"impertinent" poems
ants lean left more than right
it's true, it must be
i read it in Fox News
especially the red ones
that wear berets
like Che
the impertinent invertebrate
arsonist fire ants
who tend to get stepped on
by the man
who exterminates
according to anthropologists.
:)
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 8:19 AM UTC
where will they take me
this thick, whirling cloud
of birds?
I lower my shotgun;
my targets were to be
a skein of geese
(corpulent, impertinent
avian freaks I have seen
peck children's shins)
these smaller birds
perform a choreography electric,
black against blue
now I know the meandering
meaning of mesmerize--my eyes
glued to the skies
more agape than the hunter
in me--wishing to watch this wave
undulate an eternity
but alas, the flock turns
into a naked sun; I am forced
to shield my eyes
my hand blocks the blare
of light, with it, the whipping tail of
their liquid flight
when I lower it, they are
but a haze near the horizon, performing
magic for another audience
Jan 9, 2017
Jan 9, 2017 at 8:16 PM UTC
take me to PuNe baby
or I'll take you
in the back of my self-induced
naked hallucinations
as words *****
themselves from my gut
too impertinent to do
drugs
solely high off of your jargon
you don't know how
bold
I am
stardust
sugar and spice and everything nice
covered in salt
dripping tar black salt
just like you
hedonistic
all humans hedonistic
but this is my joie de vivre
pUnE baby
race me to the finish line
pisces and scorpio
bleeding atmospheres
between them
maybe my skin is
too salty black tar
for sweet tongues
but you forget
I am relentless
relentless
and will not allow
a consignation to oblivion
I'll be in PuNe
relentless
Apr 24, 2015
Apr 24, 2015 at 10:45 PM UTC
I despise names and
call them the false handle-
that they are.
A grip of pre-molded proportions,
framed in impertinent memory.
An acerbic peremptory command of character
stamped neatly at birth,
a great girth of foreshadowing
left pregnant by passing humanity. Crystallized now,
dutifully,
by the willful populace,
which we the children- bear in baleful ignorance.
You cannot help but have an altered perception and
unconsciously define,
as if,
a title was the crux of my character.
Jan 23, 2011
Jan 23, 2011 at 7:23 PM UTC
*"Who needs rules? Rules are for fools! I'm the King of the Bees!"
- Buzby, the King of the Bees*
Today the dank atmosphere brought down heavy curtains of fine high thread count cotton a magic carpet ride for a colony of lost bed bugs sturdy and steady so steady and sturdy it crushes my back when it descends down down down to crush the ever loving **** out of me so I pretend to pray
Pretend to pray because all my life I seem to have gotten it wrong they must have wanted more than I could give I couldn't talk to.someone I couldn't see and who who would at least acknowledge that I was being listened jim Morrison loudly proclaimed "YOU CANNOT PETITION THE LAWD WITH PRAYAH" time I thought that seemed pretentious but though I don't doubt the possibility that the LAWD may in his ****** way answer some of those impertinent petitions I a.) don't know those people or b.) slightly resent the fact that he's done so much for swindlers, charlatans, and scammers but never saw fit to send me the super sized blessing we been waiting for
But I was provided for and for that I am grateful tomorrow I'll be dispatched to see the grade school kiddies (just before they get slapped with a handfuls of mercenary stew)
This p
an suffocates
Maybe for the sleepy
A song
"We won't wake up tomorrow
So celebrate
On the ***** blvd
With Lou Reed
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 1:02 AM UTC
I'll say it now and I've said it before; the best book I've ever read is about the paradoxes of war.
A friend asked a question, then added
"But spare me the lecture."
I told him the best book I've ever read was about architecture.
An alien sent a question from his head telepathically to mine,
So I thought of that book I once read of a man unstuck in time.
(If the title was placed here, it would just almost rhyme)
Near Betelgeuse, I picked up a man in need of a ride
I asked where he was headed, and he said,
"Nowhere in mind."
He had a book with him.
It was some sort of guide.
I once kicked the crap around with a young kid in a hat.
He looked down at my hands and said,
"Hey, what's that?"
I told him it was a book full of phonies and jerks.
He nodded, then lit a cigarette.
There was blood on his shirt
A man once recited,
Word for word,
A book I recognized after having heard.
I said, "That's my favorite!"
And he gave me a look.
The best book I've ever read was about burning books.
I once played God, and gave a dead thing new life,
But it was so grotesque that I had to run away and hide.
A tormented and wretched human imitation.
Made me think of a book about a man tortured by his own creation.
One time I was reading a book above mentioned,
When a man came up to me and asked a most impertinent question.
He said, "I see you reading all the time, but have you ever read
the greatest book of all time?" I glared at him and said,
"No I have not, but I've heard much about it.
It's a very popular book, but I do without it."
He said I should reconsider.
That it's not one to pass.
I told him to take that **** book, and shove it up his ***
Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 12:17 AM UTC
Religious zeal and explosive prowess make incendiary bedfellows
searing calculating moralism where all fall short and deserve to suffer
self righteous corrupted calumny put forth in a sally of sectarian selectivity
your ilk is heading for Hell and I'm (already there) not
fanatical zealots marginalize intellectuals with their mythical mire of mucked up claptrap and copious lack of a priori specificity
a glorified preposterous plethora of pompous pontificating platitudes
the sins of others they deplore but of themselves they don't keep score
Sunday's best is Sunday's worst
you sanctimonious ******** just can't leave people alone
who elected you to point fingers anyway
Jesus was born in a barn to an unmarried woman
And your mommy got shtuped when you were conceived too
you don't walk on water you insolent impertinent fool
the brain police can't wait for Sunday's
oh the satisfaction of a mutual admiration society
knee-jerk hackneyed pavlovian dog speak
Is anything anymore real if you jump around and shout about it
recipients of adulates get accustomed to sycophants
fawning complacent obsequious kiss ***** and Sunday suck-ups
pass the plate
May 5, 2013
May 5, 2013 at 5:14 PM UTC
Ah, t'is dream is but so strange-o, strange, strange, strange!
And how an impediment, and a burden it is-to my brain!
O, I saw thee in t'is morn's dream,
So clearly and purely-just as I hath loved 'im.
Thou wert as adorable as thy picture canst be,
and upon gazing into thy posture-
t'at very strange feeling swished into me;
I felt it my mistake not to be close to thee;
To embrace thee and adore thee in my arms;
To cup thy cheeks with my round hands-and kiss thee;
Kiss thee so smoothly and lovingly for it shall take away all thy pains.
I woke up and looked for thee in vain;
I wanted to retreat into my dream,
And remove all the vagueness on thy face,
Whisper only the best loving words into thy air.
And to rub my palms about thy dark hair,
And assure thy hesitant, and dreary soul-t'at everything
shall be all right; and tomorrow shall be fair.
Ah, indeed-indeed; 'tis but indeed so strange!
For I thought not of thee before;
Thou wert not the one I wanted;
Nor the one my fertile heart adored.
Ah, thee! What is wrong then-with me?
Where hath all my hating feeling gone to-and hath it been for nothing?
Ah, canst but fate be true-t'at I am to be thine; and thou be my darling?
And in the adjacent minutes thereafter-I saw thee roamin' about alone;
Thy face clouded by dull loneliness-ah, seeing which indeed made my heart torn;
Thou wert too fatigued-very unlike thy usual bright complexion;
Thou wert indignant, and perhaps all too dark-and forlorn!
From thy face had faded all means of loveliness,
And thou wert mourning over such loneliness,
Loneliness t'at was evil-and haunted thee, and fiercely mocked thee;
Rendering thee agreeable not-much less deserving; of thy immortality.
Ah, thou art immortal, immortal, immortal! And how canst fate deem thee not?
How violent-how strange! How dire and petty-how impertinent!
Ah, but t'is feelin' really is absurd-in every way;
For hath I never thought of thee, and praised thee not;
Only at night and noon, thou hath oft' attended my poetry;
but still not my joy and woes, and even not my story plot.
Ah, thee! But t'is hope is dangerous-for I am supposed to hate thee;
As well defile, deject, ****** and abuse thee;
For I needst to despise, strangle, and destroy thee;
For I remember how thou wert once not sweet-and bitter to me;
And thus put the wholeness of thy being forever, into fires of struggle-
For thou art still-not the one I hath precisely been destined for;
For I hath not loved thee like t'is-for t'is feeling is all new; like never before.
Jun 15, 2013
Jun 15, 2013 at 6:50 AM UTC
He stands solidly still, a malformation
Rush hour commuters about him whirl
Arrival or departure in subway station?
Intrans intelligence, subconscious swirl
Isolated, his mind in most violent hurl
Facing whole extent of impertinent data
Comatose commuter suffers info slow-mode
Wife, boss, kids all part in sub-matter
Too much for one brain to devour, decode
Cell phones, microchips, transistor’s overload
Components lack tactile connection
Wavelengths of broadcasts, meltdown occurs
Keeping too connected, causing mind ejection
No app for that on tablet to refer
Now stuck in commuter rut with no transfers
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 11:51 PM UTC
They gave us too many fortune cookies
Twenty or more
What are two people
supposed to do
with twenty fortune cookies?
Three of them
were
different
Not normal
Not like the others
Not really fortune cookies
at all
One appeared to be
only two-thirds
of a cookie
folded in the wrong place
as if the dough
had fallen
halfway out of the mold
in the machine
at the fortune cookie factory
Another had the folded
paper fortune
sticking out one end
like an impertinent tounge
ready to deliver
a raspberry
a paper bronx cheer
rather than prognostication
And the last
the poor devil
the poor, sad little ****
was simply crushed
and broken
crumbled
and useless
Not even a cookie anymore
and no fortune inside at all
I took up these three lost charms
these empty, broken spells
and I cast them
into the trash
because that is where
the broken things go
Jan 29, 2013
Jan 29, 2013 at 7:09 PM UTC
my eyes speak out a narrow street
notorious for fatal accidents
scorching everyone involved
leaving impertinent witnesses
hence silent gaze shies away
exposure, self-denied
to keep from harm
avoid collateral
and not just eyes but words
they slip they cost they hurt
the best the most
bitten tongue cannot dissolve
no, bitten lip cannot contain
boiling recklessness
come close meet walls
cruelly transparent
self-defused bomb
a self-contained woe
window shopping
a blink away from shattered showcase
Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 11:34 PM UTC
wife beaters and boxer briefs
for wife beaters and boxer briefs
we share an affection affectation in common,
for these understated, statement accoutrements
indeed I’ve caught her bare chest
hiding out beneath, via my side view mirror, revealing,
what hints lie beneath
my armless hair-shirt more than once
she loves the freedom of the stolen land grant
she's claims only to have borrowed
her deed and title, she says was
god given
she seems to enjoy as well the
impertinent attentions of this suckling pig,
driven by the hints of her pertinent robusts,
which have proven poorly resistant to the woodpeckers, ahem,
lips
but my boxer shorts she ignores,
as the differential in waste size,
about a Subway foot-long
so no wonder why
when she asks if I own any suspenders?
***who me?
Yes, you, Mr. Sinner?***
Dec 9, 2017
Dec 9, 2017 at 3:12 PM UTC
Cowering, we hide our faces behind capes
Salvage what we possess:
The beginnings of a yawn
Could such an unsuspecting time of year fool a person into feeling more at ease?
Treasured memories are trifles
Chewing away at our eardrums
Pricking our ears with that contentious voice
Impertinent to life
Toward starvation, the fallow, snow covered hills and untenable shacks
Sway
That which has been taken will never be returned
Nothing we can do will save our remains from being stolen by the earth
Dusty bones will dry the Summer sun as wild dogs chew at our flesh
He sits there now, knees toward bare chest
Edging near the frozen water canal
Release
A short, cautionary, nearly hopeful sigh
Jan 21, 2011
Jan 21, 2011 at 8:53 AM UTC
Do not find love
For it finds you
And find you it did
Like the first beams of dawn
Kissing the dew
On the slumbering meadow
And what was once
A verdant vale of calm
Is now a riotous explosion
Of cerulean and crimson
Caressed by the velveteen kisses
Of the eastern breeze
The languid shore
Now a maelstrom
Of spraying foam
A gale of berserk fury
Poseidon thundering
Confronting
The forbidding cliffs
Of time
O maiden
Sighing into
The lonely watches of the night
For whom are those tears shed?
Tarry not
For Helios comes
To take you in his embrace
And within the tongues of immolation
Is purifying salvation
That even
The Twelve Labors of Heracles
Are impotent to redeem
And you are no frail Icarus
Jesting and boastful
Impertinent in his youthful optimism
Who eludes and placates
The assault of the elements
Now take the plunge
O Athena
Laughing into the depths
Of the mercurial Aegean
For she who dares the fates and furies
Commands Olympus.
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 1:05 PM UTC
Yet here I go...
To put on a show,
In these stanzas' rhymes I will stow,
Creating this laminar flow,
Stringing words together to form a sentence like an archipelago,
Needing this poem like bread dough,
Although I know it will never become a gateau,
Nor a chocolate Bordeaux,
It is more akin to a cheapo combo,
Housing poultry clauses building a bordello,
Impertinent this may seem like loving a guanaco,
But what you will learn from this puppet show,
*Is that not all poems have to rhyme,
In order to flow.*
Dec 9, 2015
Dec 9, 2015 at 9:17 PM UTC
The crowd has waited since 5 am
there’s been much talk
about the discounts at 8.30
So there’s the long queue and this man
comes right up to the front
and the outraged crowd punch him, push him
and kick him back in line
but the impertinent man gets up
and walks again to the front of the queue
and the justifiably angry crowd
punch him, push him
and kick him back in line
but the determined man gets up
like Rocky
and walks again to the front of the queue
and again the no-nonsense crowd
punch him, push him
and kick him back in line
but the obstinate man gets up yet again
and he mumbles, like Rocky:
“If these idiots hit me again, I’ll not open the store for 'em!”
Dec 16, 2012
Dec 16, 2012 at 6:24 AM UTC
Cracked sidewalks
Hopeful puddles
And the downtown umbrellas
Racing with the cars
In the rain of
Toasty libraries
You sat on the floor like always.
Downtown coffee shops
Roasted from the finest and most
Impertinent beans
Never forget the
Kind of damp days we
Spent together.
Sweeter now the cherries
Taste than before you
And somehow they'll always
Remind me of you
But life, our
Unforgotten years
Can always remember to
Keep you and yours alive, in our hearts, don't
Say goodbye.
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 4:34 PM UTC
A face looks so carnivorous
From the nostrils down:
An open, ravenous trap,
Half full or half empty
Gleaming with ivory shears
And threatened sharpness
Of incisors clicking.
I fear it's raging hungers, this face;
It looks ghastly unkind
With tearing, strong molars,
An impertinent softness of tongue lurking
Concealing the violence till the last instant
While delicately testing
The perfect temperature of warm blood.
Who says humans
Don't eat their young;
Things sometimes happen in the dark,
Late of night, things you'd never catch in daylight-
Why do some never have children at all;
Perhaps they became too fond of newborn flesh,
Delicate as the palest veal-calf of the restaurant.
And it only looks human
When you add in some eyes.
Jul 21, 2010
Jul 21, 2010 at 7:57 AM UTC
My words just arn't graceful
And my thoughts quite distasteful
I'd rather not think at all
An eternal sleep
Or a prince named Phillepe
A mismatching rhyme
Or a bucket of slime
Dunk my woes in a trail of hoes
For i've taken it out with many-a-blows
Blow me a bubble
A life void of trouble
For a well rested life
I'd bottle my strife
But until that day comes
I need something that numbs
For I am most easily replaceable
These words really are quite disgraceful
I'm stuck right in a bind
Just can't get you off my mind
How cliche
Is what you would say
How terrible are these useless lines
They give me nothing but impertinent rhymes
Not a story
Nor a page of glory
I'll continue to ramble on
Until once again I feel strong
I'll string two lines together
This could go on forever...
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 4:24 AM UTC
All the strength of my impertinent love.
I shall be the August Landmesser.
Low I shall keep my arm en masse,
Of course, I shall not heil the Führer,
Viewing my parents as the dictators, I am,
Expect me they do forget the love of yours.
Yet I shall not comply with their orders,
Of course, I shall always love only you,
Unless I am successful, rest I shall not.
May 23, 2020
May 23, 2020 at 8:07 AM UTC
Oh, Hibernian Honey Child
How my hand yearns to brush your cheek
To feel the warmth of your hair, to rest on your shoulder
An itinerary of joy, how I would delight in my travels
To arrive in your arms as my frail heart unravels
Oh, Little Face
How your wry little smile delights my senses
The sweep of your gait, your delicate aroma
Your impertinent laughter; it's nectar to me
Like a clear crystal fountain 'neath sacred oak tree
Oh, Emerald Daughter
Lustrous princess of the realm of Beauty
Silkier than a mouthful of fresh cream
How thrilling it would be to pull off both your socks
Little Feet, oh Little Feet, human music box
Dec 27, 2014
Dec 27, 2014 at 7:37 PM UTC
I swear we were loosing it.
How can you expect a regular man
To last longer than a week
Alone
On an island of sanity
Amid an ocean or insanity?
How could you expect me to zip my mouth up
Like a woman's dress
And keep calm about my situation?
How could you let me count off the numbers
Only to put them back once again?
How could you think
That white walls
And impertinent lies
Could mask the suffering fear
Swelling inside of me?
How could you touch me
With those cold unfeeling hands
As my friends washed up on the shore
More dead than they ever could have been?
How could you lay me out in the sun,
Watch crimes unfold
While you still expected me to be a regular man once home?
In that moment
With the knife lingering over my scalp,
I made a decision to get the Hell out
And I have no regrets regarding it.
You can chase me down:
Scream at me,
Rap your knuckles at my door.
I'll tell you to put it where the sun don't shine
Along with a dishonorable Section 8 discharge
And the little bits of my decrepit sanity.
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 10:40 AM UTC