"inauspicious" poems
Forgive the malicious repetitious dismay.
This quarrel so vicious, flagitious swordplay.
Inauspicious foreboding, one lover’s display.
Seditious naught, my miscarried parlay.
Delicious divulging- in this adventitious decay.
Oct 12, 2011
Oct 12, 2011 at 4:27 AM UTC
Time is of the deception of immemorial agreement...
People, friends and family will get together time and time again -
To discuss what?!?
Most of the time, they petulantly boast about their own personal apotheosis -
What does this prove?
Where are they going with their abrogated thoughts?
The people speak with impetuous pertinence and achieve absolutely nothing....
An asundering of cryptic thoughts that fell into oblivion -
This is the sole reason why the inauspicious world will disintegrate and become a history book for worlds to come...
When time has come to overlap itself . . .
The world's clock stops. . .
Your heart stops. . . .
Time, the inevitable dimension that will carry on with no remorse
When we are gone. . . .
When I am gone..
Sep 13, 2012
Sep 13, 2012 at 8:59 PM UTC
the cold, white building has been abandoned for seven years today.
what was once a majestic foundation for the analysis of a humanity, now an empty fable of
gargantuan men in
laboratory suits
and young women who thirsted to follow in the footsteps of the
honorable Florence.
The sanguine fluids left from the yesterdays and the yesterdays seep and transude into the
holy grounds of the asylum.
no man, no beast dares to disturb the forsaken soil,
the venerable clay loam out of which grows the neverending carnage of body and flesh.
lost voices of a
thousand schizophrenics
still scream
from the silent operations of their euthanasia.
the lands have not lied under the unadulterated, pure heavens since the genesis of
H. sapiens himself. This “wise, knowing man” has
doused and suffocated
the flame that radiated prospect, leaving the wide, exquisite cosmos
no more than a nefarious expanse of chaos and dismay.
The structure, the edifice of what was intended for
knowledge and bounty,
has indeed fallen
victim
to the inauspicious prophecy that they molded and sculpted themselves.
Jun 8, 2012
Jun 8, 2012 at 3:52 PM UTC
You could change the world.
You should.
Repeat this inauspicious comment to someone;
Age isn't part of the equation.
Even the youth may listen, may remember,
I should change the world.
You did. Some place, at a time unknown.
It's not so obvious as the Butterfly Effect;
Appearing subtly, less noticeable than
Pedaling into a velvet N-E Huron breeze
A walker feels on her wet lips
During a burnt Autumn stroll.
I changed,
And rocked the world
Of my loved ones.
Oct 5, 2021
Oct 5, 2021 at 9:00 AM UTC
trepidation.
walk on eggshells. Don't make the wrong move. words are more powerful than you know. vanquished by them, yet again. Woulds never heal when written by a blade of sound.
walk away.
hopeless, forlorn. dejected and rejected. failure cuts a knife so deep. why. Never should make a person feel, this way. rejected. a state of being denied, shunned, dropped, jilted or abandoned. Drop-kicked is more accurate. through thoughts and feelings and walls of un-intention. Unintentional doesn't mean, unafflicting. It's not unconditional.
Up, down, turn around. Hide and seek, but words will always find you. Ominous. Noxious. Apocalyptic. Impending and inauspicious, never pending doom. Don't drown. words surround. Overpower and oppress, get in touch with loneliness. Inescapable. Better to surrender. words.
Immobilize. Can't even hear. Things being said, here. take out. shut off. take over. can't control. it's overtaking. seize power. let go. it'll never stop. Beaten. Buried. Conquered. No respite here. Weariness, none do care. Defeated, run-over. a dump truck of cruelty crushing, running over your heart. The soul is next. **** the heart, now defeat the senses. can't, survive. stressed and, suppressed.
The power of a consonant hath never been matched.
Rip apart, tear down from the start. People don't matter when reduced to mere words and petty emotion. Remove humanity. Steal personality. Nothing matters. Anymore. Disheartened and, Decomposed. Striped bare. unaware. doesn't matter, anymore.
forebodingly frightful. frustrating, feeble, failing, falling, faintheartedly framed. Fuddled. Flustered. No solution to this mess. no respite from such unbearable distress. The fright won't subside.
What a great terror, to be left outside. Alone. In the dark. words. tear, destroy. Shut out in the cold, still scared and alone. Abandoned and deserted. Desolate in a land of cruel misintentions. Uneager comprehensions.
Falling, no stopping. Fear suffocating any chance for hope. Fall.
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 3:28 PM UTC
Sensory deprivation douses my days
Neither perfume, nor pictures
to placate
No cadence of a voice contrasted
No distractions, now look away
Ban all Color
chromatic avian avoidance
But It only takes one slip
to oxygenate those sacred sepia images
You were the reason!
you eviscerated “grey”
the enormity of a
pixilated instant:::
the shadow of a look
Arise again, stand tall and seductive,
awaken a cleft heart again
but the pleas go unheard
and
callous knees make for hollowed souls
this crawl so familiar, hallowed, fetching... as I look now, upward at your
carnal,
cardiac,
catharsis
I find that familiar rush
The drilling down of blood :::
Presses through once indifferent veins (my lamentation inoculation... you are viral once more)
Imagined love had seemed so tame.
The cataclysm corners, hidden well in green eyes,
inauspicious,
until
it’s time (to strike)
tensions feast on the remaining light (dusk remains, night yields, but those eyes they’ll haunt forever).
When was the last time I grasped your fingers?
When jungle lust simplicity gave way to
the steady silent ether of complacency
I knew
I had
lost
her
Yet, I still reach for the smell of you on my hands. It’s no longer there. The cruelest of nostalgias to soothe my most masochistic of reliefs.
Nov 23, 2018
Nov 23, 2018 at 11:34 AM UTC
I'm a divided island.
Cleaved by a a wide sea.
My two halves communicate by note in bottles...
But the currents are inauspicious,
No word arrives from either shore,
Nonetheless the split isles persist,
"Legs, good morning,
Let's get out of bed."
"Head, we've got to **** and **** down here,
Direct us to a toilet and be quick."
Thus said,
More unread flotsom
Is added to this tangled gyre.
Aug 24, 2012
Aug 24, 2012 at 3:58 PM UTC
I'm languished here in lack of lit'rature,
for treading words - writ oceans black and pale.
I woe my want of discipline demure
to hoist my mental canvas and set sail.
To set this sextant sentence south to north,
my odyssey sees strange sands lap aground
with trepidation slipping slowly forth,
and omnipresent, inauspicious sound.
Please show me now around this simple isle.
Lead me by hand to cliffs by time distressed.
Forgive me then if I retreat a while
to cast off, searching ****** shorelines' rest.
This covered ground, font foliage, anon
will meet me once this weary world is gone.
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 2:01 PM UTC
In this beautiful place of worship, the pews are padded but uncomfortable, the sanctuary large, candle lit and cold.
There's a huge glass dome and I can see the stars. Are the stars our fiery heaven??
No, I don't think the stars care about us - they don't burn with affection or passion. And if the stars weren't there we could live with an empty sky.
The Greeks would call on our star, the Sun, to perform their acts of God. I imagine most of their prayers went unanswered - not unlike our own??
To me, the whole Jesus story is somewhat sinister and inauspicious, but if Jesus, the son of God, and that whole story were the deepest, truest reality - then why hasn't Jesus returned??
Imagining heaven's father and son dialog
God: "Ok, Jesus, time to go back.."
Jesus: "Go back... go back?? Daaaaad... Did you see what they DID to me???.. nailed me to a cross; ***** them, there's no way I'm going back. Why don’t you try going back, as an ordinary man - maybe they’ll set you on fire.”
These 20 millennium old bible stories aren't exactly Euclid's logical system.... I mean, the various books aren't even consistent. Are these really, I mean really our beliefs? Or are they just kind of traditions and good rules to live by?
My parents - unlikely pilgrims in the intoxicating poetry of belief - face front and appear to be listening... in all other things they're so skeptical - it's a puzzle.
If Jesus did come back, wouldn't he practically be a caveman surrounded by bewildering technology?
I'm sorry, There's something too rich in creation for these rehearsed responses and fairy-tale fragments from a primitive world to be the answer.
Now I'm not saying there is no God or no life after death.. I.. just.. hopeless shrug
So, anyway - I go through the motions, I chant the litanies with the enthusiasm of obedience; just storing up my spiritual loot and hiding my questioning, heathen heart.
Happy Easter everyone!
Apr 9, 2023
Apr 9, 2023 at 10:24 AM UTC
inauspicious you
crawl through my dreamscapes
dragging your silver heels
through my recursive grays.
scraping the grime from my
amorphous solitude,
i follow you into the clarity
of our bittersweet meanderings.
you'll find me in the lull
between comfort and composure.
i awaken in the hum of your absence,
clinging to your static repose.
and in the lingering shame
of my throbbing, wanting
a more immutable calm,
i am feeble-minded and floating
through the day
like a fleeting fever.
Apr 15, 2013
Apr 15, 2013 at 1:39 AM UTC
The return—
Returning to a home
Folding time and space
To bring back the memory of the day of departure
Arms have extended and grasped all the while
Till today, they take hold of what they reached for
Its familiar contours
Its memory foam
It gives way easily
The meantime has been too kind to its impression
Unkind to its façade
The chaos theory proven true
In their minute variation
The fanfare plays, too often flat
The welcome feast is stale at that
Debriefing passes, inauspicious
The silent distance surreptitious
Replacements ready, set in place
Just one last chance to see the face
Of everything that’s left behind
That it might lay to rest in mind
The return.
This is no longer a home
Time can lose itself again.
Space is mercifully cold
Arms now folded at their sides
Never more
Return again.
Jan 22, 2011
Jan 22, 2011 at 7:56 PM UTC
In the sullen light of an inauspicious day,
I wake knowing the same story will be told
once more just as it was told yesterday.
Waking to dress, eat, and work,
strong women raising children without
fathers who think it enough to visit
while kitchens are empty of the warmth of old stories
stories of how love survived various hardships
stories conveyed by a glance and smile;
love is found in the curl of the hair on his chest
twirled between her fingers
the warmth of his legs against the cold of her toes
the matching of the rhythm of breath
at the end of another
inauspicious day.
Nov 20, 2016
Nov 20, 2016 at 7:54 PM UTC
This poet decided against
becoming a measly minced meaty morsel
undetected inauspicious augury
assigning adept
aqueous ace AOL amphibian,
who surreptitiously crept
to the secret crypt (guarded by
foo fighters and amazing dragons)
said gendarmes did except
special fluid scrip as egress into
heavily fortified
(with USDA recommended allowance),
thus when the configurative motley crue
including thyself (a bono fied doo
bee brother - long given up for lost,
which "FAKE" oracle
misinterpreted by a goo goo
doll, and cross dresser named Hugh
played being took a vow el,
and hence consonantly knew
all along, i dwelt peacefully
in a soundcloud loo
immensely spacious with ooh
dills of survival trappings
purchased from Peru
laborers treated by free pact
guaranteeing a socially
conscious shopper to rue
painstaking indigenous stoop labor,
now stamped imprimatur could allow,
enable and provide means to shoe
each formerly eczema dappled,
cracked bare foot
ah, a glimmer of hopefulness
(upon this crowded house of a planet) view
which youtube snapchat ting
reddit as joyous outlook
sans linkedin shutterfly,
twitter ring tender flickr ring shoots
communicated an instagram message
of hopefulness kickstarting optimism
versus the initial thread of this poem,
which to set this got off track
(hinting at goal to be
a paperback book writer wannabe)
rather than ending up as a byte size snack
for a limbering beast, into whose tumblr
of one jagged razor sharp teeth
like daggers lined up along a rack
of reinforced steel maw,
which bang for the bite did pack
leaves no room for bing a survivor
as fierce jaws clamp down
worse than getting steam rolled by a mack
truck, but subjected to thee yield,
whence thousands of pounds
per square inch of pressure
on par lambasted from Donald Trump flack.
Apr 3, 2018
Apr 3, 2018 at 9:32 PM UTC
CUITLAHUAC
It’s said Huitzilopochtli’s temple burns.
PRIEST OF TLALOC
It does so, to the sinking of my gut.
Great rains of sparks dripped on his chapel’s thatch,
Which torched our war god’s crematory pyre,
And lit the flabbergasted rabble’s face,
Their eyes and open mouths like perfect ‘O’s.
Afar, the old, old fire god, aloof,
And chortling at his native element,
Was in his shrine extinguished nonetheless
When shards of lightning from a cloudless sky
Forked up his walls. It seems the gods contend,
And waste their earthly halls as game-board chips.
CUITLAHUAC
Have you beheld the floods?
PRIEST OF TLALOC No. Floods? The floods?
CUITLAHUAC
The boundless lake that rounds our rafty town
Shrugged off her boiling banks, uncorked her wrath,
And, in a breaker to out-swell the sea,
Has drowned our residential waterfront.
House after house bobs in a flotsam fleet-
A drear, domestic archipelago.
PRIEST OF TLALOC
What does the emperor your brother say
Of these most inauspicious auguries?
CUITLAHUAC
It’s in the bag and in the box with him.
He closets up his fear in trumped-up shrugs.
And yet I can not blame his fickleness.
If judgment’s based on past experience,
How to interpret, then, such spectacles,
When what is weighed has never once before
Been seen or rumored in the known-of world?
PRIEST OF TLALOC
Lord Tlacaelel claims that Hungry Prince
Tonight held council with the emperor,
To state his gloss on these phenomena.
CUITLAHUAC
He stands on shaky ground. How did he fare?
PRIEST OF TLALOC
Like to a hummingbird trapped in a hive.
Motecuhzoma’s bellows rattled rafters.
He challenged him at dawn to the arena.
The sacred ball-game shall resolve their feud.
CUITLAHUAC
The stakes?
PRIEST OF TLALOC Unknown, but speculated high.
CUITLAHUAC
We’ll meet then in the morning at the court.
PRIEST OF TLALOC
Let’s get inside, lest Tlaloc should suspect
We dare the tempest-tosser to his worst. They exit.
Oct 11, 2016
Oct 11, 2016 at 12:38 PM UTC
Spare no expense tonight
my dear,
to dissect my agitated heart
and strangle
every complaintive syllable
Sprouting in it.
Let the merciles lances of
your scornful blushes
Haunt every corner
of this ruptured flippant.
Let the rapacious looks
of your aggrieved eyes
Squeeze out of it,
the remaining drops
of inauspicious hope.
let the vulturous howling
of your choicest curses
Suppress the tunes of
unfulfilled promises.
my dear the prestigious
draperies concealing
the agonising tale of
thy inclemencies
are about to fall, come
Save the face of love.
Come my dear as my breaths
Await thy last appearance
Come before my sick beats
Will divorce my pierced *****
Will not you come?
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 9:55 PM UTC
The clime where Quito since hath rear’d her fanes,
And now no more her barbarous rites maintains.
He saw these vales in richer blooms array’d,
And tribes more numerous haunt the woodland shade…
Yet softer fires his daring views control,
And mixt emotions fill his changing soul.
Shall genius rare, that might the world improve,
Bend to the milder voice of careless love,
That bounds his glories, and forbids to part
From bowers that woo’d his fluctuating heart?
Or shall the toils imperial heroes claim
Fire his brave ***** with a patriot flame,
Bid sceptres wait him on Peruvia’s shore,
And loved Oella meet his eyes no more?
Sudden his near approach the maid alarms;
He flew enraptured to her yielding arms,
And lost, dissolving in a softer flame,
His distant empire and the fire of fame.
At length, retiring thro the homeward field,
Their glowing souls to cooler converse yield;
O’er various scenes of blissful life they ran,
When thus the warrior to the maid began:
Long have we mark’d the inauspicious reign
That waits our sceptre in this rough domain;
A soil ungrateful and a wayward race,
Their game but scanty, and confined their space.
Where late my steps the southern war pursued,
The fertile plains grew boundless as I view’d;
More numerous nations trod the grassy wild,
And joyous nature more delightful smiled…
May 26, 2018
May 26, 2018 at 11:37 AM UTC
Various subtle Energies envelop what it is we can sense.
Some people are more sensitive to these Energies.
These Energies come in innumerable sorts;
Some are Personal, such as the concept of Chi
others are Impersonal, such as the concept of Tao.
It is equally inauspicious to assume everyone can relate to or sense these Energies
as it is to dismiss their existence, to close the door on their potential,
simply because no one can prove to you their existence.
Simply because one seeks doesn't mean one finds.
Simply because one believes doesn't mean one is right.
Simply because one basks in Chi doesn't mean everyone does.
Simply because one is blind to Chi doesn't mean it is not there.
Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 6:15 AM UTC
“Littoral of living onto the pelagic is of the lifeless,
Every sea squall dead leaves fall reminding of seasons,
Ocean dreams between mix utterances of thoughts,
Crossing over where you once started out from,
The cape laid far ahead and high upon it a continent,
The sea waves rose like white columns as it breaks,
Never knowing which way is easy to forget the afore,
Which coast has wavered upon the next victors horizon?
And which one may rise to meet you in the dusk of eve,
And the days lay are so many dark and unpropitious,
Huge surging blissful waves rising on the blue sea,
The sprays from ocean waves like falling torrent fog,
One’s life on the sea is oh so cold and inauspicious,
And yet some place within the deep my shallow awaits,
Evening now upon the shore and in the fading
Another day bloom and resurrects from the abyss
Sunset as the blackbirds come flying above,
Coruscation of sunset evanesces into the night
of my Archipelago azimuth”
By A. Guzaldo 07/23/2018 ©
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 11:47 PM UTC
Don't lie
to people of better memory:
it's inauspicious as ****
Intelligence
doesn't matter
if you can't remember details.
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 6:29 AM UTC
The castle of his dreams,
Erected on an illusive plinth,
Designed by the deceptions of love
Was struck by a bolt inauspicious.
The calamity reduced his castle to a debris
And squeezed every drop of jubilation
Out of his audacious heart.
His life is now brimmed with
The shades of unspeakable grief;
With his every faculty choked,
He resolved to vent his horrors
On a sheet of untainted paper.
He fueled his pen with the blood of his veins
And scribble some aching elegies
In memory of his mortified love
And in anticipation of lasting respite.
But to his plight, Aah!
The malevolent world of lovers,
Drenched in their own pangs,
Haunt solace in the beauty of his verses.
The maimed lover displays to the world,
The brusies of his punctured heart,
The world hurls back praises galore
For his unique styles and screeching verses.
© Badee Uz Zaman
Dec 19, 2016
Dec 19, 2016 at 9:41 AM UTC
Footprints-
When did they fade away,
In which inauspicious time
Only dust has increased step by step.
In a similar time-
Started walking again,
Stay behind all those hopes and mis-hopes
Anything remains are gone.
No more lament-
Silently wipe the tears,
Tiny moments remain forgotten
The dialogue is missing.
Floating in the sea of hope-
Firmly grasp the helm,
On the way forward
Love the silent acceleration.
Apr 4, 2022
Apr 4, 2022 at 3:21 AM UTC
Society is just so *****
Politicians riddled by worry
I find them so dreary
They ruined our morals
Just engage in useless quarrels
Cause worldwide scandals
That they simply can not handle
Society is just so *****
Mar 19, 2017
Mar 19, 2017 at 3:45 PM UTC