"insistence" poems
Your laugh was a cloud
Loud
Enveloping
Mist which covered me without the
slightest resistance
insistence
I needed assistance to breathe
Your laugh shows I'm useful
shows there's a need
For us
as I feed on the delicious awkwardness we
shared
Caught unawares by being liked
It's a shame your laugh
was the cloud which hid
a trucks headlights
crash
shared
spent
Your laugh a narcotic cloud I refuse to repent
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 4:13 PM UTC
Slipping and sliding
Back into the past
Foolishly buying
All the foolishness they've said
Stacking me against you
Pitting you against me
Does it hurt to stretch the truth
If the lie is so easy
Keeping us under lock and key
Mental Slavery
Under their thumbs
We're being kept
Simple pawns
In their game of chess
We take them at their word
This herd of talking heads
As we rely on every line
That we're being fed
Keeping us under lock and key
Mental Slavery
With the slightest of resistance
We feel we should fight back
But at our own insistence
It's ambition that we lack
So we follow along the path
Eyes closed to reality
Turning us against each other
Makes it hard to see
Keeping us under lock and key
Mental Slavery
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 8:24 AM UTC
Both latter and former, contrary and congruent
Neither gas nor solid, the river moves fluid.
No end and no beginning, just water moving… swimming…
A formless former that is a powerful latter
Contradiction through symmetry and space within matter
Passively energetic as potential becomes kinetic
Transparently reflective and silently phonetic
Thermally dynamic and fluidly frantic
The waters maintain a static chaos through mathematical mechanics.
Mechanically architected and architecturally mechanic
Water seems the perfect medium for analysis of a dynamic.
Dynamic existence and persistent resistance
Statically chaotic seems the architect’s insistence.
Equilibriomatic, with addition subtractive
Empirical measures fail to analyze the passive.
What simply is, simply is… Invincible to mimicry or microcosmic reenactment.
Experimental methods seek to unify the synonymous
Attempting to prove the objective with a subjective hypothesis.
Learn from the water, let its metaphor be imminent….
For the divine externality lies not without, but within it.
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 3:53 PM UTC
I
In the cold silence of the area
Rose a lonesome cafeteria,
Outside of it hooded forms -
Scaly horns -
Perched on white, plastic chairs
Like fifteen owls on a wire.
II
A grey-green bird in the distance
Sang a three-note song with insistence.
He sang on not to the white folks
But to the cold he tried to coax.
He sang to a spot desolate -
Sure thing, he sang to punctuate it.
©LazharBouazzi, July, 2017
Jul 13, 2017
Jul 13, 2017 at 2:00 PM UTC
.
Feint is the Muse,
that looks upon me,
challenging my existence
with deep baleful interest.
Its struggles hard
to contain its indifference
at the mere mortality
that I conduct.
And conduct I do.
As melody takes
centre stage
in a flight of fancy,
constrained by rhythm
temperate, steady,
and insistent.
The cadenced beat
of skins keeping time
to a fanfare of sound.
But my voice is silent,
conspicuous by its absence,
in mute violation
of speechless freedom.
The words won't come,
no song message birthed
for altruism
nor benefit of composition.
The flight of fancy stalls
and gently rocks in a cradle
of anticipation.
Rhythm drops to a meagre
pelvic twitch,
insistence foregone and forgotten
in a cynical parody
of the vocal deficiency.
Velvet drapes lick
the wooden floor stage,
and the performance
has just begun.
© Pagan Paul (14/11/18)
Nov 14, 2018
Nov 14, 2018 at 6:56 PM UTC
this swifter's grift -
lifting loosely
fitted accoutrement
lourden fruit
carelessly held
silkened, gimlet lit
shamelessly rivened
to a paler shade
of need.
solitude's
enchanting seed
may confer
a grander banquet’s call
but, this tug of
grandiloquent oblige
and politesse . . .
master and slave consort
black and scarlet
swift of tongue and fingertip
unbound so neatly
and leather blind
tell me muse of the anger flesh on fire
is there really dignity in defeat
that eludes the victor
tell me muse of the truth in nature
ill-graced tail-lamp broken
is destiny all ways ordained in contradiction
tell me muse do hearts all times submit
to the beacon call
shyness long forgotten
narrative so harshly written
as ne'er before
with an insistence
ageless yearnings bellow
as but glazened shadow
if reason sleeps
there will be no learning
no refuge
only to each
for their crimes
a four-chambered riddle
All Rights Reserved
James R. Morse, NYC 2013.
Sep 12, 2013
Sep 12, 2013 at 7:05 PM UTC
Dark of night surrounds me, pillow below my head.
How long the many hours since I tumbled onto my bed?
Mind so filled with thought that clearly has me stressed.
Racing, scattered thought that just wont let me rest.
Blanket that feels loose and shifts to feel oh so tight,
and so it sets the pattern for this never ending night.
I know that I must sleep before the rise again of the sun,
in a world that cant relent from insistence things must be done.
My body urgent in its craving to be silent and be still,
but my mind just wont give in possessing the stronger will.
A discomfort on my left side, so I roll again to my right.
Countless repetition through the hours of a god forsaken night.
Nothing that I do brings a sense my mind is nearing calm,
I must try to get some sleep before clock sounds its alarm.
So the hours go, too many hours surely for just one night,
but too late now to rest as window reveals dawns early light.
Dec 8, 2021
Dec 8, 2021 at 6:17 PM UTC
You were always skinny.
always turning away
always hiding your face
always twisting your frame
You were always more than skinny,
not quite thin,
not frail
not flimsy
but more than just skinny.
Turning to the side,
I saw you;
as the light caught my eye,
I lost you
in between the rays of sun
you hid,
as invisible as a smile
when one’s back is turned.
You disappeared,
you folded in on yourself,
you were more than skinny;
you were a magic act.
Now we see you-
now we don’t-
and that’s the story I’m sticking to.
And years passed,
and time ran by,
and seasons turned
and so you grew,
bulky
and strong
and proud in the torso,
capable in the arms,
different to the eyes
of those who paid no attention.
But to me you never changed.
Shoulders, still bowed,
like broken wings folding inwards;
Neck, still twisting,
escaping,
Face still shadowed,
still turned down to the ground
always turning away
always hiding your face
always twisting your frame
Never straight.
You were always skinny,
so easily bent,
so easily silenced,
so easily spent;
so strong yet so tired,
wired for work
but never for play.
Any day now
I expect you to turn
and disappear
between the cracks of the sunlight,
like a sheet of paper evades
real existence,
you will evade my persistence,
my insistence
that you could be more.
More than just skinny,
more than frail,
more than flimsy,
more than strong,
more than broken,
more than fixed;
more than lying.
You were always skinny,
always two steps behind;
but you were more than just skinny
in my mind.
Oct 11, 2012
Oct 11, 2012 at 12:42 AM UTC
*Our earth has turned
Our lives are torn
We are able to see light no more
If only for a second we shine bright
We are reminded of our destiny
That of which is death
We strive to survive
We strive to stay alive
Being surrounded with demons of flesh and bone
Demons who are torn
Tattered
Look defeated but are actually reborn
Reborn through blistering scorn they rise
Their numbers are growing
We do nothing for god is showing
Showing his hatred for our kind
Showing his secret and sacred mind
We scream
We cry
For he gives no sympathy
We scream
We die
For he gives no sympathy
They feast off our loved one's limb by limb
We hear their screams as he dies
As she dies
No goodbyes
Just demise
Torn eyes
Black skies
Reaching at us from above tearing our hope from our chest
Our dreams as we rest
Our lives as we suppress
Suppress who we once were
For that is no more
Only for so long can we hide our screams
We will be found
We will be desecrated
Piece by piece
Our mothers torn and brothers death through scorn
Our wives see blood and flesh before being reborn
Now one of them they fight it but only postpone
Postpone the inevitable
The inevitability of turning
Turning from who you once were to a demon
Your birthdays
Weddings
Memories become waist
As you see through the devils eyes you hunt to feast
Inoperational your emotions become
Through the eyes of evil you become ****
No way out
Our end has begun
Our god has given up
On our petty existence we call success
Given up on the killing
The thievery
The ****
The pedophiles
This is why we die
This is why black takes our sky
Why evil is now his ally
Why we are ripped apart before we depart into hell
We become the hatred we once rebelled
The hatred we once repelled
Your children ask you why
Ask you why we have to die
You look into their eyes knowing they will once too be deleted
Deleted from existence
The tattered flesh and blood is insistence
Insistence of his wrath
While we beg to his knees
He returns to his kin with this disease
This plague
This is why we hide
The conquering he takes with pride
Vague emotions to hell we ride*
***This rapture has become our end
This rapture has become our end***
-Joseph B Schneider
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 4:05 AM UTC
All sorrow is perpendicular occurring
at right angles of tragedy encircling
the grief-stricken with straight edges
only once intersecting across infinite planes—
Don't dare draw the lines between points
or shade the region with limits or curves
because the trajectories of bullets are plotted
on branes intolerant of slightest triangulation
Woe unto the seekers of sine waves
sobbing thinking of filling every trough
believing surely by now we've offered enough
to sate these bloodthirsty Euclidean demons
Cresting won't ever arrive in this course
filled to the brim with asymptotes, cold corollaries
but never spilling over under our sacred
pledge of allegiance to the 2nd Parallel Postulate
No intersections can be admitted with thoughts
& prayers extending outward barely co-planar
serious public policy proposals axiomatic
insistence on the Nirvana Theorem or nothing
A set of all points remains, mutually exclusive
motionless and always incongruent clueless
about their own particular geometries
awaiting radical Pythagorean salvation
Some paradigm we’ve built here though!
Two hundred years of living polygonal hand
to elliptical mouth without tangential reflection
on the unproven flatness of humanspace.
Aug 4, 2016
Aug 4, 2016 at 4:41 AM UTC
Life it's just a boardgame
But it comes without instruction
There's happiness joy
Devastation corruption
Good days sad days
Cruel ways crime that pays
Gotta learn the rules fast
Play the game
Make it last
If you wana be a winner
Got more chance as a sinner
The games hard can't be slow
You'll Learn more as you go
There's pleasure treasure
Love we can't measure
Politics religion
Prostitutes and virgins
Special occasions
No order in the nations
Good intentions
Wrong interpretations
Wrangles scandals
******** n vandals
Temptation resistance
Council tax insistence
Birthdays holidays
Cruel ways crime that pays
Gotta learn the rules fast
Play the game make it last !
Jul 30, 2013
Jul 30, 2013 at 7:33 PM UTC
The tour guide asks
If I'd like to photograph
The bullet hole
In his forehead.
He was one of six survivors and
Gives white people tours five days a week
Of the forty thousand dead,
Pointing out his baby brother's bones,
His mother's skirt,
His lover's toes.
This survivor knows.
With a bullet to the head
He escaped death,
But not the days he lived
Piled amongst the dead.
Standing still and silent,
I respond only in smiling
To his insistence I take pictures
Of tragedy's remaining pieces and
Strangers' screaming skeletons.
Take more, he tells me, always.
A smile, one arm folded formally behind his back,
The other pointing from bone to bone.
I hold my camera to my eyes,
Pretend to press a button every few seconds
While following behind.
I can not take anything from a place already *****
Except for this man and the bullet he carries,
Nothing is left.
Here, I can not take photographs.
Jun 11, 2010
Jun 11, 2010 at 10:11 PM UTC
I am the pretender
You must precensor
When I'm an inventor
Who can't get centered
I'm the apologist
You're the psychologist
We have a suitable deal
You provide an even keel
And cook delicious meals
And let my fingers feel
But you do so much more
Going deeper than the shore
You make a difference
By insistence
I see your footprints
In the distance
They lead me to progress
My mind cannot process
Those things I can't fathom
You effortlessly grab them
You were my bastion of behavior
I thought you were my savior
You're more like Charles Xavier
Controlling my mind
To keep me blind
By taking my vision
When you make your incision
And put me in prison
You're Sigmund Freud
On steroids
You fill my void
Then get annoyed
You cured me of my madness
Yet instilled sadness
When I got addicted to your healing
But then heard your tires peeling
After all your analysis
You deemed me talentless
You used to be my example of what to be
Now you're my example of what to flee
You made me hate the number three
While running my car into a tree
Which made me scream ouch
My ejection from your couch
So I hide in my palace
And drink from a chalice
Filled with mindless malice
While holding my phallus
But I learned my lesson
One last confession
Someone that can calm my brain
Can also leave a permanent stain
Jan 29, 2018
Jan 29, 2018 at 2:25 PM UTC
You are going to find yourself
Hating everyone.
And it should come as no surprise
That one day you'll pick up smoking
Because that fat ***** you fell for
Thought you looked **** doing it.
Men will crave your lips
Not for kisses but for ********
And you will have to battle them
On every insistence.
You will sleep with a teddy bear,
Human-sized
Well into adulthood
Because there will be nights
That you are so disconnected from the world
That you feel as though you are floating.
You will be sneered at
By mental hospital nurses
At the age of sixteen
As you visit your boyfriend
For your first date
In Good Samaritan hospital.
They will see your youth
And rage inside.
You will waste yourself.
You will die and redeem
Within yourself.
You will fall in love
With a man much older than you
And suddenly
Thirty won't seem
So old at all.
Thirty will seem
Like a world your old soul
Could get lost in.
And you will.
And it will be wonderful.
You will become paranoid.
Walking to church at midnight
With the love of your life,
You will constantly
Be looking over your shoulder.
You will forever
Be looking over your shoulder.
This will become
A necessary hobby.
You will tear down your Beatles posters
And replace them with Wes Anderson ones
Shamelessly.
You will come to a point
Where you hate yourself
In a most incomprehensible way
But you will write a poem
And you will be paid for it
And you will pay your cell phone bill with the money
And you will be successful.
You will have your escape plan
But you will never use it.
You will never need to.
His charm and his wit
And the way his eyes sparkle when he sees you
Will keep you rooted
Even when you are ready
To book it.
You'll be subpoenaed
And you will hate it
And ***** over it
And you will have to stand trial
But life is a trial
And you will win.
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 2:13 AM UTC
S.O.S.
we're in distress
require immediate assistance.
Come quick as you can
tell your captain, Old Man
and pardon my insistence.
We're sinking fast
our ship won't last
despite our best resistance.
But as long as she floats
get ready your boats
to salvage our existence.
C.Q.D.
please talk to me
as it is, we aren't left much persistence.
Nov 3, 2018
Nov 3, 2018 at 2:03 PM UTC
This Morning
I woke this morning to a beautiful dawn, the dew wet grass shining in the already bright sun
The Lady has blessed me once more
My tumblers run and dart, spin and frolic my private acrobats
Soft sweet calls and ankle swarms and my large cattle dog gently but with insistence herding me into the kitchen and my duties,
My Eastern altar is glowing with the suns rising
and wrapped 'round with the grasses and flowers of summer
Incense rises and the candle flickers as I ask for Her protection for these... my wandering one's today
The kettle's boiled and the day's tea is made and blessed and seven dishes filled and emptied.
The sun fully risen now and the house stirs family sounds as heavy steps wander above and radio plays softly
Round me now still piles of soft satin slick fur breathing soft and deep
noses all counted and accounted for
bellies rubbed and ears all tickled
7 foreheads softly touched and charmed
and all are safe and sound this day in our Lady's care.
I wander the garden now caressing those blooms that require some extra essence,
All that's needed is water and sun and love
through each touch comes life and will and care and thus the wheel turns and the garden thrives
Lilac, Lily and Rose and Ivy abounds and the garden thrives
I walk now from the front to the back door carefully sweeping
my chants softly sung
and the smudge bundle of sage and roses lit and smoking
salt scattered and swept and once more my small realm is safe
My Lady guard this house and all who dwell and those who would stay
I trust my most valued Companions are in your keeping
My Family My life are in your keeping.
I celebrate my life withing your Circle and my Joy within your keeping
All of this and things unspoken Joy and Light and Love
My Lady, Bless me.
Solita -2007
Apr 16, 2010
Apr 16, 2010 at 8:09 PM UTC
A lost coyote, she howls
And scowls ripping branches
A witches tantrum
Making tall pines
Stir in their pots
As powerful as naught
Nautical miles
A sail in the air
A mystical mare
The mountains stand peaceful in the distance
A ridge of resistance
Against her insistence blows
But the energy in me grows
I need this though
I commune with thee
I appreciate the need
To scream and sing
To let your voices ring
Through the mountain air
To shout to others beware
The wind witches that swishes
For river coffee are here
Jan 19, 2021
Jan 19, 2021 at 1:00 PM UTC
*He felt her
inner thunder,
waves of scarlet
reverberating
in his *****
deep in the marrow
a pleasant tingling.
"Your sun spoke to me,
his insistence, very pleasant
reached me as waves"
later she coyly
whispered in his ears.
Let go all pretensions,
honestly compare notes
of hearts, the magic happens.
They created their
big bang on a sprawling bed,
all are echoes, he, she and the rest.
Even the universe that pulsates
within and spreads outwards
as waves.*
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 6:46 AM UTC
you’re not going are you
today to the edge of your seat
to the corners of insanity?
to the corners at the cinema
nearest the exit
to run off when the demons come
to sleep in the day
below your bed
so the rabbits cannot find you;
and then go for a walk
in the cold of the night
mumbling like Lady Macbeth
maybe now running a fast-food restaurant
and asking each tree in your garden :
*Would you like some
manure with that?*
you’re not going to Extremity Town
today, are you?
to tell the Mayor
he’s taken extreme measures
opening an animal sanctuary;
would he please
open an abattoir instead
where the animals skin humans?
Oh you’re not going
are you
to the bus-stop with a stopwatch
to time how long it takes for the passengers
to **** the driver?
Oh you’re not going are you
in the day or this evening or anytime tonight? -
to see if Jimmy the car mechanic
has diversified on your insistence
and if he now sells
in his garage
lingerie and toothpaste for that special night
and salads and beer and peanuts and spices
for first dates only
O you are going to have a good quiet sleep aren’t you
like owls in hollows
and you won’t offer any surprises to the world?
not today?
Aug 15, 2011
Aug 15, 2011 at 7:38 AM UTC
I saw what the world wanted me to be
I saw the projections and figures everywhere
I saw the expectations, the social constructs
the suggestions, the insistence
and then
i stopped looking
I took away the mirror and let it fall to the floor
a million pieces
I invited my seven years of bad luck
so I could stop looking.
I looked within myself instead.
I stood on the edge of the mountain, where society wanted to push me over the edge
I stood on the edge of the ocean, where it wanted the waves to drown me
I clung to the earth, where it's winds and currents would rather have me swept away.
I stood there and I screamed.
I bellowed into the deepest valley, and across the sea
I wanted every ear to feel the sound
I howled until my lungs felt free
" E N O U G H "
rejecting the false image pushed upon me
I looked within myself and found the universe when the earth wanted to swallow me whole.
My reflection belongs to me,
this world cannot contain me
but it tried to own me
Self liberated
from imposed shackles.
Aug 4, 2019
Aug 4, 2019 at 8:45 PM UTC
Pillow-fluff pads of sweet-rolling grayed,
Teddy Bears fly and diamonds parade,
Money for the wicked all pompous and pump...
And Buffet's and Gates and Romney's and Trump,
Soon there was nothing, left for a life,
Of morals, hard-work, honor; families in strife.
Great Purple Harlot on fire from distance,
And laughter and singing at Devil's insistence.
When it was done, the Elite made a pact,
* “All Hail to Lucifer! Upon his will shall we act!” *
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 11:49 PM UTC
Caught myself amidst the wilderness
Where I was neither born nor raised
It always appeared so, so strange a place
No place for a child
My heart resided in the certain and familiar
Now I wonder where it longs to take me
Desire's inbound with unflinching insistence
But perceived reasons stake me to the ground
Curious odors, pulsating flashes, prickling noises, voracious appetites
The atmosphere overwhelms me senseless
Am I here to enjoy or to observe?
My chains answer with invisible weight
Now comes the rainbow-colored mist
Is this a magician's home--a flourishing disguise?
Sparks and shadows scatter into the expanse
All I see is a vista like the blessing skybox
Desire will you take me?
Lead the boy out of his crib built by the safe
Who are one and the same
Sitting, allowing the box for forge us
A light of the mist careen's my way
Its pleasant sting spreads, boundaries finally disintegrate
Remains litter the ground, I'm finally free
I'm finally lost
Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 12:32 PM UTC
Love's maze ...
lover in a maze ...
my maze ...
you are ..
there were ...
still running ...
through lot of ways ...
a lot of roads ...
running with no despair ...
with a main hope only ...
with insistence in my heart ...
will keep ...
running after you ...
even if ...
i lost all energy ...
i will creep ...
all maze's roads ...
until i find you ...
with no hopeless ...
will keep on your love ...
yes i will ...
no matter how long i wait ...
no matter how long run ...
into you maze ...
will keep running ...
will wait and wait ...
until you feel me ...
until you know well...
how much i love you ...
yes my sweetheart ...
will be there ...
will never get out ...
from into you maze ...
will keep ...
running ...
and running ...
with no stop ...
till i get lost ...
to stay forever ...
into your heart's maze ...
to renew a new love ...
with every day ...
and to keep writing ...
my love on you ...
so please sweetheart ...
open for me ...
your maze ...
hazem al ...
Oct 21, 2019
Oct 21, 2019 at 3:17 AM UTC
A diagnosis of masturbatory insanity
is the inevitable conclusion
that I, as a fellow onanist,
debaucher of sheep,
and baby goat buggerer
have bestowed upon your befuddled mind.
Your insistence in frequenting
the Heinous Sin of Self-Pollution
and self evacuation of one's seed
with mutual onanistic pursuits of sodamistic bed fellows
and other anti Christian pursuits,
have finally brought a visitation of madness
to the perverted soggy mess
masquerading as your brain;
If one may make an
advantageous suggestion
to your befuddled self,
it would be to seek out a restorative nervous elixir
or wrist strengthening electuary,
the former of which would aid in the
"compos mentis" of your good self;
and the latter is extremely efficacious in the
soothing of onanist wrist
and vinegar stroke eye.
but alas; neither is of use against the
" ejaculatio praecox " of foetid poetry..
your Servant, Obadiah Grey.
Secretary for spermatorrhea conservation
Jan 27, 2012
Jan 27, 2012 at 12:28 PM UTC