"insurgent" poems
Now this particular girl
During a ceremonious april walk
With her latest suitor
Found herself, of a sudden, intolerably struck
By the birds' irregular babel
And the leaves' litter.
By this tumult afflicted, she
Observed her lover's gestures unbalance the air,
His gait stray uneven
Through a rank wilderness of fern and flower;
She judged petals in disarray,
The whole season, sloven.
How she longed for winter then! --
Scrupulously austere in its order
Of white and black
Ice and rock; each sentiment within border,
And heart's frosty discipline
Exact as a snowflake.
But here -- a burgeoning
Unruly enough to pitch her five queenly wits
Into ****** motley --
A treason not to be borne; let idiots
Reel giddy in bedlam spring:
She withdrew neatly.
And round her house she set
Such a barricade of barb and check
Against mutinous weather
As no mere insurgent man could hope to break
With curse, fist, threat
Or love, either.
19.1k
Miscommunication
serendipity, anticipation,
blurred reality -
lost in the dialect
of a dream,
in pursuit
of Love
find callous irony;
subversion of desire
what's it all about?
to know and be known.
Mere seconds
of scrutiny
inferior,
I am shown.
Her appraisal
eviscerating
my warm flesh,
her tilted criteria
supplanting the interior,
voluble with
saccharine neologisms
and preferences
for the exterior.
(not mine)
Ironic was my
attraction to
her brain.
Lines, features
and symmetry,
image - the commodity,
aesthetics, the
currency
in this transaction,
cursory liaison,
incendiary,
collapse of the
insurgent ego -
there was no
us in the
the affair of
nothingness.
Bruised in
abasement,
I'm not the one -
I thought I was.
Hyperbole -
the center
of delusion,
a curious
diversion -
avoid my life.
The allure of
the illusion,
transference,
the ordinary to
the romantic,
the perfect other.
Searching, the
absorbing project -
aquiring wholeness,
did she reject me?
I rejected me.
The escape into
fraudulent
sadness,
to mourn,
is to displace,
the disowned heart
by self is tragic.
Should
I not mourn for
the one I'm
deferring?
Inside of me
It's safe,
to lament
the loss of
identity -
tension is agony
without resolve
sequestered,
in my pain,
self-imposed
familiar terrain,
upon retrieval,
awaking in
renewal,
mystery and destiny
providentially,
I am free.
Feb 14, 2012
Feb 14, 2012 at 8:08 PM UTC
Determined petals
Pierce the snow,
Refusing to wait.
Shades of violet,
Red, then yellow;
Mocking folded crepe paper,
On white marble floors
Advancing to overtake the scene;
An insurgent force,
So lithe, so pure.
Conquering in swaths,
With delicate bravado,
As if to challenge
The old mans icy grip,
While placating senses
Of the observant few;
Such a display
Of resistance,
To winter's rule
Now, slowly waning;
As the moments nigh,
But will return once again,
To defy a February's
Cruelty.
Feb 28, 2013
Feb 28, 2013 at 12:08 PM UTC
And the trees about me,
Let them be dry and leafless; let the rocks
Groan with continual surges; and behind me
Make all a desolation. Look, look, wenches!
Paint me a cavernous waste shore
Cast in the unstilled Cyclades,
Paint me the bold anfractuous rocks
Faced by the snarled and yelping seas.
Display me ****** above
Reviewing the insurgent gales
Which tangle Ariadne’s hair
And swell with haste the perjured sails.
Morning stirs the feet and hands
(Nausicaa and Polypheme).
Gesture of orang-outang
Rises from the sheets in steam.
This withered root of knots of hair
Slitted below and gashed with eyes,
This oval O cropped out with teeth:
The sickle motion from the thighs
Jackknifes upward at the knees
Then straightens out from heel to hip
Pushing the framework of the bed
And clawing at the pillow slip.
Sweeney addressed full length to shave
Broadbottomed, pink from nape to base,
Knows the female temperament
And wipes the suds around his face.
(The lengthened shadow of a man
Is history, said Emerson
Who had not seen the silhouette
Of Sweeney straddled in the sun.)
Tests the razor on his leg
Waiting until the shriek subsides.
The epileptic on the bed
Curves backward, clutching at her sides.
The ladies of the corridor
Find themselves involved, disgraced,
Call witness to their principles
And deprecate the lack of taste
Observing that hysteria
Might easily be misunderstood;
Mrs. Turner intimates
It does the house no sort of good.
But Doris, towelled from the bath,
Enters padding on broad feet,
Bringing sal volatile
And a glass of brandy neat.
3.3k
Suspected of attack
On fascist Graziani
He was in house arrest
As the case was with
Suspects the rest.
A prisoner of war
Then via Somalia
He was sent to Rome
Found a black lion
If left at home.
Together with
A prison inmate
From Yugoslavia
Called Julio
He made a rope
Out of a blanket
The reason
To descend down
And escape
From a tower prison.
In a show of contempt
Defying officials' attempt
To smoke out a fugitive
On the hide
The two at eventide
Returned to open fire
And attack guards
To set free prisoners
Indeed, victory was
On their side.
Leading partisans
Abdissa made it his duty
To gruel fascists
With insurgent activity.
What was the outcome?
Parallel to the allied forces
When he entered Rome
With Ethiopia's tricolor
Around his wrist
He was accorded
A warm welcome.
Then he turned his face
To allied-forces'-
'For Berlin' race
In rooting out **** troops
He spurred the pace!
Asked to stay in Europe
He said shalom
"Home sweet home!
As written on the bible
Can an Ethiopian change
His skin
or a leopard its spots?
Doing so
Will it not be a sin?"
The unsung hero
Returned to Addis
Turning Fascist and Nazis'
Wild dreams to zero!
Sep 11, 2020
Sep 11, 2020 at 11:53 PM UTC
beard-red explorers
pillaging-horror practitioners
tribal-family groups
insurgent-nomadic roots
that
trailed wave-rammers across never-ending spans,
continuously-toilfully matters not the demands
women and men side by each
beastly-feasters no table safe
stand up for yourself or be a weak-waif
in the bloodshot soul-panes, fierce
pagan-purveyors by rites
despised-womanizers
siege-setters
monk-murderers
a blood-spilling bee
treasure trove crash n’carry
Thor had his hammer
every wave-rammer had an oar for every
pair of life-stained hands, the stains
were borrowed and the very life-drained out of others
blood-smitten berserkers, heart-stoppers
and yet
discoverer’s children
wandering wet-wilderness
found a Stormy-Stop, a few
actually, and one be Newfoundland
may-haps they settled in peace.
Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 9:02 PM UTC
They punch me in the face
Until it is apparently asymmetrical
They call me human waste
And tell me not to be sentimental
When they're insistent
On our difference
I begin to see asymmetry
In the way they're treating me
Does anybody remember or even care
About what happened in Nisour Square?
A Blackwater slaughter
Killing sons and daughters
An unprovoked
Macabre joke
The militants were convicted
The victims remained deceased
The locals were livid
When the problem would repeat
We don't mind taking innocent lives intentionally
When we see their value asymmetrically
Does anyone remember when the city of Fallujah
Smoked like a hookah?
Thermobaric rocket launchers
That used depleted uranium
To melt insurgent craniums
Left behind waste
That is radioactive
The citizens could taste
The shame of being passive
When they couldn't reject
The spike in birth defects
A child is born with its heart protruding from its chest
So we can more easily grab it
That child was born with an asymmetrical breast
Because of our capitalist habit
Contractor corpses hang from a bridge
While we stand on a ridge
Separating chaos and order
A symmetrical border
Order oppresses
Chaos undresses
Both cause messes
We need to see each other equally
Or we'll continue seeing sequel sprees
We need to stop seeing asymmetrically
And adopt a completely loving creed
Jan 11, 2018
Jan 11, 2018 at 6:24 AM UTC
After all, it has come to this as our
Laughter falls dumb and a mute glum persists while
A once gorgeous flower now reeks of rank **** in
An **** of power that seeks to dismiss that
A siren song hides a great serpent's grim hiss in
A dire long ride to a fervent abyss, but
A glorious hour now seems to persist as
A warrior throng's rising insurgent bliss
Is igniting wrong's righting, with glee
THEY RESIST
In a fight long and tiring they refuse to desist
In the night they stay strong as abuse gives its kiss
But they KNOW what is right and must make it EXIST
and when new order comes:
THE OLD WILL NOT BE MISSED
Aug 23, 2020
Aug 23, 2020 at 8:11 AM UTC
Righteous Isis,
priceless queen, rife with green
vines winding between her lungs,
around her tongue, crowned with beams
of the ancient sun, power of Ra
beneath her thumb, life-giving wife,
wild child of reptiles, pride of the Nile--
righteous Isis,
she who gives birth to heaven and earth,
sovereign sorceress, steward of words,
my ancestress, blessed with flesh, this
bright protectress, next to death with
theft of her name, maimed by insane fanatics
grasping semi-automatics aimed at
righteous Isis,
spliced into terrorist crisis
situations, sacred name on a
radical federation, used for devastation,
appropriation of my divine mother,
brothers-in-arms killing the culture
of their own nations, of past generations, of
righteous Isis,
torn from her temple by
scorned fundamentalists,
prayers to her used to take
insurgent censuses
now when i bow to my goddess,
my empress, the powers suspect I'm a member of
rightist ISIS,
who crosses off competition
with crucifixion,
lays foundations for jurisdiction
with immolation, with detonation,
decapitation of journalists, their
murderous fists taking nations,
rightist ISIS,
whose power rests on the shoulders of dread,
men obsessed with erasing the names
of every goddess we hold close, of every man
who knows Mohammed did not preach death,
of every Buddhist, every Jew, every pagan, every Hindu,
choking the breath from those who don’t believe what they do--
rightist ISIS,
you think you own the sun but not this one,
not this pristine queen who tears the thunder from the skies,
and she will strike you down with pestilent blight
she'll smite you with a blistering light,
she'll drown you and ignite the tide,
and you will die with the second rise of
righteous Isis,
whose hand rocked the cradle of civilization,
whose shrines make the sacral heart of nations,
whose each breath gives divine illumination,
who shakes off the wasted shame
and patiently waits as we chant her names--
all ten thousand in glorification.
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 12:44 AM UTC
Sergeant Blackman
A Royal Marine
Convicted for ******
Sentenced to ten years
He shot an injured insurgent
They came upon him
And were going to
Call in a helicopter
Or had called one in
He told his comrades
Not a word
That is was against
The Geneva Convention
One shot
And the Taliban insurgent
Was dead
Sergeant Blackman
Saw his friends die
The Taliban are ruthless
And evil
I can't even imagine
The hatred one would
Have for them
After fighting them
For that long
I hate them very much
And I've never
Been to Afghanistan
Still, he should have
Had him evacuated
Or shot him from a distance
Before they came upon him
It was a violation
Of the Geneva Convention
Sergeant Blackman will serve
Ten years
American Drone pilots
Who **** innocents
Are not brought to trial
Some people feel as though
He has been made
Into a scapegoat
I understand
Why you did it
Sergeant Blackman
Thank you for your service
I hope you killed many Taliban
During your service there
The Taliban do not respect innocent life
They are evil
Jul 5, 2015
Jul 5, 2015 at 4:21 PM UTC
Hand on the good book that I never read,
I swore my loyalty though you know I like to fib,
Even as your see the guilt gushing beneath my skin,
I’ve been holding the prosecutor’s hand, with another on the switch,
A spineless snitch waiting for the green light to fry you for what Benjamin did,
So sorry this couldn’t have been different,
But the chair only seats one according to our governance,
And I’m not the victim with a scheme preached as providence
So sorry for the inconvenience
But I want to feel the pulse of the pompous cease,
And watch the stillness of eyes that once blinked,
When they found the oval throne of a tyrant
Instead of the virtuous,
The one who was to lead us,
So who’s stopping me from strapping you to that seat?
Since my crime caused the scene
Since your fathers where the ones who put your sons to sleep
Coming from the cranial cracks of the insane,
Those that tried justified slavery while promising us all equality
I am the reason they put price tags on humans
And why this isn’t the land of the free
I’m the governor forcing your loyalty
Or I tell everyone you’re a traitor before finding you guilty,
I’m Uncle Sam’s mistress,
The thought process of social unrest,
When the enemy was a homegrown threat,
When Plymouth protest turned to disobedience,
I was with the Protestant,
I’m the crack in the Liberty Bell,
The judge, jury, and judicial jezebel,
The King, the colonial, the freedom fighter, the insurgent
I’ve once facilitated your independence,
I was your lust for a better existence
Since the struggle against a parliament
I’ve been dealing you an idealistic hand,
Since the election of the forty-third,
I am the notion that this isn’t the promise land
Like a revolutionary remedy
I am the idealistic ******
The enemy of our mentalities
The thought of defying the constraints this reality
Apr 6, 2012
Apr 6, 2012 at 2:38 AM UTC
I am the lone insurgent
Walking through the streets
of my own mind.
My mind
Is a totalitarian state.
I am the lone assassin
Of the members of parliament,
Remember, in my own mind.
I am ratted out
By the shrill shrieks
Of an old lady on the tram.
I walk home from endless meetings
With myself, where him
And me plot our rebellion
Sparking the ember, remember;
In my own mind.
The Secret Police awaits
Probably in my living room
Waiting for me to turn on the lights
Revealing the glint of silver nozzles
Mere millimeters from my my head.
The warrant proclaims:
"Conspiracy and ******
I may be lone, but my hand
Wields just vindication.
I may be lone,
But as I am executed
There is still me
And another will always
Follow
Striking the ember, remember;
In my own mind.
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 8:34 PM UTC
The sand is coarse among the waves,
The foamy froth curls, rants and raves,
The grainy ground is wet and packed,
And seaweed from the ground is hacked.
Plucked from stormy shallows dark -
bold fish swims among the shark.
Twisting in the deeper pools,
Threads of green unfurl in spools.
Monster beyond comprehension,
Slim limbs hanging in suspension.
Serpent lurks in Blue Lagoon,
Carved in its scales a single rune.
Magicks infuse currents strong -
powers deep and tendrils long.
The shrouded spirit, great insurgent,
Mairocant, the last sea serpent.
Aug 17, 2020
Aug 17, 2020 at 6:07 PM UTC
# *(you sweet.. succulent,
tender little ****
"I don't know what to keep
and what to throw away, Paul"
"All of it, young love.. none of it..
I mean wait.. what?"
"All's I'm saying is..
I can finally see myself in the
reflection, now that the mirror's
wiped clean. Problem is.. I can only
hold on to it for so long before it all
completely goes away again..
the image of me, I mean"
"Ah. young Lovely..
the insurgent is embedded far too
deeply into the City called,*
'All of who it is that you are'
*To engage it or try to take it out right now
is going to create far too much
collateral damage"
"Then what am I to do..
how am I going to be able to hold on?"
"I have an idea, young love..
Shhh.. listen--"*
#
Jul 24, 2023
Jul 24, 2023 at 1:21 PM UTC
Here the body
remains.
Multi-strobe hitting beats
teeth in dark light,
deep bass.
Growing an insurgent
emergent blasting howl
tingling ecstasy.
Where is it from?
Where has it come?
Colour frothing
swirling, hanging bodies,
hand in hand...
bounce and jam.
Here the body remains.
Glued.
Movement,
stretch...
reaching pinnacles...
form and function
yes...
frozen
beasts
alive.
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 7:08 PM UTC
Hello again Poetry I missed you,hope you missed me,
where'd the Sandman Irish Dragon go,it's no mystery,
but unfortunately last Sunday I just dropped,
woke up to the Sirens,Ambulance,cops,
Cause I'm a Wanted Man in a Dangerous place,
it could have been a bullet getting fired for my face,
folks thought it was a Stroke(of bad luck or bad blood),
and if I could tell you truly what happened,I would.
You see a couple of months ago the Armored car I was in,
got smashed open by a 10 ton truck like a tin,
getting stepped on by an Elephant(can you say Insurgent?),
so at the time my spine suffered and I wound up with a Surgeon,
in a third world hospital,doing 1st world miracles,
an angel of mercy who returned me my Spirit and,
my life force,my good left arm was restored,
but I had to come home to rest on Irish Shores.
And when I got home I got embroiled in the family life,
no more danger(well except the ongoing Drugs war Fight)
and the Spite that comes daily in an average family,
the Irish begrudgery what do you MEAN you write Poetry?
So the Dragons wings were clipped,my good left arm was numb,
and without Hello Poetry i would have succumbed,
to the poxy oxy's that've made junkies out of friends,
or the other poison that's sold as a means to an end.
So my blackout and brief stay in an overcrowded ward,
left me stuffed with rhymes,filled to the brim with words,
so thank you to the Nurses who helped me back on my feet,
its the Return of the Dragon,Sandman NEVER faces Defeat
(Talk to you all again soon,my arm is still a bit sore,but I'm nearly 100%.)
Apr 17, 2016
Apr 17, 2016 at 7:45 AM UTC
In the face of infinity, I stumbled to an instigator.
I must have known how furtive the ****** dotard was.
An epidemic stereotype would barely drawl an insurgent.
The tremendous vilification acurred.
Here comes the futile virtuoso with his interminable intransigence.
The vivacity dynamic banality of an unconscious programmed robot.
Sep 16, 2016
Sep 16, 2016 at 7:35 PM UTC
It’s a wrap like turban
i’m from a city, it’s urban
******* rushing to see me like it’s urgent
i need a definition for insurgent
so i can insert it into this freestyle to keep it going like surgeons
i hate to be washed up, detergent
before i even finish lyrically purging
i know right now you’re probably hissing and cursing
but later you’ll be shouting encouraging words,
i spit until i’m submerged and
holding my breath til my lungs hurting
i apologize for any inadvertence
don’t even know for certain
what i’ll be blurting next
going off the top like machetes to necks
May i add,
Don’t make me an accessory
just ‘cause you’ll **** for accessories that you see in ads
you’re the opposite of right, hypotenuse
yeah, 'you’re next', bring it, i will tighten noose
This is a freewritten, just going with the flow
keep punching keys until i can no longer scroll
don't know how to end this, so i'm just gonna go
and say farewell
drink more Ale and inhale till i begin to ail
if you're gonna die anyway, minus well
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 8:10 PM UTC
there's a ringing in my ears that
sounds like the feed trucks roaring down 50
and broken country music coming through
an ancient stereo, sounds like the way your
thick palms look when they pull a cap off a Coors
bottle, and that side eye you give, why do you keep looking at me like that?
Like what? As if my looks were incendiary glares and not photographs, I'm only taking you in, not taking you out. Like what? Hasn't anyone ever traced your lips or wondered if God built you out of brick? Laid silk over your harsh corners and sanded you down with a smile--why am I looking at you like that?
sounds like I put myself here and effectively took myself
out, sounds like you're one of kind and so different
and i've never felt this way
but I've heard all of those--
he's not waiting but i am, maybe for some kind of epiphany,
some kind of insurgent thought--an outpouring of light in the
rooms he thinks are lit, i wish I could light candles down his
tenebrous hallways, hang lanterns in the crook of his elbow,
make sure that the shadows only ever follow at a distance
but I can't assuage the feelings you haven't found, the fleeting
thoughts you ignore, I can't smelt the ore from your blood or
even pull a
splinter from
your palm.
He told me once he was in no hurry, no rush. But I've felt like i'm waiting on him, how strange, he'd probably say. Probably tell me
at least once more how much sense I don't make--but I tell myself that only a few people beat for me, run the tracks at the same speed--
that my explanations are enough for every other part of myself
and trying to explain that I am many, that I hang fire and break beds with prayer is like trying to describe colors;
warm, but not bright. Rich, hearty, elegant. -- Untitled. 1994. Oil on canvas.
Sep 9, 2016
Sep 9, 2016 at 10:21 PM UTC
Swift little flickers, frostbitten butterflies seek cause for silent tickers.
Errant thoughts muzzled, fearful to fly, forever puzzled.
Every place wrestling for resemblance: filigreed and brimming with brilliance
Kept their dizzy daydreams quite upright, poured over their faceted faces in hours twilight.
Inken sketches, florid smudges later you will find the carnage.
Nearly melted, beat those frosted wings, keep your wits about you, pretty things.
Go, flick and fleet: their flight; fly, fly always towards the light.
Soft whispers give way to angry hisses
Ever less goodness, evermore thoughtless.
Restless sounds of puncture wounds, outpouring of broken tunes.
Earth trodden ashes of the unforgiven writings call to halt the lashings.
No one hearing, none recalling the precious dress of lacing.
Intellect sparked, soon be doused; any voice of inspiration, oust.
Theft of name, take them to another unmarked grave, twisted game.
Young remember as their elders told in fright, 'fly, fly; always towards the light.'
Taste the soot on your tongue, the burn in your lungs, the breath of change this way comes.
Here they hunt thieves in the mist, starving fireflies on a mad tryst.
Run, fast and far they did, into the wastes they wade: anxious of judgment to be paid.
On the precipice you balance, guided by the insurgent cadence...
Under the needle all the more urgent it becomes, you fight with fists and tongues, pens, curses and drums!
Grow to regret their callosity for all your darling thought by the fervor with which you fought!
Hear the chorus of the masses screaming with all their might, their battle cry, "Fly, fly; always towards the light!"
Snowflakes listen in chaste wonderment of the divine's grand design.
Mutiny of the very worst kind, slaughter and smother your peace and mind.
Ostentatious trimmings traded for ember dress to set light to falsifiers' fortress.
Keen intellects, driven mad with hunger, retract their reticent mantles to reveal peerless sentinels.
Eternally seeking serenity through smoke, as in ancient rite they fly, fly; always towards the light.
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 10:40 AM UTC
I can only resist
for so long
challenge that which is
so strong
before my mind breaks
and age takes
what makes
all resistors great.
I can only be an insurgent
casting shadows of love
instead of waging raging
battles of blood
for so long before I am all gone.
Right or wrong but mostly right,
I can only fight this lonely fight
before the light fades
and I say goodbye to my
better days
Jul 21, 2016
Jul 21, 2016 at 9:11 AM UTC