"insubordination" poems
stranded in
the beauty of her throat shunted
her preference
a short drop
in a bulwark twisting knot
a hanged ghastly pendent
her feet arching desperately in search of a floor
they will never find
obedient!
yet
her face
a hideous insubordination
she dissolves like tropical butter
a screaming silence
a falling prayer
shuddering
with downward sloping limbs
she
blue
hemorrhaging
eyes wobbled
bulging to break into paradise
tumbling
like a dizzied cyclops
as numb lipped jutting howls
turn cement
always willing to help
he scums
for her
in pulsing heaves
of beatific gush
Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 10:46 AM UTC
Rivalries are an excuse for animosity to be abused.
A tradition to explain the irrational and depraved.
A justification for future insubordination
Of logical arguments by the sane.
Beasts competed with one another through physical altercations,
But we have evolved to call everyone our brother.
So why is it that we must see fighting between one another?
Why is it that we may not all show that we're lovers?
Is there something wrong with the tolerance of each other?
Whatever rationalization is created for the promotion of hatred,
Should be abolished and ashamed,
That it may show its head and become a vein for placing blame,
Is unsettling all the same.
We are all too similar, and that should not promote altercations of an individual,
Rather it should be used as a connection to the familiar.
It should be used in stride with the builder
Of peace, and a reason for all this nonsense to cease.
We have developed into adults,
and it is time to show this with amiable results.
By citing a rivalry as traditional is exactly the reason
It is sinful.
One day we may see the end of this spitefully built fence,
By breaking down the wall separating far too many of us all.
I hope it is my lifetime here, for failing to unite us,
is my deepest of fears.
Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 5:12 AM UTC
Piacular restitution suffering joyously
The fallen order of Lilith;
Sunsets secrets scribed defying
Laws pneumatic
A shamanistic seance peacefully
Rousing the foundation of our belief,
Dawns dreaming the fantasy of a seer-
Palpitating asystolic within my chest
The severed hand of God; twilights truth
A stone tablet descrying
My impetuous insubordination
Breathing light upon a black lily
My souls flayed flesh tear stained white
Descending into Hades
Unfathomable regions of despair
As I watch them kneel beside my bed
As if I am prey for those who pray for me
Walking through Persephones garden.
ELEETE J MUIR.
Jan 13, 2012
Jan 13, 2012 at 9:50 AM UTC
They say it's a free world and I have the freedom to speak my mind.
I see people on television recanting their lines, reporter's at the door and offenders peeping through the blinds.
If speech is free then why do I have to pay?
When someone takes offense to the words I say.
Now this doesn't sound like freedom to me....more like selective or should I say controlled
shutting my voice down like a person on hold....
When I say what I feel, it becomes a problem.
Funny thing is......resigning or being fired appears to solve them.
Why is it insubordination when i'm using my right that is freely given.....not by man, but the One who has risen.
Although, they are free to say whatever they please.....
meanwhile...am I really supposed to smile and say "cheese?" ......when I feel like spewing a few obscenities.
I've been given a write up and I have a meeting with H.R.....
They are only referred to by letters because no one knows who they are.
My Facebook has offended many and my Twitter too.....let's not mention Tumblr ....that's a bit much to chew...
Where the Hell is the freedom of speech I'm entitled to?
No freedom online, offline, not even while I'm standing in line.
Some female telling me off because I said something about her behind.
She was fine, but had on see through .....I'm checking her out...because you know how guys do.
Now my freedom of speech is put on delay, because I can't express what my mind really wants to say:
Lovely lady your looking good with more cake than a baker, skin brown like bronze....precious for sure....I don't mind your company...I'm not expecting anything more. You display a touch of cool....thumbs up like the Fonz.....
I want to take you home and shine you up like chrome. I'm on my Macaulay Caulkin....I have you home alone.
The teller says "Hello sir and is that all?" snapped out of my fantasy and sadly disgusted.
When they say freedom of speech those words can't be trusted.
I've learned that nothing is free when it comes to man....although freedom can be purchased, so allow the money to secretly fall into my hands.
"Freedom of speech.....It's not really free at all."
Oct 26, 2012
Oct 26, 2012 at 2:21 PM UTC
tossing around. over and over.
I grab my clock
4:06 am
what now
I can't stop thinking
my mind is filled with confusion
confusion about love
about life, about me
who am i? i ask
why does my true personality have to be so unattainable
why does it have to be so absolutely true that not even I
not even my parents or friends will understand
I want to run to the root and tell the world who I am
no. i tell myself, its too late
**** it. i say, who cares now?
no one.
I grab my shoes and barbour and climb the stairs toward the gates of hell
the gates of freedom, of insubordination, of truth
with boiling blood oozing, seeping, crawling and consuming terrified souls
I grasp the thick walls that prevent me from the end
the coarse black paint rubs off onto me
I smear the charcoal onto my face
i yell. i cry. i scream.
but still, no one hears me.
Dec 24, 2012
Dec 24, 2012 at 3:36 PM UTC
He typed on the Mugbook Z
I miss the old days
when we could go to a pub
and laugh or smile
or listen to music or read
Now we just lol and like
not much of a life is it?
He reeled in pain
as his headform sent a violent shock
through his brain
He heard the robotic voice
R67451 Insubordination Insubordination
Withdrawal of device priveleges
You will watch paint dry ha ha ha ha
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 1:02 PM UTC
I’d cry all of the
Soul from
My eyes,
But
This cruel world
Doesn’t give me
The right.
The blood we shed
It never dries.
You think it’ll evaporate
Like water,
Like a lie.
No microfiber cloth can
Clean this up,
If the weight
Falls on you,
I doubt you’d
Get back up.
The air’s been
Poisoned,
And your
Hands
Are bloodied.
Cornered,
And under scrutiny.
Sep 1, 2025
Sep 1, 2025 at 8:50 PM UTC
I was raised with one hand
firmly gripping my neck.
Not enough to choke,
but just enough to scare.
One wrong move and
He could snap my neck.
One split second of insubordination-
And death.
He occasionally squeezed too hard-
blamed it on his stress.
Gasping for air is the only
Memory I have of him.
No abuse to report,
No marks or scars except the ones on my heart.
I cried alone at night so
No one could hear.
I smiled through the pain
and hid every tear.
Threats were daily and
Love disappeared.
The child I was,
No longer appeared.
Each year I grew older,
His grip would tighten.
Shackling me to his commands and
Endless profanities.
I was told to toughen up,
But my heart was wilder than he could tame.
Shorter breaths and more tears-
Years and years of silence.
Waiting for the perfect time
To stand up and say,
"Good riddance"
Every day it gets closer now,
To the day I'll break his hands.
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 8:54 PM UTC
the apple tree sits
staring at me
watching my every move
her branches reach out to touch my flaxen hair
combing out the tangles with her withering limbs
her leaves form a braided wreath
with fragile pink blossoms embodying my innocence
her knots form a kind and gentle face
the corners of her mouth turning up to assure me of hope
her crevices are filled with love and life
my only friends. my only family.
"patience" she says
and so i wait. and so i watch
waiting the blessed day of forthcoming
"patience" she says
but I can't wait any longer
my crystal blue eyes are beginning to discolor and my hair is beginning to fall
time is running out
I break from her withered limbs
I break from her benevolent smile
I break from her hospitality and materialness that nursed me back to health
only to fall into a deep abyss of incompetence and insubordination
childish and juvenile acts that were not nursed by the fruit of eden.
I run back to her warm bark
begging for forgiveness
only to taste the now bitter apple.
Dec 24, 2012
Dec 24, 2012 at 3:36 PM UTC
I struggle to remain indefatigable,
I ravage my mind my for hours on end,
My yearning is insatiable,
Flexuous with the concepts to send.
Laboriously sewn, tentatively spoken,
Nonchalantly cast off devastation because it’s broken.
I will never seek acceptance again,
Emancipated from the shackles of denial,
As long as I live I will regain,
And refrain from a judgemental trial.
Perspicaciously drawn, ultimately deduced,
To the gallows with all of my sins, tightly noosed.
They want blood and pain and agony,
All of which I have to give,
I’d rather than expressions of tragedy,
Show what it means to live.
And ponder the spiritual diadems,
Glistening, repetitive, fractals and gems.
My supplications ever so earnest,
Are outweighed by my insubordination.
It’s myself, my own intentions I must harness,
And live beyond my failings and degradation.
Ecstasy is my fruitful, forgiving friend,
Fear my enemy, unrelenting to the end.
Erumpent rampant vociferation,
Endeavouring to end all thoughts iniquitous,
And reclaim my rumination,
Dare I say nefarious?
Well if it is so, than I shall make it not be,
For I have lost all and now I must live for me.
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 1:35 PM UTC
I am lost in the loose ended threads which make my life;
they weld me down along glistening metal lanes
with screws and nuts and bolts once in a while ,
rather carelessly with a callow scraping grip,
perhaps it's a young apprentice
inexperienced in dealing with insubordination
to fix me in my place.
sometimes these threads look like faceless feelings,
pre-emptive if you will,
sometimes they look like ununderstandings by me or others
sometimes they look like despots called people
sometimes they look like elevators built around caves of people
shedding tears and hides.
So yes ,sometimes the metal feels like the deep cold of the sea.
powdered with nuts and bolts forgotten in the hazy blue saline,
but probing my shaky heart and my remoulding mind like frosty bullets.
Overrun with senseless weeds from inside,
and grim from ruins of lost ships
and here and there with inviting treasures
worthwhile, anew
in the cascades of worldliness of all things beautiful.
sometimes the metal feels like the lullaby of the sea
sedating almost,
amidst the wilderness of conflicts ,jarring bronze contradictions
and of course, the ever so ubiquitous, soupy shallow free floating worldly wise grime.
while other times oy romantics,
it feels like a fish net topping me from reaching out
to places and peoples and experiences of this world.
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 8:37 PM UTC
I like to believe
that nobody understands me
and I'm one of a kind
lost to obscurity
but hinting of mysterious
significance
And I feel sorry for
my uncle's three-legged dog
and the malignancy
of fear in rural America
and the failed successes
of the Bolsheviks
I wonder about the air
in Saõ Paolo in January
and the muskuloskelatal
infirmities that creep in
and make the aged
into churlish curmudgeons
There is no way I could
hunt truffles or find a fresh
Morel in the woods when
I didn't even realize until
my grandmother died that
we own a creek
Uttering vespers in moonlight
yields some sanguine lucidity
like contemplating the nuanced
differences between polenta
and cornmeal mush
It's like I'll never write a poem
in time or finish a marathon
or kiss a stranger deeply
through the crisp ventillation
of nevermore.
We might daydream the bombastic
colors of Cezanne but all
we'll ever be is some nondescript
platinum ischemic flash,
a slimy buffet consisting in
all-is-lost
An apocryphal journey
to the center of the city
faces our insubordination to plastic
with the harshness of a dictionary
in the face of the illiterate
But in the end, apoplectically
forgotten, I come to the
unintelligent conclusion,
mathematically speaking,
that there is nothing singular
nor more available
than the finite banality
of my empty, insufficiently
obscurantist words which
flow and choke and all can know
and see clearly through
though I insist that none
of this pretence is born
of any maleveloence, and I chide
"How very meta of me indeed"
to have thought of another witty
and most cleverest retort
the day after the insult
was first delivered
But I used my last gift card
to purchase this still life
to pierce the hollow
cerulean satisfaction
otherwise known as tears
Barring diastolic ******
I'll stick around to see
how this all turns out
and hope that one day I can stop
being so completely understood
And then I can hide in the lonely
and find refuge in the cave
as a single meaningless scrawl
buried in the last pages
at the end of the world.
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 12:36 AM UTC
To hold myself against myself is a habit of dark skin; scratching my olive palms across prickly cement. Take a bow in the mirror and see no reflection. Say you are reflected. Say something else. Say nothing. Those lucky charmed looks have spoiled your dying heart. Your intense desire for the forever lover has been dawdled. There, no one has discharged your respected, insubordination mind - they are too busy ******* the minds of cheap leached lips and tongue. It always was for that one special moment of feeling pleasure. Get used to fox fangs dragging you viciously through skeleton gravel. Get used to the skeleton. Have no fear of being contagious. Have knowing that I am insufficiently sediment. I want felicity again.
Jun 15, 2012
Jun 15, 2012 at 6:28 PM UTC
Ah bliss! I, the subliminal linguist, can't distinguish this thing that you imply with such meaning. I relinquish my hold and go down screaming.
So, I melt into oblivion because life
is a trivial pursuit I've yet to latch onto, dripping between my fingers
like water through wood cracks.
Is it my own selfishness that burns
bridges between us?
No, it's yours. You stapled a label on me that can't be ripped, stripped, or torn, but I am not your fixer-upper *****
Does my insubordination bore you?
Tell it to my "commitment issues."
The only issue is I grew faster than you, more masterful than you.
I am not your tamed shrew.
I refuse to be used by you, friendship abused by you and your confusion with your own emotions. I am not an island in your ocean of incompetence.
Frankly, my dear, **** this.
Mar 13, 2018
Mar 13, 2018 at 3:18 PM UTC
A temptress gambled her livelihood
on my inexplicable two left feet
for Roman captivity.
Though I supped Galilean wine,
insubordination was not my first guise.
How I wished I was again an Ebonite
deemed as poor, but spiritually richer
Aug 25, 2012
Aug 25, 2012 at 1:51 PM UTC
"Prisoner's Dilemma"
Recovered from the gunshot; wound to the head jumbled in regret, bleeding out angst, screaming worry! and in vain; embracing the loving and comfortable agony because sometimes the smallest Voices have the loudest tone.
Which to believe?
Justification in Insubordination.
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 6:40 PM UTC
Sandwiched
Between:
Birth and death
Good and evil
Love and hatred
Courage and cowardice
Friends and foes
Optimism and pessimism
Bossism and insubordination
War and peace
Sun and rain
Spring and summer
Devil and divine
Heart and soul
Heaven and hell
Origin and horizon
What if and what not?
Life is synonymous with antonyms.
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 3:57 PM UTC
I was fired from [sandwich shop X] for
"insubordination" and "attitude".
******* cowards, the whole lot.
What hurts the most is that I tried,
because someone vouched for me,
but they still stepped all over me
and then threw me away.
**** jobs.
Checked my horoscope for *****
"If it's true that you reap what you sow, Libra, you're in for a great harvest in the coming months. Your hard work and focus will start to pay off handsomely with promotions and raises just when you may have given up on being acknowledged for all you do. Hang on to your great energy, passion, and enthusiasm. Doors are about to open for you. Get ready to walk through them."
Found a stone in the graveyard with my name
and told it how much I wanted to **** myself
and how much I hate everything.
From here, hell looks reasonable;
like at least there'd be a reason for everyone
to be so ******* useless and miserable,
but heaven?
Heaven looks like a ******* insult.
But what the **** do you know?
I got no job, no home, a mother in a women's shelter,
failed applications for food stamps, college debt,
no old friends, what?
What the **** have I got?
Why the **** does everyone treat suicide
like it's so ******* morally reprehensible?
I never win.
NEVER.
Even my victories are
offshoot chances to lose more
than I had before.
I'm tired, and I hate all of you.
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 1:30 PM UTC
Surrounded by flickering light
it drew an eventide Vision , his brother
James the Just
appeared amongst the wretchedness
who shared the dank breathe with me.
Though I once supped Judean wine,
insubordination was not my first instinct.
Now I sought the Ebionites
deemed as poor, yet the wine of their tree
seemed to flow through my bidden cell.
Sep 6, 2012
Sep 6, 2012 at 5:15 PM UTC
Tick, Tock
Beat, Beat, Beat
The pump begins to churn.
What marvel through the eyes
of the delicate conceiver:
The countdown has begun!
The teeny tick, The tiny tock
of prematurity
Beat, Beat, Beat, Beat
Through time of persistence.
Tick the Tock. The painful clock
of merely adaptation
Becomes the Sun, the centered one
of insubordination.
Beating still, the pump of gold
which marvels eyes of all,
the sight is clear, it knows within
it notices the count.
Dwindling, It's time will fade,
with every single beat.
Time shall cease, eventually
and black will smother gold.
Tick along, Tock the song,
which resonates the beat
Attracting all the shine
which polishes the gold
Beating, Beating, Beating young
when numbers tell the count is old.
84, 94, the count is nearly done.
But have no fear, my golden son,
Your song has just begun!
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 8:43 PM UTC
MaC WAS IN YEMEN, SYRIA, IRAQ, LIBYA AND AFGHANISTAN,
WHAT A MESS - IT MUST BE SORTED AS QUICK AS HE CAN,
HE HAD A MEETING WITH A MILITANT LEADER - 'WHO ARE YOU?'
'MY NAME IS MaCINTYRE - I REPRESENT GOD,
YOU CAN CALL ME A HERETIC, BLASPHEMER IF YOU WISH
BUT IN TWENTY FOUR HOURS THERE WILL BE NOTHING FROM YOUR SATELLITE DISH - THE CREATOR IS TIRED OF YOUR INSUBORDINATION,
YOU'VE HAD EVERY CHANCE BUT MESSED UP SINCE YOUR CREATION;
YOU WILL BE REDUCED TO ROBOTS - ONLY MEASURED CONTROL,
FREE - WILL IS FINISHED - WE HAVE POSSESSION OF YOUR SOUL,
THE SAME MISTAKES WILL NOT HAPPEN AGAIN, EVERYTHING
WILL BE TAKEN FROM YOU - THERE IS NOTHING LEFT FOR YOU TO DO;
IF WE EVER GIVE YOU FREE - WILL AGAIN, EVERY TIME YOU DISSENT,
YOU WILL BE 'CLICKED' - NOTHING OF THE OLD MINDSET WILL REMAIN.
Feb 15, 2016
Feb 15, 2016 at 10:54 PM UTC
The reenactor looked a little warm in his woolen Union blues.
A forage cap perched on his head; spit and polished were his shoes.
He waited for the group to settle down, then gave his practiced speech
about how Sickles lost his leg in an orchard ripe with peach.
The air was still and warm as when, there, on the second day,
Sickles’ insubordination caused the Union lines to fray.
The great grandsons of the North and South were gathered here around.
The heirs of slaves and immigrants stood upon the sacred ground.
We were not far from the spot Abe gave his famous speech;
where neat spaced rows of honored dead have learned to keep the peace.
Yet the hatreds of the past run deep, the events in Baltimore
Make me wonder if they died in vain; the soldiers from that war.
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 10:00 AM UTC
Sometimes I see my world burn, fire licking at the borders of my countries, threatening to taste the people I love, threatening to grip me and drag me down
I can't tell if the world burns or if my glasses are painted with flames
I'm too confused
My mind runs too quickly like water out a tap, thoughts disappearing into the pipes before I can grab them
I'm not sure if I'm altogether sane, altogether ******* on straight
I see red spots in the sea water but no sharks have been reported
I picture the earth like a burnt wedding cake covered nicely with beautiful frosting
We are the little bride and groom figurines at the top, unaware our world has been charred
People jump off buildings everyday, not knowing why they're doing that
It's a lump in your stomach you aren't sure is real
It's disassociation
Refusal to understand
We are Obsequious to our own insubordination
We are pretending
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 4:55 PM UTC