"impertinence" poems
O traveler, why lookest thou straight
on the road
grave and speculative,
Depriving your eyes such a beatific sight,
See the angelic form standeth behind
the window curtain,
Come, wait, sit beside me, it’s worth waiting,
We both will sing in praise of her
And linger until she uncurtains the curtain.
You say it’s purposeless
Why argue?
Isn’t it the reason our maker gives us eyes?
Isn’t it the purpose of our mind’s evolution
to sing and hail the beauty; at least of her.
You won’t believe my word? Impertinence!
You will be blinded by her shadow
spare her presence; “stare not for long”,
What? You say it exaggeration…
Bon Dieu!
If beauty is not exaggerated
where lies its charm.
Look! her shadow moving, she is
growing impatient as if getting
late to meet her lover.
Yes, she wins heart in a look
and crushes it in a blink and wins again
by smile.
Monarch sleeps in her bed
Life in right, Death in left hand; she possesses,
Judiciary in closet
And warriors in purse.
Countries bow, world kneel, universe supplicate
before her.
Stop! Where thou going?
Pardon these adynatons,
I’m drunk in her beauty.
Let us sing then, I’ll lead, you follow
Flowers wilting in chilled air,
Waiting clouds to part
To have a look fair,
Of moon…
Do see the restlessness in that room?
I can sense her ***** heaving, repressed
sighs and her fingers twisting, twirling
in exasperation,
It must be a lover
who invented the song, isn’t it?
A gloomy firefly in this starless sky
Searching his lover
Who has lost the light,
Wait not moon, rise, help him
In his plight…
Look! look! The curtain is drawn
There she, my sovereign,
don’t mistake her eyes for stars.
Have a profound look, but not too long;
this witnesses only fortunate.
What? you lost your vision-
But I warned you earlier.
Now, who’ll testify I saw her?
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 7:43 PM UTC
1279
The Way to know the Bobolink
From every other Bird
Precisely as the Joy of him—
Obliged to be inferred.
Of impudent Habiliment
Attired to defy,
Impertinence subordinate
At times to Majesty.
Of Sentiments seditious
Amenable to Law—
As Heresies of Transport
Or Puck’s Apostacy.
Extrinsic to Attention
Too intimate with Joy—
He compliments existence
Until allured away
By Seasons or his Children—
Adult and urgent grown—
Or unforeseen aggrandizement
Or, happily, Renown—
By Contrast certifying
The Bird of Birds is gone—
How nullified the Meadow—
Her Sorcerer withdrawn!
6k
He is my least favorite vegetable.
No amount or level of preparation makes him taste better:
Boiling-
brings out his bulbous, insipid ego
the texture of his flamboyant ignorance.
when I timorously sip him in soups or broths,
his oozing insidious misogyny
contaminates my blissful dining, contorts any ingredients still pure.
I fry him, striving to remove the
excess of impertinence which
permeates the oxygen I feebly inhale.
but he evades my maneuvers:
usurps bliss and violates all semblance of tranquility
I cannot prevail
against the throb of his assaulting narcissism
I must instead attempt
to comment
(arduously, fraudulently)
on the delicate iridescence of his silkily mucoused membranes
and admire deftly
his indefatigable ventures to pervade my
every.
serenity.
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 3:18 AM UTC
Climb, claim your shelf-room, far
Packed from inquisitive moon
And cold contagious stars.
Lean out, but look no longer,
No further, than to stir
Night with extended finger.
Now fill the box with light,
Flood full the shining block,
Masonry against night.
Let window, curtain, blind
Soft-sieve and sift and shred
The impertinence of sound.
Now draw the silence up,
A blanket round your ears;
Lay darkness close and sure,
Inverted cup to cup
On your acquiescent eyes:
Dismissing body's last outposted spies.
1.8k
I didn't believe in paper cuts
much like I didn't believe in love
until one day as I turned the pages
of a rather flimsy paperback
bound together
more so by the story it held
between its yellowing pages
than by its tattered spine
In my hurry to rush forward
with the other lives
I found myself so invested in
I felt a stinging burn pierce
the flimsiest part of my index finger
that seemed separated from the blood
(that was with such impertinence
bursting forth from my veins)
by the smallest stretch of skin
I watched the crimson pool
and drip reluctantly onto
the unsuspecting paper
and realised in that moment
you don't fall in love
you stumble into it, face-first
and feel the singeing burn afterward
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 2:19 AM UTC
Exuberant ecstatic rapture
Sardonic denigrating quip
Joisting up an oaken rafter
The cabin of a sailing ship
Lucid eloquent recumbence
Surreal retrospective grace
Endless ocean’s myriad turbulence
Infinity would set it’s pace
Imbue spontaneous induction
Exude efficient transience
Exhort the mystic symbiotic construction
For the course of our intransigence
Litigant ludicrous licentiousness
Coquettish audacious impunity
Lecherous libidos atrocious impertinence
Would pound id’s shore horrendously
Derisive subjugated nuance
Extol intrinsic unity
Nebulous wisps of shaded quiescence
With breeze and sky make harmony
Predilect effluent effusion
Tenacious taubla tapestry
Alleviate the torrential confusion
Acquire efficience for flights symmetry
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 12:39 PM UTC
To be a daddy again...."
To be a daddy again, I start to breathe again
suffocated by the anguish in my soul
and to feed my impatient impertinence
besides my little one, a new little one
grab the bottle and fix up her milk
to hope she doesn't cry long nights
and wakes up bright and early like her dad.
To be a daddy again is to bring my life full circle
and to end my never ending atonement
because I am as self-giving as I am self-loathing
minus the fearing, running through the clearing
across the spacious mine field of regrets
drowning my perennial sadness in the lake of kisses
that dried up with the winter.
To be a daddy again would be a dream
that knows no nightmares, or sleepless nights
a smile would be enough to efficiently suffice
my words, my thoughts, the song in my prose
that effortlessly becomes a sweet loving lullaby
to put my baby to sleep in the darkness of the world
and to wake up every morning to sweet loving eyes.
Dec 26, 2009
Dec 26, 2009 at 3:28 PM UTC
Exuberant ecstatic rapture
Sardonic denigrating quip
Joisting up an oaken rafter
The cabin of a sailing ship
Lucid eloquent recumbence
Surreal retrospective grace
Endless ocean’s myriad turbulence
Infinity would set it’s pace
Imbue spontaneous induction
Exude efficient transience
Exhort the mystic symbiotic construction
For the course of our intransigence
Litigant ludicrous licentiousness
Coquettish audacious impunity
Lecherous libidos atrocious impertinence
Would pound id’s shore horrendously
Derisive subjugated nuance
Extol intrinsic unity
Nebulous wisps of shaded quiescence
With breeze and sky make harmony
Predilect effluent effusion
Tenacious taubla tapestry
Alleviate the torrential confusion
Acquire efficience for flights symmetry
Jun 6, 2017
Jun 6, 2017 at 8:06 PM UTC
I love Francois Marie Aoret Voltaire's
wit and stunning impertinence...
"Whatever is too stupid to be said gets sung!"
Voltaire 1694-1778
(I hadn't noticed...)
Jan 31, 2015
Jan 31, 2015 at 5:44 PM UTC
Like putty to be molded
no restraint of hand
aye, there were struggles
but slack must be dealt
we are but frail and fragile
except for our will.
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 11:13 PM UTC
Exuberant ecstatic rapture
Sardonic denigrating quip
Joisting up an oaken rafter
The cabin of a sailing ship
Lucid eloquent recumbence
Surreal retrospective grace
Endless ocean’s myriad turbulence
Infinity would set it’s pace
Imbue spontaneous induction
Exude efficient transience
Exhort the mystic symbiotic construction
For the course of our intransigence
Litigant ludicrous licentiousness
Coquettish audacious impunity
Lecherous libidos atrocious impertinence
Would pound id’s shore horrendously
Derisive subjugated nuance
Extol intrinsic unity
Nebulous wisps of shaded quiescence
With breeze and sky make harmony
Predilect effluent effusion
Tenacious taubla tapestry
Alleviate the torrential confusion
Acquire efficience for flights symmetry
Jul 26, 2019
Jul 26, 2019 at 8:02 PM UTC
What if I never
Come to terms with
Your
Cockiness?
In another life we
Could be friends
But you prefer
to play poker
Instead of doing
the math
Prefer to play games
Instead of making amends
The story of how
We first met
Goes a little like this;
I was looking forward
To this particular
Class
Until I saw you
Walk in--
I was caught off guard
And on a whim
I refused to push away
The first thought
Which came to my head,
And it was that
Your haircut made me
Want to punch you
In the face.
Love, mostly hate.
Things would be much
Easier
If your brain was
In the right place
It is much too low
For my taste
Stop trying to impress me,
Don't test me
I only have one face
So to thine own self
Be true
And perhaps I'll actually
Like the things you do--
You're quite the hunk
After all
Though you're not
Quite as tall as
I previously thought
You shrank with
Impertinence
The gossip fits you
Like a glove
What are you so afraid of?
Did I scare you
When I said "No"?
Dec 26, 2016
Dec 26, 2016 at 1:24 AM UTC
She mulls over a multitude of dresses,
While she curls up her auburn tresses.
Into a heap of satin she'll wriggle,
Tossing the attires with a nervous giggle.
Every gown whether satin or lace,
Does not seem to bring out her face.
With brash impertinence the gown would divulge,
Her every flaccid protruding bulge.
The corset with all it's tightening,
Wasn't portraying her as placid and mellow,
Her teeth despite the whitening,
Seemed stained and yellow.
But the woman failed to realize,
That her beauty dwells in her eyes,
It escaped her mind ,
that she was one of a kind.
While women eyed her with envy,
Men awed her comely grace,
Her mind was clogged with a daunting frenzy,
That settled upon her pretty face.
Not once did she look up and observe,
The glances aimed at her with animated verve,
She was down with the spreading bout
Of venomous self doubt.
An untoward imbecile,
With no particular talent or skill,
Showered her with a word of praise,
Causing the heart to notch up its pace.
She longed for his fervent gaze,
A gratifying praise,
She needed him to validate her worth,
Only then would she be filled with mirth.
She had herself to blame,
This pigeon headed dame,
Who was so blind to see,
That she was as beautiful as beauty can be.
To all the lovely women I know,
Keep in mind that men come and go.
Let not their vileness blind you from seeing,
How gifted you are you terrific human being.
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 6:08 AM UTC
I heard his calling from the den;
White noise in a black world
Heavy on the light wind of night-time shivers,
A piercing noise that ruptured drums
And moved through mountains of cymbals
To reach this dead-end
In which I reside and hide my pride
Away from the looming sights
Of mothers, father, brothers, sisters.
I heard his calling from the den;
I rose to greet the disturbance
With an air of impertinence
Whispering to the vibrating atoms,
‘Who dares disturb my sentient silence?’
He replied with a deep sigh
Hung aloft the moon’s shine
I caught it as it floated by,
Tucked it into my own mouth
And breathed in all he had amounted to
Feeling the perpetual presence
Of sensations unaccountable
As it fell through a tunnel to my lungs
Where it stung
It hung on to branches of breath
Loitering in a sweet unrest
Speaking to me for once
In a language I could comprehend.
I heard his calling from the den;
But now he speaks from within
Swinging across arteries and veins
Reminding me of feelings gone to waste
Where melodies had been discarded in a haste
Before their songs burned notes into my chest,
He digs through the garbage of memories
To find his true place
And there he paces within my breast
His heaviness begging to be held
Each footprint an echoing vibration
Of a heart aching for reconciliation
An orchestra blazing in a cold auditorium
The audience captivated
Not by the music but by his crying.
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 7:50 PM UTC
Welcome to the Sindicate
Of utter stupidity
Where all tactile contact
Is inhibited by the puny mind
You are a villain
Of these modern times of change
In primal times
How I would have deranged
Your features
Like the animal within me
Tells me so
To take justice into my own hands
Hone it like never before
Then plant it
Into your ridiculous behind
Then maybe some sense will grow
Instead of spewing idle catchphrase
When all wisdom has escaped
From your old diuretic mind
Then maybe you will see
Beyond your need for controversial
Lust for simple power
Over the sheep you fail to herd
To manipulate the many
Your voice must be heard
But its pointless tribulation
When all around you curd
At your arrogance
Now the freshly programmed
Atmosphere turns at the smell
Of your ***** discussion
Riddled with moth *****
Slurring all the ignorance
You can muster in one
Uninformed, uncontemplated instant
Which has roused the warrior
So I may slay this fool
Only to stop the cringe of colleagues
As they put up with your impertinence
How I wish that all intelligence
Did not exist for a time
So that all the grime that lies within me
Can swallow you whole
So you may have a taste of darkness
To counteract the light
That shines
Out
Of
Your
***
Jul 11, 2017
Jul 11, 2017 at 5:56 AM UTC
He says he knows me-
But I do not know him
Imagine this he says grabbing
My hand planning to teach me
Something about myself that I
Do not know. I do not know my
Self-It is a considered choice and
As best I know who should know
The Truth. What an impertinence!
What a bore. Yet I'll give him a bit
Of my time hoping for amusement
Such as can be gotten of a child.
Claims he is a poet I know not but
He may be who only thinks he is
May 5, 2019
May 5, 2019 at 12:52 PM UTC
I'm good for nothing
In a world
Where Gertrude Stein
Is considered influential
She writes rolling rivers
Rushing rapids to drown in
Bitter algae laced salt water
But no rocks
No branches to reach out for
To grab and get your bearings
It is what it is blessed relativism
Feet in the enemy's camp
I stare aghast as the coven chants
Worshipping the inscrutable
Collection of letters, words, sentences
All placed in the service of...
A preference for emotion over reason
Because Reason won't stop laughing at the impertinence.
Perhaps Gertrude Stein's childhood home is for sale
I'd buy it and sleep in it and keep all the Stein groupies outside where they belong
They've no business being allowed inside
To sully up the detritus of innocence with their confusing, convoluted badly misjudged critique of Stein's cosmic joke
Oct 24, 2015
Oct 24, 2015 at 12:58 AM UTC
.
In this lifetime of striving
childhood's tentative bumbling,
youth's arrogant impertinence,
middle-aged regimented conceit,
in old age, encrusted intolerance;
when will we likely ever win?
.
Jun 29, 2022
Jun 29, 2022 at 10:11 PM UTC
When blamed we are impeccable
Our incorrect mistakes are imperfectible
Truthlessly resistance is lethal
We are imperious also impertinence
The truth is improper inaccessible
Feb 1, 2018
Feb 1, 2018 at 5:59 PM UTC
When I first thought of your beautiful eyes
Opening up to my waking lids
I expected a certain compromise
A shield against the impertinence of probability
But you shocked me
Your gaze met mine
And in a moment I knew
That every shield of immunity
Every grain of apprehension
Every instinct of war
Had condensed into a transcendental wonder of powerlessness
There was no armor, no protection
From the raging defeat that permeated both of us
Incessantly
In a moment I knew
There is no victory
Without loss
And loss indeed it was
The loss of consciousness, the loss of pride,
The shredding of each morsel of doubt
But ultimately the loss of mortality,
The defeat of time,
Because when your beautiful eyes
Met my waking lids
An eternity had succumbed
And we lay in the ravages of war.
Alone and victorious
Us against the world
Us against space, time and continuum
Despite the unreliability of victory,
One certainty reigns supreme,
There is a war.
Jun 23, 2018
Jun 23, 2018 at 8:11 AM UTC
When blamed we are impeccable
Our incorrect mistakes are imperfectible
Truthlessly resistance is lethal
We are imperious also impertinence
The truth is improper inaccessible
Feb 1, 2018
Feb 1, 2018 at 6:07 PM UTC
The house of commerce commercializes my vignette of nostalgia through various panes. As I am lost to the neon coast of degradation, a forward conquistador berates me for my due impertinence. This migraine doesn’t match my previous excursions, as it is lethargic and fat in deep feeling. My raincoat is a bed that remains a typewriter, that which I reject. I hate it with precision. “This is not an observation, and you are a boisterous fool that rests on the laurels of institution!” But lo’, I am not that impish man! My pen is renewable, unlike my reserves of happiness. If the Quotidian Cycle remains so mundane, then who am I to adhere to the seers of ingenuity? Planets ingest the polygons that compose my mind to the sound of Igor Stravinsky. The definitions of words coalesce into a redundant gestalt, threatening to escape my clammy grasp. Brats and weasels complain of their jeans and fur, soaked in brandy and tar. I live like a dissident; this vagrant is cold to the sickening nods of animals. God, don’t let me remain an anthropomorphic beast. The suffering is daily, the void is lonesome and lays my spine on stone. Melatonin is a pensive friend, a foolhardy palliative to the disease within a footstep. I’ve no footsteps. Not any of note or worth.
Not a single thread to pride myself in. Conversations and dime trades happen around me at generous speeds while I remain a stranger. Christ, I despise my face. I’ve dug my heels into depravity, the exile from woman’s hold is a wrench in my innards. O, to even think is a crime! Who could love the mind deloused, the small and prudent mouse (but little did they know, he facilitates a disease between him and the universe). Intoxicated, my love knows no bounds, but my lust is rendered sterile and sullen. Who can hold me? Who can hold me? Who can hold me? God god god god could hold me. He is not strong, is he? Somebody hold me, now.
Oh, I know yes I need to indulge in the incessant whispers, for my status of a guileless ***** will have to suffice. A cigarette leaps out at my cursed visage, a container of maroon liquid coagulates in mine eyes. There, voices. Cyclic conversations, cyclic conversations, hep! Help! Take me! Take. Take. Take. Me! I belong in the boon, mister fowler. Take me! I don’t hold weight in this world! So take. Sedate me. Please, almighty, nullify me.
Feb 19, 2020
Feb 19, 2020 at 6:26 PM UTC