"iconoclastic" poems
Swimming in Shadows
swarming in from my soul
Talking to thieves that
taunt us to trust.
Drinking down danger
denying death's desire
Forgetting full-well I'm
floating in fire
Ignoring iconoclastic images inked in my eyes
Hoping hypnosis helps
heal humankind
Dangerous dance
done dozens of days
Easiest entry, eternal enslavement; extracorporeal existence engaged.
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 5:29 PM UTC
No. You don't need to
Lose that weight.
The world has millions of men
That worship women just like you.
And besides, there's nothing sexier
Than the smile of a woman
Who knows she is.
To hell with a thin waist.
Buy yourself something nice
Instead of diet pills and unrevealing
Garments.
Relax. Stop avoiding mirrors
And asking friends if your **** looks
Big in those jeans.
Smile and be alive; laugh with your
Stomach, -no man can resist
A straight back and head held high
In self-acceptance.
It's not your body's fault that
You are alone. It is the fact
That you *think
It is.*
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 7:39 AM UTC
chaos served on dishes
by the vicious delicious
so avoid the superstitious
and get iconoclastic with plastic
get drastic and spastic
get with the apple
who'll hypnotize the people
with yet another new system
that will raise the rhizome
shoving light through a prism
destroying lay idealism
into straight discordianism
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 9:35 PM UTC
PLEASE NOTE: The original writer of this poem is Sasha Hayles.
Poets meet here.
Where the mind and soul connect
To telepathically spew about the
metaphors
Similes
And verses
Of words unsaid
About those spiritual genius
And poetic fiends
Who's tongue drips lyrical acid
Onto us, to burn into our chest
And relieve us
Of words unsaid.
Poets met here.
And their life line that tethered them to the coast
Of their sanity's sanctuary
Were frayed at the edges
And broken when they were caught up
In the rapture of
Gluttonous
Overly simplistic
And iconoclastic mentality
That closed mouths never moved forward...
Jan 1, 2012
Jan 1, 2012 at 10:46 PM UTC
the Exquisite Executioner.
What kind of organic golem
of engrammic man am I,
so cold as to make you quiver.
You ask what hides under
my thin veneer of vernacular?
A bullshitter.
Caressing a mind swollen with Superego
I'd rather be traveling Home if only
I could just let
Me
go.
For
I am the **** leftover from
your irate iron decisions.
I am the sepulcher, wreathed by
your iconoclastic tongue.
I am the maw
trite in humanity
partite in hunger.
Nov 13, 2010
Nov 13, 2010 at 9:59 AM UTC
I am lower than Cult(s)I am underground to Cult(s)I am Iconoclastic (if some one compared me) to Cult(s)I am Beneath any or all Cult(s)
Feb 23, 2010
Feb 23, 2010 at 1:09 PM UTC
nothing bothers me more than people who say they have found god.
no one has found god.
life is not about finding god.
"GOD" is intangible and not something we can grasp,
but we pretend to.
people put quotes around his words
and then put those words in his mouth
they string ideas of her into beads and crosses -
what exactly are you clinging to?
people don't know.
we are too small
and we are not wise enough.
god is the whole universe.
god is nothing.
god is a tree, a bird, a thought.
god is a little boy with a piece of candy stuck in his hair,
an artist in a garret,
a dog on a cushion,
a girl in an alley.
i don't believe that god has abandoned the church.
i believe that the church has abandoned god.
i don't believe in my catholic roots.
i don't believe in christianity.
i don't believe in buddhism.
i don't believe in islam.
i don't believe the bible.
i don't believe the priests, the shamans, the medicine men.
i don't believe the trappings we place around god
(our weak ideas of her,
our sorry attempts to define him).
i believe that god is people
god is rain, god is the sun
god is the night air
god is the words on paper
god is the paint on canvas
god is creating, god is being, god is gone.
god is here, now, and everywhere
and i only call her god because i lack another name for him.
it has no name.
i understand this
or i think i do.
god knows me intrinsically
or not at all.
god loves infinitely and sees to the depths of humanity
or else god is old, decrepit, and alone
curled in a corner of the world
trying to shut out the mayhem of his earth
(what have i done?).
god cringes at our killings
rejoices in our births,
or is vengeful, red, and full of war and death.
god is spring, summer, and fall.
he is the snow in winter, she is the birdsong
at my window.
she is multitudes and she is one
wildly insignificant
and all-knowing being.
she is the creator, the destroyer, the lover.
she is nature, she is earth,
she is people,
she is the industry, the tapestry, the travesty.
she is love, she is me.
she is loss, she is you.
she is life, she is them.
and i love her,
as anyone loves her -
if you can love an energy,
an idea,
the ungraspable concept that a grain of sand
is the same as the greatest mountain in the world.
but i don't presume
to know her.
Dec 22, 2011
Dec 22, 2011 at 10:21 AM UTC
Hurtled through love,
Dark, robust, romantic
Violent memories
Tearing through a moonless night
Hooting and growling through a treatise
A spiritual rebirth, heaved into heartbreak
Ever revving metaphor
Shake it Out
I am done with my graceless heart,
So tonight I'm gonna cut it out and restart
Melodrama vastly inflated
Turbulent ballads, booming drums
The wind chorales howling melodies
Hopeless romantic separating rapture from disaster
Love is a vast and violent force
Overflow of iconoclastic shamelessness
Leave my Body
Midnight-on-the-moors
Oh my love don't forget me
Oct 10, 2012
Oct 10, 2012 at 12:26 PM UTC
this i know.
without a skerrick of doubt.
if not for your hands,
holding gently, my fragile heart.
and our son's, trust and need,
giving roots,
to my runaway feet.
my vagabond soul,
would be, but dust,
scattered, to the winds..
your heart... and his...are my anchors ....sturdy.
agin,
the present, malestorm.
that is my iconoclastic mind.
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 11:23 PM UTC
Man with no name
Laconic in every frame
Smoking a cigar
Or driving a police car
Westerns or a Cop Thriller
As a Drifter or a Rider
Iconoclastic instant justice
44 Magnum to carry it out without prejudice
Mayor of Carmel
All American Male
Filling cinemas across the globe
East West North or South
Its got to be Clint Eastwood
Dec 7, 2021
Dec 7, 2021 at 7:59 AM UTC
Peas in a pod muster.
Incubators already have inchoated
second best is not an option
From their little Red Houses
carrying the hopes of the World
albeit 95% Pass failure.
They always knew
45 KG's was never enough,
they have a capacity to even out thought thought,
professed middle class values,
iconoclastic Red double-deckers and love of the Bard,
there are no standard institutions
because like the last batch
spatial awareness
assumes their worth as peerless.
Jan 9, 2013
Jan 9, 2013 at 12:59 PM UTC
Long hours forgotten in sheets of paper,
A better bottle, more for nothing:
Lost saints and false idols,
Iconoclastic Oddfellows -- strange masters bellow
Shows of blue smoke and mirrors, a dream
At Bradbury's 2 am, shared nightmares
Ending all the same way, with no
Connection to be known except the lack of sleep.
Making the long drive, ending in your arms,
No direction except for tiredness, no
Autumn except for slotted time,
No finished books, only started stories,
Just a taste of dry leaves, dryheaves, and delerious summer eves.
My middle name is sleep, and I will dream
In wakeness as easily as with my eyes closed.
But sometimes the best answers lie
On the backs of your eyelids.
Read carefully.
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 4:02 PM UTC
an intrepid inheritance
predicated on delusion
processing profuse refuse an
iconoclastic self-absorption suffusing
each and every molecule
we’re confusing consumption
with an inane ideology
as we choke the atmosphere with
CO2 and pump toxins into
our food will we pause as
the doomsday clock tick-tocks
closer to midnight
and the terror alert
goes code red
to consider that we
are at once
this planet’s cancer
and its cure
if Jesus is truly the
reason for the season
do you suppose he’d
impose on those
who do not
share your faith
for the love of Christ
let’s depose the overlords
the Nazarene opposed
hell
that’s something even
i could get behind
Mary
did you know
that your baby boy
was an anarchist who
practiced non-violence
and met death on a cross
as a terrorist rebelling
against the unjust
to those who deign to
name themselves Christians in
homage to the divine
why profane the memory
of a socialistic hippie who
bred an insurrection and
bled for the cessation
of human conflict
the negation of
self-serving intentions
disguised in capitalism
in the spirit of Christmas
defy the death drive
propelling us towards mass extinction
abandon corporate bookstores
protest in front of city hall
the kingdom of god is within you
so go home
kiss the ones you love for
“if we are not the word of god
then god never spoke”
it’s up to us to recognize
that we ourselves
are progenitors of the divine
Dec 11, 2015
Dec 11, 2015 at 12:59 PM UTC
---
keening sound
as curious kites
catch creation
in their
claws
fallen leaves
lie fallow
o'r fulsome
fields
of futility
iccarus lost in
ivory and ecru
iconoclastic
images of
idolatry
hubris hurtling
hewn at the hands
of his heart and
humbling
humanity
celestial
celebrations
assuaged
spread
silence
seeking the
solaces
of
self destruction
soulsurvivor
6/26/2015
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 12:53 PM UTC
Kasimir Malevich. You really have no idea how
annoying you are; I look at your Black Square,
first see nothing there; an Emperor's new clothes
situation; people feigning education by rambling
meanings from blackness; Ignoring what it lacks -
it's the reverse of what art should be. That's why
it calls to me. Isn't it? It is rebellion, revolution,
An iconoclastic icon, there are novels within it's
empty. Are there? So I feel strongly. But as for a
Judgement...I have Nothing. It's a Black Square.
May 10, 2017
May 10, 2017 at 11:26 PM UTC
Look at me now
My once curly hair stick-straight,
My once fresh eyes Kohl-laced
Wonder at my dexterity
My pinkish tender fingers have gotten disfigured
To longish, darker, and wiser ones; you’d hear my
High, shrill laughter, that doesn’t conform
To the graceful springy adornments that it had before
gaze at my iconoclastic room
That smells of adolescent hormones
Swelling with teenage rebellion and
Punk shades of red and black,
A radical departure from my late pink paints
And Barbie shades;
Feel my feelings now
That impalpable blood red ocean
Thoughts no longer wander around Santa or snow white or
Maidens fair, instead
Just hang around vainly, hovering in midair.
But don’t you gape; it’s still that naïve little
Girl you knew, with wide eyes and a mouth adorned with
Chocolate stains who blabbered incessantly
About all things only half-understood; only that now,
All the chocolate has been licked clean
And behind it every truth that hid harshly revealed.
If you can deal with the radical, then believe , it’s still
Me.
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 7:57 PM UTC
it’s saturday night and it’s that time of the week
when all the days disappear into diapers of new births squatting
with umbilical chord necklaces,
i open horace’s book, maxim something then close it:
‘too pedantic,’ i think then say it:
pictoribus atque poetis quidlibet audendi semper fuit aequa potestas,
which means i’m living in england when prog-rock was heaven sent -
where did the englishman disappear to, the 1960’s?!
then comes glasgow with bukowski (i found
him there with ivan karamazov) and i like the fact
that i’m drinking whiskey at 3am
with the neighbour’s kids watching from across the patches of green
while i: drum with my fingers against the collar bone,
weep over singing in german, wear sunglasses to dim the night further.
you know, many lucifers came with the crucifixion of words:
****** stalin, mao... jesus (the jews really took the golden calf
seriously now, although it’s pinned up and
it’s very diabolical to say the least - well d'uh...
torture for iconoclastic reaping of the knees to bend) -
but few satans - who came with the motto: the silent waters
nibble at the shoreline.
my grandmother said that one, all credit to her,
so about me and the lamentation of singing in german,
a little bit of enlightened thinking: brehta - which in silesian polish
means... he’s laughing... very close to schprehta - he’s talking in a foreign language -
good for commerce.
then i forget the strain and feverishness of lying in bed listening
to the clock tick tick tick...
i stand up and undress myself from the monkey suit worried
about tigers and mammoths and fleas...
i stand up, plug in to the ploughing of sounds, smoke a cigarette,
have a drink... and play with the kids across two garden’s worth of length
pretending to be the madman.
Oct 10, 2015
Oct 10, 2015 at 10:16 PM UTC
Society engulfs like an iconoclastic wave,
it will take and take until there is nothing left to save,
what is the beauty in the normal,
of looks, of eloquence and intelligence,
why should we be beaten down,
until there is nothing left to salvage,
until we are average,
until we as people fit what is 'right',
two hands, two feet and not a fright,
of an invasion of ideas,
of thoughts and beings,
of people who see through the boundary’s others have put up,
in every second that passes through their material frame,
because really it is not just simply luck,
that allows their avid brain,
to gain, whilst other people's fears leave them stuck.
Jul 19, 2013
Jul 19, 2013 at 12:49 PM UTC
The Tumbleweed has emancipated itself
From the top heavy game of Follow the Leader
To create something iconoclastic
And concave the convexed cyber cafe that sends it cease and desist letters
But it can't resist to say "I vote for the suicide note I wrote two Thursdays ago" three times fast
It packs the essentials
Then takes its leave to go find people who care to share
And are interested in the topic of role reversal
The suicide note said as follows
"To you,
I'll use small words.
The shame I have is too much for me. After living a life here of excess and fantasy.
I've lost the chills it gave me.
The warmth it provided.
I hate you all for making me love and care about you.
I'm thankful for what you have given me.
But it would be bad for all involved if I push myself to smile another minute.
I need to go find the cool spark again.
Thank you for all you've done.
Please be good.
**** it, **** it, forget it
You'll be okay
Carry"
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 1:24 PM UTC
*shovel and hoof and the falling hood of death, worth a dozen eggs ate, as a Jew prayed to the name, whether horse or wheat be made sacrificially holy and all else be made be sacrificially sound - or a dozen children for the ***** of Adolph for jokes and iconoclastic propaganda... even i know that Adolph overthrew the rites of Abraham given Eva Braun... and whenever the whip, i'd cuddle a paraphrase for a never-figured-out venture that led to a cul de sac... and oh the rich ladies charcoal their fingerprints into nothing more than crime desirable signatures.*
Algorithm next door: another lashing of ***** maxim encyclopedia - i.e. the numbers, and subsequent replicas... brr brr bring on the clone army; and the fiddler on the roof said: if i were rich man... ha shem, translated: o horse, o cow-dung... had i but a name a name equal to yours: as mother said, Samuel - Son of Noel: sweat for chamomile tea brew...and with truce: dumb enough to build the pyramids: dumb enough to build, and thus inherit... said the Palatine Palestinian: or come to my Arctic warmth and lick the ice... for fear that insomnia might be the thief of your dreams... pa pa plumb! sha! gerrrrman schtil! let''s call culture a truant mind-set... and later count the grades as gutter of what became known as Harvard... in orifice the neon twilight to nuance the open pupil of inspector lizard, the mammal, a cat, thus petted, in cat abhorred to suit a lion's mane, and the hairdresser: and with Chopin they made entree with state-held diagnosis of Donald Duck, abbreviated with media: niet!
Sep 18, 2016
Sep 18, 2016 at 1:25 AM UTC
iconoclastic art spirits wildness
served against the knuckles of mainstream engagement
it falls like vinegar in the oils of western modernism
Nov 4, 2020
Nov 4, 2020 at 7:50 PM UTC
It is fair to wonder what your name
was all about—
before it was attached to you.
The crisp sounds that round together in a
full-breath definition of head-to-soul-to-foot.
Surely, the world could not have been so rich before.
Say your name again and again and again
and with each refrain, remember who you are:
The mad morning hair and queer-as-you-breathe
sun-starter who rolls with little logic from the shower
to a dreamer-doctor-writer-lawyer-teacher-self.
A dawn of aspiration and a mother-father, too,
perhaps. A twinkle that inspires when you are
unaware, and friendly face that counts the happy
paces of so many years with friends of every bond.
An iconoclastic icon, no equal in the name.
Now turn your thoughts around as you paddle
through your days. For as star-lit as you are—
—principal among the constellations—
every soul you see today
is just as brilliant in their name.
Nov 24, 2017
Nov 24, 2017 at 6:21 PM UTC
im a psychopathic
drastic causin' cataclysmic
intent i make disaster every i time i record on the master
tape i spit hotter than a pyroclastic
from a volcano the iconoclastic
is back puttin' foes in plastic im fantastic
as the four flame on on my hoes im a graphic
visionary turn you ghost now u in a cemetery hail mary
im controversial equivocal
satirical makin' miracles
everywhere i go might as well call me a oracle and turn my vocal
so i can show you how loco
i can get on the beat mystique--unique my style can't be competed or defeated
no losses king of all bosses
my competitors is air heads
they been deflated unappreciated
control by me so u know they dictated
as well it ain't hard to tell
i got a big **** makin' ******* ring they bell regina bell i gotta bunch of stories to tell
got more thrills than great adventures
suckas takin' mouth shots only to extract they dentures
toothless ruthless merciless
with this style i spit ****
on these flaks i feed bread crumbs to the birds--oh i thought u heard?
that boy yosef ain't no joc loc
i leave suckas more smoked
than butts in astray rhyme i day
eat up emcees like good n plenty bars
i got many if any
want to jump ill leave u beggin' for chance take a quick glance
and you'll see i take it literal this is the visions of lyrical
Oct 14, 2016
Oct 14, 2016 at 10:07 PM UTC