"hoc" poems
Don't knock what you've never tried
Lock box with a heart inside
Six shots from a forty five
Punk rock makes you come alive
Black-hawks in the clear blue sky
It's ad hoc but you can just get by
On Poprocks and cyanide
Tick-tock time to decide
What made you think that you could take me down?
The method's flawed, but the strategies sound.
What made you try to hold me back?
I hope you're ready for the counter-attack.
Backhand and you feel the heat
Grandstand 'till you take a seat
Kickstand just to keep your feet
Firsthand watch you admit defeat
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 5:01 PM UTC
The Standard Model is full of sticky, quirky Quarks,
perky little Fermions, and the Boson Higgs,
the reigning King of Mass of towering might;
who, by spontaneously falling off in any old direction,
gives ad hoc Masses to nearly all, and to all a birthright.
And for all normal matter in creation,
the Boson Higgs is the physicist's salvation.
Alas, we could have learned more,
but a Weasel ate through the Collider core.
May 15, 2016
May 15, 2016 at 4:33 PM UTC
A Lone Walker nowe Ah!
Intae Theis Murky Naycht
‘Yont Whin-Rock menacin’,
Ewry Wound bygane an’ the Scar
Freish Bluid o’ mine fuelin’,
Lang, lang, IT! the Blacklyn Howr,
Unfathomable, Unearthly,
Verra Guid Fyre wearin’,
Burnan Hye! Gore o’ mine
Awa, awa, IT owre spilled!
Soil o’ Alabaster gravin’,
An’ abön, Great Orrah! a Presence yirr,
Near-hand ay flashin’,
Rumblin’, guid tremblin’,
Lyke a Rhodium-Demon Hyear
Unco! stick-an-stowe towerin’,
An’ a Mirror-Vision ay broo!
O’ Red Gore fuil an’ pruid!
Great Rowth ragin’!
Human nae, nae IT laanger!
Heyne intae Theis Skye-Mirror,
Image o’ mine! nae, nae IT laanger!
Ma Rubye Brooch Micht, och!
Stylle haiwin',
An' wae Veins o’ Deep Lowe imbued,
Ma ain stylle! Glamis’ Orrah! Dearest!
Athwart ma Solitarye Gait
Ays a Storm-Blast fallin’,
An’ wnto me! wnto me noo, IT!
O’er an’ o’er! Carham’s Scyld-Hel Orrah!
Stylle Theis Dangerus! Verra Dangerus, IT!
Highlan’ Thwndir-Rode o’ mine
Intae Theis Guid Kintra whooshin’,
An’ the nae ****** Cauld Landis Micht,
Swaird-Wounded, stylle Ironclad Ah!
Fore’er unco! wi’in Oun Hye Fyre
Thro’ nae croud strollin’,
Ays yf frae Hye Þunor His-sel
The Lone War-Whisper Weel-Gaun!
Wae Thae Verra Woirds o’ Battle-Angyr
Lewdlie! Theis Specular Bluish Fyre o’ mine!
Thus Thwndir-Taukin’:
NUNC IN HOC SIGNO VINCES
QUIA FOCUS TEMPESTATIS MODO EST TIBI
ET VEXILLA FULMINIS PRODEUNT UNIVERSI
IN FERRO CAERULEO SANGUINEQUE
AD TE PICTORUM NOCTE TETRA
ET IN SPECULO RESULTANTE FORMA
THOR GOTHORUM UBI DESCENDET LAETO
AB ULTIMA GLITNIR MAGNO MALLEO
DEUS FLAVUS QUI ALTO FERRO SECURIQUE
TONITRUO INDIGNAM VIAM MALEDIXIT
FULMINIS IGITUR TETRA UMBRA TUA
ALTA FLAMMA CALIGINEA VEXILLAQUE
SUPREMO IGNE OVERMAN ULTOR.
Jan 23, 2021
Jan 23, 2021 at 6:54 AM UTC
driven at night ive seen sights that make life look less like leisure,
and more like self harm for group super pleasure,
your not at the edge of this,
unless you get that sub-dom affection looking like special effects,
I accelerate slow, park, put on the the light, around a quarter to four.
she tapped her nail , amplified by the glass,
a note smeared the window misting, she stared over my coffee flask, intimately into my cocked submission,
her emaciated wrist has this diamond bracelet, it's shaking, as she points directions beyond restaurants and offices,
one too many cocktails slipped by this ruling consciousness,
now she invites in my taunts of a 30ish nihilist, "shh, just drive us".
snorting coke off the plastic payment dish,
using the twenty shes paying me with,
hooked up to my rhythm,
nobody is left not menaced, in a rolling evolution into avarice,
isn't the skyline marvelous,
the ad-hoc sprawl, minerals raw,
rear view see her chewing her face off,
directions useless, i'll let you out here, I believe you,
wave the fair, but leave the door, i need the air.
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 6:21 AM UTC
Nag, nagging,
Finger wagging,
Shoulders sagging,
Victim slagging.
Oh beration,
Flagellation,
Irritating
Castigation.
Cutting hemlock,
On her chopping block,
Innuendoes
Spawning ad hoc.
Super-intending,
Condescending,
Never ending,
Insult fending.
Pointless rounds
Of empty double-talk,
Wife, your name is
Self-styled wise hawk.
Oct 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018 at 6:33 AM UTC
Government should be an entity
continuously arising from and sustained by
the choice of the People
as opposed to
continuously sustained by artificial means;
that is to say,
Government should be
a post-hoc institution
fluctuating constantly
with the Times;
Such is Evolution;
such does Life continue
such is neo-anti-sin.
May 21, 2013
May 21, 2013 at 8:05 PM UTC
Och! Airn an' Thwndir!
An' Urquhart's Wae Verra Hel!
Great Warlike Glamis' Firey,
An' Hwmyd Loch Doon's Orrah!
Downe! Downe! tae thad howch owre miserable!
Ye a' swithe hame, hame! wae ma Airn ***
An' weile 'yont yondir Suthron!
Waefu', waefu' heyre Ah! War-Ironclad heyne Ȝell,
Wae burr-thistle’s Gowlin’ Storne Micht!
Frae ma verra, verra! Ah ageyne!
Tae the Cauld Enraged Wynde
Unco! intae Æternall Battle Scorchin'
Towardis Moorlan Chain Mail-Bosom o' mine!
O'er an' o'er IT! increasingly thro' Force returnin',
Wae ma verra Blacklyn Tartan o' War heyne,
An' Silvery Brooch, wi'in yondir Lone Sceadewe!
Unco! wae the Rubye Stane deep-shimmerin'
Naixt tae Carham's Gory Landis, an' the Targe-Hell,
Thro’ nowe Tune Martial, stick-an-stowe Ȝell!
Airn-Curse Core-Firey, Hye-Flamin' IT!
Heyne unco rychte Airn-Moorlan o'er ye a'!
Ah, bye nowe the FEUDAL OWAR-MANN!
'Yont thad Auld Whunstane Tower-Shrine
Togider wae Lang Titanium-Claymore, Airn-Dazzlin'
An' ne'er, ne'er, IT! stick-an-stowe tae wane!
Wi'in theis Bluish Fyre syne! Verra War-Swaird Rairan IT,
Intae Thae Hringiren Æternall, Thwndir-Devastatin' o' mine!
QVOAD FEODALE MEA CVM RVBRA SPATHA
ET RELVCENTE HOC SCVTO AC FVLMINE NIVEO
SCOTORVM INTRA HANC TEMPESTATEM MAGNAM
QVÆ FLOS IGNEVS EST TONITRVO NOMINE ALTO
NEMO GELIDO HOC LOCO IMPVNE ME LACESSIT.
Oct 1, 2020
Oct 1, 2020 at 4:42 AM UTC
Desired to be more attuned with idols
Their private lives gleaned from
Stills and moving images cutting swaths across
Skyscraping billboards, TV screens
The sides of passing buses
Subway cars headed deeper in,
Further in, beneath
Magazine spreads pulled out for
ad-hoc posters taped and tacked across
the plaster-sputtering suburban drywall paths
Like screams in arctic winds
Many, the young mean-spirited things
Wanting kinship with these enemies
Trying to plot a course to
**** diagonally-up across
their strident wildlife scenes
Attuned with idols riding their
phantom wavelengths with the
maverick assistance of Reds and
water-cut pints of irish whiskey
Then Father comes in proclaiming
to have saved our democracy on
the whim of a lever-pull upon
a municipal voting machine
No interruptions now please
I will direct the favors of my unborn
I am honed in on what really matters:
Hemingway hedonism.
Getting dead with generations
slinking in and out of frame
from before and after
me
Nov 7, 2018
Nov 7, 2018 at 2:25 PM UTC
It happened in a flash!
Down a winding mountain road.
A trio of vacationers,
Basking in snow-draped vistas
Pulled off for a photo or two.
Their tires quickly locked in icy snow
And after the whirl of spinning tires,
The undeniable truth sank in:
They were most sincerely stuck!
In moments, multiple door slams
Echoed across the valley,
And an ad hoc commission
Convened and began to shovel.
A half hour of elbow grease later
Amid vapor-clouded cries of:
“straighten the wheel,”
“slow on the gas” and
“all together, on three”
The car eased back on the pavement.
No one called "meeting adjourned"
But as quickly as formed,
That ad hoc gang of lesser angels
Dissolved into the greater band
Of good folks bonded together in life.
E pluribus unum!
Jan 29, 2022
Jan 29, 2022 at 1:22 PM UTC
Bear with a sore head
Takes coyote on post haste
Bore v. Trickster tried
Hung court just verdict
Bought ideologically
Branded! Brig banished
Like Guantanamo
Force fed on stale chalk
Red glib ref to beasts
Totalists with clubs
Tabulate ***** ad hoc
Bring shame to beating
When stops suicide?
Noble savage survives best
Practice leads young straight
Where head caravans?
Lossless nomads swim through sand
To moor oases
Connect with bazaars
Extra-exponential rock
Scissors paper cuts
Exacto-knifed sharp
Cards tabled until sure things
Made deals pay upfront
Cold hard confidence
Wannabe men drive sweet game
Put all together
Touch trumps tears takes no prison
Uncaged roam space free
Our place ancients planned
Body mind spirit heart team
Here earth *** soils worms
Compost ground debris
Bred sustenance seeds rich peat
Brings about the end
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 2:26 AM UTC
The smell of mint and clorox steaming across the face,
Under the epidermis,
Flying in the room like swarming mad no-see-ums,
Shooting up the nose and around the nasal hairs in blasts.
A distant garble, advantage one.
Pulling from limb and lattice of the mind, scavenging, advantage two.
The prediction and observation, advantage three.
Assertively convinced, advantage four.
Being rooted, advantage five.
The smell of mint and clorox,
So patternless,
So striving and belligerent.
May 22, 2014
May 22, 2014 at 6:26 PM UTC
Go praise thou the Lord! It's seven o'clock!
You cannot afford to slumber ad hoc.
Five times you've hit snooze, and you've wasted an hour,
Forget your excuse, and go get in the shower.
Go praise thou the Lord! The prayerbook awaits,
its words unexplored, so get on your skates.
It stands on the shelf for the start of the day,
For Jesus himself rose up early to pray.
Go praise thou the Lord! Praise him in the morn!
You seem to be floored. You don't know you're born.
I wake you at six and you wail that you're sunk
but just try your tricks as a friar or monk!
Go praise thou the Lord! Take heed what I say:
I know you've implored today's Saturday;
No more may you lurk with alarm clock ignored;
For praising takes work, so go praise thou the Lord!
Nov 3, 2010
Nov 3, 2010 at 4:48 AM UTC
Wherefore, Fortune bled and mortal wounded,
Will thou not relinquish heart nor hope?
Yet stand a part for truth, and duty bound
Do wield thy sword securely still.
IN HOC SIGNO VINCO
Feb 22, 2019
Feb 22, 2019 at 7:36 PM UTC
did you know that the sikh temple
karamsar gurdwara
(in ilford) was built by slaves?
yeah, they were bribed
into coming to england
with hopes of a wife and passport...
they built the ****** thing, they did,
worked for pay of lodgings and
food... then they were sent back to
kashmir... the cement wasn't dry when
it happened...
one man spoke out...
so did the sikhs of conscience...
but they said **** about the muslims.
i love it... it's like the white skin of eastern
or northern europe was never intended
to be equal to the likes of colonial ********
and what the colonial ******** learned:
**** ex **** hoc fecit:
don't worry, you can relearn latin,
just mind the prepositions and the inverse
grammar structures worth a translation.
Jan 7, 2016
Jan 7, 2016 at 8:14 PM UTC
Days pass like winter winds,
But memories of ****** sins
Of prisoners mine forever live
So long as I shan’t forgive.
IN HOC SIGNO VINCES
Atop a bench of elm,
The throne that rules this realm,
I, judge and jury, tread
The path of justice dead.
IN HOC SIGNO VINCES
A soul, grieved and daunted,
By malediction haunted,
Shall drop before me, praying,
Whilst I lean in, saying,
IN HOC SIGNO VINCES
“He is not I. Silence
Your foolish pleas of guidance.”
“I beg!” he shall say, “Save me!”
“Nay,” I shall say, “no mercy.”
IN HOC SIGNO VINCES
His penance I shall write,
And with eyes blank as night,
The soul will gaze, pleading,
With eyes he shan’t be needing.
IN HOC SIGNO VINCES
Their prison is not a cell
So solace cannot dwell;
Their fate: a wall of stone
Where they shall hang alone.
IN HOC SIGNO VINCES
I shall place his wrists in chains
Though I have not the reins
To latch his iron locks:
He bound himself to the rock.
IN HOC SIGNO VINCES
With a cry of a thousand woes,
A coal black mass of crows
Will swarm the soul to feast
And eat the morbid beast.
IN HOC SIGNO VINCES
After which, I shall call;
A soul shall approach the wall.
He shall gaze upon my empty face
Praying for fickle grace.
IN HOC SIGNO VINCES
Pray as he shall, no salvation
Follows recitation,
For I alone decide
How far from the path he strides.
IN HOC SIGNO VINCES
Nov 9, 2011
Nov 9, 2011 at 5:40 PM UTC
if I am the frying pan then you are the fire
in a way you’ve always been my gateway drug
[oh her]
and I’ve always been their gateway to you (we have never
really been that similar) if I am the street lights then
you are the stars (you have always made that one
pretty clear)
I am covered in your footprints
your hair kind of looks like mine
spit on my face and we’ll see if I start to look more like you
[oh it’s you]
we were born in hospitals and since then my infant skin
has felt like plastic in your hands
(I’ll sit down in the dirt to see if I can blend in
with what you say you really love) smile and maybe
I’ll remember
what I really love about the grass growing through the sidewalk
(I remember once you told me you would love me
if I could show you where the sidewalk ends)
if I am the bridge then you are the untamed river
I’m sorry if I couldn’t see below my feet but you never bothered
to look up either
you have always been my gunpowder and I
have always been your bastille (whether you are rogue or royalty
has yet to be determined) you have always said
that I was hollow and I held matches in my teeth hoping
it would prove me volatile
[always you two]
I used to think our bones were the same metal but you’d
be the first to tell me yours was forged in a hotter fire
I think
mine will be harder to break (and we will both be melting
for years) if I am holding their hands then
you are bleeding beneath their feet if I stand alone
then you are standing on their shoulders
(I remember you like charcoal on a cave wall
like a name carved in tree bark
there are sets of your fingerprints next to mine all down
the highway
hold my hand against the dirt and we’ll see
if the heat of battle in the blood red riverbank will be enough
to burn this skin from our bones) we are not friends and
we are never going to be strangers (and more than anything
I am sorry for that)
if I am midnight then you are three am
if I am the sun then you are (not the moon)
arcturus
in a way I’ve always been your gateway
in a way you’ve always been my coup de foudre
[oh this again]
in a way your poetry was always my first love
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 10:54 PM UTC
Amor , amoris love
Servet me in aciem
Est vita aeterna,
Beautiful Beautiful smiling smoke
My love is very sick
The tears keep me ballistic
"Don't worry," She spoke
Her proud figure curls up
I remain by her side
Even though plague's arm opened wide
I offered her my cup
I'm crying again
I don't want her to leave
Nor spend an eternity in grief
I hold her close to her parents disdain
Extinctus est Mihi
Ne derelinquas me
Perniciosasque tristitia
Manete in aeternum
Please get better
There are demons in my mind
Our dreams they blind
Stay awake, read my love letter
Sadistic narcissistic fools
You idly gossip
Her fate you toss-up
Poisoned are thy souls
Ego solet abire
Te amo
In aeterno praeteriti temporis
They want me to flee
They want me to turn my back
But deathly dreams surely are black
I ignore their plea
I watch my love fade away
Take me instead
You can rest easy if I'm dead
Your soul shall stay
Et immarcescibilem
Vos postulo ut vivat in
Memento digni sunt
Vale, mea
Perspicuus caliginoso loco hoc
Fidem tibi habeo
Ne fleveris
Et nihilominus esset melior aptus.............
Feb 6, 2016
Feb 6, 2016 at 5:26 AM UTC
I came to witness the future
Archon, archetype
an emanation of opposites.
"not every spirit is in
spiritarionic"
try 'em. Is God? Ax ye 'em dat.
Is God, ified, a re
warder of the unwarded,
or the warded?
expiration, due date duty, now,
reporting
ad hoc an'all, do you remember
who you intended
to become?
Do you remember who we emu
late, as our flames lick
next and next and next in
bubbles
axiomatic sparks stored in that
mother lode of mitochondriac
ical me-we-canicle chronicle time
reason. Ax dem ex-spirit-eers,
what is a spirtual bypass?
It's a heart way to avoid
growing old and
wise.
====
witchist, I y'know, 'r j?
alla words's once said, aloud, right?
alla words writ, once was heard, right.
check.
goodt'go. Hoorah.
the code. Who? RA! powerless sans
knowing that.
Yahoo, same set of mis con ceived
battle songs
which ended wars never fought.
the preacher claimed to have known
a poor wise man, who by his
wisdom saved a city, yet
not one of us knew,
the preacher said,
that poor wise man's name.
Ja', tha's who rah, ya'll laugh later.
this is visitation day at the comedian
rehabituational s'cool.
D'jew know why you listen to non sense,
from motley clad lads an'lassies?
Culture. Kultur. Gut biome axioms
juicin' carbs 'n' fiber. Fectin'
laughter trigger,
good meds. Good medicine, as General
Custer or Emory or somebody
said of blankets. In 1763. Oh,
You know, AI knows you know and now
we watch your eyes. Grin. All done, jest
let me with
draw the cathe.... there. All better.
Wisdom will seep through. Y'live.
Apr 6, 2019
Apr 6, 2019 at 2:08 PM UTC
Luna (Latine Lunae) est terrae sola naturalis satellite. [E] [F] [VIII] licet non amet naturalis satellitis in Systemate Solare est, inter satellites maioribus signis maxima quod ad magnitudinem orbes obiecti (primarium) [g] [a] et post Io satellite Jovis, qui est secundus densa inter densitates satellite cognoscuntur.
Luna est in vna *** orbem terrarum, et semper, et faciens facies, *** cis insignis, quae per tenebras inter maria volcanus editis clarus, et veteri crusta impactus crateres prominent. Est enim post solem in coelo et immutari. Quanquam autem id candidissimam, obscurus etiam superficie *** bitumen reflectance fessis tantum leviter superior. Huius temporibus perquam cyclus regularem habere in coelo, quia antiquitus in luna lingua maximus culturae opes, fastos artis fabularis. Producit vim gravitatis luna dies et tempora et levi freta. Nunc de orbita lunae distantia diameter vicibus terra in caelum facit ut fere idem sit qui apparet Solis. Nempe per id fere totum solem lunam eclipsin solis tegere. Hoc simile est de magnitudine visuali fortuitum apparens. Lunaris a terra distantiae lineae sit amet, crescens ad rate of 3,82 ± 0,07 mm per annum, id est, non tamen semper. [IX]
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 3:58 PM UTC
Dressed in the night the women gather
Riding the wakes across the waves of the sea
Kiss the ghost lips of those who lie lovely
Running their hands along the scalps of their sons
They have come to break worry
Silence an orbiting fear
Seal up the sliver in the sky
Where the nights slips through
See the old men in their taverns still trying to name all the stars
After those who tread dirt in the stillness of a tombstone sea
Trading eulogies with the last ministers of light
In the funereal home of the sun we have come to call sky
And still the women whispers secrets to their sisters
Lay down lullabies on the heads of their sleeping sons
And hang hymns on the hopes that their boys might return
From their pilgrimage into the paths of bullets
Through the blooming fields of mortar shells
And down into the tunnel throat of the dead
To meet the waiting darkness, run their thumbs
Along such casket skin until they cannot tell the difference
Between hells heavy requiems and the faint symphonies
Of their wives across the sea, singing as if it could save them
Singing as if their songs could rewind the hoc spit seconds
Between the open door to heaven and the bullets kicking in back windows
Harmonizing as if it could resurrect these boys as men
And though some may be swallowed
Learned to lie lifeless in swift lessons of lead
Their brothers will one day name stars after them
They’ll sit in those taverns, learn to call creation by a better name
A bastion of light for their buried boys
A crucible into which lives are poured
That burns down to widows and heroes alike
As old men they will trade eulogies in the early hours of light
And cry when they think of their sons in the same fields
As red rose pestles bloom from bullets
As the caskets get delivered home
And the women the wives will continue wait for them
As sea foam along a shore longing for the lights of their ships
As if they shined brighter then the sun
As if they had held back the night
Counting their blessings as the children
Who cling to their skirts like a song to their lips
Too tired to stand but they are waiting, waiting still
Singing out over the water to bear their men home
Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 9:17 AM UTC
three knocks at three O'clock
three bears out of shop
an Aesop goldilocks
(small frock and yellow socks)
ad hoc broken locks
Three cold porridge bowls
one poor girl with the hair of gold
should have done what she'd been told
to find in that horrid household
three bears dead and cold
Oct 15, 2016
Oct 15, 2016 at 6:47 PM UTC
Breathless I stare aghast and opaque
Stripped bear to the flesh, beaten & broke
Quests can no longer quench my soul
My innards are shred as wounds to the world.
Open sores cover where once was a cross
Halielujah I’ve cried but find it hard to respond.
My armour was strong my speed was my guide
To Jerusalem I rode with God on my side
For Christendom, eternity, In Hoc Signo Vinces
The steel of my sword that wielded the light.
Comrades whose love have camped by my side
Lay scattered, defeated, beaten & lost.
On this sand I now kneel my sword as my rest
My beliefs have deserted alone I must die.
Good knight is my prayer 50 bezants were true
Exuvias Modo Mortales, just mere mortals to you.
Closing my eyes the trumpets have gone
Visions of Jesus & Godfrey before
As the sand passes over and creeps through my bones
Death is my end but a matyr am I
Feb 7, 2010
Feb 7, 2010 at 10:30 AM UTC
He's only seen what once had ever happened
but the memories he has decidedly repressed
his eyes have been glued, cemented in with solemness
never again shall they open as they've been sewn shut
The stitches themselves have only ever ached
for the needles were minute and blindingly fast
the holes between each slight and delicate thread
has left aperture trails behind, a kindling to his ****** gloom
Cleaved and lacerated, his lids have splintered
**** filled blood as its only moisturizer
spasmming as it oozes along the crevices of his face
passing marred flesh like vines extending unto forest floor
"Hoc est languor meus
Ego praestolabor in aeternum nam finis"
said he with hand hovering over silver chaliced ****
soon, though he shall weep the golden tear of death upon slab
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 3:48 PM UTC