"holocausts" poems
I let him know how I smiled at the way his hand fitted inside of mine, and oh how I fancy his love, but instead of love all he handed me whatever he found laying around, and an unwanted bye.
I let him know I love him with no gray areas attached. If you know him, then you know he has a heart that is hard to catch. shielded by a rain-forest of mirrors glazed over in metallic black.
Still, in my darkest hour, I muster up holocausts of hope, as I watched my love and what he called love to walk away on a free falling tightrope. I could hear his words faintly in the distance over and over again.
"In time what will be will be".
"In time what will be will be".
"In time what will be will be".
His words felt less like a song and more like our eulogy, but I am still hopeful and will love him until my heart is worn out. I will not let my mouth forbid me to speak what my heart needs him to hear.
What do you do with a heart that won’t give up or let go, what has let go of it? But I am still hopeful like twins in a crowded womb, hopeful like waiting for a chance.
And one day I will teach my soul to give sunlight back to the sun and continue to hold the dear words Jonathan never sang.
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 10:30 AM UTC
just because your problems are bigger than mine,
doesn't qualify you as being
better than me;
but sure, we need apes, like we might encourage
buying stake at the butchers and
a quasi-Narcissus reflection in Darwin...
that's what happens when presupposing
someone's supposed idiocy, it happens
that way in democracy, without a autocratic godhead
of authority, many more are prone to being
prescribed madness, because being sadistic
with dementia patients and those disabled is all
that more rewarding than when a "patient" can punch
you back, bloody-nose your face...
and this is how Christianity makes sense?
might as well call the adherents of Christianity
children wetting their beds and fuelled by a desire
to maim their fellow examples of the species...
Darwinism will not do... it's a farce...
the animals involved to a categorical grouping
would not do what humans do to each other...
so we evolved from monkey to escape the tiger
and the snake? i hardly think tigers or snakes killed
with sadism involved... for pleasure...
but if the sadistic impulse was always ours...
we evolved for no good reason...
i'd rather experience the hunger of the tiger
or the snake than experience the sadism of a fellow human being...
and that's a humanism, it doesn't invoke a god
or morality that should be kept...
i'd rather a tiger **** me for sustenance than some
trivial bog-standard thief from the London estate knifing me
for a ******* bike... i'd rather end up in a tiger's digestive
system than in the "evolved" court-of-law debating
bicycle theft -
animal-cohesiveness knows no sadism,
human-overpowering of animals knows everything
but humanism, hence the need for humanism per se,
poetry and a novel... we write poetry but at the same time
perform holocausts... if we are evolutionary products,
we are by evolutionary standards a successful paradox...
we contradict the pluses with the negatives we produce
subsequently... we have evolved / transcended
the original parameters... but we did so paradoxically;
i'd still rather die from a tiger easing my death
by the vampire-bite of my neck that
the exfoliation abiding with the electric chair or
the iron maiden... the author of the Bonfire of Vanities
got it wrong... we really did use our imagination...
we used imagination for the expression of torture...
Disney can do **** all than quack like a duck
to quiet simply approve the endemic continuance
of the practice... because most people will
simply apply for t.v. and come dine with me
spectaculars.
Aug 20, 2016
Aug 20, 2016 at 9:10 PM UTC
Some nights, I would set sail
To a thousand words on paper,
And one by one, they would get lost
Beneath the rip tides of your skin.
In sentience and in sleep,
Darling, you are only as real
As the last verse I wrote
On the crumpled walls of dusk.
While the world slaughters dreamers,
I watch you, begging the moon
To drop pieces of itself on sea foam.
I am a slave to your every step.
Tucked underneath crystalline sighs,
The stars would come out to put up tents
In the corner of your eyes, their light
Guiding the way for misguided missives.
Moored to your voice, I listen
As you speak in the language of waves,
Your words undulating with my metaphors,
But stirring holocausts for the heartbroken.
But you are here, and the lines between your eyes
Get tangled up with thoughts bred by midnight.
Your hair, your hair, they tessellate and play
With the colors of honey and amber.
Perhaps, if one were to crack you open
The light of a thousand adjectives
Would come seeping out of your skin.
I am but the shadow it will cast.
And in shadows, they whisper
That dreams can get lost
In the vacancies of the night.
Every night, with you
I set sail to my words
To find them
And lure them back.
Jan 31, 2017
Jan 31, 2017 at 6:58 AM UTC
Wiping Out A Planet
Will it be called a plan-out
Or continue as a planet?
The question
Mass extinction:
Holocausts that came about
Five times before, long, long ago.
We know when where and how
And still we don’t believe it’s happening now,
Right now.
The cause not asteroid, volcano, no!
The cause ambition, greed and wars;
In other words:
Expansion and the chain that follows:
Degradation moral, ethical most subtle -
For all causes have effects long term.
I squirm
At the prognosis.
Wiping Out A Planet 7.11.2016
Our Times, Our Culture II; Circling Round Nature II;
Arlene Corwin
Jul 11, 2016
Jul 11, 2016 at 4:33 PM UTC
the third mate last,
lashed to the helm,
a punishment, a lashing
for having
read and let
the taste of words unkempt,
hash my essence,
thus pelted,
excised, my flesh,
unto a wearied
death by a thousand cuts
my artistic force bleeds,
I am realistic,
there is no
superman savior,
there is only
life after death,
where dear god,
last wishing, it is a world of
silence perfected
I know I promised no more
on this shopworn, discounted topic,
but I read and I weep
my essence seeps, pores pouring,
tried the ancient cure of ignoring,
but anguished curiosity begs
for bliss
asking,
just try once more,
knowing that ignorance
can never be blissful
confounded, words indelible,
the poems tattooed trite,
with an unheard last sigh,
what makes them think
every stray dog of a thought
deserves sharing
tender each with word
with such selected caring,
arguing back and forth,
and always losing
and always winning
the argument over the
Final Selection,
the process holocausts me,
I am not a survivor anymore,
just an over killed victim
to tattered ribbons sliced,
no seamstress can resurrect what once was,
endlessly they celebrate their flesh's cutting,
they cannot know their words,
alpha beta me to where,
the ink is drained and flushed,
and withered fingers lose their moist urgent,
discomfited composure
and
all the words I know are a plague
upon my shotgun house,
I am bleeding, but that does not mean
my poetic permission lives,
it only means my blue blood
surrenders it oxygen upon contact
with an atmosphere of trite
and I swear to you it hurts to much to
write,
hurts more than breathing
do not write to me of your pain,
write instead with painstaking care
and let me read thy crafted composition
and say this,
*thus I am staked to you,
penetrated in ways ,
that each cut of thine,
ready welcomed
for it is sublime,
a human humidifier,
putting back the moisture lost
by tears shed over wastrel poems*
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 12:32 AM UTC
Like a fawn looking into the barrel of a shotgun
Your naivety is what got you here; pending
Just a few bad decisions away from letting the bullet tear apart your head
And feed the forest the uncountable remains of your brain
It’ll be your worst nightmare
Something you were incapable of foreseeing
Your eyes painted with a sedated glaze
Drool seeping out of the corner of your mouth
Unable to see the harm in anything
So pretty
So pretty
So pretty
Everything is just a landscape for me to paint my happiness on
The sun greets me with a warm embrace
And the birds make the gift of hearing that much better
Get ready for me world, I am the magical spark who was born
To break up your system
To show you what a real human being was meant to accomplish
I’ll emanate courage that would make Jesus weep
I don’t care what history has to say
Holocausts, crusades, war
All of it means nothing because I am here
Wall street, poverty, oil spills
All of it because there were a few bad eggs
But people
People are all right
Most of them don’t mean it
What do you mean how?
They just don’t
Please don’t **** your gun
I wanted to be a lawyer and help the people who cant help themselves
But I’m just a person that no one will help either
But they don’t mean it
They would help me if they could
They just need my spark
My love
My courage
And they’ll see what they can be
Please, get that away from my temple
I wanted to show them all,
I wanted to uphold my values
And show them the benefits of having morals
Please, I can forgive you if you just let me go
I see your soul and it’s just been a little damaged
Nothing positivity can’t fix
I believe in people
They aren’t the way they are on purpose….
Boom
You left your mark on this landscape and it’s bright red
Are you peering down? Saying it’s your love instead of your blood
Are you looking at your killer? Saying it was a misunderstanding instead of hatred
Are you looking at Positivity?
Picking its teeth with a toothpick,
Full of the bulshit you’ve been feeding it
Until it’s never-ending stomach gave into its gluttony
And gobbled you whole
Left you a carcass
Buried you
So you could be another part of the ground
Where Coke cans and McDonalds bags provide you with a permanent quilt
The sun shining on you nevermore
Nov 3, 2011
Nov 3, 2011 at 11:03 AM UTC
If freedom means
To not need
To ask for permission
Why does it cost
So much
And many a pretty penny
Life like re-enacting
Civil wars and holocausts
Conditioned for submission
The battles with ourselves
Already lost
All ready at a loss
So many without
Such pretty pennies
To show for
Only the cross,
Only the burdens
And the shameful guilt
Unworthy and unfit
Already at a loss
Born to silt and subdegation
I try to avoid confrontation
Nothing said in conversations
When all we do is cuss...
And still we are proud
To have the freedom of speak and say
How the prey will pray
(For you)
These times we consume
In a spherical cage
Of our own doom...
Nov 1, 2016
Nov 1, 2016 at 10:03 PM UTC
Suppose we were a dream;
suppose the subtle incarnations of pseudo-reality
were just that, horses grazing on an incarnate field of
blue colored clouds like crayon boxes left empty
in a sandbox
when it was raining.
And, suppose::
that this is just what we were looking for, as if
wedding bands were eternal
and heaven is real; there is no need to stop and count
snowflakes in Idyllwild because
it never snows in New Orleans anyway.
Right.
Just for a moment, imagine that
we are together forever
and forever has already come and gone
and we are ashes in the ethereal moonbeams
of just-a-dream-I-had-last-night.
Deep and provocative,
think of her hollows and holocausts
and the conflagration of her soul
as if, as if she were ever just
outer space
and perhaps a slice
of buttered toast on Sunday afternoons.
Jun 30, 2012
Jun 30, 2012 at 4:00 PM UTC
If Mankind perished:
Exterminated cataclysmically
Like the dragon dinosaurs,
How long would our cities stand?
How long before our cars rusted
And buildings toppled,
To leave the odd dam or pyramid
Poking through the tangled jungle mass?
A few hundred years they say.
Then nothing.
All gone.
Yet have such holocausts
Blighted Man before
Back through those swirling mists of time,
Thousands of years ago?
Great civilisations built by clever men and women,
Only to be dashed to the ground
By who knows what.
Atlantis and much more.
Advancement cruelly culled.
For Man,
Like the world,
Is much older than we thought
Or think.
Some say that aliens helped us build
Those ancient wonders.
Yet maybe we should cast away this
Self – effacing view:
Acknowledge that
We did it all
Ourselves.
Paul Butters
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 5:39 AM UTC
I can't come back.
Sorry, pastor, I can't come back.
Sorry mom and dad.
I can't come back.
I have seen crippled men beg for pennies outside the mile-high walls that guard the glittering, gem-encrusted Vatican.
But I haven't seen Christ.
I have seen good men's funerals picketed by angry mobs all swearing to be the hands of God.
But I've never met the rest of Him.
We've seen holocausts, crusades and conquests **** millions in his name.
But I have never heard His voice.
And I think those men holding those guns missed the point as far as his commandments go.
But that's not why I can't come back.
I ducked out from under the umbrella of religion and I felt the rain
And every day since I've been learning to take the wet with the dry rather than seeking shelter in what's comfortable.
And what's more, I've gotten a clearer view of the sky than ever before
And without that umbrella
I have seen something.
Or the outermost edge of something-
Something unimaginably large
Something not only too big for words, but too big to see all at once.
Something bigger than me and you and god and everything.
And I can't unsee that.
I've surrendered to the fact that not I, my children, or their children will be able to fully comprehend the vastness of everything,
But I am willing to die incomplete before it.
So sorry mom and dad.
Sorry god.
I found my own truth.
and that’s why I can’t come back.
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 3:32 PM UTC
Recriminations of a flawed existence
Blind stupidity and stubborn persistence
Thoughts of what might have been
Reminiscing on times long gone
Distant memories……
Ghosts that hang about my neck
Heavy chains like so much unwanted bling.
In my domain I am the king
The lone wolf now treads lightly
In my wake I left apocalyptic wastelands
Remnants of holocausts played out in the mind
Napoleonic wars of the soul
Hollow victories that widen the hole
residing in the ozone of my heart.
Longing for my Waterloo
Not knowing what to do
Or how to ease my pain
So much time spent in the rain
Need to find some balm
Something to restore the calm
So I write
I write…..to ease my mind.
Sep 4, 2009
Sep 4, 2009 at 10:22 PM UTC
I feel broken
Shattered
My existence split in two
One lives with him
And the other quickly fades
A whisper in the dark
Of my hollowed breast
These things should never happen
Words erased from language
Pain drawn out in syringes
And burned in brilliant holocausts
We did not ask for this
For the eyes of God
To shadow our lives,
Apparent pity abound
But no mercy from His hands
Where are you now, O God?
How doth thy affection lie?
Prostrate on the ground,
Bury my face in unholy text
Chanting diagnoses
And the time he has left
Apr 20, 2013
Apr 20, 2013 at 1:15 AM UTC
the day I hated the world
I wanted to squeeze lemonade
out of sunshines' smiles
fill a rose colored glass
with **** positiveness pour
the saying win-win in the
******* toilet while flushing,
and regurgitating-
rip all the signs down advertising
merchandising commercializing
proselytizing -take Nancy Grace's
annoying know it all *** on
face to face and pull some ignorant *****
asscheeks over their ears, **** in
their neck-
rip all the sermons of every preacher
to pieces,
choke world leaders with
**** and peace while all the
broken threads of promises
on their watch haunted from
graves and holocausts and
mass killings and enslaved
blacks indians
whoever you don't like,
the weak, gays liberals skinheads
Vietnam Vets
old people graying alone dogs
with rabies vampires of society drunks
****** lonely sub-culture types wearing no shoes
no hopes and no dreams buy because of you
, because of culture to be in, in the crowd
of popularity once like a Warhol prediction
getting their 15 minutes
at the aim of a politician policeman radical Islamic terrorist
or the freaking nut down the street with an AR-15 and 100,000
reasons to go mad.
Jul 12, 2016
Jul 12, 2016 at 3:28 PM UTC
The trees
used to sing with the wind
before He got here.
The salty ocean water
would gently shush us
all to sleep.
Now that He’s here
ships are sinking like
our dreams:
immediately.
Ever since He arrived
Candles no longer light the way,
They burn bridges
and build unimaginable walls
in their wake.
Plutonium
is no longer
radioactive.
Radioactivity
is relative.
Everything now glows a
sickly hue,
brought on
by His discolored
rotting views.
Air Earth Water Fire Aether
The eternal marriage
of Air
and the Earth
has faltered
under the guise of
conversion
“therapy”
Water has now
made itself undrinkable to all
but the chosen few.
Fire is now
Only Orange.
The Aether
is no longer empty.
It is filled
with all our memories.
It is the only place
for all of our bodies to go
now that we’re bound for soot,
inhabitable soil
and eternal
nuclear snow.
Air Earth Water Fire Aether
are now
GreatAgainGreatAgainGreatAgainGreatAgainGreatAgain
There are lots of avenues
through history
to travel down “again.”
Many views of former greatness.
Slavery
Holocausts
Massacres
Cities Lost
and it all starts
with an immigration ban.
Signed on the day
remembering
my dozens of dead family.
My millions slaughtered endlessly.
Here we are
At the beginning.
History supposedly repeats itself
Let’s not let Him
Jan 28, 2017
Jan 28, 2017 at 8:57 PM UTC
I fancied burning;
nursed charred fingertips
from placing them between.
lips. I enjoyed love warm.
Love was easier
to kindle with friction
under sheets pre-lit,
shaped by body-heat.
Somewhere, an oasis
is brushing her hair,
is rippling with light,
lush with a fleeting smile.
I found her in autumn
laughing like a creek.
Her hair the color
of poplar leaves afloat.
She, restless, cascading
away and sometimes
over me, cannot
be contained readily.
My other lovers:
they were forest fires,
were all holocausts
filled with sharp facets.
An oasis is still sharp
to the taste. Her kiss
smooth: I can feel it
douse memories of cinders:
her eyes turn soft with mist
within my scorched daydreams.
Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 2:54 PM UTC
The world of money-making businesses uses labels to table discussions of making peace. They would rather make profits of billions and billions. Multinationals dissemble, and much worse. Better to keep a distance from their hearts, the home of hope. It is safer that way, or so it seems. Yet reams teem of holocausts and atrocities, not simple exploitation. At the center of our moral beings is the treasure of love, the single most precious, persuasive substance to transmute pain into compassion, to turn hate into love. So give it a mighty shove, not tomorrow, but today. What say you? Are you willing to love for world peace, to fight with love, not bombs that make tombs? Loving makes endless love. Without a worldwide outpouring of love, Earth, and all living creations upon it, will soon perish. "Perish the thought," you say. I say act now to help create Peace on Earth forever.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Apr 14, 2021
Apr 14, 2021 at 1:53 PM UTC
This inscrutable sphere
Thorns that reside in the false, polished exterior
Remarks like veneer
futile, facile, fruitless
Malicious destruction
Prompting holocausts on
their bodies, their hearts
Words can sting
Detesting on fellow species
their identity, their sexuality, their race
exhibiting the art of exclusion
Thick, scarlet liquid
seeping out from lacerations that
opened and re-opened
from gunshots and grenades -
Yet the sophistication of
the alluring rose
conceals all faults of
human deficiency.
Jun 6, 2017
Jun 6, 2017 at 8:33 AM UTC
Its autumn biloma
And spring-bile holocausts--
I love them both differently-
While we scream at mountains
To hiccups that show-the-buds-
Of leaves to lions.
This love is pinstripe
-Daggers making femur bone
Candles,
With silk weavers and-
Asterisk ribbons,
But one--
Is more
Friend than
Louver.
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 1:59 PM UTC
blue lilies
now;wilted and zapped
petals of hibiscuses;
frosting and drooping
pressed between our pages
stenching and staining
them edges
bleeding
the flesh stenches
the putrid blooms
carve squealing wounds
the blood engulfs the heart
that deliquesces
the crevices are graved
then the heart deliquesces
and falls into two
down/a rotting corpse
it oozes into
the disgust of existence
creeping through shredded layers
of shroud
covering the withering bones,
mass
and
emotions
searing
it melts eventually-the shroud
until it reaches the bones
crashes them there
spilling the liquids/
all that is left bare
is already atrophying
and i guess that's the difference between dying and rotting
dying at least leaves you
the voids to hold onto
to be nostalgic for what was held
dying-paints,hues from the ashes that blew
but rotting
eats away all that existed
and snaps leaving
detritus,stinking
odor that i need
the craft of us
all worn out
the fragments dis plumed through holocausts
the rebellion in ruination
and the twitched cold feet
each breath i've took,now smothering
you,me,and everything
the reflections,contradictions
intoxicating,caging charcoal abstracts
punctured and ruptured
all constituents consuming and decaying now
every treble
so heavy
freezing not frozen
perishing not lighter
maybe these moments
-they never stop
cause right there in the midst
everything rots.
-/and we let it
~d
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 10:52 PM UTC
I think he makes me forget
That I hate my imaginary friend
The one whose name lurks on your lips in prayer
And hangs above your dinner plate
Christening it with some other dimensional vitamin
In the name of thin words
Blind men built like blimps full of holocausts
Yes them, would be
Coating the stars in blood
Calling it evolution
Irony is God's smile
Sep 29, 2015
Sep 29, 2015 at 7:45 PM UTC
I was born
With white privilege;
Irish ethnicity at that.
Remember their holocausts!
Occupied, evicted, brutalized, lynched, starved, hedge-scbooled, and,
Refugeed on their own land,
And on and on, and so on
For seven hundred years.
These things were before my time,
But not my Granda's.
It's so very true, I was born with white privilege,
But not with white entitlement.
Jun 5, 2020
Jun 5, 2020 at 3:15 PM UTC
The holocausts
of personal tragedy
are an absolute necessity:
our egos are forged
of coldest steel,
only the fire of pain
renders us malleable.
~mce
Jan 2, 2016
Jan 2, 2016 at 7:57 AM UTC
Hollow words haunt hallowed halls
Of holocausts and hostile walls
The divine demise of dictated opinion
The resentful repulsed by resilient religion
Wrapped in wrath, whispers writhe wildly
Holy hiding henchmen hear idly
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 5:15 PM UTC