"illegitimate" poems
Warning:
The seagull flying over the Appalachians
could not possibly be amused by the
puzzles of an illegitimate composer
and the skyscrapers climbed.
1.
The skyscrapers were played by tall
rocks a girl climbed when she couldn't
remember if the cape she wore was
made from steel or newspaper.
11.
The newspaper they all read together
that morning (girl, boy, king, etc)
promised nothing but a fifty percent
chance of dandelions terrorizing the bus stop.
2.
The bus stop had since become a
dealer corner and the sunset behind
the mountains was blocked by the
flipping hair of a lost boy.
7.
The boy bought a toy for cheap -- it had
a built-in laser, so she stole it to blast a
whole hole in that guilt-ridden quilt hung
over the four dollar love seat.
6.
The love seat, she bought the day he went
to maple -- the soap dispenser was broken,
but she couldn't find anything new (that she
knew) to wash her hands with.
5.
The hands that handed her a hammer were covered
in promotions, so she stole the motorcycle when
they were watching the scarecrow going
through electric-shock, disco therapy.
8.
The therapy that she received from the
parrot-king and his troupe of square roots
was enough to make her not forget not regret
the boy with feathers in his ears.
10.
The ears she woke up with one morning
were different in shape than before
and the black fur she knew
was growing before her eyes.
3.
The eyes of the boy were wider than
the nightly news station promised, and
there wasn't really a difference
between caves and boxes in a town that small.
4.
The town she arrived in didn't have
a carpool lane or derby, so
she had to take her pet goldfish
to the river for his depressive state.
9.
The river wasn't as flooded after a couple
weeks of changing the tune on the jukebox
she found way before the departure
of her white gold pearls.
12.
The pearls she wore for her
coming-of-age were buried beneath
a dirt mound when she promised herself
to always insist on herself.
Apr 23, 2012
Apr 23, 2012 at 10:49 AM UTC
Fishermen at Ballyshannon
Netted an infant last night
Along with the salmon.
An illegitimate spawning,
A small one thrown back
To the waters. But I'm sure
As she stood in the shallows
Ducking him tenderly
Till the frozen knobs of her wrists
Were dead as the gravel,
He was a minnow with hooks
Tearing her open.
She waded in under
The sign of the cross.
He was hauled in with the fish.
Now limbo will be
A cold glitter of souls
Through some far briny zone.
Even Christ's palms, unhealed,
Smart and cannot fish there.
5.6k
The world watched as Hope entangled itself around the minds of the willing.
They watched as Justice took its first breath as the seed that sprung from Freedom's *****
An illegitimate child of chaos,born a burden to a crutched nation.
The world looked away as dozens of corpses piled up into skyscrapers.
Skyscrapers,for eagles to perch and nest their wealth over spilt blood.
Forgiveness was wrapped around the mouths of the unsatisfied.
Muted screams of those whose hearts were set ablaze with vengeance.
Hushed down by Nelson Mandela's words of healing over wounds of discrimination.
Now up and about,a nation on its feet,embarking on this journey of union and peace.
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 7:29 PM UTC
Her red shoe heels
made clicking sounds
aloud,
around the hall
attracting attention;
his shoes,
alluring, plush,
black magic silence
power worn on feet
cried for recognition.
loudness gravitated
towards silence
black silence angled wild red
he measured her
foot to hip,
she focused on his intense face
the silence
with in the precinct
approved their
illegitimate cravings.
Avarice for attention
came together
held hands,
kicked up their heels,
to **** competition
in foot fetish.
Oct 18, 2011
Oct 18, 2011 at 2:58 PM UTC
It dons a hat of seeming sophistication, in the manner of a Boston gangster where cross-cultural expressions gather at Gaelic mouse-traps of East Coast dominance.
It is a heritage, my friend.
There is sophistication around Italian restaurants, and I have no regrets. Yet, I must say, that I have experienced minimal fun amidst this political Anglican black-comedy where integrity is often confused with connected colours of red, white and blue, and the colours of green white and gold.
This is a picture of illegitimate power, where brethren gnash their intellectual mandibles and covet recognition at the price of their very soul.
Delusional quests for superiority remind me of downward spiralling staircases with blazing torches, where the echoes of scorching souls can be heard to resound throughout professional circles.
As I carry this blazing torch through spiritual levels of command, I ask the question: whatever happened to humanity?
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 10:23 PM UTC
He tells me I could get a boyfriend
if I spoke in my bad British accent.
It's very illegitimate.
I've only ever been to Heathrow,
I have no idea what dialect it is.
But he still says it's ****
It would catch attention, I'm sure.
Interest from long haired hipster boys
Maybe the occasional "Oh, are you from England?"
And I could fib and say yes,
because the average American can't hear the difference
between a girl imitating Masterpiece Classic and Keeping Up Appearances,
and a true born Bristolian or Brummie.
"You're sure to get a man," he says.
'But I don't want one.' I think in reply.
I think he really just wants to know
if I am considering replacing his memory.
"Not yet Govn'a," I say in my best Cockney.
Not yet.
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 3:45 PM UTC
I like poetry - I'm a fan,
Sounds illegitimate, but really I am.
Some of it rhyming, some of it not,
Some of it full of the feelings we've got.
I like it quite lyrical, sometimes satirical,
And yes, I'm aware it's much less than a miracle,
But I hear you lay beats and over the top
You rhyme like professionals - really top-notch.
Not being sarcastic, I'm really impressed,
And if I had more then I'd likely invest.
Sadly life ain't so easy,
Much less than breezy,
You do more than just please me,
Please resist the urge to tease me.
I respect you for more than your rhyming
'Cos poetry's about much more than timing.
Aug 27, 2012
Aug 27, 2012 at 9:28 AM UTC
Us living as we do upside down.
And the new word to have is revolution.
People don't even want to hear the preacher
spill or spiel because God's whole card has been thoroughly piqued.
And America is now blood and tears instead of milk and honey.
The youngsters who were programmed to continue
******* up woke up one night digging
Paul Revere and Nat Turner as the good guys.
America stripped for bed and we had not all yet closed our eyes.
The signs of Truth were tattooed across our open ended ******
We learned to our amazement untold tale of scandal.
Two long centuries buried in the musty vault,
hosed down daily with a gagging perfume.
America was a ******* the illegitimate daughter of the mother country
whose legs were then spread around the world
and a ****** known as freedom, free doom.
Democracy, liberty, and justice were revolutionary code names
that preceded the bubbling bubbling bubbling bubbling bubbling
in the mother country's crotch
What does Webster say about soul?
All I want is a good home and a wife
and a children and some food to feed them every night.
After all is said and done build a new route to China if they'll have you.
Who will survive in America?
Who will survive in America?
Who will survive in America?
Who will survive in America?
Oct 3, 2012
Oct 3, 2012 at 9:40 PM UTC
651
So much Summer
Me for showing
Illegitimate—
Would a Smile’s minute bestowing
Too exorbitant
To the Lady
With the Guinea
Look—if She should know
Crumb of Mine
A Robin’s Larder
Would suffice to stow—
2.1k
Forgotten memories remain to be a significant part of the rich tapestry of contemporary establishment, just like an Indian summer which dries the drab and weary soul of those who are ******
History reveals that the Spaniards sold Erythroxylum Coca to Bolivian and Peruvian populations, whilst tyranny exerted its illegitimate dominance.
So, the quest for power and social control remains to be exploitative in the guise of jovial and seemingly convincing salesmen. Just ask the shamans of traditional cleansing.
The pulsating groans of ancient civilisations will never dissipate, despite the lusts of mankind to establish grandiose constructs.
Oh great and mighty spirit of the land, we need your residence amidst our conceited political climate, because you have truly won the war even though our realisation is blinded by fierce presumption.
I desire to take a bite of historical and gourmet delicacies, and to swallow the diversity of gustatory brilliance, because their remains to be a discrepancy between Spanish and Portuguese validity.
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 11:51 PM UTC
Service
the sections
we skim
on
four limbs,
integral
to the insect
cause
and effectively
crippling
the cross culture,
dumb and
auspicious
in the year
of the
opposable
thumb.
Feline
friction
in
the way
you
hug the fuzz
and
tug at
the tension,
a conscious
show of
subterfuge
and
pretentious
pretenses
concludes
in the dismal
aftermath
of a
stamped
and sent
ten cent
envelope
filled with
nothing
but hope.
Sacrilegious
privileges
construct
reality,
obstructing
the
graffiti art
along the
cosmonaut
crosswalk.
The fire,
fought
with wine
in the dark
etched an
imprint
in ash
where
the
cadre had
left its' mark
in the colors
of a
corroded
battery.
Under
spray
paint stars,
hollow,
half
sunken
sights
echo
through
the
illegitimate
children
of a
wind
chime.
Sulfurous
silver
lining
igniting
the ego.
A blue
reaction
in a black
field,
refraction
with a
maximum
yield,
it all glows.
Feline
friction
in
the way
you
hug the fuzz
and
tug at
the tension,
smooth
and rigid,
we fit in
the grooves
and service
the sections
in a
crippled
cross
culture
that
crawls
on all fours,
integral
to an insect
cause.
Oct 11, 2010
Oct 11, 2010 at 5:27 PM UTC
*
***Now
"The euthanasia"
passive,
fundamental right
to die with dignity,
when no possibility,
is legitimate...
I wonder
If "the unrequited love"
depressive,
sentimental
A freewill
without felicity
was ever illegitimate?***
*
Mar 20, 2018
Mar 20, 2018 at 11:16 PM UTC
[Justin Vernon - Bon Iver: Sample From "Woods"]
I’m up in the woods, I’m down on my mind
I’m building a still to slow down the time
I’m up in the woods, I’m down on my mind
I’m building a still to slow down the time
I‘m up in the woods, I’m down on my mind
I’m building a still to slow down the time
[Hook 1 x2]
I’m lost in the world, I’m down on my mind
I’m new in the city, and I’m down for the night
Down for the night
Said she’s down for the night
[Kanye West - Verse 1]
You're my devil, you're my angel
You're my heaven, you're my hell
You're my now, you're my forever
You're my freedom, you're my jail
You're my lies, you're my truth
You're my war, you're my truce
You're my questions, you're my proof
You're my stress and you're my masseuse
Mamasaymamasamamakusa
Lost in this plastic life
Let's break out of this fake *** party
Turn this in to a classic night
If we die in each others arms we still get laid in our afterlife
If we die in each others arms we still get laid, yeah
[Hook 2]
I’m up in the woods, I’m down on my mind
(Run from the lights, run from the night)
I’m building a still to slow down the time
(Run for your life, Down for the night...)
I’m lost in the world, I’m down on my mind
I’m new in the city, and I’m down for the night
Down for the night
Said she’s down for the night
(Run from the lights, run from the night)
[Bridge]
Who will survive in America
Who will survive in America
Who will survive in America
[Hook]
[Gil-Scott Heron]
Us living as we do upside down. And the new word to have is revolution
People don’t even want to hear the preacher spill or spiel
Because God’s whole card has been thoroughly piqued
And America is now blood and tears Instead of milk and honey
The youngsters who were programmed To continue ******* up
Woke up one night digging Paul Revere and Nat Turner as the good guys
America stripped for bed and we had not all yet closed our eyes
The signs of Truth were tattooed across our often entered ******
We learned to our amazement untold tale of scandal. Two long centuries buried In the musty vault, hosed down daily with a gagging perfume
America was a ******* the illegitimate daughter of the mother country
Whose legs were then spread around the world and a ****** known as freedom, free doom. Democracy, liberty, and justice
Were revolutionary code names that preceded the bubbling bubbling bubbling bubbling bubbling in the mother country’s crotch
What does Webster say about soul?
All I want is a good home and a wife
And a children and some food to feed them every night
After all is said and done build a new route to China if they’ll have you
Who will survive in America?
Who will survive in America?
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 11:20 AM UTC
Firdous was what I wanted to name a daughter I hoped to bear,
After marrying the most perfect man and making myself the most perfect wife,
In a nice house with walls that springs delight and
With many specialized rooms only waiting for the memories I hoped for us to make.
Only to find myself in the lavatory within the office,
With a pregnancy test that glows happy with positive,
And I should be happy,
I know I should be -for I may finally be able to bear my precious Firdous,
Oh precious precious Firdous.
But with what husband?
With what house? with what walls of Delight?
And with which rooms to fill with her laughter and tears and....
What do I do? Dear lord what do I do?
Do I ****** my chance of this happiness?
Do I ****** the bliss of the future I dream of?
Or do I disappoint my mother- the one who bore me?
Do I choose to bring my precious in a world I'm yet to figure?
And I'm yet to find my place in?
Should I curse my baby with the burden of having no father?
Should I curse myself with the burden of a child that could suffer?
Because of having a mother that failed to provide efficiently?
What do I do dear lord?
Should I condem myself to hell or should I condem my beautiful baby-
unborn and unnamed,
to the hells of this world as an illegitimate with miserable likes of a mother like me.
-fir.m ♡
Sep 9, 2021
Sep 9, 2021 at 9:46 PM UTC
I am a player of words.
I will be the the one to grab you by the neck first
but I might show sympathy on you
kick you in the shins and call you a fool.
My pen can do wonders
crush kingdoms, **** children, point out your blunders.
It takes a movement of my hand to change it all
fulfill your dreams, defy science's laws
I can make your lover infertile
make you an illegitimate child
send you to the most brutal fight
or present you with the Nobel prize.
I can make you a part of a dirt poor family
I can make you live your life without a tragedy.
I can make you an old hunchback
who has seen failure
I can make you the knight
in his shiny armour
I can push you off the cliff from which you hanged
or give you a nice pair of fangs.
Oh yes, I am nefarious.
write words which are a mystery or hilarious.
I would rule this place if I had asked for it first,
I am a player of words.
I have painted your world in different colours
cheered for you when you got the medal of valour
I killed your favourite character? Go figure!
I can make you turn into someone else at full moon
I can torture the ones who were your muse
I can build a world of my own
Not taken down by any force
The fire in my veins cannot be extinguished
I will present you with people between whom you cannot distinguish
I can bathe in the tears of my readers
Don't underestimate words
through your spine they can send shivers.
They see me as danger
to trouble, I am no stranger
there is no extent to my freedom
I am half angel, half demon
I have had my mind drift away to places
I have made friends with the one with scarred faces
danced on waves, sang in deserts
all of this can't be done in reverse
I have killed you using shells
I often write to vent.
I often **** the things which you clenched.
I hold onto your soul and the boredom you munched
isn't all of this fun?
I could be queen if i asked for it first
the world calls me an introvert
and
The player of words
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 10:30 AM UTC
You know as well as I do
that internet dating can have its ups
and downs
and thus, after so many futile meetings
and tragic misadventures
in a domestic UK situation,
I decided to spread my wings
and so I logged on to an Australian website
for lonely kangaroo lovers
yes it was www.blackstump-legover.com.au
where no holes were barred.
And I soon struck up a promising friendship
with someone who sounded like
a real goer, a total slapper,
with no morals whatsover
judging from the photo she posted
taken with a mobile phone
up her skirt
which showed her **muffin *****
as well as what she had eaten
for breakfast yesterday,
poking its head out.
We finally agreed to meet
behind the old dunny
in the park where the abos go
to exchange their social security vouchers
for crack *******
or a bottle of Castlemain XXXX
or a quick one up each others' bots
in spite of the pong
on a sunny arvo.
You can imagine how effing disappointed
I was when she arrived
on a trailer attached to her grandson's ute
strapped to a battered gurney
(and almost insensate)
but still ready for a bit of backdoor action
but not from me, no sirree,
thank you very much mate:
I might be desperate, but
I would have had to have
clipped my nose shut with a clothes peg
to get anywhere near her
and my gag reflex simply couldn't cope.
So I bravely dragged the gurney
over to the convenient gap
in the fence overlooking the mighty ravine
and with a gentle shove
I sent her to that sweet place
where peace can be found
and I can still hear her scream
as she bounced off the rocks
accusing me of being illegitimate
before silence reigned
and I smiled in joy.
It only goes to show, O my friends,
that there are female dogs
of the most hideous kind
on every sodding continent
on this dear planet of ours;
and I may as well stick to
a handful of Nivea cream
and a Kleenex, at least the odour
is wholesome.
Sep 29, 2015
Sep 29, 2015 at 11:32 AM UTC
She's got that peasant stink stuck to her
radiating failed dreams and passed-over advice
speaking to the untold quantities
of filthy, illegitimate children
birthed through pale and quivering thighs.
Tattered, low denims
faded, high-cut blouse
full head of ratty, unclean hair
propped up in a high-rise hair-spray style
that hasn't been popular in the trailer parks
for more than a decade.
She always worked real hard
yet always put failing-foot forward
and though I asked,
she could never tell me why -
she never, I think, knew herself.
It doesn't matter though
she'll just fall again
fall to her knees before another he again
fall into the welfare lines due to another newborn again
fall back down into what she knows again.
She saves her non-handout-cash
for the spending on endless streams of hash,
bottles of paint for nail and eye-lash
-because she believes, as she's told,
that she's worth it -
even though it's real clear that she's not
and that
it's real clear that she's one for looking-on
and never acting upon and yet,
I cannot help myself
anymore than she can -
I have fallen
completely and pointlessly
in love with her.
Jul 4, 2010
Jul 4, 2010 at 8:59 AM UTC
'When nights shall be drunk
And souls be tumbling in revelry
When the comic of roles end
And cold shall be burning
I await to call the utmost illegitimate side of us
As my penchanted pleasure
For you be semisane
Caught half into adulthood and rest you know...
Neither you nor me or they
Be sceptical or carrying the peels of scruples
Don't.
Feb 10, 2019
Feb 10, 2019 at 6:09 AM UTC
Retrieve the passion thou shared.
Good sir indeed.
Pray show thyself as keen in action.
Ridicule the lady not.
The lady of seasons bears a perpetual gift.
Yours for eternity.
An honest emerald, captured from a den of thieves.
For the woman sighs.
Crying quietly unto her handkerchief,
Created of distressed lace.
The lady carries but a precious cargo.
A freight ne'er to become forgot.
Madame is a beauty, a butterfly of carbon made.
Her character build of moorland stone.
She weeps daily for you.
Before your child be born.
But her lord is sadly gone.
(C) LIVVI
Dec 23, 2014
Dec 23, 2014 at 3:05 PM UTC
Drop the stream through this sieve into the bottle
Where it shouldn’t belong you wish to
Drink up the poisoned milk in infinitesimal gulps
Of deathly satisfaction only because
The glass shards under your feet pretended
To be the grass and you believed as much as
That what felt like downfall was anything resembling warmth
Sneaking snapshots of neglect for nothing else
Is allowed to who you know yourself to be
And nothing else is a possibility for the
Identity was outlined in ink and blood and
Disappointment and disappointed you are
As a way to make the world feel familiar
At least there is one listener to make one feel at home
While the rest hold on to their promises
While keeping their ears open and their feet in the destined direction
And you are wasting away the precious moments
To drag yourself through the dessert of
Familiar bitterness
To be seen through the prism of your
Poisoned safety blanket
Only as illegitimate
Feb 10, 2019
Feb 10, 2019 at 9:25 PM UTC
I am the *****
The hideous, maimed, disfigured--
You look at me with frowns.
My skin, with many tones,
Too scarred and blotched--
Always offensive to your eye.
You laugh at me,
I am one of your many clowns--
Sent to earth for your amusement.
You view me like a sinner--
God punished me and spared you.
I am the oddity, not quite right,
A freak of nature,
A distortion of the Creator’s beauty,
A sacrilege to your righteous self.
I am the mold by which you judge
All imperfection.
I am an outcast, an infidel, a curse,
An illegitimate child of heaven sent
As image of what you could have been--
Cast into the world to be
Looked at as half-human,
Made to feel less than whole, and
Knowing I will never be even a part.
My afflictions are your blessings,
My pain, your joy,
My tears, your happiness.
In me, you have a reason to be thankful.
Yes, I am the ***** and this I know for sure:
My fate was to be different;
My destiny unfolds, but not before
Your prying eyes; and
Most of all, I find great joy
Knowing that regardless my plight,
I will be always be me and
Never be like you.
Mar 16, 2010
Mar 16, 2010 at 6:21 PM UTC