"incited" poems
Despicability is the foundation to their life
For them it is intrinsic
Genetically encoded
Simplistic
Poetically eroded
Reprehensible at best
**Unscrupulously callous
Secrets and facts, they conveniently
ingest
Distorted byproducts, they release to the
masses
To aid their campaign; a forked tongue
fest**
Pathetic and unapologetic
A beast armed to the teeth
Imported bypasses to increase the flow of police
A weakness and an act,
They so vehemently attest
**Harvesting greens off the branches of
the people
Pockets engorged with wads and folds
Crushing blue collars at the lower levels
As they sit atop their pyramids of gold**
Today they sip champagne
To celebrate their reign
Tonight we'll skip being humane
To feed them excruciating pain
**You've incited this coup with ill-thought
deterrents
Now herald the arrival of the scourge
Down with lopsided governments
Tonight... All we would topple! Tonight we purge!**
Justin G
ryn**
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 11:32 AM UTC
The sky wept
the sky wept
the sky wept
the sky wept
while I leapt,
while I leapt,
well I leapt thru fire.
Gasp sigh perspire.
give me your tired
huddled and heavy laden
that loud light holds us up high
in his left hand and will be ********* man.
we'll be ********* man.
Harvest moon incited madness
granjero in a gas mask
destined
to manifest the liberation front.
watch me kiss the sun.
thirtytwo one, I am done.
canvas demon,
lower the lights &arise.;
like who wouldn't wanna kiss the sky...
Miss 'My,my,my' meet
Major fleet week
now yall dance and drink
each other's blood
doesn't that sound like fun
isn't it so sweet
wonder some
praise the priest
***** mothers ******* sons,
my lachrymose lack of passion
weighs a **** fantastic ton,
I wish someone would come &
divvy me a dole
of fresh faced inspiration
and vintage faded soul...
I am mobile homosapien.
I am not your friend
simply a lazy ally,
I reside in the unfunny pages.
Dated and bathed in flame,
given back to the air
where I came from.
humdrum funk,
under the ugly sun
feelin lovely in the slums.
Undone undone
Sep 19, 2015
Sep 19, 2015 at 12:46 AM UTC
**Whether it happens next... or this year
The vote
In memory of the last time I shed 'this tear'
And wrote... a piece
For the blood that flooded the streets
When in vain we sought
For calm... for peace
In a situation that was out of our control
A raging fire that almost engulfed and burnt all
When we all watched our motherland fall
Almost
When darkness threatened to blind all... or most...
Kenyans
When a neighbour would suddenly become a stranger... a ghost
Alien
Incited by the devil's seed
Damien
Brothers, sisters overcome by evil... greed
The same one...
That would then start a war... civil
And feed... off it
I, one individual Kenyan plead
That this time we say no to violence
We 'off it'
Let the disgruntled nurse his frustrations in silence
No blood for 'office'
And let us not get coaxed into foolish acts
To ourselves, we owe this
Let hatchets be buried away with the bones
Old ghosts can't haunt us
I shed a tear for peace this... or next year
Deaf ear to he that tries to taunt us
'Make the right choice'
I hope I reach many
And many hear my one voice
But this message cannot just be spread by me... so its 'we'
We can do it, and God wills it
Let it be
That we journey toward serenity
To a better tomorrow... come with me
The best way I can encourage my brothers and sisters
Is through poetry
For as a country and a culture we are destined to soar sky high
Thus... 'the pride of Africa'
We should always be
Peace.**
Jan 24, 2012
Jan 24, 2012 at 5:20 AM UTC
Once,
I dreamt we ran out of lucky numbers to clasp onto
and fortune cookies to snap.
So we crossed fingers,
crossed each other's heartstrings and stars,
banned bad spirits with cheap spirits,
with middle names, middle fingers,
with the memories we learnt to love,
whilst blessing ourselves with our defects,
and laboriously watching out for cracks in sidewalks.
We called it a miracle every time
we didn't fall through.
You were my winning racehorse,
forever the prized gamble,
the writer's ache for pressed typewriter keys
and bullet black ink on paper,
the published return for insomnia incited poetry.
You were luck and
I still feel like a broken mirror.
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 5:29 PM UTC
did you, even now, hope
to shut your eyes to so huge a crime,
my treacherous one, to think you could
stilly withdraw from my kingdom?
did our love not once hold you?
our ardent vows? or even I, Dido,
preparing to succumb barbaric death?
how could you, callous you!,
take wing to prepare your fleet in winter
—i’m sure to run aground—
when Boreas thrashes against the heavens?
but, if you weren’t pursuing unfamiliar soil
or incited to father a distant nation,
if ancient Ilium sturdily grimed through the war,
would you keep piercing the
wave-washed oceans in your armada?
why do you elude me; is it
because i have acceded irreality?
am i worthless, now?—i implore you!
by these tears, and your troth,
by our wedding vows, and this oath
before ***** we began:
if i deserve anything good from you,
or if you think, i was good enough
for you; pity this household
decaying before us! it was once yours, too.
and if my prayers are still yours,
gut them from my mind!
for now the Libyans and Numidians
hate me! dear Tyre is virulent!
as my honour and once-righteous
stature has vanished, just as i was
about to touch my constellated infamy.
for what destiny, my foreign one,
do you set me aside; ever-knowing
my imminent death?
seeing that only your name endures
from this union, why do i bother to keep living?
am i waiting for my brother, Pygmalion,
to destroy my Carthage’s walls, or a
Gætulian Iarbus to make me his concubine?
if only you gave me a son,
a little Æneas to play in my courts,
a boy to remind me of you;
only then, perhaps,
would i not be so utterly
violated, and
consumed.
Nov 7, 2014
Nov 7, 2014 at 1:06 PM UTC
.
Remember...
The bashful gazes that worked their way into your armour
Remember...
The clumsy saunter that incited your laughter
Remember...
The lips that parted confidently only to reveal child-like stutter
Remember...
The warmth that enveloped your hand as we walked together
Remember...
The winter day's kiss that felt like never-ending summer
Remember...
The day disappointment overwhelmed and doubt grew bolder
Remember...
The inevitable conflicts that resulted in futile banter
Remember...
The embrace when everything fell apart and seemed unclear
Remember...
The whispers that failed to soothe when your pillow got wetter
Remember...
The journey that now seem to not matter
Remember...
My heart as you once did...
As your silhouette drifts away,
everyday much further
Oct 30, 2015
Oct 30, 2015 at 12:02 PM UTC
Everyone's got their own to nurse
Every moment, every day
They lament in the verses of their curse
Daily... More would be incited to join the fray
They want to be seen and heard
They want to be consoled
From the petty absurd
To death's design enrolled
Counting on ready ears
And arms open wide
For me to wipe my tears
And be by their side
But I too, am living my own
I too, bleed my pen dry
I too, feel the misfit of my bones
I too, have my recurrent days to ply
I guess that's just being human
Expecting solace through words of grievance
We try so feebly to share the weight of burden
In the hopes that we'd plot our existence
I understand that the urge is great
So much so that we tend to forget
Others too, have had enough on their own plate
On which we pile our leftovers without regret
I am still here but.. It's time for some quiet
Be all I could be with minimal words said
For right now it's not working, this illusion of an outlet
Because I still see demons when I lay in bed
People can't do much with something so brittle
One could stay afloat if he learns to shout
I wish I could be more to everyone but I know so little...
Of what I feel so much about...
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 9:30 AM UTC
I awoke in a dream
Surrounded by a bilious familiarity
Angry shades of the drying blood of hope
Caked over venomous fangs of discontent
Stagnant shadows of effluvium
Emanate from the molten flesh
Of this creature I seem to know
But how, how do i know this putrid soul
This being, born of irascible acrimony
Seething breaths sear my senses
As I feel the pounding heart
Scream within it's chest
Aflame with the atrocities it has incited
Yet, in it's gentle eyes there is no malice
There is only the reflection of an angel
Gossamer vestments blow in the stillness
So effulgent in the darkness
Again, familiar and uncomfortable
It's eyes bore into mine that reflection of heaven
I could not see myself in those eyes
That gaze seemed to hypnotize in its polarity
As I floated unseen, I looked at this being
Seething miasmata while reflecting a seraph
Acidic tears of truth fell from within my poisoned soul
As the creature and the reflection merged in the bluest flame
And transformed my spirit into flesh
I am both the reflection and the being
Living the anguish of the truth of what I am
Fighting every moment to be less than and more than
Pretending that I do not embody the dichotomy of bile and bliss
Seraph and succubus
The truth and the lie
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 1:29 PM UTC
She lied there breathless almost, blushed and bare,
For whom a statue I was, designed to stare
At those light eyes, pale skin, golden hair
Speechless I was, wanting much to declare.
Yet I, though mere, to this goddess aspired
I took by cunning theft her soft breaths with Love's fires
That burned and took her air, yet fueled newer desires
And incited pleasure, till she from passion retired
And not immortal time or anything heaven sent
Could some guilt evoke in me, or cause me to repent
Of my lustful theft, for which my deity gave consent
Lying there so calmed of a passion fueled and spent!
Aug 26, 2012
Aug 26, 2012 at 9:04 PM UTC
You always complained,
hated the way you looked,
Felt you had to compare,
Yet on you I was hooked,
You Felt you were chubby,
you hated having a scar,
Despised the stretch mark tummy,
Said your teeth were quite bizarre.
You, so strong and Independent,
Hating being between Jobs,
Living in poor conditions,
Stuck in a house full of slobs.
All you wanted were the girls,
Who were (wrongfully) taken away,
You could talk of them for hours,
Always having more to say.
You find all these faults and flaws,
You tell me that you're "Broken"
Yet you're perfect in my eyes,
I leave no praise unspoken.
Your eyes, like gems, They sparkle,
The way when you smile, they're amazing.
Your voice, cute, feminine, airy.
I really did love it when you'd sing.
The hair? Good god. That Moe Hawk.
Worst haircut choice you ever made.
And the Beiber haircut? Speechless.
Your independence I could not dissuade.
Yet you were still her, the one I wanted.
The looks always grew on me in the end.
You made me honestly happy, Love.
I thought you'd always be my best friend.
The Piercings? Attractive. The tattoos more so.
Everything I wanted I saw in you.
Your curves? Your body? Your shameless flirting?
Incited a lust in me no other woman could do.
You strive so hard to be individual,
Beautiful, Strong, Smart, Charming,
Even now, that you've left, your smile,
So pretty and pure, still completely disarming,
No matter what I've said in Jealousy and Anger,
You're an amazing woman. I just can't lie.
We may never even talk again after this,
We may not ever be able to see eye to eye.
But I think you were my "one",
Cause I am affected by no other,
I'll never forget you, Jen,
The Music loving nerdy Mother,
But now I'll walk away, while wishing you the best.
Hoping you find the happiness you want so badly.
It seems our chapter has ended, in such a poor state.
If you change your mind, I'll be here. Open arms. Welcoming gladly.
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 3:34 AM UTC
When I stooped to pick up the scattered
Pieces of the shattered glass
You so angrily threw in the vicinity
Of my head when I was thirteen years old
All I could think about was
How much I loved you and couldn't leave.
When I bent over to still the throbbing
Pain behind my ribs
You so angrily punched vigorously
As I collapsed at the foot of the stairs,
All I could think about was
How much I loved you and couldn't leave.
When I silently accepted the meted out
Punishment of lash after leather lash
For a crime I might've committed
But certainly didn't fit the excess discipline,
All I could think about was
How much I loved you and couldn't leave.
When I watched over your sleeping form
As you dreamt of a life far away
From the accumulated griefs and offenses
Which eventually incited you to go,
All I could think about was
How much I loved you and couldn't leave.
How much I loved you and couldn't leave.
Loved was always past tense.
Leave was always on my mind.
Eventually, neither of us did the loving,
But you did the leaving.
Yet I find myself stuck in this same
Train of Thought:
How much I loved you and couldn't leave.
Jul 25, 2014
Jul 25, 2014 at 5:30 PM UTC
I am a dreamer, a silent dreamer
Wishing that might be mine,
Exaltation, my ultimate passion
A sweet revenge in style.
Joshed, provoked, condemned, riled
A series of mad disaster,
Incited anger had driven me wild
An atrocious quill's my defender.
Keep the wicked flame enkindled for me
Never let it suddenly die,
'Cause by the time you eye on it directly
You'll be the one to poorly say bye!
I'm born to delude through my own hostile ways
But not to my own defeat,
Here's comes the night to stealthily replace
Would you like to let go and retreat?
I know you can't bear my insolence
'Cause you don't understand my fears,
And if for you it makes no sense
Well, sorry but you bring me no tears.
I've learned all these from my miserable past
But these ain't worth my commemoration,
For all those things will not ever last
So just look out for my sly deception.
Feb 10, 2013
Feb 10, 2013 at 3:29 AM UTC
Together amid greenery and blossoms
they stand shoulder to shoulder, narrow eyed
and fixated upon bursts of golden daylily.
More than spring mingles in the mist
more than heat flows between them
mystery envelops them
There was the first time she held a clock
a miniature spring operated swiss piece
forbidden, still she opened the back
Movement, synchronized with sound, churned
tick, tick, tock, tock, steady clicks
worked the hands notch after notch
Would she let what was between them
work without her fingers, incited by catlike curiosity,
prying open the back of him
Stare at his insides, his tick, tick, tock, tock
until she sees him as a machine
turning until the spring unwinds?
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 9:56 AM UTC
*when together,
agreed this rule,
no devices
alighted,
no phones
incited
this is the rule of
us
lest we let the devices rule
us*
thus interfering with our own
ignition
interfering with our own
devices
Jul 25, 2014
Jul 25, 2014 at 4:52 PM UTC
— for Victoria
Seasons shuttle the tall stoic figure,
Graceful and solemn as wafted mist,
When seen, as if he was always there,
Overarching into meek, gloamy skies
Of mornings and dusk, mid day, lost,
Seems not right for wading out kills
That crane from above into the mud
And murk of the penny eyed waters
Only the ferryman will tender, for time
Slips, sleeping with the fishes, spears
Puddle and rim in the wakes, sparks
Of waters break like a sputtering fire,
His dart eyes are as yellow as golden
Sun dancing in funeral pyre. So green
Creatures, must they always be gotten,
Gone, have it coming from the sheering,
Mercies of the Great Blue Heron who is all
Seeing, scything, down to dazed judgement,
Incited, pecking to order at the squirming fold.
Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 12:38 PM UTC
Those who cross, this nighttime terror, will be sure to know his name,
From ocean blue, to Timbuktu, the ghost of the man is to blame.
He rides upon, a howling steed, he sets women's hearts aflame,
He will dismount, only to pay no heed, to the life, the gods call, 'game'.
Beware, oh Bandit, do not pierce, the eyes of the open believer,
For what you have seen, on the journey of one, has made thy soul, cleaver.
Hated still, the tainted will, of the man who rides, in the palm of despair,
Points his fingers to the sky, in faith, that the heel of truth will be there.
The bandit will leave less on hands and feet, when he comes through,
Yet, he will leave more than tears, when with your ****** he must make do.
So true is his arrow, nailing to the tree, the reigns which he has overcome,
Out of sight, he is a patriot to the desires of his heart, serving no one, but one.
Where will you go next, bandit, what treasures will you next seize?
What of the riches in your heart, crucified by forgotten responsibilities?
He searches, this bandit, for the one elusive key to his caged soul,
As if it were on race ahead of himself, always out of reach or toll.
Aghast! He halts in treasure cove, at odds with the sight before him.
What layeth on the ground, is a sight that attempts no boredom.
Here! Is a sight for eager eyes, here! Is the quencher for desire.
That which is in front of him, will extinguish his mind's wild fire.
One foot, in front of the other. As if he had no longer the ability to walk.
Made the bandit, his way over. To the treasure that made him gawk.
It lay in fragile casing. It had a lustrous stare.
Even though it was alluring, it should have made the bandit beware.
But, oh! He was too hasty. For the jewel, evidently tasty,
Incited him to grasp it firmly, like a gluttonous man upon pastry.
What was it, in the cave? The treasure that could powerfully ensnare?
Oh child, I cannot tell you, for fear, that you will go there.
Jul 27, 2016
Jul 27, 2016 at 1:12 PM UTC
standing high atop
the place where he cashed his checks
armed with 5 gallons
Arrowhead's extinguisher
a hero in a bottle
he foolishly fought
the flames of civil unrest
then the roof caved in
good intentions killed in vain
swallowed by the fire pit
days dressed in mourning
haunting the cemetery
tending her grave's grass
grieving guilty tears of loss
for the young daughter she had
she was too busy
caught up in "bargain's" frenzy
lost sight of her girl
her 12 year old was trampled
beneath the lust of looters
gasoline cans brought
to burn the local market
were beat back badly
chased away by baseball bats
a homeboy fire brigade
"This is our market!
The only one in the hood.
It ain't goin' down.
We saw the news on tv.
That **** ain't happenin' here."
tales of rioting
the worst and best in people
national headlines
the leviathan rises
through the smoke, fire, and ash
anger incited
latent hooliganism
an unjust verdict
for police brutality
can't we all just get along?
Jan 9, 2010
Jan 9, 2010 at 10:49 AM UTC
once again
this time in Georgia
communities of color
saved democracy
from spiraling into
violent authoritarianism
in spite of armed white mobs
incited by the president's men
breaking into the nation's capitol
looting and destroying
interrupting certification hearings
forcing members of congress
to seek sheltered places
killing a policeman
causing five more deaths
the scenes
shocked the world
and most U. S. citizens
america has become small again
no more a beacon of democracy
just another banana republic
in a real democracy
citizens cast their votes
and then respect
certified election results
Jan 9, 2021
Jan 9, 2021 at 5:25 PM UTC
A new introspection incited within this body of mine,
When he left early that one morning;
As I lay naked in the bed,
Wrapped within the white sheets
A gut-wrenching feeling irritated me.
Whenever I saw the bed sheet so tightly enveloping the bed,
It seemed as if the bed and the sheet were soul mates,
For they never separated from each other
This perennial intimacy was something I couldn't get,
Because what I did,
And what time made me do,
Was sit in the lap of a stranger every night,
And show him fallacious pleasure.
Every day, new people, new demands and new currencies
But that one morning was different,
As I got out of the bed,
I looked at the mirror,
The reflection of my **** body fascinated me,
Unlike most days, when I used to callously judge my body,
For the natural flaws that hid my smooth pale white skin,
That morning was different.
I kept staring my body for hours and hours,
It made me daydreamy,
It made me feel as if contentment finally knocked my doors,
I felt beautiful,
I felt strong,
And, and I felt perfect.
That one day,
I could see Aphrodite smiling,
Pandora breathing,
And Athena pondering,
It was my body
A harlot’s body,
There was no regret,
Just delight. Just delight.
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 12:11 PM UTC
— for Victoria
Seasons shuttle the tall stoic figure,
Graceful and solemn as wafted mist,
When seen, as if he was always there,
Overarching into meek, gloamy skies
Of mornings and dusk, mid day, lost,
Seems not right for wading out kills
That crane from above into the mud
And murk of the penny eyed waters
Only the ferryman will tender, for time
Slips, sleeping with the fishes, spears
Puddle and rim in the wakes, sparks
Of waters break like a sputtering fire,
His dart eyes are as yellow as golden
Sun dancing in funeral pyre. So green
Creatures, must they always be gotten,
Gone, have it coming from the sheering,
Mercies of the Great Blue Heron who is all
Seeing, scything, down to dazed judgement,
Incited, pecking to order at the squirming fold.
Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 5:31 PM UTC
I pray to Eros for release
leave the game of mockery
he asks too much in this time
my job is done yet still I strive
quitting is the only way
to return to sanity
divorce myself from the race
rubbing ugly not embraced
once there was a driving need
incite production of more kin
God or Darwin, it matters not
both are blamed for the thirst
this urge incited in the sea
trackless by my current means
with the drink made with salt
I am parched no matter what
these respites I cannot reach
a gulf of decades by design
the more fertile take my place
if only urges could be convinced
a holy man with no desires
the twisted monk in the end
this would be quite enough
if Eros left my lusting heart.
© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180819.
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 1:18 PM UTC
But s/he ,
s/he who had a dream
was in your dream
recently
to tell you
a secret
given to it
by an ascetic
in its dream
The warrior
s/he said
is who you really are
that’s why
you should be
here and now
an avatar
of countless postures of you
manifest
an energy
which can convert
renew
and
is to be delivered to
the identical selves
through
invisible aural tunnels
These resonate ideally
remain non-audible
except for the two
communicating ends.
s/he or it
in your dream
-might have been a messenger
a messenger to deliver you the message-
was linked
in a sense that you might not want
but should honor
for the upcoming task
set on the warrior’s path
and you two
have one great number
a written secret
s/he or it has acquired
through an ascetic
in its dream
and you
from it
in your dream
in a form
that you won’t forget
but which
nobody will ever notice or
find back
written
on a side of a white torn bit
sheltered
in the house of the spirit
the path of truth should be received
As a Choice Only
in Full Consciousness
with Full Knowing Only
because
when once received
truth as love
is one way exit
you must know-make it your gift
longing incites the illusive
when illusive is incited
a rose fragrance
rises
to stop the four.petalled turn
the Visionary.Imaginary whips shadows
to block the true sight
you lose then your moon cycles
step on a thorny dark edge
to be tested
to find the way to truth
to find means to create the path
intuition is your only : trust the breadcrumbs
and the upright flying bird
has the breath of genuine
to set the next vibratory path
at both ends
of a stretched line
twin natures should awaken
in rhyme
and be made one
let then the following program run:
opposite charges to return a kiss
a kiss to collapse the helix
right there
as far as the integers of the soul’s string
the exit to truth lies at a clearing
Walk the cave made of the living
illuminated by the full moon’s shine
Let your cycle return before dawn
so ends an end by you two as Two becomes One
It’s just a dot or a line or a number which ends and starts.
There is no difference really at a place without Time.
or at an eternal frequency which is timeless.
We cannot tell you more.
That’s all our nature allows us to know.
Dec 31, 2014
Dec 31, 2014 at 9:36 AM UTC
If ever I must sing as poets have
Then the world would be haunted
They'd find I was mad
I'd sing to the stars
I'd sing to the moon
No place on this earth
Could hide from my tunes
See my words sound on paper so wicked
and loud
Yet sing as I do
No poets allowed
The writing goes dancing all over the sheet
My voice in an octave
Not pleasant indeed
My shrill is the dreading of living in range
One shout of my music
Sends war from the planes
I've tried many lessons to
Be just like them
The greats like Lord Bryon
Keats and Miss Anne
Well I read the "Farewell"
Unusual for me as reading old lines
Means nothing but trees
She leaped of the page and incited
My views
I know where's she lays now
I bow to her muse
Three years I've been singing as poets would have
Yet all I find out there are
Wishes and sad
I want to send volumes for all of the land
I want to find gold
The never the grand
I want to sing out yet my voice
Goes unheard
I want to rejoice
My willing my verse
One day that I'm famous the poets will say
Please sing for us badly
As dead as I be
And sing like an angel ..
My pure
poetry
Nov 9, 2013
Nov 9, 2013 at 12:38 AM UTC