"irascible" poems
when a bunch of old Senate men
and some intimidated women
voted to heave
an accused ******
and proven liar with an alcohol problem
given to irascible outbursts, fits of self-pity
and insulting comments on women
into a lifelong seat on the highest court in the nation
against voluminous evidence of his lacking qualifications
the statue of the Goddess of Justice
whom a former attorney general
had all covered up in blue cloth
dropped her sword and scales
tore off her blindfold
and covered her naked ******* in shame
Oct 5, 2018
Oct 5, 2018 at 2:07 PM UTC
I go up
Then go down
My head is spinning around
First I'm gregarious
Then I'm diffident
Chaos starts to begin
As new pages rip in
I get irascible
When people ask me questions
I'm an emciated person
With stress going about
With this bipolar linking on
Tears begin to crowd
To a laughter if mismaze
My relationships are hard
For I cannot keep one
For this bipolar is to strong
I wish I could be normal
And not take pills
But bipolar has controlled me
To my birth to my will
I will have it till the end
Till I'm old and grey
It's going to be a part of me
Forever and today
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 1:34 PM UTC
With obsolescent clarity
Amid moribund metaphysical
Mutations
As the iridium ball rolls
From eponym to epitaph
Engeneering an epoch diarama
In surfeit metronomic hysteria
While time chases time into infinity
Episodic vagaries celebrate
The metaphoric metamorphosis rising to
Metaphysical majesty as vacuous
As any minutiae will
When abstract vagaries
Become the vagrant epitome
Of a mordant mosaic
Made entirely of the lost causes
Torn from the very core
I surmise
As being the virulent....
.....Tragic and irridescent pieces
Left along the allegorical antipathy
Where those that are left behind
By the stigmatation
Of any irascible involutions
Mired in the mesh
Of scribbles and scribes
Left
After the iridium ball rolls By
Leaving vacuous irridescent
Symbols of epigraphical
Proportions
Stymied by
The obsolescent clarity
Amid moribund metaphysical mutations.
Jan 7, 2016
Jan 7, 2016 at 5:02 PM 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
SuzAnne, nee Christine
Irascible, Incorrigible, Indefatigable, Affable
Adopted sister of Doug and Mike and sort of Jill
Lover of ideas and stances
Who fears laryngitis and deafness
Who needs music and malleability
Who gives grades and advice
Who would like to see Firenze and the Pyramids of Giza
Who lives in Hot Water
Wilson, nee Doe
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 8:12 PM UTC
Glowing from the refreshing crystal blue water
an angelic presence
along side
an artistic landscape
with an abundance of animals
roaming freely
everything appeared unblemished
perfect
desirable
my mother finished reading
I asked
is there such a thing as happy endings?
my mother replied
yes
if you work with what you have
and are satisfied in the end
that’s all that truly matters
I took her words to heart
because I’ve never had a true answer
happy endings seemed to only be in fairytales
over the years,
I’ve also picked up on something else
in every fairytale
there are common factors
you aren’t just handed anything
you have to fight
overlook the irascible people
and do what’t best for you.
this was the most important lesson I’ve ever learned.
Happy endings don’t only exist in fairytales.
they exist everywhere.
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 10:15 AM UTC
*you cannot miss me,
mathematical impossibility,
there is no null and void
wherein
parts of me reside,
in many places,
most far away,
inside you,
surely one of them,
that is so close,
so d e e p,
never lose or miss me,
for all you need do is
read and breathe
all~ally my poems,
the stain of me,
unerasable irascible immaterial
a permanent maker inked*
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 9:33 AM UTC
Absconding from nebulous qualms
of your own chicanery
I am here now to disabuse the anomalies
of the ingenuous
irascible thoughts that relegate
your capricious effrontery of your
disparate soul.
Magnanimously,
I would return such a favor,
however audacious....
yet with such a unique situation,
aberration is truth.
To censure such thoughts,
I leave now with a voracious eloquence and you...
alone, forever.
Aug 20, 2010
Aug 20, 2010 at 6:40 PM UTC
plot out distances between freckles
and count the amount of hairs;
in a beauteous analysis
a cold witnessing
of)a featured lifeless gaze
projected onto windows
refracted in time with the pounding
from lost soulless ghouls
in a dank puddled basement
as we stare through keyholes
the length of life waits to rescind
to wash up on the shoreline
anew, once refreshed
with Angina on
wading in cyclic waves
in deposits of reveries
stale orangeade sonatas
and dull area tirades
the purpose
economized
every axiom
americanized
and as your atoms become depersonalized
tension is materialized, in ornate ivory
shattered brass instruments rusted by
novels written to god
in a
fractured light
and range
cramped in a curtailed distance
a brickwall deadend universe
gnashing with frustration
****** yawns of futility
closed viaducts
and vacant lots
deafened eyes, grey
glimmering in retort
to their own expression
blind sight was squandered by the snapback, of all the
strings of the orchestra as they were simultaneously snipped
by sharp prying eyes, listening to the mixing of paint
to smell the music, its arms limp, vivid
wishing to pull you back (in hindsight)
with dreaded, deadened incantations
a dithyrambic liturgy to the drunken thoughtless night
of slurred litanies and unappeasable, irascible deities
lonely and immaculate, all-powerless and deft
in irksome quarrels and arguments
glossed over by the fine print of another
exalting the vainglorious self-inscribed paragons
and revelling every inadmissible mistake
gazing past to a solo star
dumbstruck and dead
from an evaluation
and dehydration
dying to know
forget it.
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 12:03 AM UTC
*No one knows
The arcane science of drowning-
Drowning deep in love.
Alas, at times thoughts itself,
Becomes a rapid fire,
Burning the nerves-
Of your frozen illusion,
And you try so hard
To join the dancing dots together-
Yet, a new dawn starts with-
An irascible response,
To an unfair universe.
O dear life, you were made
To break and built.
For my existence to still prevail.
Someday, unveil my sorrow,
And see how my ship has sailed.*
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 9:41 AM UTC
Zeerow, The Hero
Was a spectacular fool.
An unrepentant tool,
He run on philosophy
Based on misogyny,
Of raging homophobia
And collected memorabilia
From the Third *****
He didn’t like to be questioned
Whenever it was mentioned
Because he knew something
The rest of us were missing.
He knew as he knew day and night
That he was one hundred percent right
And we were all certifiable imbeciles
That made him totally irascible.
His compassion undetectable
He thought himself respectable
Because he kept his bigotry quiet.
But few could actually buy it
Because his brow-lowering scowls
And not-so sotto voce growls
Gave him away rather quickly.
And sometimes things got sticky
When he found him surrounded
By those previously grounded
In his wordy, misguided opinions
That we were all his minions
And he was some kind of lordling.
So how could we find him boring?
Yet we did. The best we could, we hid
Whenever he showed his face.
Especially in a public place.
The only thing that made it worse
Was that in the final verse
Some idiots elected him to office
So he got to irritate all of us.
And he did so officially,
Doing so quite efficiently.
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 12:02 AM UTC
Watch;
everything will be illuminated.
Teeth lacquered in glass shards
will bite down on plaster hearts,
Yet the sweet perfume
of your rancid breath
Will never give us life
nor Death.
Watch;
everything will be undisputed.
Vapid tastes will linger on sordid tongues.
Cover your mouths, irascible ones!
The race to end has just begun!
Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 7:04 PM UTC
a curious family of raptor children, a lake of caterpillar carcasses (boulder soup), a grocer for the taliban, gas powered anything, the exposed midsection of a tree, bank robberies or bear maulings in progress, triangles, an irascible bus driver thinking in isosceles, the itinerant story of a mama mammoth, starquakes and extinctions, massive roaches, a neck bath in hot breath, sudden abeyance from behind, the way gravity kills caterpillars and spares us because all angles of gravity make 180 degrees and this is stillness. fear running a straight line from behind us, through us, and in front of us. what i consistently get caught up in, the third point might be my final resting. this is why i ******* hate triangles.
Jul 19, 2020
Jul 19, 2020 at 6:33 PM UTC
There was an Old Person of Bangor,
Whose face was distorted with anger!
He tore off his boots,
And subsisted on roots,
That irascible Person of Bangor.
1.1k
Ah love! You irascible delight!
Stop now, I beg you, you've kept me up all night
It is now soon light, and I would like to sleep
Why torment me so, what gain do you see
You have charmed me silly, and I'm utterly willing
to jump when you say, or while the day away
like I have the night, in your delirious sway
I see you dance, as you often do, and wish I could too
I would hold you close, and we would waltz to the blues
And were you to smile, my heart would be lost
What I'd give, to melt into your eyes, it would be no loss
I stand a ways from you, and can not come closer
But I am tethered by a thread, that tugs my old heart
just like your laugh, affects my composure
drowning in the magic, as your enchantment starts
If time were to stop, and distance of little import
I'd whisk you away, to a place without towers or roads
we'd bask in the glow of each other's affection
while we sipped on wine, and danced away our woes
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 10:06 PM UTC
I would have posited longings ago
this short-shrift to-do over such a curt list undone
was inconceivable
outside
the pages of deceptively practiced perceptions
published in a pop-up book smirk,
or beyond
the canary-yellow frames of a cartoonish
distortion relishing its mired but spongy giggles
A
Been-here-all-along,
you’ve-never-bothered-to-look
lake sleeps implacably
at the bottom of an irascible ocean
Be
Whatever it may,
you can’t deny the wantonly
watted life teeming pretty as it pleases,
untroubled by a hollow-core belief
or the extremest demands of our foul temper
See
How I could have,
if I’d only swallowed
those bubbled-up blurts
ring-wronging the tip of my wriggling tongue,
never been audibly
landed by one alluringly barbed certainty
There are supine bodies—
stagnant, quicksilver pure—
no material ship navigates
and no intentional intruder can swim
without
emerging atypically
unsettled by the caustic exposure
Tread lithely
when you go;
this shoreline bites.
Its clustered rocks will snap shut around you
after digging in below you with a protruding toe,
and its carmine stalks will sting you
as they writhe past you
to mime a part-less goodbye
Here be where
the monstrous cold seeps
and a hellish hot vents
in compliance with this centuries-old complaint:
too-short was the time we wept
for those wiggly wonders
we could have kept
if we’d only octopus-arm embraced
the inevitability of their bandy-legged escape
Oct 24, 2010
Oct 24, 2010 at 8:02 AM UTC
I feel empty.
A black hole in my center,
taking all of my gravity,
annihilating my heart rate,
captivating it to molecular weight.
I feel hollow.
An irascible clout,
of unimaginable doubt.
Day-in-and-day-out.
I wonder--
Will this ever finish?
This plague of bubonic proportions.
A rage sung in monotonic tones.
I ask--
Have I seen this all before?
A red light, in hindsight,
despite holding on too tight.
Warnings of pure dread,
Heard over head,
The last true mouthpiece
spoken in tongues.
Freedom of assembly,
where there is no law,
of degeneration.
Divination;
or
a lack of.
I say again,
I feel vacant.
A hole in my soul,
where all I am,
comes tumbling out.
Jul 8, 2016
Jul 8, 2016 at 3:43 PM UTC
Born in a bevy of robust, good joy
Raised by irascible those who employed
Dubious methods to coax and convince
A conniving compliance from this little Prince.
He stole what he could as he played a sharp game
And accrued a doubtful reputation of shame,
He cheated at cards and stole from the rich
And called all the tarts on the corner… a *****
And in taking the **** in a fat, farty way
He went on to run a fast gauntlet…and say
“I’ve now passed the buck to an honourable sod
Whose specialty lies in allegiance to God”
In thus doing he wagered a bet both ways
To the Devil he sang and to Jesus he prayed.
To his mistress he lied as he bedded her well
Tho his wife hit the road with the milkman from Hell,
His kids all cavorted with *** and with sin….
Then the whole mess contused like a shroud over him.
Morose and confused, whilst simpering in bed
Moans now, quite deservedly,…” Better off dead!”
M.
8 November 2017
In a wet Waikato Spring
NEW ZEALAND
Nov 8, 2017
Nov 8, 2017 at 12:10 AM UTC
As I sit . . .
green leaves hang . . . motionless . . .
~our earth spins on it's axis over a thousand miles per hour~
As I watch . . .
adagio grasses bow in repose . . .
~our earth orbits the sun over sixty-six thousand miles per hour~
As I rest . . .
vinca vines trail unruffled . . .
~our solar system whirls around the milky-way over five-hundred thousand miles per hour~
As I wonder . . .
flowers pose placid and serene
~our milky-way hurls headlong over a million miles per hour~
In my garden . . .
stillness reigns resolute . . . amidst this unimaginable tempestuous maelstrom
I am called to witness this defiance;
this static anarchy against the universe's irresistible momentum
I am surrounded by leafy verdure in stock-still solidarity;
blossoms colored with un-budged boldness
and tendriled vines in composed contempt
I am called to witness this unperturbed mutiny against torrid irascible forces
As I sit . . . musing on this peaceful anarchy
I think on He . . . that humble anarchist
waging peace against war
love against hate
grace against revenge
His submissive cheek immovable against brutish forces
I sit . . .
peacefully content in my garden of Eden
unmoved . . .
by the celerity of this careening world
geo.vuy 2015
Jun 3, 2017
Jun 3, 2017 at 6:48 PM UTC
curled up compact
as shockwaves of pain
twist daggers up my sides
doubling over metallic tang
as i coughed up rust
breaking, breaking
coiled within and writhing
as the shock slithers into aches
breaking apart in sulphurous acid
tearing holes in my viscera
as i'm blistered and vitriolic
hurting, hurting
contorted inhumanely
as the irascible aftershocks
flowed magma on my insides
burning me internally
as i waited for it to be over
dying, dying.
Mar 9, 2018
Mar 9, 2018 at 1:58 PM UTC
Death is an amerous being
Whose arms only want to hold you
The sky in Ohio is gray
Deny
Refute his claim
His conquering of your flesh
His irascible nature incurable
That your not ready to join him
In whatever darkness is his aim
His joy
His lonely and greedy demands
His need for fossils
Keep your light
Give your life
When the time is right
The sky in Ohio is gray
You have a chance
Take it and run
Away from his hateful clutch
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 12:07 AM UTC
plot out distances between freckles
and count the amount of hairs;
in a beauteous analysis
a cold witnessing
of)a featured lifeless gaze
projected onto windows
refracted in time with the pounding
from lost soulless ghouls
in a dank puddled basement
as we stare through keyholes
the length of life waits to rescind
to wash up on the shoreline
anew, once refreshed
with Angina on
wading in cyclic waves
in deposits of reveries
stale orangeade sonatas
and dull area tirades
the purpose
economized
every axiom
americanized
and as your atoms become depersonalized
tension is materialized, in ornate ivory
shattered brass instruments rusted by
novels written to god
in a
fractured light
and range
cramped in a curtailed distance
a brickwall deadend universe
gnashing with frustration
****** yawns of futility
closed viaducts
and vacant lots
deafened eyes, grey
glimmering in retort
to their own expression
blind sight was squandered by the snapback, of all the
strings of the orchestra as they were simultaneously snipped
by sharp prying eyes, listening to the mixing of paint
to smell the music, its arms limp, vivid
wishing to pull you back (in hindsight)
with dreaded, deadened incantations
a dithyrambic liturgy to the drunken thoughtless night
of slurred litanies and unappeasable, irascible deities
lonely and immaculate, all-powerless and deft
in irksome quarrels and arguments
glossed over by the fine print of another
exalting the vainglorious self-inscribed paragons
and revelling every inadmissible mistake
gazing past to a solo star
dumbstruck and dead
from an evaluation
and dehydration
dying to know
forget it.
Mar 19, 2016
Mar 19, 2016 at 4:19 PM UTC
It stood among no giants, no towers, no mountains.
Heedless to the wind, scattered without waving stalks and rusted leaves,
it chose to fall where it could not.
Jaded, perhaps, but not without sterling hands crafted to bellow.
A smattering of elbows chastised the woodpeckers pecking.
Ephemeral? Beautiful? Sober? Lassitude?
It fell among no gorges, no ravines, no swale.
Heedless to the rain, swamped in a dell without sliver streams,
it swelled up above the ratty woven sails.
Coarse, perhaps, but feather flew, vying for sky.
A copse of whitebark pine pillaged no battalions.
Mauve? Tender? Empyrean? Redolent?
It pattered among no small sorts, no ant hills, no chambers.
Heedless to the duke, sabotaged without sword, spear, stone,
it swallowed a hive of rabbits in no fields.
Desultory, perhaps, but not with quintessential ripples bent in space.
A harrowing panacea flourished in spindles of florid bristles.
Sempiternal? Susurrous? Honeyed? Irascible?
It churned among no whirlpools, no pots, no frosting.
Heedless to the maelstrom, sluicing in a myriad of slanted lanterns,
it chose to lure where it could not beguile.
Laconic, perhaps, but not without furtive gallows smoldering.
A candelabra of viridian mire spies spied genteel dragonflies.
Enormity? Enmity? Vestigial? Switchback?
It stood among nothing.
It stood enervated.
It stood.
It.
May 11, 2019
May 11, 2019 at 8:37 PM UTC
clever is the fortuitous man to surmise
the ever-changing meaning and machinations
of life's tinsel and flagrant floppiness
flipping and bending about immeasurably
to whims and claims and vignettes of
times past and future just guessing
and murmuring assumptions and platitudes
irascible mendacities or sagacity ever plain
in your mind's eye to blink or close
perceive or persuade the idle viewer or
dedicated neophyte all matter is but
conjecture for sure it illuminates both the heavens
and darkens the pits of hell
Oct 12, 2016
Oct 12, 2016 at 1:42 PM UTC