"implicated" poems
As you plaited the harvest bow
You implicated the mellowed silence in you
In wheat that does not rust
But brightens as it tightens twist by twist
Into a knowable corona,
A throwaway love-knot of straw.
Hands that aged round ashplants and cane sticks
And lapped the spurs on a lifetime of game *****
Harked to their gift and worked with fine intent
Until your fingers moved somnambulant:
I tell and finger it like braille,
Gleaning the unsaid off the palpable,
And if I spy into its golden loops
I see us walk between the railway slopes
Into an evening of long grass and midges,
Blue smoke straight up, old beds and ploughs in hedges,
An auction notice on an outhouse wall--
You with a harvest bow in your lapel,
Me with the fishing rod, already homesick
For the big lift of these evenings, as your stick
Whacking the tips off weeds and bushes
Beats out of time, and beats, but flushes
Nothing: that original townland
Still tongue-tied in the straw tied by your hand.
The end of art is peace
Could be the motto of this frail device
That I have pinned up on our deal dresser--
Like a drawn snare
Slipped lately by the spirit of the corn
Yet burnished by its passage, and still warm.
7.6k
Yesterday was a rotten one
For Donald Trump. What a shame!
In desperation Trump has jumped
Out of the frying pan into the flame.
His friend and former campaign manager,
Paul Manafort, was convicted
On eight felony counts, although
More convictions had been predicted.
Then his lawyer, Michael Cohen,
Pleaded guilty on eight counts
And implicated the president
In a felony, as the tension mounts.
Trump is an unindicted co-
Conspirator in a federal crime,
According to Cohen--something that many
Have suspected all the time.
Also, an early supporter in Congress,
Hunter Duncan, was indicted
For the misuse of campaign funds.
Do all who touch Trump become blighted?
Meanwhile, Omarosa says
She has many more tapes to play.
It almost seems as though the president's
Teflon coating is wearing away.
As Trump's Republican defenders
In Congress flat out refuse to condemn
Trump's actions, people wonder,
"What does Putin have on THEM?"
"I always hire the best people,"
Donald Trump would frequently boast.
Stay away from Donald Trump
Or you, too, are going to be toast.
-by Bob B (8-22-18)
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 9:20 AM UTC
The Harvest Bow
As you plaited the harvest bow
You implicated the mellowed silence in you
In wheat that does not rust
But brightens as it tightens twist by twist
Into a knowable corona,
A throwaway love-knot of straw.
Hands that aged round ashplants and cane sticks
And lapped the spurs on a lifetime of game *****
Harked to their gift and worked with fine intent
Until your fingers moved somnambulant:
I tell and finger it like braille,
Gleaning the unsaid off the palpable,
And if I spy into its golden loops
I see us walk between the railway slopes
Into an evening of long grass and midges,
Blue smoke straight up, old beds and ploughs in hedges,
An auction notice on an outhouse wall—
You with a harvest bow in your lapel,
Me with the fishing rod, already homesick
For the big lift of these evenings, as your stick
Whacking the tips off weeds and bushes
Beats out of time, and beats, but flushes
Nothing: that original townland
Still tongue-tied in the straw tied by your hand.
The end of art is peace
Could be the motto of this frail device
That I have pinned up on our deal dresser—
Like a drawn snare
Slipped lately by the spirit of the corn
Yet burnished by its passage, and still warm.
by Seamus Heaney
Aug 30, 2013
Aug 30, 2013 at 8:02 PM UTC
I am the friend in between
Who will be summoned to take a side
When one will be less than keen
And save the other from a landslide.
It will be unconceivable
For me to give unbiased answers
If one were to ask for advice and counsel
Presuming that I can pick a winner.
Though reluctant to take a step back
There is a reason why I am against
My judgement will never be on track
By getting involved in this case.
I am implicated in some way
Even if it is not my story to tell
With luck, it was Cupid I had to play
Because being a referee will not end well.
Apr 18, 2012
Apr 18, 2012 at 4:00 AM UTC
a plain poem (the first time I came in you)
a plain poem, light and effervescent, a flim-flan tasting,
plein de absurde rimes, full of nonsensical rhymes,
a lattice of criss crossing pastry sugary lines, the ones,
cannot, struggle to deduce, induce, reduce
from my constipated vocabulary
oh well
~
*the first time I came in you,
entered, bidden welcome,
suffused a bridge between
the party of the first part,
the party of the second part,
sugar lightness airy nonsense,
two spirits dancing the singular
pas de deux of their finite lives,
a performance unbeatable,
unrepeatable,
lost to the perfection annals
Shockingly, Surprisingly, Summarily,
did not compose an ode,
don't mine a new vein of ore,
even write a plain poe poem
as best can recall,
at the candle melting of the
sealing wax of the deal,
gave an honest speech,
instantly falling fast asleep
with nary a grunted word
ever since l,
cannot write of plain love plainly,
so she makes me pay with a
new living elegant elegy daily,
a quatrain, what a pain,
this iambic panting meter
love poem writing
jeez louise,
how I wish could write of
roses red and violets blue,
get back to sleep,
oh well then,
back to work
got to make those sad moans,
hers, go away,
so please excuse me
near ten years later,
still paying the dues of the
initializing error of my way
she rumbles-mumbles in her
pre-awakening dream state,
so please excuse, got to go, think up
some implicated complicated
verses to soothe away
her simple poorly hidden anxieties
you see,
I am happy paying
on and on,
writing like the devil furious,
she is stirring, coffee soon,
cafe au lait
if you get my meaning,
but still cannot beat,
repeat, re-alive
that simple plain living poem notated,
when first I came in her*
<•;)
9/24/17 6:49am ~7:17am
Sep 24, 2017
Sep 24, 2017 at 7:29 AM UTC
it is wonderful
just by existing
to be implicated
in a vast system
that delivers
my tax dollars
in the form of
bullets to brown
children here and
abroad
merry death
& no taxes
black masses arise!
Jan 13, 2016
Jan 13, 2016 at 2:30 AM UTC
Caught in the middle of someone’s mind game
implicated, not taking the blame
I say that but for three nights haven’t slept
with disappointment I have wept
friends can be wierd creatures
smiling, welcoming features
but with knives sharpened
and words honed
they can cut to the bone
Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 7:04 AM UTC
now not anymore
the Island that isn’t
a loneliness but
Choice without being
There we were sitting and
The Sea was coming and
We (me and you) – a gorgeous staple,
Hooked,
were creating and
we saw him (after years and years) how
he was entering
like a rainbow huge
unattainable and
slow
brown – like a beam
(to hold for it)
nonpoetry - the other one is breakable
when the meaning they wave –
a hand of an insane man before a mirror
nongame – the game is dead
after Joyce and like a child is screaming
for the sandy tower after an adult
(a cynical stone) carelessly and with no reason
forded through
the dolphin is a life vital
and his existence aside of the genesis
and whole in the sea and whole
is reflected
nonliterature – the literature is dead
implicated into shape and ad of
the language but
where is here the Rapture
of the dolphin – glamour
oh forgive me I am entering
a someone else’s territory
I am not a ventriloquist too
I do not practice knowledge
there’s nothing new here each
new is unnamed
a vital place without a place
in a movement moveable
smooth like blue
fused in a deep bare
white
Jan 30, 2011
Jan 30, 2011 at 8:45 PM UTC
I looked happy
Happy with a secret
I can't remember you
I can't remember them
Those faces, I see them in a mist
Don't get lost, not again!
You are wicked, I'm wicked
You are my misty, misty, misty boy
Not tonight, my love
I want to die. To be really dead
In the mist, in the mist
That must be gloriaus
You were always a misty dream
Umm, I'm gonna be your misty nightmare
Oh, why, why I can't touch you
You are disappearing from me, me
Not tonight, my love
I want to die. To be really dead
In the mist, in the mist
That must be gloriaus
I still see you in my dreams
You make me trembly
I'm melting in your arms
Kiss my neck one more time
Not tonight, my love
I want to die. To be really dead
In the mist, in the mist
That must be gloriaus
Your kisses are deadly
Shaking like a hurricane
You implicated me
And now I'm dead, like those roses in my garden
Not tonight, my love
I want to die. To be really dead
In the mist, in the mist
That must be gloriaus
Not tonight, my love
I want to die. To be really dead
In the mist, in the mist
That must be gloriaus
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 8:37 AM UTC
Yesterday, I saw someone got caught,
So it gives me of some feeling and thought,
That he were either drug addict or drunk,
But his face was a bit red, so it means he is drunk.
After a while, I came and I were near,
So I asked someone I knew, about what happened,
Then when he answered, there are someone crying full of tears,
Hollering, Depressed, yet the drunkard is regretting in his end.
Although after a few minutes, there is someone he knew came to him,
So I was curious what kind of relationship they were having,
Then someone talked that she is a sister on him,
And instead she would be mad but she was crying with its baby carrying.
Moreover, someone also I knew asked what were the reason he got caught,
So a civilian answered that because he was selling an illegal drugs called 'shabu' ,
Carrying plenty of money with some of a disastrous thoughts,
And when an hour came, a police asked and came through.
People were talking to each other, themselves, having a gossip and making an irrelevant information,
Without even knowing that people who are innocent are being involved,
Without even knowing that the drug pusher wasn't having a full intention,
Of selling an illegal drugs on which he resolved.
The truth nowadays, innocence is implicated,
a crime and simply a sin,
yet it wasn't even validated,
that an innocence would be a crime and thoroughly a sin.
Insatiable human being are foolish,
Taking a validated stuff just to satisfy themselves;
Must they just stay being upright and unselfish,
Instead of being so arrogant and being pessimistic towards themselves.
Because after all, the truth will always prevail.
Aug 15, 2018
Aug 15, 2018 at 1:00 AM UTC
.
*to Emilia,
you are the method to my madness*
I will cry my heart out now
for every hypothetical tragedy.
I’ll break my heart now
so I don’t have to— in another life,
or a life yet to come,
drown myself in some apocalyptic loss.
Unceremonious
departures. Haunt me for life.
Mourn you for all the ways you’d die.
Prepare myself for inconsolable grief
in a simulation of a graveyard.
Tombstone upon tombstone:
Dug, prodded, buried, sunk.
My dear,
to my dismay, you are but a mortal,
implicated in the immortality of love.
In the book of all conclusions,
written in an indecipherable tongue,
your name engraved in feeble marble,
an expiration date in bright, blinding red.
How can we cheat Oblivion?
How do we defy Death?
You shrug with a confident nonchalance.
What is Death to Love Imperishable?
What is Eternity of a moment to Oblivion?
We are in the dress rehearsal
for the season’s première and the grand finale.
The Universe has been on our side all along,
it’s poured every blood, toil and tear into
years of conspiration and orchestration,
for our one delicate point convergence.
One chance against all odds.
One intersection against all parallels.
So come what may—
Take my hand and break a leg.
Jan 21, 2019
Jan 21, 2019 at 12:09 AM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
Hatred decked out
In free speech finery
Isn’t opaque
It’s clearly binary
Give us a break
‘Cos we can see
How it’s directed
At you and me
On the surface
Hatred would appear
To have an objective
That's not very clear
To anyone other than
Those who might share
In the ultimate goal
Of its puppeteers
By another name
Like free speech
It's hatred no less
Listen while I teach
Because it's a game
That must be impeached
By those who'll make the claim
That it’s only free speech
Hatred is subterfuge
Which is implicated
By how it is used
It's easy for us
To become confused
But it's still a tactic
That's often abused
Think of it as a convenient ruse
Cedric McClester (c) Copyright 2015. All rights reserved.
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 8:48 AM UTC
The day's inertia grips an old, cold body.
Too dangerous to doze while ice melts.
Early morning commotion at the brain station.
An unnamed bird tweets but lacks followers.
Gesticulation of unknown parts. Shake the
waking brain: dissolve the haze of logic.
A Day Of Decision: to shave or not to shave.
Curse all the rules you learned in schools.
The difficulty of simultaneously breaking out
and in. White boys with hoodie-heads clearly
ignorant of color wheels. Each word waffle
in the mind meaning means. This craft makes
crazy but air and fire clarify these lines.
Poets voluntary outlaws in American eyes.
Who needs shrink wrapped verses? You are
implicated in whatever you choose to read.
Do not interrupt and demand exegesis;
we do not deal in scripture or litany;
you may only get the interpretation of wolves.
Only this blinky moment of alphabet unites us.
You are changed by this reading
if you get my memeing or not.
Armageddon is your beard to scratch. Have at it.
Feb 7, 2016
Feb 7, 2016 at 2:03 PM UTC
Powder erupted around the wheels of
the careening steel. Many questions
remained added to the enigma,
the empty wreck.
Glances over the deployed air bag
indicated that the zeppelin would not
fly, wrinkled, as it was, by the impact
of the road. Limits implied, in advance,
that the wheel could be expected
to break off of the parked vehicle, not
as often as a blue moon. This warning
did not reach the pilot deeply immersed
in an adventurous dream. A tree
arrived to confront the day without
troubles, and, from the leaves, a mistake
was coaxed into being through the use
of incredibly attractive and accented
meanings always intended to provoke an
event, the stormy scene which exploded
in a shower of sparks from the clattering
steel. A long wait resulted in a deluge of
water across the green strands of hair that
were floating implicated by the color and
the formal presence lofted so easily into
the sky. In this fashion, they were able to
send passengers far out into the universe,
entering the deep space, where cats became
stable creatures, and the long neck of the
new dinosaur was reaching through the door
of the hay loft asking to be allowed this
journey into the green rivers, which painted
hair, wherever they could be found. The
stare of the eye, in this storm,
had a memory of endless days spent
manipulating aggravated spirits to create
trivial, game points. Although winning did not
matter, discovery was losing. It could not be
escaped with a simple misdirection. The
crisis was in the middle between departure and
arrival. The bewildered animals discussed this,
thoroughly, before deciding not to participate.
They were lucky when allowed to watch
quietly from a nearby star system.
Balanced on two wheels, the bell chimed
periodic lengths to extend the race sleeping in
chests in the hall. It all related to experiences
floundering in relation to news events and
plans to engage in safe travel, indefinitely.
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 8:00 PM UTC
One is alive the other is dead
First one's the lie,
the other was not heard,
don't go to F State,
don't let your kids out at night
unless they can outrun a bullet.
you know
you are
in a bad
way when
that happens.
So a jury of his, fears
the truth, because
a lie was told,
an investigation botched,
what else could six people do,
you might want to rethink that law
or orange state might pitch and yaw,
to get through
this, imbalanced scales, lifted high
while peeking from behind the fold
with one eye,
but have her ears gone deaf,
then every voice rise to speak,
because one voice was not heard.
cold-heart
Ice Just In
twisted inside out and backwards,
you might figure it out.
No, no, no, no, no, no
social justice
can fix
Ice Just In,
I don't want to do this
and stay polite,
wrong is wrong,
who stood for the others' rights?
Fortune is already there,
fame and a book tour,
no time to spare, oh
don't look for blessings
ya'll were messing
with one of God's innocents.
don't you just hate it when one
person can make a whole state
look bad? And don't call him a patriot.
From a place that is an aggregate,
how can this happen?
This just so complicated,
really the systems are implicated,
so many walk away brushing
the dust off their clothes, like
here was a waste of time.
Jul 14, 2013
Jul 14, 2013 at 2:01 AM UTC
His hand seizes no brush,
What he has is dish alone.
There came a deluge –
A surge of days
With lovely clatter of voices.
Eggs tousled,
There’s a perplexed question within.
Amused by her doll,
That little one.
His weeks-old pant
Now rowing incessant,
Famished for something.
A trance of canvasses stretching,
Where there’re outlines
On ocher-soaked linens,
Earth-dug umber, sienna, yolk yellows,
Wet, oily and waiting to bleed
Thick and gummy from the brush.
In his veins,
The scent in ether enthralls him –
He was lightheaded
leaves me lightheaded,
Daubed and anointed
By the deity he has filched from.
Now the baby cries,
Sodden, smells like a milky cotton
Sopping every minute up,
Those implicated hours.
He’ll spill years
As the earth alters his faces.
Greens of summer,
Tarnishing into autumn..
And in winter, the north light;
Grasping firestorm
In the braids of the medium’s hair.
(9/10/13 @xirlleelang)
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 10:07 PM UTC
Why are you hiding under the curtains of clouds?
Oh where is your shine & your proud?
Are you hiding something from me,
Or have you seen something you can't share with me,
Are those stars again teasing you?
Or the sea again tried to kidnap you?
Have you seen the real faces hidden in those beautiful masks?
Or again someone implicated you due to those marks?
Tell me...
Just tell me..
Your silence is killing me...
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 8:52 AM UTC
Reassigning bits of me
to true consciousness-
A dream within a dream
A twisting landscape
Of implicated creations that morph
With the induction of elation and
The interpretation of intrepid behavior.
I see skin sparking,
Natural electricity, lightning
Blue cable veins bleed
There is no oxygen here
No need to seal the wound
No space to dissipate into.
The ceiling pushes up from under us
The floor spins in cultivated madness
The sky swallows me whole
And i sink into the sea,
Swollen with seductive intention
Clinging to fragments of reality-
They have no home in this realm.
At the helm of curiosity
Drifting through vagrancy
away from complacency.
spindling through fever dreams-
placid plastic landscapes.
I know not what I create,
Yet again and again
I meet my fate
within the metamorphosis
of melting clay and
The soft whir of the interstate
that stirs beneath me.
I know the soft rustling
of a rusting heart within me
Shifts the focus from fantasy
But nomadic irrelevance
has always been a decadency
Lest I leave too soon
and forget its places within me.
C.e.M. 8-9-16
Aug 11, 2016
Aug 11, 2016 at 7:01 PM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
Hatred decked out
In free speech finery
Isn’t opaque
It’s clearly binary
Give us a break
‘Cos we can see
How it’s directed
At you and me
On the surface
Hatred would appear
To have an objective
That's not very clear
To anyone other than
Those who might share
In the ultimate goal
Of its puppeteers
By another name
Like free speech
It's hatred no less
Listen while I teach
Because it's a game
That must be impeached
By those who'll make the claim
That it’s only free speech
Hatred is subterfuge
Which is implicated
By how it is used
It's easy for us
To become confused
But it's still a tactic
That's often abused
Think of it as a convenient ruse
Cedric McClester, Copyright (c) 2016. All rights reserved.
Nov 21, 2016
Nov 21, 2016 at 10:33 PM UTC
We house intimate thoughts built upon contrasting poles. Echos of raging laughter; scratching against crystalline memories. Halted ache. Stagnant sorrow. I lay awake. The dimensions of my head sinks into the pillow like a solvent. Dissolving. A chemical combustion. As time lapses depression becomes me. Self-implicated torture. We negate apologies for a decadent virtue.
Feb 16, 2016
Feb 16, 2016 at 3:44 PM UTC
Causes and effects,
implicated in something --
like the One and All.
Mar 21, 2023
Mar 21, 2023 at 3:09 AM UTC
Ah, you must be Alice, call me old hatter
My ears have been ablaze with implicated chatter
I just can't seem to ration out my rationale in a rational manner
And secondly I've lost all the firsts that I had gathered
There's the door
Please do come in
I won't let you
leave again
this door won't shut
the way winds through my head
I'm growing so tired.
we are not going to bed
Ah goodnight, Alice, you're back
I left you a note and it came out so flat
I put the wrong end in front
so only you may see
I tried to be blunt but it just isn't me
Mar 20, 2019
Mar 20, 2019 at 4:42 PM UTC
It was in a rage
that Menoetius cursed his mother,
furious that she implicated doom
in the naming of her son.
It was in a rage again
that Menoetius cursed his father,
livid that he’d been roughly hewn
and to violence he succumbed.
It was in a rage against himself
that Menoetius coerced the thunder.
Even before the bolt had boomed
he knew his anger was outdone.
Regardless, he had won;
only with rage, can rage be numbed.
Oct 27, 2017
Oct 27, 2017 at 10:06 AM UTC
Baby did you hear that the sound of the world confused, hungry babies crying no distribution of food. The media distracts us with evil to hide the truth, moves are implicated too un inspire the youth tightening the noose making it rational to just lose.
Sometimes i think of fighting and taking everything back, something has to be done and we have do it fast, arm ourselves with hope because we might be the last, the devil laughs at the inspiration i have, but it all adds up so people just do the math.
Jun 15, 2013
Jun 15, 2013 at 1:38 AM UTC