The reader’s understanding that there are yet many
Things out there in the real physical world that neither
Science nor religion can understand but I know what
Oscar knows – what he knows is this thing called love.
Now that phrase is not at all to my liking.
For to say a man is fallen in love, -
Or that he is deeply in love, -
Or up to the ears in love and sometimes
Even head over heels in love carries
With it an idiomatic implication that love is
Somehow beneath the man (fallen) – something
Regurgitated in Plato’s opinion which with all his
Divinity ship – I for one hold that the thought of Love
Being beneath a man be damnable and heretical.
While Oscar the cat simply says – let love be what it will.
And possibly, just possibly - gentle reader -
Without any further current explanation, so do I now
Join ranks with Oscar as I write of a love that is
Alive and well – and if I do not come and cuddle
With you it is not because I do not love you.
Tis but my task to find those in greater need and
When I find them near death, afraid or lost
I, like Oscar, I know of their fear and of their
Desperation so with pen in hand
I purr next to them cajoling
Them onto their next great experience.*
Jun 1, 2017
Jun 1, 2017 at 10:14 PM UTC
Take it as a compliment
Branded heretical.
Bring on the pyre,
And set it afire;
When they resort to
Crucifixion
You’ll know you have the right
Convictions
Nov 16, 2020
Nov 16, 2020 at 10:03 PM UTC
Dogs howling eulogies, desperate
To late-night-early-morning lovers shot dead dead dead in the streets
Sunset to sunrise hit the pavement running over with blood
I am wrapping paper holocaust, strung out,
Livid in lost motion
Gypsy caravan euthanasia breaking news bulletin
Losing teeth losing sleep
All shades of bitter gray
Color chalk-outline landscapes
But the sky held fast heretical blue
Streaked & stabbed & sodomized
Satellites, searching searching seaching
It's a wash, a cheap trick of the light
Sidelong glance cast nervously over the shoulder
Immigrant dream of bygone peace
Boulder pushed eternally up a hill
Sisyphus for the low-life lowest common denominator
While ****** shook shook shook her head
She only likes the men with bombs
South of the border north of Hell
Spanish gold dust shot up winding black black black roads to frantic nervous system
El rey esta vacia, scrawled slipshod black ink under the overpass
You can't see it without some kind of death wish
Dec 23, 2014
Dec 23, 2014 at 3:27 PM UTC
His mother was suicidal
His father was patricidal
His siblings all fratricidal
They fractured his parietal.
His acumen was impractical
While his mien was didactical
His morals were retractible
And his religion was heretical.
He longed to be a celebrity
And wished for its celerity
To skip the serendipity
And fork over his luminosity.
But it seems that synchronicity
Paired up with idiosyncrasy
In a natural form of complicity
And waylaid him with complicity.
He moaned that he was qualified
And not the least bit mollified
To be so soundly criticized
That they could not recognize
By those who were so glassy eyed
A plenipotentiary, very wise
Who appears before their very eyes
Who they would gladly plagiarize
Even while they ostracize.
He can’t achieve equanimity
When so many hold their enmity
And treat him so outrageously
In ignoring his magnanimity.
After all, is there anyone living
Who is so astoundingly forgiving
Than he by the simple act of giving
And letting them go on living?
Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 8:02 PM UTC
When poetry describes the historical,
One refrains from becoming hysterical.
However by use of the judicial rhetorical
A Poet makes full use of the allegorical!
So when writing poetry I remain stoical,
That though some may think me radical,
Employing words they considered lyrical,
I try never to appear, irrational or critical.
To write about the mystical and cryptical,
Using strict rhythm? Can be diabolical!
As for themes regarded purely mythical,
I shy from words too pictorial or technical.
My approach to topics humourously comical,
Is to compose lines thoughtfully satirical.
In turn this allows me to remain sceptical,
Whilst appearing not too fanatical or cynical!
So, if with words I am reckoned economical?
I hope my rational thoughts are not illogical,
But in using descriptive words, is it ethical
To ensure Poems not be too whimsical?
Now, without appearing to be pontifical,
Though I'm always careful to be veridical,
I'm allowed at times, to wax philosophical,
As I attempt to depict matters paradoxical.
Doubtless some will find my words inimical:
Fanatically methodical and chronological?
But in attempting the facetious or ironical,
I'll avoid the pitfalls of being too graphical.
Should poetry be left to the technological?
One might find it becomes too puritanical.
And suggest the Poet was unduly practical!
Such is the way of the biased hypocritical!
If my poetic lines appear to be egotistical?
Then readers must understand, that's logical.
But please I beg of you, never be heretical,
When lines concern the canonical or political.
Will a Poet's thoughts be considered farcical,
If a reader is left bemused and quizzical?
Or should he stick to the unequivocally canonical?
Personally, I'm happy if my poems are grammatical!
So I'll conclude thinking poetry may be symbolical,
And my many rhymes, in quantities numerical,
May not satisfy the purist nor the global ecumenical,
But they deal with topics that are never hypothetical!
Rhymer. July 10th, 2018.
(Your turn Jim!)
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 4:40 PM UTC
/*\for you, the she,
a precious jewel that comes in many
colors, including melanc~holy
<>
who dipped her toe unaware the ***
grows ever hotter with every stirring and the
carnal charnel
nature of
a light
perusal,
a quick wick once-over, a scan, nothing
but just a light, slight, of a
finger~to~lips~tasting/*\
where -poem scripts
lie easy buried
neath a bare
minimum of
1 inch of soil
<>
not the meaning you instinctively assumed,
after years of misunderstooding
of the use-all of
perusal
Mademoiselle Usage,
a mis~usage|
the realizable danger of perusal is in its true meaning.
not in a brief but glorious askance,
but the deep dive
into where the deep sea trench creatures be living,
where the nuance and the sea weeds brocades
the casual
visitor's
perusal,
and the urgency of living on the edge,
of ulterior motives apprised and appraised,
are sensing not,
the dangers consequential,
and down~into~the~rabbit whole
inevitably you encounter,
A man!poet mumbling on & on;
there is no such thing as respite,
the tears of the heart sees their swelling,
no pro bono 4 ply tissue is enough to
well **** arresting their continuity of their
welling,
writ not in cryptic notation,
all mine is there for plentiful plain,
not,
for excavation interpretation, exegetical heretical,
up until the
line of palpable,^
flashes the multi~mesmerizing^
yellow and red warning lines hysterical,
here is where
when in my depths,
you swim
or
flee
next question, please?
Oct 10, 2025
Oct 10, 2025 at 11:51 AM UTC
*
Simple as this..?
As flatlanders experienced
the nonsensical unbelievable
and heretical third dimension..
Are we now evolved
after those eons to be surprised
that the Fourth has been here
all along awaiting each person's
unique discovery...?*
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 5:16 PM UTC
As Seraphina stepped onto the ground, she remembered her late father. His words, once foolish and heretical, began to make sense after all that had happened. The sky was freedom, but her feathers fettered her to the ground.
Jun 18, 2023
Jun 18, 2023 at 12:11 AM UTC
We contradict here, all the premonitions of old,
that as hollow men and women, we should rise,
and take into our hand a pre-existing cause,
to band together, kindred of our character.
Though we strive to be forbidden to the difference,
harvested collaborators to our unrestrained hearts,
As our spirits try to ascend, we prohibit their actions.
We are bidden, overridden, and we are ******
Did we grip our brother’s hand when he was losing?
Did we tend our mother’s hurt when she was broke?
We deprived our very sister, to implore till she was dead,
and we refereed the fingers, which fed us until they bled.
As a single man once intoned, on a stairway miles away;
We must subsist and struggle as one great homeland,
carry our neighbor’s burdens as though they were our own.
one kin, one race, though the color of skin may diverge.
Let us not stop in our virtuous endeavor, our strong destiny,
We are Lords of the future, master and slave, there be none.
We have risen from the catacombs of supreme despondency,
have accepted the heretical pressure of a ruined significance.
The night is no longer our mission; we travel unstained portals,
those which have always foreshadowed our meager gains.
We live for love, and cannot only give earned compassion.
We must love for the sake of devotion, and the sake of bounty.
We will take the apprehension of the mother, and the father,
and we will pacify it, will comfort their woes, and they will smile.
We will teach the child to go forth into the Dark, an existing torch,
upholding what we see as the shadows of bravery and optimism.
And when the times comes, and we lay down to die in peace,
we go, knowing the world had its little exploit of freedom,
its earned hope, not wasted, against bleak souls of the depraved,
having permitted the sun to shine; smiling as we resign to fate.
May 4, 2018
May 4, 2018 at 3:00 AM UTC
Centralized power proves antithetical
To your freedom - it’s quite pathetical
They ask us to be more ascetical
And let them rule - it’s quite heretical
Collectivism fails! Not hypothetical
Property and Liberty - quite synthetical
I’ll stand for freedom and wax poetical
It makes the message more aesthetical
Nov 29, 2023
Nov 29, 2023 at 9:33 AM UTC
for scores of beings in existence in this lonesome hive as chemically comforted bees with many queens
for slaves who enslave the enslaved in the illusion of time perpetually counting down an esoteric clock of immortality
for dreamers still sleeping and sleepers counting sheep contently humming the sacrificial lullaby while ignoring the world at their feet
Listen to me!
for moloch and for baal and for lucifer and for horus and for baphomet and for satan they have you singing their heretical praises of christianity
controlled by the illuminations of an omnipotent flat screen TV force feeding you expired symbols all moldy with blasphemy
sexualized by the iridescent rainbows of the pedophilic Disney, ****** by Donald Duck in parental apathy
enraged by the deceit of the politically correct who suggest you obsess over unimportance and label obliviously
blamed when your grain burns at 180 degrees as a systematic shaming in the name of psychology
killing our expression by beheading creativity with an adderall laced guillotine
killing our knowledge by slitting the throat of wisdom with a callous false doctrine
killing our happiness by asphyxiating joy with a shopping bag all the while mocking
killing our legacies by ****** communities with the cold hard ***** of corporations
killing our togetherness by drowning human connection in the electrified oceans of a delusiinal social media
killing our faith by infecting our children with the spiritual disease of viral anti-christianity
Holy holy holy!
...the zombified mindset of this somnambulant society
Holy holy holy!
...the ever present sepearation from Love being free
Holy holy holy!
...the sleepwalking lemmings are cursed by their greed...
May 20, 2016
May 20, 2016 at 7:11 AM UTC
*heretical grammar: the finite article is defined by ego... the infinite article is defined by god... **** your Freudian trinity.*
when you first learn a language, you are taught the language
in order to synthesise it...
it takes about 20 years of having synthesised the language
to then analyse it, and analysis of an acquired tongue
is a comforting walk through the halls of
Shiva kissing Hades like Erich Honecker and Leonid Brezhnev;
you turn toward the way in which the language is
programmed, silenced, encoded, you check
the orthography, what's missing... i'm astounded to see
how no one spotted missing diacritical marks in english,
for fuck's sake... the greeks are even using them!
no wonder england became such a ******** after the reigning
power on a global scale... this is a Copernican gosh!
it'll reign for some time; well, we know that Cyrillic is
the evolved form of Greek, that paved the way for
Mendeleev - i guess straining the sound encryption will
make you see things differently, or as the English say
in Essex: the H might as well be a surd.
May 24, 2016
May 24, 2016 at 11:21 AM UTC
We're so caught up in the world's rituals
its saddening
We wake up every morning and groan about our jobs and lives yet we don't do anything to change it
We follow the double consciousness of social norms and self thoughts
We keep our true selves hidden
We present what's "acceptable"
We live two faced
Anything that is not considered normal is unorthodox and therefore denied
Anything that is not considered beneficial to the society should not be brought up at all
Anything that is change and not following conventional practices is heretical and sinful
We're too focused on whats normal
good
acceptable
perfect
However, should an immoral desire stem from this freedom we're all doomed
We should all expand the normal ground for all people
If not we should create haven for those considered abnormal
All talk and no action
Unacceptable
No matter where you go
remember one thing
"It is not society that determines people’s future. It is people who determine society’s future"
Mar 1, 2018
Mar 1, 2018 at 10:24 PM UTC
I AM!
by Michael R. Burch
I am not one of ten billion—I—
sunblackened Icarus, chary fly,
staring at God with a quizzical eye.
I am not one of ten billion, I.
I am not one life has left unsquashed—
scarred as Ulysses, goddess-debauched,
pale glowworm agleam with a tale of panache.
I am not one life has left unsquashed.
I am not one without spots of disease,
laugh lines and tan lines and thick-callused knees
from begging and praying and girls sighing "Please!"
I am not one without spots of disease.
I am not one of ten billion—I—
scion of Daedalus, blackwinged fly
staring at God with a sedulous eye.
I am not one of ten billion, I
AM!
Keywords/Tags: I, AM, ego, individual, individuality, character, Icarus, Daedalus, Ulysses, fly, gadfly, chary, wary, quizzical, questioning, panache, sedulous, heretical
jesus hates me, this i know
by michael r. burch
jesus hates me, this I know,
for Church libel tells me so:
“little ones to him belong”
but if they use their dongs, so long!
yes, jesus hates me!
yes, jesus baits me!
yes, he berates me!
Church libel tells me so!
jesus fleeces us, i know,
for Religion scams us so:
little ones are brainwashed to
believe god saves the Chosen Few!
yes, jesus fleeces!
yes, he deceases
the bunny and the rhesus
because he’s mad at you!
jesus hates me—christ who died
so i might be crucified:
for if i use my **** or brain,
that will drive the “lord” insane!
yes, jesus hates me!
yes, jesus baits me!
yes, he berates me!
Church libel tells me so!
jesus hates me, this I know,
for Church libel tells me so:
first fools tell me “look above,”
that christ’s the lamb and god’s the dove,
but then they sentence me to Hell
for using my big brain too well!
yes, jesus hates me!
yes, jesus baits me!
yes, he berates me!
Church libel tells me so!
Mar 4, 2020
Mar 4, 2020 at 10:13 PM UTC