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Even as the sun with purple-coloured face
Had ta’en his last leave of the weeping morn,
Rose-cheeked Adonis hied him to the chase;
Hunting he loved, but love he laughed to scorn.
Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him,
And like a bold-faced suitor ‘gins to woo him.

“Thrice fairer than myself,” thus she began
“The fields chief flower, sweet above compare,
Stain to all nymphs, more lovely than a man,
More white and red than doves or roses are;
Nature that made thee with herself at strife
Saith that the world hath ending with thy life.

“Vouchsafe, thou wonder, to alight thy steed,
And rein his proud head to the saddle-bow;
If thou wilt deign this favour, for thy meed
A thousand honey secrets shalt thou know.
Here come and sit where never serpent hisses,
And being set, I’ll smother thee with kisses.

“And yet not cloy thy lips with loathed satiety,
But rather famish them amid their plenty,
Making them red and pale with fresh variety:
Ten kisses short as one, one long as twenty.
A summer’s day will seem an hour but short,
Being wasted in such time-beguiling sport.”

With this she seizeth on his sweating palm,
The precedent of pith and livelihood,
And, trembling in her passion, calls it balm,
Earth’s sovereign salve to do a goddess good.
Being so enraged, desire doth lend her force
Courageously to pluck him from his horse.

Over one arm the ***** courser’s rein,
Under her other was the tender boy,
Who blushed and pouted in a dull disdain,
With leaden appetite, unapt to toy;
She red and hot as coals of glowing fire,
He red for shame, but frosty in desire.

The studded bridle on a ragged bough
Nimbly she fastens—O, how quick is love!
The steed is stalled up, and even now
To tie the rider she begins to prove.
Backward she pushed him, as she would be ******,
And governed him in strength, though not in lust.

So soon was she along as he was down,
Each leaning on their elbows and their hips;
Now doth she stroke his cheek, now doth he frown
And ‘gins to chide, but soon she stops his lips,
And, kissing, speaks with lustful language broken:
“If thou wilt chide, thy lips shall never open”.

He burns with bashful shame; she with her tears
Doth quench the maiden burning of his cheeks;
Then with her windy sighs and golden hairs
To fan and blow them dry again she seeks.
He saith she is immodest, blames her miss;
What follows more she murders with a kiss.

Even as an empty eagle, sharp by fast,
Tires with her beak on feathers, flesh, and bone,
Shaking her wings, devouring all in haste,
Till either gorge be stuffed or prey be gone;
Even so she kissed his brow, his cheek, his chin,
And where she ends she doth anew begin.

Forced to content, but never to obey,
Panting he lies, and breatheth in her face;
She feedeth on the steam as on a prey,
And calls it heavenly moisture, air of grace,
Wishing her cheeks were gardens full of flowers,
So they were dewed with such distilling showers.

Look how a bird lies tangled in a net,
So fastened in her arms Adonis lies;
Pure shame and awed resistance made him fret,
Which bred more beauty in his angry eyes.
Rain added to a river that is rank
Perforce will force it overflow the bank.

Still she entreats, and prettily entreats,
For to a pretty ear she tunes her tale;
Still is he sullen, still he lours and frets,
‘Twixt crimson shame and anger ashy-pale.
Being red, she loves him best; and being white,
Her best is bettered with a more delight.

Look how he can, she cannot choose but love;
And by her fair immortal hand she swears
From his soft ***** never to remove
Till he take truce with her contending tears,
Which long have rained, making her cheeks all wet;
And one sweet kiss shall pay this countless debt.

Upon this promise did he raise his chin,
Like a dive-dapper peering through a wave
Who, being looked on, ducks as quickly in;
So offers he to give what she did crave;
But when her lips were ready for his pay,
He winks, and turns his lips another way.

Never did passenger in summer’s heat
More thirst for drink than she for this good turn.
Her help she sees, but help she cannot get;
She bathes in water, yet her fire must burn.
“O pity,” ‘gan she cry “flint-hearted boy,
’Tis but a kiss I beg; why art thou coy?

“I have been wooed as I entreat thee now
Even by the stern and direful god of war,
Whose sinewy neck in battle ne’er did bow,
Who conquers where he comes in every jar;
Yet hath he been my captive and my slave,
And begged for that which thou unasked shalt have.

“Over my altars hath he hung his lance,
His battered shield, his uncontrolled crest,
And for my sake hath learned to sport and dance,
To toy, to wanton, dally, smile, and jest,
Scorning his churlish drum and ensign red,
Making my arms his field, his tent my bed.

“Thus he that overruled I overswayed,
Leading him prisoner in a red-rose chain;
Strong-tempered steel his stronger strength obeyed,
Yet was he servile to my coy disdain.
O be not proud, nor brag not of thy might,
For mast’ring her that foiled the god of fight.

“Touch but my lips with those fair lips of thine,
—Though mine be not so fair, yet are they red—
The kiss shall be thine own as well as mine.
What seest thou in the ground? Hold up thy head;
Look in mine eyeballs, there thy beauty lies;
Then why not lips on lips, since eyes in eyes?

“Art thou ashamed to kiss? Then wink again,
And I will wink; so shall the day seem night.
Love keeps his revels where there are but twain;
Be bold to play, our sport is not in sight:
These blue-veined violets whereon we lean
Never can blab, nor know not what we mean.

“The tender spring upon thy tempting lip
Shows thee unripe; yet mayst thou well be tasted.
Make use of time, let not advantage slip:
Beauty within itself should not be wasted.
Fair flowers that are not gathered in their prime
Rot and consume themselves in little time.

“Were I hard-favoured, foul, or wrinkled-old,
Ill-nurtured, crooked, churlish, harsh in voice,
O’erworn, despised, rheumatic, and cold,
Thick-sighted, barren, lean, and lacking juice,
Then mightst thou pause, for then I were not for thee;
But having no defects, why dost abhor me?

“Thou canst not see one wrinkle in my brow,
Mine eyes are grey and bright and quick in turning,
My beauty as the spring doth yearly grow,
My flesh is soft and plump, my marrow burning;
My smooth moist hand, were it with thy hand felt,
Would in thy palm dissolve or seem to melt.

“Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear,
Or like a fairy trip upon the green,
Or like a nymph, with long dishevelled hair,
Dance on the sands, and yet no footing seen.
Love is a spirit all compact of fire,
Not gross to sink, but light, and will aspire.

“Witness this primrose bank whereon I lie:
These forceless flowers like sturdy trees support me;
Two strengthless doves will draw me through the sky
From morn till night, even where I list to sport me.
Is love so light, sweet boy, and may it be
That thou should think it heavy unto thee?

“Is thine own heart to thine own face affected?
Can thy right hand seize love upon thy left?
Then woo thyself, be of thyself rejected,
Steal thine own freedom, and complain on theft.
Narcissus so himself himself forsook,
And died to kiss his shadow in the brook.

“Torches are made to light, jewels to wear,
Dainties to taste, fresh beauty for the use,
Herbs for their smell, and sappy plants to bear;
Things growing to themselves are growth’s abuse.
Seeds spring from seeds, and beauty breedeth beauty;
Thou wast begot: to get it is thy duty.

“Upon the earth’s increase why shouldst thou feed,
Unless the earth with thy increase be fed?
By law of nature thou art bound to breed,
That thine may live when thou thyself art dead;
And so in spite of death thou dost survive,
In that thy likeness still is left alive.”

By this, the lovesick queen began to sweat,
For where they lay the shadow had forsook them,
And Titan, tired in the midday heat,
With burning eye did hotly overlook them,
Wishing Adonis had his team to guide,
So he were like him, and by Venus’ side.

And now Adonis, with a lazy sprite,
And with a heavy, dark, disliking eye,
His louring brows o’erwhelming his fair sight,
Like misty vapours when they blot the sky,
Souring his cheeks, cries “Fie, no more of love!
The sun doth burn my face; I must remove.”

“Ay me,” quoth Venus “young, and so unkind!
What bare excuses mak’st thou to be gone!
I’ll sigh celestial breath, whose gentle wind
Shall cool the heat of this descending sun.
I’ll make a shadow for thee of my hairs;
If they burn too, I’ll quench them with my tears.

“The sun that shines from heaven shines but warm,
And lo, I lie between that sun and thee;
The heat I have from thence doth little harm:
Thine eye darts forth the fire that burneth me;
And were I not immortal, life were done
Between this heavenly and earthly sun.

“Art thou obdurate, flinty, hard as steel?
Nay, more than flint, for stone at rain relenteth.
Art thou a woman’s son, and canst not feel
What ’tis to love, how want of love tormenteth?
O, had thy mother borne so hard a mind
She had not brought forth thee, but died unkind.

“What am I that thou shouldst contemn me this?
Or what great danger dwells upon my suit?
What were thy lips the worse for one poor kiss?
Speak, fair; but speak fair words, or else be mute.
Give me one kiss, I’ll give it thee again,
And one for int’rest, if thou wilt have twain.

“Fie, lifeless picture, cold and senseless stone,
Well-painted idol, image dull and dead,
Statue contenting but the eye alone,
Thing like a man, but of no woman bred!
Thou art no man, though of a man’s complexion,
For men will kiss even by their own direction.”

This said, impatience chokes her pleading tongue,
And swelling passion doth provoke a pause;
Red cheeks and fiery eyes blaze forth her wrong:
Being judge in love, she cannot right her cause;
And now she weeps, and now she fain would speak,
And now her sobs do her intendments break.

Sometime she shakes her head, and then his hand;
Now gazeth she on him, now on the ground;
Sometime her arms infold him like a band;
She would, he will not in her arms be bound;
And when from thence he struggles to be gone,
She locks her lily fingers one in one.

“Fondling,” she saith “since I have hemmed thee here
Within the circuit of this ivory pale,
I’ll be a park, and thou shalt be my deer:
Feed where thou wilt, on mountain or in dale;
Graze on my lips, and if those hills be dry,
Stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie.

“Within this limit is relief enough,
Sweet bottom-grass and high delightful plain,
Round rising hillocks, brakes obscure and rough,
To shelter thee from tempest and from rain:
Then be my deer, since I am such a park;
No dog shall rouse thee, though a thousand bark.”

At this Adonis smiles as in disdain,
That in each cheek appears a pretty dimple.
Love made those hollows, if himself were slain,
He might be buried in a tomb so simple,
Foreknowing well, if there he came to lie,
Why, there Love lived, and there he could not die.

These lovely caves, these round enchanting pits,
Opened their mouths to swallow Venus’ liking.
Being mad before, how doth she now for wits?
Struck dead at first, what needs a second striking?
Poor queen of love, in thine own law forlorn,
To love a cheek that smiles at thee in scorn!

Now which way shall she turn? What shall she say?
Her words are done, her woes the more increasing.
The time is spent, her object will away,
And from her twining arms doth urge releasing.
“Pity!” she cries “Some favour, some remorse!”
Away he springs, and hasteth to his horse.

But lo, from forth a copse that neighbours by
A breeding jennet, *****, young, and proud,
Adonis’ trampling courser doth espy,
And forth she rushes, snorts, and neighs aloud.
The strong-necked steed, being tied unto a tree,
Breaketh his rein, and to her straight goes he.

Imperiously he leaps, he neighs, he bounds,
And now his woven girths he breaks asunder;
The bearing earth with his hard hoof he wounds,
Whose hollow womb resounds like heaven’s thunder;
The iron bit he crusheth ‘tween his teeth,
Controlling what he was controlled with.

His ears up-pricked; his braided hanging mane
Upon his compassed crest now stand on end;
His nostrils drink the air, and forth again,
As from a furnace, vapours doth he send;
His eye, which scornfully glisters like fire,
Shows his hot courage and his high desire.

Sometime he trots, as if he told the steps,
With gentle majesty and modest pride;
Anon he rears upright, curvets and leaps,
As who should say ‘Lo, thus my strength is tried,
And this I do to captivate the eye
Of the fair ******* that is standing by.’

What recketh he his rider’s angry stir,
His flattering ‘Holla’ or his ‘Stand, I say’?
What cares he now for curb or pricking spur,
For rich caparisons or trappings gay?
He sees his love, and nothing else he sees,
For nothing else with his proud sight agrees.

Look when a painter would surpass the life
In limning out a well-proportioned steed,
His art with nature’s workmanship at strife,
As if the dead the living should exceed;
So did this horse excel a common one
In shape, in courage, colour, pace, and bone.

Round-hoofed, short-jointed, fetlocks **** and long,
Broad breast, full eye, small head, and nostril wide,
High crest, short ears, straight legs and passing strong,
Thin mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender hide;
Look what a horse should have he did not lack,
Save a proud rider on so proud a back.

Sometime he scuds far off, and there he stares;
Anon he starts at stirring of a feather;
To bid the wind a base he now prepares,
And whe’er he run or fly they know not whether;
For through his mane and tail the high wind sings,
Fanning the hairs, who wave like feathered wings.

He looks upon his love, and neighs unto her;
She answers him as if she knew his mind:
Being proud, as females are, to see him woo her,
She puts on outward strangeness, seems unkind,
Spurns at his love, and scorns the heat he feels,
Beating his kind embracements with her heels.

Then, like a melancholy malcontent,
He vails his tail that, like a falling plume,
Cool shadow to his melting buttock lent;
He stamps, and bites the poor flies in his fume.
His love, perceiving how he was enraged,
Grew kinder, and his fury was assuaged.

His testy master goeth about to take him,
When, lo, the unbacked *******, full of fear,
Jealous of catching, swiftly doth forsake him,
With her the horse, and left Adonis there.
As they were mad, unto the wood they hie them,
Outstripping crows that strive to overfly them.

All swoll’n with chafing, down Adonis sits,
Banning his boist’rous and unruly beast;
And now the happy season once more fits
That lovesick Love by pleading may be blest;
For lovers say the heart hath treble wrong
When it is barred the aidance of the tongue.

An oven that is stopped, or river stayed,
Burneth more hotly, swelleth with more rage;
So of concealed sorrow may be said.
Free vent of words love’s fire doth assuage;
But when the heart’s attorney once is mute,
The client breaks, as desperate in his suit.

He sees her coming, and begins to glow,
Even as a dying coal revives with wind,
And with his bonnet hides his angry brow,
Looks on the dull earth with disturbed mind,
Taking no notice that she is so nigh,
For all askance he holds her in his eye.

O what a sight it was wistly to view
How she came stealing to the wayward boy!
To note the fighting conflict of her hue,
How white and red each other did destroy!
But now her cheek was pale, and by-and-by
It flashed forth fire, as lightning from the sky.

Now was she just before him as he sat,
And like a lowly lover down she kneels;
With one fair hand she heaveth up his hat,
Her other tender hand his fair cheek feels.
His tend’rer cheek receives her soft hand’s print
As apt as new-fall’n snow takes any dint.

O what a war of looks was then between them,
Her eyes petitioners to his eyes suing!
His eyes saw her eyes as they had not seen them;
Her eyes wooed still, his eyes disdained the wooing;
And all this dumb-play had his acts made plain
With tears which chorus-like her eyes did rain.

Full gently now she takes him by the hand,
A lily prisoned in a gaol of snow,
Or ivory in an alabaster band;
So white a friend engirts so white a foe.
This beauteous combat, wilful and unwilling,
Showed like two silver doves that sit a-billing.

Once more the engine of her thoughts began:
“O fairest mover on this mortal round,
Would t
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2013
Sittin' On The Dock Of The Bay (Razor Blades, Pills, & Shotguns)

Sittin' on the dock of the bay,
Watching the sun slip, Simon-says, slide away,
Cheeks blushing flushing from orange ray-guns,
Drinking blush rosé to oil our eyes
For the subtle story the sky shortly will reveal,
For the subtle story the sky shortly will revel.

Grievous judgement to make,
Thinkin' skills possessed to praise,
When but yesterday I easy confessed,
At the Blue Canoe Bar, I did not.

(The clouds were magnificent. No, I cannot write a poem about the cloud colors. Their shape shifting inexhaustible.  Mine eyes high on their creativity.  I'm just not good enough a poet to tamper with that sky.)

If you courage enough to
Call yourself poet, then
It is audacity, not blood,
Warming your extremities,
So foolishly try, always be prepared to fail.


No impulse. We pledged that tonight, ours,
One hour of sunset over Silver Beach.
Brought the wine, forgot the pillows,
So Abraham & Sarah went prepared to sacrifice
All feelings in their butts for the greater glory
Of love and one of nature's great poetic challenges..

The conundrum~miracle of every sunset
O'er bay, lake or ocean, is its special,
Only-In-Nature unique way of customizing
Its descent just for you.

No matter where one observes,
No matter where you worship,
Wherever your temple, mosque or church situé,
Tennessee, Rhode Island, the Philippines,
Germany, Colombia, even in the ole U.K.,
(yes, you, I know it, yes, you!)
The very same setting sun we all see,
Sends a magic dazzle gold orange path invitation
To the exact spot you are voyeuring,
One sun, all destinations equal before human.

How can that be?

Trepidation and tremblingly,
The clouds.

She leans on me, a perfect fit,
My back resting against a pylon,
So we see the clouds
With common exactitude,
But it is a quiet time, silence only shared.
Images stored silently within ourselves,
For we see the formation, man, woman,
Precisely and exactly, totally differently.

The clouds.
An armada moving imperial and imperiously
At a stately speed, saying I am awesome, fear me.
The largest cloud bank is an aircraft carrier,
Miles long, painted horizon blue-grey unsurprisingly.

The small white wisps, fast destroyers, stealthy submarines,
Moving fast to protect the mother ship,
Running random to confuse enemy radar and the
Pathetic, limited, human eye.

The colors.
Here I fail willingly, unashamedly.
So many sunsets, so many hearts,
All different, all the same.
Lacking knowledge, I cannot tender,
I cannot offer you tenderness to love
Enough,
The variety of oranges, gold, varietals interspersed
By the pinks, the cornea, singed,
And mock myself for all my meager brain yields is
Good Humor creamsicle comparison...a delicious irony

You who write after midnight
Of razor blades, pills and shotguns,
And not marked two decades even, on this planet,
You want hard,
Write a poem about a sunset in ways never done before.


You, who are wracked with despair
Speak to the man with no job for months
And mouths to feed and a life insurance policy.
Speak to me.

I want to tell you to get over yourself,
But you reject that old saw. Ok.
Get onto to yourself.

I have walked the hallways of deep despair,
Heard the bells ring between periods that signal only the next
Hell,
And to this day, still do,
But still I try to write external of sunsets and greater glories.

How many lives depend on you? Are you proud of your weakness?
Do you hate me yet for acknowledging out loud,
We are both cowards?

I have five mouths to feed,
Before I parse a morsel.
Two less than two,
What do you have but to
Grow yourself?

Yeah coward.
Too yellow to write about a
Yellow sunset, cause that is hard in a way incomprehensible
Until tried.
Or the passing of your mother who could not speak clearly
But you, thru her eyes knew that she had poems to yet recite.
Run away like I did ashamed with frustrated failure.
Why should I coddle, give you easy soft?
**
.
If you come here to share, well and good.
If you come here to find comfort, good.
So gaze upon these words and feel
The love that only experience has earned.

What do you know of heartbreak?
Imprisoned for decades in a loveless life,
I walked by the water nightly,
Yes, the same waters where I CinemaScoped
Yesterday's sunset, and walked away.

You can read about if you look it, look me, look here,
Look up!

So do something hard, something external.
Fail but love yourself more for just having tried.
Then try something else.

The saddest poem ever wrote
Was not yours, where you titillate with daring words
Razors, pills etc.,
The saddest poem ever writ
Was this one, a meager vanity to capture a
Sunset that keeps trying every day to
Surpass
Supersede
Its previous glorious failure,
Like we should too.
Keep trying

Now, I shall rest,
For I know that soon I shall see, feel, think,
Of something new that will make me eager to

Write a new poem.


August 3~5, 2013
When I am less tired, I wil edit the typos. But life is full of typos, but sometimes you just gotta not look back, even if you leave a trail of typos behind you. But writing this has mentally exhausted me in a different way.  I will rest from writing to recover. Dig out some old ones, maybe

If you courage enough to
Call yourself poet, then
It is audacity, not blood,
Warming your extremities,
So foolishly try, always be prepared to fail.
Cunning Linguist Nov 2013
I don't know why I find death so enthralling;
Or the calling of culled nullified angels more charming than alarming
Salutations to an array of all things macabre and flooding the streets with tidal waves of shock

The blood in your veins
was already cold as ice anyway
before draining away in the embalming process
Your entrails always showed
the manner in which you vested with finesse;
Enthroned in a tomb of frozen snow

Hell burns frigid and unremissive
Your every thought - piercing incisions
While I puzzle together these pieces of the grander picture
The polarity of her stigmatic enigma
Demeanor meandering to and fro
Gandering to pander every whim
Throwing glances left and right
At each of my fellow gentlemen

Rays of light cast from the windows
Outlining my silhouette in the shadows
Low moans bellow in a tour de force
As I peer through your soul
You have but a split second
So spit or swallow,
and choke back your tears
As I bring your worst fears to life

Hell hath no fury like mine reckoning
My discourse beckoning;                              
Imperiously        
imperiling
         and deafening

Channel these demons -
Screams echoing in melodic discord
Face stoic, in lieu of remorse
Wallowing in the shallows and wailing for recourse
The *****'s lament holds no candle;

From the summit,
without substance -
She plummets
in shambles
At free fall speed
she meets the grounds embrace;
but it breaks away

Calm before the storm
Then once more your life flashes
As you reach for the light
hiding in the tunnel's flip-side
Only to realize its not of the Heavens
But a raging Inferno

Neural impulses spiderweb across time
Each one precisely in line; memories -
Absence of your vindication aligned hand in hand
with every secret you buried in the sands

O'er the new rage
Of the golden age noir
Compulsively laying without delay
Fashioned like it's going out of style
"Now **** me something vile -
M a s t e r  r a c o n t e u r"
Make my trials worthwhile
Purveyor of *******
Undeterrable provocateur;

Inclined to bide my time while finding the finer aspects of slaughtering swine
Her squeals, reminiscent
lulling me to unconsciousness
Forever more I remain in denial
Whittling ever closer to nihility
While begging assuaging intoxication to ease my conscience

In the blink of an eye;
Destiny manifest is slathered in spattered inklings of splattered blood red
On a platter shall I present her head
A trophy for my sempiternal Lord of the dead
Why admire the intrinsic birth and death of nature as something beautiful and palpable
When all that exists is worth perishing
I've given up on humanity
A once vibrant pool of endless possibilities
Is reflected in a dismal void steeped with pitch
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2014
Sittin' on the dock of the bay,
Watching the sun slip, Simon-says, slide away,
Cheeks blushing flushing from orange ray-guns,
Drinking blush rosé to oil our eyes
For the subtle story the sky shortly will reveal,
For the subtle story the sky shortly will revel.

Grievous judgement to make,
Thinkin' skills possessed to praise,
When but yesterday I easy confessed,
When at the Blue Canoe (another poem),
I did not.

(The clouds were magnificent. No, I cannot write a poem about the cloud colors. Their shape shifting inexhaustible.  Mine eyes high on their creativity.  I'm just not good enough a poet to tamper with that sky.)

If you courage enough to
Call yourself poet, then
It is audacity, not blood,
Warming your extremities,
So foolishly try, always be prepared to fail.

No impulse. We pledged that tonight, ours,
One hour of sunset over Silver Beach.
Brought the wine, forgot the pillows,
So Abraham & Isaaca went prepared to sacrifice
All feelings in their butts for the greater glory
Of love and one of nature's great poetic challenges..

The conundrum~miracle of every sunset
O'er bay, lake or ocean, is its special,
Only-In-Nature unique way of customizing
Its descent just for you.

No matter where one observes,
No matter where you worship,
Wherever your temple, mosque or church situé,
Tennessee, Rhode Island, the Philippines,
Germany, Colombia, even in the ole U.K.,
(yes, you, know it, yes you)
The very same setting sun we all see,
Sends a magic dazzle gold orange path invitation
To the exact spot you are voyeuring,
One sun, all destinations equal before human.

How can that be?

Trepidation and tremblingly,
The clouds.

She leans on me, a perfect fit,
My back resting against a pylon,
So we see the clouds
With common exactitude,
But it is a quiet time, silence only shared.
Images stored silently within ourselves,
For we see the formation, man, woman,
Precisely and exactly, totally differently.

The clouds.
An armada moving imperial and imperiously
At a stately speed, saying I am awesome, fear me.
The largest cloud bank is an aircraft carrier,
Miles long, painted horizon blue-grey unsurprisingly.

The small white wisps, fast destroyers, stealthy submarines,
Moving fast to protect the mother ship,
Running random to confuse enemy radar and the
Pathetic, limited, human eye.

The colors.
Here I fail willingly, unashamedly.
So many sunsets, so many hearts,
All different, all the same.
Lacking knowledge, I cannot tender,
I cannot offer you tenderness to love
Enough,
The variety of oranges, gold, varietals interspersed
With pinks singeing the cornea,
And mock myself for all my meager brain yields is
Good Humor creamsicle...a delicious irony

You who write after midnight
Of razor blades, pills and shotguns,
And not marked two decades even, on this planet,
You want hard,
Write a poem about a sunset in ways never done before.

You, who are wracked with despair
Speak to the man with no job for months
And mouths to feed and a life insurance policy.
Speak to me.

I want to tell you to get over yourself,
But you reject that old saw.
Ok.
Get onto to yourself.

I have walked the hallways of deep despair,
Heard the bells ring between periods that signal only the next
Hell,
And to this day, still do,
But still I try to write external of sunsets and greater glories.

How many lives depend on you? Are you proud of your weakness?
Do you hate me yet for acknowledging out loud,
We are both cowards?

I have five mouths to feed,
Before I parse a morsel.
One less than two times three,
What do you have but to
Grow yourself?

Yeah coward.
Too yellow to write about a
Yellow sunset, cause that is hard in a way incomprehensible
Until tried.
Or the passing of your mother who could not speak clearly
But you, thru her eyes knew that she had poems to yet recite.
Run away like I did ashamed with frustrated failure.
Why should I coddle, give you easy soft?
.
If you come here to share, well and good.
If you come here to find comfort, good.
So gaze upon these words and feel
The love that only experience has earned.

What do you know of heartbreak?
Imprisoned for decades in a loveless life,
I walked by the water nightly, so tempted
To stay, to not pass by but pass on,
Yes, the same waters where I CinemaScoped
Yesterday's sunset, and walked away.

You can read about it if you look,
Look me up, look here, the story is in my poems, but always,
Look up!

So do something hard, something external.
Fail but love yourself more for just having tried.
Then try something else.

The saddest poem ever wrote
Was not yours, where you titillate with daring words
Razors, pills etc.,
The saddest poem ever writ
Was this one, a meager vanity to capture a
Sunset that keeps trying every day to
Surpass
Supersede
Its previous glorious failure,
Like we should too.
Keep trying

Now, I shall rest,
For I know that soon I shall see, feel, think,
Of something new that will make me eager to
Write a new poem.


August 3~5, 2013
Written and posted here one year ago today. Strangely, it fits my mood exactly, again, today, 2014. Edited for clarity here and there...

*If you courage enough to
Call yourself poet, then
It is audacity, not blood,
Warming your extremities,
So foolishly try, always be prepared to fail.
Elizabeth Mayo Mar 2011
In her dark eyes thou canst see thine own mortality
And with her white arm in some imperiously indolent gesture,
Long fingers carelessly pointing -- rosemary, rosary,
Rose petals rotting on a Sunday -- Baudelaire would like her,
With her nightshade beauty and red lips in a frown.

"Fier et nonpareil," like some rue-flowering queen
And not even the dark red of the faded rose
Resembles the color of her voice, a color which can't be seen
Morbid and beautiful and indolently morose
Et son visage serait celui de Baudelaire ***** rêves...
Written for my mother for her birthday, March 11th. "Fier et nonpareil" is a quote from one of Baudelaire's poems, translating as "proud and peerless".
Alex Benac Sep 2011
The River is lonely
it has no friends.
The mountain
naught but an acquaintance
a majestic bastion
a beautiful companion
but not an equal.

The River flows down
the Mountain
rapidly but elegantly
gently carving itself a niche
in a coarse, rough landscape
made for the tall, the bold
but not the fleeting.

The lonely River winds
shimmering, glimmering
from the top of white to the bottom
of black.
It slides effortlessly, brilliantly
yet still unnoticed by its silent
surroundings.

This River, this lonely river
moves ever
in the scorching sight of sun
or the chilling glare of moon.
It snakes, wonderfully, imperiously
slicing through rock and stone.
A vein of silver
in a grey, grey land.

And where does the river flow?
Downwards, ever downwards
through field and forest
gold and green
to the Sea.
The great Ocean
where it melts without fanfare
into blue.
That Lonely River.
Mike T Minehan Nov 2014
I can’t help thinking
that almost every girl I meet
could possibly, potentially be,
yes, a screamer in the sack,
or better, a soul mate in the sack,
or even a confidant in a coffee shop, or anywhere.
And then they could jointly rule my kingdom
imperiously, like the Queen of Babylon,
or maybe Bathsheba, who was having a bath
when David espied her and then jumped her in his boudoir.
I suppose an exhibitionist needs a ******.
Gee. But it wasn't kosher for David, the King of Judea,
to then have murdered Bathsheba's husband, Uriah,
so he could afterwards marry her.
What? Yeah, this is all in that whodunnit,
the first tabloid, the Old Testament.
But look, I'm getting away from the path here.
What I'm talking about is girls that I innocently meet
without trying to get them in closer.
I don't spy on girls in the bath or the shower
and I don't have anyone murdered for *** or for power.
Or for anything! I'm a writer, see?
I simply imagine, inside my head,
that we all fall fabulously in love,
and blow our minds instead.

Mike T Minehan
Sean OConnell Nov 2013
I preen
Like a thousand eyed poser
And strut imperiously
Before my conquests
When you say you want me

I shine
Like a technicolour light show
And blaze dramatically
In my paradise
When you say you need me

I climb
Like a majestic bird king
And hover regally
Over my domain
When you say you love me

I stand
Like an ice carved emperor
And search desperately
Over my wilderness
When you say goodbye
An actually constantly imperiousness
this candid pearl moved diocese
impervious to his kind

examined his intricate relation between examples in line handsomely and abrupt.  
He imperiously evaporated in case of fire today

for a rising dew where Colorado glistened
in cold water River,
so let him commandeer the ground
on this Continental Divide
with his forthright doctrinaire
and fight a lunacy in Athens again.
Timothy Miller Jun 2014
The golden sun soon was setting,
Waves of light cascading outward,
Round the castle, tall and towered,
And on halls of glass reflecting.

Masked they stood, awaiting the scene,
Before the finely gilded gates,
And through the massive, sturdy grates,
The lady of the night was seen.

Above the castle yard she stood,
A feather gown encased her form,
As wings an angel would adorn,
Her golden hair a shining hood.

A lilac mask concealed her face,
And unto it she now became,
A child's face, but a body dame,
That strode with an elegant grace.

The gates were opened to the crowd,
Proceeding into the estate,
No one dared to ever be late,
To be caught beneath the Night's shroud.

The castle opened unto them.
The hallways sparkled in bright light,
Casting out the hideous Night,
Stalwart there as a star-like gem.

The ballroom was a grand affair,
Tapestry hung from wall to wall,
And hues of light consumed the hall,
Amidst the noble and the fair.

The child-angel proceeded about,
Her guests, the wealthy of the land,
As at the door he stood, not grand,
But wicked in his mask's dark pout.

Cloaked in black from his head to heel,
The man stood imperiously,
As all in his vicinity,
Before the Lord of Night did kneel.

With careful pace, he strode around,
The gala and the frightened crowd,
No longer could they flee the shroud,
That followed him, a hunting hound.

As a hush overcame the throng,
To the lady, he sauntered there,
And gently stroked her golden hair,
As from the walls a haunting song,

Echoed throughout the castle halls,
So he led her onto the floor,
As the sunset shone through the door,
Setting ablaze the sullen ball.

Amid the inferno blazing,
The angel and demon danced there,
Under the nobles' constant stare,
As one parted soul reflecting,

Unto the other, just the same,
One of the deepest, darkest hell,
The other who casts glamoured spell.
They danced, the darkness and the dame.

Though, as the sun began to set,
The child's aspect upon her face,
Within the darkness did now embrace,
The selfsame form that did beget,

The darkness in the castle great,
That danced with the angel, fallen,
Cursed by the darkness befallen,
On the grandeur of her estate.

No more the feathered angel-child,
A black gown of burning ember.
Not one soul can now remember,
The angel from this demon, wild.

Hand in hand, they danced forever,
In the hallways, and through the gate,
Into the forest. Never late,
Was the Night, silent and clever.
Nishank Aug 2016
Crumbled underneath shattered dreams,
that fell before they could span their wings.
Struggling for a quick last gasp of breath,
He bore the brunt of horrid sufferings.

He knew by intuition, that all was lost,
and the crucifying pain stung like hell.
He had gambled and stumbled in succession,
And before he could rise, again he fell.

Maybe ambition had driven him mad,
or maybe greed had stabbed him in the back.
Penalized for wishing and barred from hoping,
He was imperiously ****** into a ravine so black.

He had shrieked for aid as he bled,
But a shameless silence answered his yelp.
Success had made him many friends,
But in misery, he had only his shadow for help.

Convinced of his apparent invincibility,
he had jeered at predictions of his fall.
But when the fatal fist struck and strangled him,
he shivered and stood cornered against the wall.

His life got embroiled in the worst of controversies,
with luck dealing all the dreaded cards.
The public juggernaut steamrollered over him,
And his destiny broke into a thousand shards.

People stood shocked as his fortunes dipped,
and readily chronicled the tragedy of his tale.
His spectacular doom had fluttered many minds,
and his life was enveloped in a stormy gale.

Stripped of all his glory, he stood naked
at the altar of the Great Court of Deeds.
Prosecution was sharp and the judgement brisk,
and he was gheraoed by a ghetto of Satan’s steeds.

He could smell the stench of felony in the air,
as once-familiar voices called for his head.
The wretched flimsiness of human loyalties
filled his torn heart with a fierce hatred.

Even as they pitilessly led him to the gallows,
the resolution of all illusions made him blind.
And even before the darned noose had tightened,
Hopelessness had triumphed over his mind.

So, he died – a pathetic predetermined death,
punished for living rightly by the wrong rules.
Lost amidst the cruel ironies of his world,
crushed under the combined weight of fools.


More of my poems on www.mehtanishank.wordpress.com
Damien Ko Dec 2018
rest the creek, the brook the stream
dear soldier, traveler, pilgrim, dear king
stay and slow father mountain commands
silver wisps of cloud strand stone crown

o father o father there is a dream
I must go I must go I must be leaving
his silent reproach communes and remands
"my son, to me so you may gaze down upon"

"the earth, the mother sleeping tonight"
imperiously meekly father gazes a fondness
mother slumbers 'neath blanket down white
and its here and its here in the earth it is here

the stone and the tree and the river decree
the truth to the traveler the truth he must see
the man who must remember the face of his father
they Pyrenees did a number on me in a good way
Big Virge Mar 2020
Man … "You Cannot Be SERIOUS !" ...

You AIN'T … " John Mc….." ... !!!!!

And That's A FACT …
Why You Trying To Play BAD … ?
When You AIN'T … " Mike Jack " … !!!?!!!

Is Your Name … " EDDIE "… ?!?
Cos' You Seem ... UNSTEADY …
And Are CLEARLY Quite DELIRIOUS ... !!!!

Wrong And Strong ….
DO NOT Belong In The Same Vicinity …
You're INSANE … " CLINICALLY " … !!!!!

And Some Kind of CLOWN ...
To CLAIM INSISTENTLY That You ... NEVER Back Down … !!!!!

So You're … ALWAYS RIGHT … !!!?!!!
What's In Your Mind … ?!?
To Think That YOU Deal In The TRUTH … !!!!!!

Now That's Just NOT TRUE ...
And You KNOW IT TOO … !!!!!!!

DENY …. ALL You Like … !!!
But You're The Type Whether Girl Or Guy … !!!!!
Who NEEDS TO Find Some Time …. " Outside " ...
of Deluded Dreams That … Keep You CLEAN …

When REALITY Shows That You AIN'T Holmes … !!!!!
Or A BRILLIANT MIND … I Think You'll Find …

Your Light Is Dim To … SERIOUSLY Think …
That You Should RESIST ... ACCEPTING THIS ... !!!

Sometimes You're WRONG … !!!
And AREN'T As Strong As You … CLAIM To Be … !!!!!

Which Is Why Straight Words DISTURB Your Nerves …. !!!!!
Cos' You DON'T OBSERVE ... Relax And Learn ... !!!!!

You Just Get … PERTURBED … !!!
And REACT Like A Child When Your Profile …
Is Inspected Dissected And Shown To Be … DEFECTIVE … !!!!!

YOU And YOUR Collective …
Who Clearly Weren't Injected …
With ... Common Sense Directives … !!!

Where Humility's Selected …
Instead of ... IGNORANT Objectives … !!!!!

Like ... NOT Having The CLASS ...
To Accept That It's A FARCE To KEEP Acting Like An *** … !!!!!

When You've EXPOSED Yourself
To Be Lacking … Mental Health …  

By This I Mean …
Thought Waves That Lean …..

Towards IGNORANCE … !!!
And REACTIVE NONSENSE That LACKS Good Sense … !?!

It Seems Apologies Are Beyond Your Reach …
Like Logical Thoughts That Deplore And Ensure …

That Thoughts of WAR ...
Are REMOVED From The Fore When They Have NO CAUSE … !!!

Is it SO HARD To ADMIT In Your Heart … ?!?
That Some Things You Have Done Were REALLY Quite Dumb … !!!

It Seems That Your PRIDE And EGO COLLIDE ... !!!
Where IGNORANCE Lies Which Clearly Is Why ...

You TRY To DEFEND Your Brand of NONSENSE …  !!!!!
When You Should ACCEPT That It's Probably Best …
To Leave It For Dead And Make Recompense ...

For Things You Have Said …
That Were Better Off Left Inside of Your Head … !!!!!

I Guess I Can't Blame Ya When You Deal In Capers …
That Prove You Weren't Favoured By Our Lord And Creator … !!!

To Humble Yourself Instead of REACTING ….
Like Some … " Hound of Hell " … !!!
When You Become Trapped In Your EGO FILLED Cell … !!!

Where Is It You Dwell Alongside Your Pride … ?!?

In The End You May Find ... Yourself In A BIND …
Because PRIDE Like REGRETS Tends To BREED IGNORANCE …  

Then ... IGNORANCE SPREADS … !!!
DEEP INSIDE These Heads Who Tend To Be TENSE … !!!

And ... RESTLESS In Beds …  !!!!!  
Cos' Reality's BITE ... They CANNOT DENY … !!!!!

DENIAL DENIES A Vision of RIGHT …
Therefore It's CLEAR SIGHT That BLINDS Their Insight … !!!!!

The Insights They Try … !!!
To Use As Their Guide To NOT Backing Down … !!!

SERIOUSLY …. IMPERIOUSLY …. !!!!!

As If Who They Be …
Is BEYOND … " Royalty " … !!?!!

These Peeps Live In … " DREAMS " ...
Where Their Egos Then Feed Like … Blood ******* Fiends … !!!

But Even Drac' KNOWS To Abscond From Those Zones …
Where The Stakes Are High Like … De La Soul Vibes … !!!!!

HIGH Like Humility That Walks With Serenity ...
In The Face of These Enemies …
Who Claim To Be Friendly Whilst Aiming Obscenities … !!!

SERIOUSLY ... I Mean SERIOUSLY … !!!?!!!

... "So, You NEVER, Back Down !?!" …

I Can Hear Them NOW And See Their Frowns … !!!!
These CLOWNS Who Are Surplus ... To A Good Circus … !!?!!

Because They Are WORTHLESS ….  !!!
Like Crowds Are To … Hermits ... !!!!!!!!!!!  

Who Choose Spiritually ... To Move DIFFERENTLY …
Because What They Believe DENIES Egos And Breeds ...

A Place Where These Wrongs Are Allowed To Move On …. !!!
And IGNORANT Acts Are NOT SEEN As STRONG …….. !!!!!

TOO MANY Heads Now Present …
NONSENSE ... As Their Defence …. ?!?!?

For IMPURITIES In How They Be … ?!?!?
As If They Have ... IMPUNITY … ?!?!?!?!?

Well ... All's I Can Say Is …….

…….. " SERIOUSLY " …… !?!
Sometimes people really do say the most ignorant things, and then have the cheek to try to defend them, with even more foolishness, this poem speaks on them .....
Julian Sep 24
A Discourse on Aerophane Eunomia  9/24/2024

The preterition of bionomically viable mackintoshes perdurable by vivat credenda whorling around catacoustic furor that attempts to array the constellation of all grievances deciphered by compassionate governance is dependent upon the following stipulations and statutes. Primarily, a catadioptric houndstooth complex bionomic superorganism demands a gradgrind dompteuse of psephology (as a stark underestimate of nasute observers primarily overlooked by swingometers) trying to zizel lurdans by vaccimulgent fracedos and forfex haecceity contingencies of nimiety with pushful forcipation at the behest of quokkas affright at amphiscian afterclaps amberjacking dontolesque heydays imperiously governed by interlucation using interfluvian omphalism unreeving humanistic altruism (a tentative renegadism) in spinescent palzogony roiling in salebrosity with bastardized semelparous progeny gorgonizing the polydipsia of pickthank tantony to nebulist algedonic overdrive backfired in mackintosh vulcanization implodent upon portfire calculated to appease a fetishized odontalgia inculcated into modish broadcloth visiogenic maquettes of cultural deformation suddenly vogue with macroscian specters the subsultus of internecine nidifugous loimic periblebsis hobbling the weighage of kerygma better suited to cloistered gnotobiology rather than noisome cultural pettifoggery spooling in chorizont celsitude.

Wedelning qwersy sell-outs corralled by websters and coquelicot contecking compital moral clochards zealous for chryselephantine clavis disproportionate on shibboleths of jarabing jalousies adscripted by jarking foothot jellygraphs jerquing caballine jiggermasts by nasute opportunism attrite on incidental crepitated gerdoying stampedes culvertaging cynomorphic mavericks too nacreous to sustain nebelwerfer mechanomorphic negentropy more predictable as bezique betising for briquets of Sarvodaya finicky to proficuous nektons secondary to lagniappes of nembutsu the catalyst behind synclastic tympanies nettlesome because of elflock forestalled by ipesand nidamental to powellisation for pyretology forever percurrent as a heterodyne trigonometric variance of bounded vacillated voltinism of opaque sastruga henpecking somniation sparvering interpunction to specular umbrage sphacelated sussultatory suretyships for jansky and pulicide in ignivomous deputization of blunt obtuse iopterous conflagration fumigating ipecac into streamlined mechanization of ironmaster wallfish irriguous because of lucrative downtrodden evanescent brehon yet catalyzed by springboking resourcefulness joggling the jamdani into jockeyed cladogenesis intransigently isallobar (resolute in protection of ****** octodonts constituting the bellwethers of aleatory oryzivorous osmol insulating preterition) by chirking global solidarity even in subboreal disagreement with other countries

An oscitation of orrery often siamang in rumchunder rhotacism in celation contingent on shenango tatamae of shagreen nimbose compurgation of dashpot shibboleths of rheotaxis redemptive in the pleoinosis juddering the volplane porbeagle with tangible costive coy popocracy at the detriment of deplorable springhare rasters of tragelaph pseudo-paragons supernal in importunate thremmatology culled from goniometers of elective grillage for tachytelic gonfaloniers to punctuate the valedictory ****** of equity in equipoise suspended as a tantieme of conserved tectospheric terrella (harvested potential energy even when embezzled by chlamydate henchmen) manufactured by testudo uncial migraineurs toiling restlessly even in macroscian umbrage for gradate suffrage a piebald moonraker sphacelation of spurriers above murengers always cognizant of indignant plight but frowning on outright cultural temulentia of ultrageous cacodoxy becoming kuru. Paroxytone recadency of bosky boschveldt pantagruelian scabilonian whangams of pilloried pigeonholes slimmerbacking complex sociodynamic catastrophes abetted by worricrow paradigms obtenebrating cryptotype exists suboptimal because it is coauthored by nyejays gribbean against swoopstake individualism emergent into syndicalized mutualism (a talisman of tegular latticework moonshot telenergy capable of subverting core machinations by singular tentation of togated terpsichorean modifications to camaraderie in a woke-spun world’s sorority—responsible for torpefying virility—troating with lucriferous might yields compromise and efficacy when wed to chilgoza rather than epicene debasements while vouchsafing ambitious masculinity) such that the turncock on insight once clogged by mute ridottos now inundates trouvailles of subtle vastations gradately hedged from interramification to slowly disperse or become vecordy for huckabuck graft guilloched in defiance by skalded vorticism tediferous in contrarian polities orchestrated by chatelaine pedigree to sustain subsidiary alms for witwanton libertines despite such ergotall kilmarge of rancid flagstench purified by secular litotes

Simultaneously, wobbly but resolute mahouts--the mainpernors of scofflaw matachins trying to catamount caudle against elitism--try to obviate cecutiency to immiserate chelonian banderols cadging chevrotain empaths to nebulize matriotism in aimless vitiation of attempted negentropy by nivial centrism only to marvel at summative nolitions all wagered in bailivated wrox galvanized by baized serpentry seahogging zarzuela gamidolatry and out of the greatest cognitive dissonance hoggasters for killcow antithesis of hopsack pragmatica walloped by hotchpot howdah foumarts’ exhortations while flysch decimates their ranks as fitchew murage defaults such that political derricks are delegated to defeat quotidian dentagra even when prominent politician degage aunceled acclaim of asterism militant in pettifoggery despite jurymasted victory over the peccadillos undermining ashplant stulms (arrect in their own malversation) mainsail of rabid contumacy rather than valorous travail resurgent in chrestomathy.  

Tirociniums for timocracy aristarching arguted aretaics against Hakenkreuz and naïve espaliers bolted to boltrope epizoic determinism for witless alamort epilation of oreillet nidifugous inculcation of physiognomancy with improper brassage deskandent in perfunctory interpunction of punitive oneirocritism of radical jolkering innitency by backstay imbrication of aloof ivory-tower nihilism among perverse academic ranks illecebrous because of ichnited analysis of stemson immunifacience of scud by scrimure abandon drooling over picamar cirriped goblin treasures. The scrobiculous backlash of scumble shiding around in cat-lady garish gaudy falsettos betrothed to the superlunary concourse cooperative with silverskin sorbefacient psaphonic acceleration centrifugal from izzat operative in cultural umlaut because of unguicule embracery abroach of illicit pipelines of tubifacient graft sustained by the bonhomie of second-take absconce actinism enveloping the virgations of woke allegiance to afterclaps of alcahest  which underscores the forefront posture intermediary to alexia is a resurgent aphthong of thoughtless consumerist ploys of plashy diatribes against apologetic kerygma swaddling apotropaic aggiornamento above fraying braying jackals of religious aporia preferring the exhilarated wharfinger hobohemia to the muntjac sublimation of all entelechy synclastic towards plurennial pleimorphy for societal phoniatrics to great fanfare and amelioration of the dirigisme by guarded abraxas pergolas so decisive they collectively are both the antecedent catalyst and consequential afterbirth to high-ticket onerous pandation.

The vulpecular zayat zoppa of downtrodden crestfallen haustellum of substandard binary hawseholes become dogcarts to sophomoric banderols specious to tanquams of tantony gaslighted by dupion to either be dipnoous in endeavor (self-consciously dishonest about oppositive support for detraque) or emphatic about declasse enfranchisement darkled by the devastating prospect that authenticity invites anathema from every cordwainer obliged to sustain humane compassion deadeyed by radioactive daws of misguided quasi-astragal autecology . Taradiddles of cruelty wagered in provocative acropathy deserve alpenstocker magnanimity because of invaluable munificence in forever keystoned enhancement of allemande noospheres revalorized into burgeoned tympany and vivid nembutsu earned on the suffrage of the aloof frogmarch hobbled by martingale aegis livid by the contumacy of pretext debaucheries invented by vulpecular Idiocracy to engender the source of the vehement neurergic aspersions ultimately the ultimatum of circular sockdolagers of laborious acequia accolent only to abscissas few others could interdigitate for eventual appeasement of cordial exoteric aspiration of demassified eunomia heartfelt to attune the escaliers of recourse to invest in prosodemic eclaircise that oystercatchers overlocked against the isovol by defeating the froward isorithms of egestuous bannock will enhance nisus and oikonisus simultaneously in a world already famished of fertility in farsighted alacrity committed to the nuclear family. Thus, we need a polyphiloprogenitive growth engine to camber and calver rejuvenated moralism and redoubled enlightenment to jurymast integral noetic virtues establishing paragons of jannock wroth in success woonerfing rectitude in meliorism that refrains from anti-Americanism rather than stultifying the whole system for the mazut of killcow wragapole samara squintifegos spuddling on antebellum travesty and premodern areneidan illiteracy the sastruga of typhonic pessimism better obrogated by reform than reiterated in vandalized scaffmasters so prepossessed by scarfskin acciptrine atrocities it forgets to marvel at our stepwise progression of wondrous cosmic dilatometry piggybacking sidereal lugsails propinquities prize in ephemeral mensuration of holobenthic time at loss with the joss of kismet zazzy in foudroyant entelechy as the clepsydra bleeds festination because of polyacoustic gezellig quesited as the ultimate wonderwork forever perplexed of and tantalized by the selfsame fate of pansophy.

With peaceful intent I extend the broadest bonhomie to repudiate miscegenated compaginations that seem surly, burlesque or menacing when in reality my words have variegated connotations that sprawl elaborate metaphors with maximum creativity sometimes overlooking subtle innuendos too brash to be authentically my asseverated intent
Traci Sims Oct 2020
"Lady Liberty must die," the Orange King mused,
"Public opinion is not how I got this job.
My fame must be locked in,
A surefire certainty,
My praises sung for generations to come".
He sat up straighter on his gold-plated throne and
Imperiously called for the bards.
"Make it known in the kingdom", he intoned with a frown,
"That Liberty has repeatedly lied.
She's quite fake, in fact she's a bore,
Outdated and certainly no style!"
A bard raised his hand,"Sir, I will do as you ask,
Your greatness is apparent to all,
You can rest quite content
By the time I am done
Lady Liberty will be comatose!"
And it happened to pass all over the land,
Posters placed where the public would see,
Liberty's depravity laid bare,
(She hated the Orange King),
She must pay for her
outrageous crimes.
Many were horrified
But some people cheered,
The Orange King was free at last,
With Lady Liberty gone,
A new day would dawn,
"It is time to recover our past".
#political #satire #liberty #democracy
Qualyxian Quest Oct 2021
I sometimes take myself
Too seriously
I know I do I do

But the moonlight
Is deliriously
Pondicherry Zoo

I am moved
By the mysteriously
Horton hears a Who

I resist
The cruel imperiously
Reno rendezvous

        Comin' home 2U, U2
Yenson Jun 2020
Feeding time over
he says imperiously
as he rests on his
all expenses paid holiday

The flies buzz around
but that's nothing
they are western flies
not built strong

Feeding time is over
but they have to keep working
they are working classes
no brains are required
cheap unskilled labor
The Wicca Man Sep 16
‘Excuse me…’
‘Shhh …’
(Whispering)
‘Excuse me…’

Steely-grey eyes behind
Horn-rimmed glasses glare at me
And a blank piece of paper
Is passed across with an irritated nod
Toward the pen *** on the counter.

I reach to the ***,
Select a nondescript ballpoint pen,
And write.

Passing the paper back, I wait …

Steely-grey eyes behind
Horn-rimmed glasses scans the page.
An audible ‘tut’ escapes her lips
And a finger beckons me to follow…

We walk past aisles of fiction and fact
Coming to a halt at section 020.

Steely-grey eyes behind
Horn-rimmed glasses waves imperiously
At the shelves in front of me,
Turns, and walks away.

Scanning the books
I find the title I requested:
‘Library Etiquette’.

I smirked as I pulled the book from the shelf,
Returning to the desk
And steely-grey eyes behind
Horn-rimmed glasses.
I'm sure this is not a stereotype of the modern librarian ...

— The End —