"impositions" poems
fangs dripping
poison—dripping with
death.
yellow eyes slither stalking,
so hypnotic in their convincing;
in pursuit, our every step
pressured into flight’s direction.
a nightmare’s seed
planted beneath pillow,
following into dream.
the serpent’s coil riding
headrest’s rooting ***********
even slumber thought safety
infected.
a viper of self-consciousness, the
familiar of societal impositions
fuelling reflection’s hostility;
its venom—an injection of insecurity.
fangs dripping poison—
fangs dripping with
dishonesty.
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 10:38 AM UTC
I left my whole life behind
To be your companion
Your words are often hurtful & unkind
I’m slowly slipping into a bottomless canyon
My life is not my own
Since you make all the decisions
This marriage makes me feel so alone
I’m drowning under the weight of these impositions
Walk a mile in my shoes
Maybe then you’ll understand the gravity of my situation
7 billion people but it’s you I choose
And yet there’s not the slightest bit of reciprocation
I long for you to embrace & liberate my thoughts, my wants
Or to a certain degree engage in discussion
But the ambiguity of your response
Holds me back from communication
Jun 7, 2022
Jun 7, 2022 at 3:09 PM UTC
There are those days best forgotten
In solemn silence all begotten
Comes fear and fire
and all that's rotten
In what seems
suddenly ..to be
my lot in life
Life is lived in cost-conscious revisions
Applied like mud poultices
Upon all daily impositions
Inclined to find
the weakest point
in the structure
Eating at you
in silent observation
Of your salient need for salvation as it ***** your
soul
Into the void
where all lost causes
Seek redemption
For all wasted time unspent
In cost - conscious
Solemn silence
When fear and fire
And all things rotten
Were what should
have been forgotten
Instead of all that
you left
unbegotten
Oct 22, 2018
Oct 22, 2018 at 3:00 AM UTC
Don’t know who writes or when
Just like cinema posters get changed according to times,
Misspelt swear words appeared on the wall of the ******
What was written using moss, coal and laterite was sometimes like this..
“The air is aromatic here. Rajiv + Sindhu
A picture of a heart with an arrow through it
Songs like “Rajan sir and Bhanu teacher are in love, man”
Walls got filled
In vengeance to the beatings and impositions.
Amidst the stench of **** and *****
Love blossomed between moss
The girl’s ****** stood like a temple
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 12:38 AM UTC
How can you be my friend if you envy me?
How can you be my friend if you have a heart not free?
How can you say you love me when love you've yet to see?
How can you tell me you support me when half the time yourself you cannot be?
And memories there are
chuckles and deep thoughts shared
Now situation delivers pain and tears are shed
A friend you'd still be when nothing's said
But insecurity has to intervene
oblivious of the fact that you do not love thee
However it may seem you have issues that are real
However it may seem I have scars and wounds that are deep
Given into negative emotion, our friendship would be over and seem like a dream
over like a dream for your self is all that matters, how are we a team?
You talk behind my back about my flaws
all the things that you secretely abhor
Out you go then, there's the door.
How can you be my friend if you use me?
How can you be my friend if you fear to lose me? Rather than cherish to have me
How can you be my friend if you continually bruise me?
How can you be my friend if you find it hard to fuse with me?
I am my own friend in my head
Hence have I the heart to find comfort in giving
Often reluctant to be on the end of receiving
Tolerant of impositions perilous and demeaning
I am the strange guy whom to most has no meaning
Who is a diamond once I start winning
I have been searching for fungi repellent
To avoid parasites that feed on a heart excellent
Our friends can be enemies, that's rebellion
If you cannot treat me as friend, like I would, goodbye then.
Aug 2, 2013
Aug 2, 2013 at 2:09 AM UTC
Shamans
Psychics
Schizophrenics
Mystics
Medics
Psychoanalysts
Politicians
Hypocrites
It’s in your head
It’s out of mind
It’s before our eyes
but most are blind
Buy Dark
Deal Light
Write left
Felt right
Free consciousness
from the physical fight
to dominate
through fear and hate
Religion and government
feed from the same plate
Inquisitions
Constitutions
Impositions
Insoluble solutions
in poisonous bruise
Drip-fed
in 24hr news
Brain dead
Twisted views
Controlling hands
that turn the screws.
© Verso-(David Moule) 06/03/08
Sep 19, 2010
Sep 19, 2010 at 5:34 PM UTC
BE free from the church and its impositions
its restrictions
contradictions
and ungodly superstitions
BE free from all dogmatic institutions
Patriarchal truths
are only partial solutions
BE free from the coat of protection
that they fashion
A one-size fit
that impedes expansion
BE free from the doctrine
that imposes separation
Brother versus brother
Nation versus nation
BE free from the teachings
that set us apart
That caters to the Ego
not to the heart
BE free from the darkness
that controls your mind
How can you see the light
if you're asleep or blind
BE free from the ‘Book’
and its static communication
A covert operation
in the ‘divine’ proclamation
BE free from hypocrisy
intolerance and vanity
The ‘ignis fatuus’ progenitor
of the world's insanity.
Jul 7, 2010
Jul 7, 2010 at 3:51 PM UTC
Subtlety employs all works in
progress...as silence resounds
angels in snowy landings.
How close can reality get before
it begins to reside within that which
it stands before?
What to do with all these impositions
that make or break the walkable line?
Perhaps...allow the spilling of the proverbial
cup, that it may overflow...engender the already
engendered Chaos...(your Face was already wet
before you remembered to face the Shower Head)...
cheers to Harmony!
There's this deep impulse to walk until collapse...
akin to a wild horse running to death...motion seems
a necessary evil.
Call it excess energy...superfluous stone to sculptor's
block...a burning candle keeping pace with the prayed for.
Enter death's repose...motioning motionlessness...
for the first and last time...All Subtlety becomes overt.
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 11:40 AM UTC
Scarabs dance impositions across your navel,
flattening themselves out in honour of your belly,
as I am watching your pulse spell out cryptograms
just below your pink
hairless
skin.
I lap the insects up like a patient kitten, lingering too long
(just long enough)
as the tips of my fingers press down on your
pulsing
hieroglyphics.
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 10:12 PM UTC
If supposed possibilities impose impositions that transition into probabilities that break boundaries of inequities ...would you stand moved...
If life's low blows could be diluted through finely crafted bitter yet mentally delectable drinks ...would that flood our minds drowning us instead of our worries...
If the oh-so rhythmically bewitching drum based tunes we gyrate to dancing in entrancement...oh the escape...enchantment
Would we loose footing playing "footsy" around the truth of how we got there and find ourselves lost when the music stops...?
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 1:40 AM UTC
Have you trapped yourself
trying to articulate
gray
Alors Beckett
I don't always comprehend
but my eyes weep
all the same
you bicker banter
circling squares
so much nonsensical purpose
so so naturally
I'm scared to ponder for
too long it's been
too much of too little
(Pause.)
Are we all beggars
of stories
blind to all
but bind to time
seeking sunshine
Are we but a topple
away from the beginning
or endings
Humor me
(Pause.)
Did you keep coming back
leave once twice
five times in all
to spin me away
with two windows
with lights I couldn't place
with falling and entrances
and sheets of cloth
not music
not white
(Pause.)
I am laughing
at the sadness
not blind yet
Do I sit or stand
or kneel
to rejoice
Take your tools
and not quite fools
but keep me awake
I'm in an all too familiar
not quite empty
I've made no impositions
on this all too much family
(Pause.)
How did I get woven
into this game
This isn't mine
no more
my pain is killing
living
still
Listen to me
so so cuckoo
Hear me here
Me to say
Humor me
Sprout
unending
Me to say
There is no more
me
to stay
(Exit Samuel.)
Jan 1, 2017
Jan 1, 2017 at 8:20 PM UTC
Love lies on the worn carpet of our lives,
bearing the weight of years of footsteps.
It supports us all without question,
never once posing impositions upon us.
We all have our own form of this love,
defined uniquely by personal experiences.
It coats us all with a fierce veil of memory,
it bears the weight of life.
Show me your love
and I'll show you mine.
May 13, 2016
May 13, 2016 at 9:38 AM UTC
If supposed possibilities impose impositions that transition into probabilities that break boundaries of inequities ...would you stand moved...
If life's low blows could be diluted through finely crafted bitter yet mentally delectable drinks ...would that flood our minds drowning us instead of our worries...
If the oh-so rhythmically bewitching drum based and synthesized tunes we gyrate to ,dancing in entrancement...the escape being oh-so pleasurable...enchanting the the torn heart(soul)
Would we loose footing playing "footsy" around the truth of how we got there and find ourselves lost...
when the music stops.
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 2:29 AM UTC
Dangling in a thread between darkness and light...
(The heart watches over it's fading memories... )
Drifting clouds play hide and seek in the garden of the crimson sky...
And the shadows wear garments to dance to the melody of the night...
(My mind still juggles the questions to answers and answers to questions it once could not fathom...)
Blackbirds circle the air promising to come back the other day...
The crickets prepare for night gala and the fireflies blow their torches to make less some darkness...
(The spirit inside of me bores over boulevard of the past and future that are a hue of ***** grey)
The setting sun begs me to stop itself from moving away...
And yet...
(My silent unsettling soul ends up settling itself to the impositions of twilight!)
Sep 3, 2020
Sep 3, 2020 at 11:07 AM UTC
Young, yes, but even so the boy spun circles ‘round the sallow priest.
This older man was young, too -- almost too young to shoulder his responsibilities. Undisturbed by time, unbowed by gravity, he was the still spoke in this wheel, remaining tall, straight, like a candle: smelling of tallow, waxy and sinuous. He burned dimly with certainty, the simple certainty of the taught. This was the priest, but also burning was the spinner for he span circles unbroken, in simplicity complete.
"So, God knows what we will do tomorrow?”
"Yes, yes," answered the priest, annoyed already. Always annoyed at the impositions of children, who call and caterwaul when they have not learned respect, who do not learn respect in an age of information, who do not shut their eyes against the dark awe of the ineffable.
Still spinning, light glinting from him, the boy was marvellous and profound without even trying. "But we do what we want?" His head flamed too, not the guttering candle flame but instead the true brightness of a star.
"Yes, yes," answered the priest, "we have free will."
"But God wants what is best?" The boy span, the circle tightened.
"Yes, yes," answered the priest. "God always wants the best. Everything is for the best, for God has willed it."
"So what I do tomorrow God already sees. What God wants is the best. If what he saw was not best, he would change it." The boy was concluding that everything was for the best, all he did was for the best, for this was always the best of all possible worlds. And his head rang with the circuit of the circle, for it came back around and completed itself.
The priest pinched fingers at his nose. "You do not understand."
Apr 14, 2013
Apr 14, 2013 at 11:15 AM UTC
******* are itches like skin conditions
forget the admissions and feelings and visions
find yourself in a position where decisions
are void, because there's no choice,
no recognition, my voice is an imposition
With no occupation, or real reason to function
I'll spend my money on medication 'til
I'm believing what I'm seeing
Something is weighing on my mind heavy,
roll up another blunt-skin,
crack open another bevy,
Something is playing with my mind lately,
just write a couple bars
Yeah, that'll tell them nothing maybe
My hopes were up, but they have come down
It's too often we carve a smile out of a frown
just to fit in
when we were born to stand out
So as a rule tell others how you feel,
not let em figure out
Honesty's my policy, unless I think they're on to me
and now I've lied again
I better turn my life around
In a short life, I've been much, I've been proud
I've been up, I've been down,
I've been chewed and spat out
Left out in the sun, left out to dry up on the ground
But all the aspirations that I'll never meet,
can be recycled to ambition if I get back on my feet,
But all the things I was promised, that's deceit
the act or practice of deceiving,
concealment or distortion of the truth,
for the purpose of misleading, so they got me bleedin'
and everything I want, I'm not receiving
and everything I need, I know they're keeping
Nov 17, 2018
Nov 17, 2018 at 8:54 AM UTC
Clasp your hands a little tighter:
they say white is the color
of the innocent;
and the pallor of the flesh
stretched over your shaking knuckles
makes you almost virginal.
“Say something,” you beg,
as if the inflections
could take the venom
from your voice.
Keep demanding;
the urgency makes my lips burn
under the stitches weaving them shut.
Beseeching for my words
only leaves laughter struggling to escape
through the seams of your impositions.
Instead, I can only smirk
as the icy desperation
trickles into your red-hot voice.
Implore me to speak
and you’ll choke on your words;
never realizing
it was you who threaded the needle.
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 10:03 PM UTC
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
from whence wisdom comes
of the wisdom of the child, from whence it comes
she comes to me a
recognized believer,
a poetry rising star,
in private whispers,
to true confess,
a sixteen year old girl,
born to the role of
high poetry priestess
not asked but offered
to an old man
whose wisdom now
leaves his temples
with the scheduled departure
of each breath
she tenders
her secrets, her heritage,
her impositions, the sources
of her belief, and by and from
the vibrations of wall wisdom,
and inspiration retransmitted,
she is made even more tender
*"the source of
what I know,
comes not from within,
but from without"*
before she writes
she listens
she recites the histories
of her ancestors
stored in the walls
in the walls of every room,
whether painted flat white,
or fire-breathing breathless beige,
or good luck red,
cracked, stucco'd or spackled bare
even if in fabric dressed,
no matter, all whisper
to the child woman
*of this, I speak,
of this, thee tell*
the living and the dead,
their words recorded, deposited,
in a banque of brick
from past to future
given to her,
to be wise,
to be and by,
to share
in the train car,
in the hotel room,
all that ere spoke,
every predecessor passenger,
their words customized, bespoke,
she hears, she knows
this secret shared,
this greatest revelation,
the old man shakes his head,
weighted down with
grief and sorrow,
thinking silently to himself,
lest his walls' eavesdropping ears hear,
***poor child, she is wise
yet, she is cursed,
in exactly,
the same manner as me...***
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 12:25 AM UTC
Her favorite new flavor
Is uninformed outrage
How her right to religion is
Being attack
By those who lack
Any real wisdom
Or logical reason
But the facts are
Way to far
From her position
Cause she impositions
The innocent victims
Of her hate rhetoric
Denying rights
While crying
That her plight
Is so painful
What a load full
Of manure
Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 10:08 AM UTC
Little indispositions
Lead to impositions
First a clicky hip
Causing you to slip
Next a wonky knee
A disability
Headache coming on
All your tablets gone
Just a small suggestion
Of minor indigestion
Becoming imminent
Grab the peppermint
Can’t see to read
This is all you need
Taking all the facts
Most likely cataracts
Sick of indispositions
Calling your physician
Except when you do
You’ll be in the queue
Indispositions taking toll
Sickened, feeling old
Can’t stand the heat
Can’t stand the cold
If this sounds like hell
Now you’re feeling well
Throwing away the pills
Forgetting all your ills
You are oh so strong
Your pains nearly gone
No indispositons
No impositions
All tucked away
.........
Happy happy day!
Jan 14, 2022
Jan 14, 2022 at 12:16 PM UTC
Now This ISN’T Something...
That’s Just Been Uncovered... !!!
But It’s NOT A Cool Thing...
To CONTROL The Will of Others... !!!
But It’s Something That’s Done...
By Our World's Governments... !!!
Who Use Subtle Moves...
That CLEARLY Are USED...
To Now CONTROL The Wills...
of People Through BILLS...
Or Yes LEGISLATION...
That’s Used To Rule Nations...
Through Things Like INFLATION...
That Keep People Stationed...
In... DIFFICULT Places... !!!
Where.....
There Wills Get Smothered...
By Thinking That Plunders...
Like... VIOLENT Thunder... !!!
The Numbers Now Under...
The Wills of Gun Runners...
Is FRIGHTENING Now...
And Is Casting Dark Clouds...
Over How They're CONTROLLED...
By Those With COLD SOULS... !!!
Because They Seem THRILLED...
By Now... Shooting To **** ?!?
Well To Me These Are Wills...
That Are Mentally ILL... !!!
Like A Baby... Born STILL... !!!
Whose Will Became CHILLED...
BEFORE It Could Find...
A Power of Mind...
That Learned To DEFY...
The Taking of Life...
BECAUSE It Got LOST...
In A World of DUD PLOTS...
And Thoughts That Belong...
In A World of PROBLEMS... !!!
So You See What I’m Saying...
Is That Wills Can Be Played With... !!!
And MANIPULATED...
By Heads Who Be Claiming...
To Live By Gods Graces...
And... Various Statements...
That AREN'T Quite As Righteous...
As TRUE Freedom Fighters... !!!
Whose Wills WON’T Be Chilled...
By... Government Bills... !!!
Or Thinking That’s Linked With...
... Mental IMPOSITIONS...
Like Those In Religions...
That Deal In Division...
Or NEW AGE FASCISM... !!!
That’s Right YES... FASCISM... !!!
Because Some Are Driven...
By... Subtle Racism...
Because of Wills Willing...
To Embrace Separatism...
As If... THAT’s The Will...
of The God They’ve Instilled...
As The One Wills Should Follow...
To LIFT Them From Sorrow...
And Thinking That’s Hollow...
Like Wills Now Enlisting...
Some Form of ENCRYPTION...
To Fuel Their Existence...
Through Vaccines Being Given...
To KEEP People LIVING... !!!
Because of The WILL...
of This Virus That KILLS... !!!
Well That’s What We’ve Been TOLD...
By Those In The Zones of Political Folds... !!!
About Those Whose Souls...
Have Driven Death Tolls...
To... PANDEMIC Levels... !!!
That CLEARLY Unsettle... !!!
The Wills of Those Who...
Have Contracted THIS FLU... !!!
Whilst Conspiracy Theorists...
Have Wills Much LESS Willing...
To Think That This Virus...
Is What’s Killing Like Tyrants... !!!
They’re Saying There’s MORE...
To This... Corona Force... ?!?
Than What We’ve Been FED...
About ALL of These DEATHS... !!!
And It Now Seems That Numbers...
Are Beginning To Wonder... ?!?
If Corona’s Just USHERED...
A NEW POWER STRUCTURE...
That ENABLES A Culture...
That Gives Them CONTROL...
of.....
“ The Mind States of Others “...
Sep 22, 2021
Sep 22, 2021 at 9:07 PM UTC