"irreverently" poems
My auspicious and audacious assault augments the annoyance of aged accomplices.
My bodacious broadside of boffolas berates and buffaloes bros beneficently.
A classy crusade Clownishly chiseling and criticizing childishness.
A devilish ********** of dillydallying dullards; devoutly denying dimwits the dulcet dream of defiance.
Excessive, exuberant edification, ebulliently eliminating education-evictees.
A fair-weather frolic in flippancy with furious fools floundering in flawed foppishness.
Gregariously grating glum guys gleefully, growing grander garnishes of gripping gallantry gaily.
Heckling hooligans highlights my heavenly humor.
Irreverently irking irritable, iniquitous idiots in inestimably infuriating and incredible instances.
A jolly, jocular **** joking with jerks.
A kreiger kicking kleptomaniacs in the karyotype. (Cut me some slack, this is 'k', after all.)
A ludicrous, laughing lambaste of lollygagging lunatics, loftily loosing luscious lunacy on lucky losers.
A magnificent masterpiece of malfeasance, a monstrous, malevolent mission of massive misfortune for the minor minors missing no malicious missive.
A noxious, narcissistic niggling of nitwits, niftily nixing the noisome naivete of niggardly nobs.
An offhand, off-color outburst of outlandish observations to outclass the obnoxious overtures of obsequious offal.
A pragmatic prediction of possible platitudes or platypi, a placid parley of pyrotechnic pleasantries provoking Pyrrhic protections by prurient prats.
A quixotic quibble quarreling with a queer quarry.
Ribald ribbing, ruining the robust reality of the repreachful, repugnant, and rapacious with risque ridiculousness.
A silly, slighting slander of sluglike slavishness, succinctly sinking sloppy simpletons sourly.
Tracing the titillating talent of towing tyranny to towering terrors to tactless, togless, terrapins of the times.
Jan 7, 2012
Jan 7, 2012 at 11:25 PM UTC
time governs
you and me
treat it not
irreverently
chance the unknown
while you can
sands of time
pause for no woman nor man
one and all
quick sticks
the time piece
it ticks it ticks
dithers and dawdlers
hear the alarm
wasted days
do each of us
irreversible harm
of the calendar year
we are sure
but moments in time
are pending trapdoors
make every venture
your stock in trade
lest time render us
uncertain and afraid
in reality rosters
and agendas do vary
devilish time
oft wickedly contrary
speed up Jack and Jill
sundials are on a roll
time is indiscriminate
exacting
a costly toll
governor time
is carefully deliberating
our pendulums
remonstrating
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 9:08 PM UTC
I dipped my extraordinary toe into the cool waters.
It was colder than I had expected it to be.
And as I glowered at myself
in a mirror of sorts,
I discovered I wasn’t alone.
Deceptively perfect
and perfectly sculpted.
A body of total glory.
A glistening aura,
with freshly chopped wave.
A glistening fauna,
amongst all the flora.
Irreverently so,
she fit no humanly mold.
A creature to truly behold.
I behold the true embodiment
of the truth and the good.
And I certainly remember
the tales of the crude.
*Tatter becomingly of thy soul.
Please don’t develop an interlude.
Ive been laying while dying
underneath old coal.
Please woman.
Call my name.*
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 7:00 AM UTC
Hanging in a leaden sky
Gulls, in tight formation, fly.
Heavy snow's cascading flare
Sodium sharpness filling air.
Heaving waves carousing fen
Ocean's scent, aloft.. .and then
The skiff with oarsman pulling tight
Materializing from the night
Braving, now, a heavy sea
Puffing pipe, irreverently.
Oblivious of mounting gale
Abandons oar to set a sail
Skimming sharp to gravel beach
Shrugs aside hazards reach.
Wading into pounding foam
Smiling thought of *** at home.
[email protected]
Feb 15, 2025
Feb 15, 2025 at 11:13 PM UTC
My adoptive father
(A week younger than I)
Who once dated my adoptive mother
(4 months younger than I)
Took us out to a posh joint in New Town
Where both of us took turns in being the clown
Taking the jester's, drama queen's crown
And taking down
Our Spanish waiter
Not sure if we did cater
More to them than they to us.
The racket, the drama, the jokes, the fuss,
My Instagram, and A.'s.
I remember his attempts to chase
Us, to gain to our level, to chat me up - make me leave trails
Of mirth tears, too, not just vinaigrette. "If the lady would give me her details...
Have my heart..."
(Serving four of a chicken on my plate)
"You broke my heart."
(Agreeing to and pulling off staging a "stage kiss" with my mate)
And they both admired my guns - He knew not to cross
Us. We're a dream team, my school-dad and I, no loss
For us, though we take Ls with smiles on our faces:
We'll keep on joking, laughing, irreverently, untying your laces,
Tripping up on our own but still making the trip;
And when the bill finally came, it was more than worth it, even the tip.
Mar 9, 2022
Mar 9, 2022 at 8:20 PM UTC
Little brown boys in knee pants
Single file.
Marching forward in reverence and godfear.
Genuflect on left knee.
File in and sit in wooden pews.
Whispering hope resounds irreverently.
on hallowed walls
each word an affront to god.
How do I know?
The sisters told us so.
every Friday. " bless me father for I have sinned"
seven year old. " really".
Crucified idol nailed to a cross.
Kneeling on knobby knees.
conjuring sins.
Ten our fathers and ten hail marys.
neutered males living in denial.
concealed desires cloaked in a Cossack.
cloistered women.
hiding in a habit.
who is ******** whom.
I was ten and the birds and bees
cows and horses, Friends and neighbors
unpulled the wool .
Had to scratch my head a lot
in those formative years.
The Vatican?
First world power.
Inquisitor's tower.
O.K. burn me at the stake.
Heretic.
Absolute power corrupts absolutely.?
No. Divinity has a window.
but small.
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 7:57 AM UTC
I'm seaching for traces of you in the ether left of your short presence
The warm glow of basking in your thoughts of me
The quiet pleasure of knowing I've affected you in some way
Unruffled you refuse to give anything away
You didn't think it through
My soul has a window on you
The stony looks hide nothing of our irreverent connection
Lost to the world for seconds that fill the void with lifetimes
Scorched by those burning eyes
your glow already envelops me
Don't get too close,
Sparks have a habit of spurring flames
We know better than to mix fire with gasoline
A quick touch
Transfers so much
I am left reeling
I push you away though you still linger in my atmosphere
Standing in your vacated place
Till the last vibration of warmth dissipates
And my soul has the course to move again
searching for another chance to hover near you
In time and spaces undefined by the regular course of love.
Jan 2, 2016
Jan 2, 2016 at 6:12 PM UTC
I'm seaching for traces of you in the ether left of your short presence
The warm glow of basking in your thoughts of me
The quiet pleasure of knowing I've affected you in some way
Unruffled you refuse to give anything away
You didn't think it through
My soul has a window on you
The stony looks hide nothing of our irreverent connection
Lost to the world for seconds that fill the void with lifetimes
Scorched by those burning eyes
your glow already envelops me
Don't get too close,
Sparks have a habit of spurring flames
We know better than to mix fire with gasoline
A quick touch
Transfers so much
I am left reeling
I push you away though you still linger in my atmosphere
Standing in your vacated place
Till the last vibration of warmth dissipates
And my soul has the course to move again
searching for another chance to hover near you
In time and spaces undefined by the regular course of love.
View ssmoothie's Full Portfolio
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 8:09 PM UTC
Ghosts walk these streets
The remnants of conflicts
of the past
Blood was spilled for soil
and the spoils
of war are baked beans
hotdogs
hamburgers
and coleslaw
The ghosts smile at the
peace,
passing through the streets
filled with the smell of
food and good times
These ghosts fought hard
and died well
Never let their egos swell
past the pins and medals fastened
to their chests
Never sat in judgement over
the mirth and laughter had
at their expense
Never reveled in boastful pride
or worried whether anyone
remembered why they died
But to be happy in their deaths
that the living could be
thankful
greatful
and speak kind words with their breaths
For judgement about how
someone spent a Sunday sulking
to the extent
of how history would affect
the macaroni and cheese
was for the living to worry about
A lot could be learned from a ghost
if we stilled our beating hearts to listen
if we let those be what they will be
and worry about me
instead of thee
Some light candles and say a prayer
Some light grills with no frills.
Some put their feet up and sleep
happy for the extra day off.
These ghosts smile similarly
upon all of them contentedly
happy to see
that they died a death of honor
so that we could live free.
May 29, 2017
May 29, 2017 at 4:21 AM UTC
Please tell me something beautiful
I want to feel alive
Like stars framed in the sky
Out light extinguished long ago
But the ethereal traces of us can still be
Observed dancing throughout the galaxy
And with every glimpse of those lingering memories
My heart grows colder and more distant
From this world
And travels further, expanding continually
But finds no solace to fill the void it irreverently leaves
Please, forgive me
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 12:39 AM UTC
My body is not beautiful -
it shows every row of dirt plowed,
every callous axe handle held
irreverently between the hands
that are swollen and cold;
my fingers, the puffy soldiers who smoked
one too many cigars in the
valleys of their webbed hills.
My body is not beautiful -
it is pitted with dirt entrenched in my pores
and craters of microorganisms
embedded in my flesh,
sending red fires into neutral skin,
a war beneath the surface
with smoothness being a casualty.
My body is not beautiful -
it has hair growing in places I hate,
thick layers of clinging calories
and expanded fat cells that
refuse to expire no matter how many
suicides I run or deaths I die
daily in an attempt to flatten them.
My body is not beautiful -
it is strong as hell.
My shoulders, firm and balanced,
tauntingly mock Atlas for complaining
of holding the world on his -
what he calls a tragedy, they call Monday.
My back has always carried whatever
burden I laid on it,
and though it's strained and torn
has yet to break beneath the weight
of the sorrow and the memories
living has given to me.
My legs, short and wide,
have lunged with mountains
by their sides,
moving forward through infernos
I can only describe as
"liquid fire as heavy as lead,"
traversing continents
and rushing rivers
knowing they were not going to give.
My arms are atlases,
traversed for countless miles
by vein-y highways
that lead to the ghost towns
I've gotten tattooed on my skin
to remind me that my
vagabond blood is pure
and my bones are made
of wanderlust.
No, my body is not beautiful,
but it is strong;
it has been places,
seen and done things.
It allows the universe
to make its home in my spinal
chord,
midnight to seep into my pores
and sing my heart to sleep
with starry melodies,
to leave behind the cement parking lot
I was born and raised in
and chase the horizon
no matter where it leads.
My body is not beautiful,
but it still deserves respect
for all it's done,
and all it holds,
regardless of my cellulite
or fat rolls.
Jan 26, 2017
Jan 26, 2017 at 12:53 PM UTC
They anticipate she writes
when insult their cat o' nine tails
and an officer with a retort
but yesteryear she tucks away her blues
and she's an inspiration with Jedediah
for a casual acquaintanceship inherently
or irreverently entwine anyway
as any foibles of hers are bare
with clement she need to see there
far and away ever a man alive again.
Feb 10, 2017
Feb 10, 2017 at 8:28 AM UTC
I have tried so hard
to remain in my particular status,
duly occupied and irreverently busy.
So that now I am tired;
cracking like dry mud.
Or like a shattered pane of glass
I am spread out along the street,
Being carefully stepped over
waiting to be swept away.
Nov 20, 2011
Nov 20, 2011 at 1:29 AM UTC
The sky hung full of ****** above the execution bell.
The crow circles overhead irreverently, dressed in his Sunday best.
In the bar the dead men fought.
From the counter outside they flew.
Spilled into the street in front of a few.
Two cowboys, guns in both of their hands, wrathful and vengefully meeting demands.
The young lady with the mess of blonde hair, was heard to squeal,
"Oh Jimmy, fight not over me, let him go, let him go free".
The lady in the emerald hat cried "Jimmy and Jason, please stop that."
I hate it when you play with guns.
One of the problems when you have stroppy twin sons.
Their weapons discarded into the bin.
After the gunfight that no brother won.
(C) Livvi
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 2:45 AM UTC
time governs you and me
treat it not irreverently
chance the unknown while you can
sands of time pause for no woman nor man
one and all quick sticks
the time piece it ticks it ticks
ditherers and dawdlers hear the alarm
wasted days do each of us irreversible harm
of the calendar year we are sure
though moments in time are pending trapdoors
make every venture your stock in trade
lest time render us uncertain and afraid
in reality agendas and rosters do vary
devilish time oft wickedly contrary
speed up Jack Jill sundials are on a roll
time is indiscriminate in exacting a costly toll
governor time is carefully deliberating
our pendulums remonstrating
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 7:12 PM UTC
Too much...
It always seemed so rare - to me -
the Shakespearean slings and arrows
we all are said, to suffer -
could take such daunting blows.
But they can, and they do.
We all deal differently
some with armor,
some with dark sadness,
blood red anger,
deep consuming depression,
and often, Denial.
Ah. Denial. A close personal friend.
He breathes to ones lips
a kiss of relief; obscuring truth;
a sly tongue slipped in, irreverently
with the lie.
Denial. A seed of peace upon the heart;
and yet, black death awaits the bloom
its blossom sweet -
dismissing of the Truth.
Denial will never save one.
He will obscure reality,
diffuse the pain
and lead one down the path
where discovery awaits - too late.
Denial and Truth - Mortal enemies
I learned too late;
Did not heed Truth's solemn gaze
His words, unspoken, but there;
"Be aware. Don't dismiss. Danger lurks."
Truth - the quiet one -
whose thunder sounds in one's soul
when comes discovery...
Truth works within.
We do not listen to that tiny
whisper - as soft as a spring breeze.
I wish I had listened,
suspicious of Denial's kiss.
Alas, too late.
Too little time -
and much - too much,
to prepare for.
Lin Cava
2016.4.09
CC
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 10:49 AM UTC
On a wood slat bench near City Park Lake,
I blew dusk into darkness on clouds of an exhausted Cohiba.
Dry, starless, midwestern summer shadows
sound like one-handed applause wrapped
in padded outrage. A rogue drake stirs unseen behind
nearly visible bushes at the water’s edge.
The rest of the tacet brood turn
condescending beaks at his faux pas.
It is the silence of trespassing,
disregarding closing time,
defying petty ordinance
to the tune of two frogs and windsong.
The empty side of my lips
curl in half a smile.
The appall in a proper rent-a-cop
would be irreverently rewarding.
Life doesn’t get any better than this…
At least it feels so now in the dizzy,
near fainting, larger-than-normal ****
on a larger-than-normal cigar. Regardless,
it’s a fine moment in time.
Feb 12, 2018
Feb 12, 2018 at 11:22 PM UTC
time governs you and me
treat it not irreverently
chance the unknown will you can
sands of time pause for no woman nor man
one and all quick sticks
the time piece it ticks it ticks
ditherers and dawdlers hear the alarm
wasted days do each of us irreversible harm
of the calendar year we are sure
though moments in time are pending trapdoors
make every venture your stock in trade
lest time render us uncertain and afraid
in reality rosters and agendas do vary
devilish time oft wickedly contrary
speed up Jack and Jill sundials are on a roll
time is indiscriminate in exacting a costly toll
governor time is carefully deliberating
our pendulums remonstrating
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 5:10 PM UTC
Emotions--tied together in rings of camouflage,
building up in a series of songs and sighs;
As the heart beats mysteriously, irreverently,
while hopeless tears explode from captive eyes.
Portraits--of sinister solutions surely project,
the wanton hurt of many passionate moments;
Cries from the soulless, the mastermind falling,
as drifting snowflakes dissolve from missives sent.
Fear--those wordless notions of discontent,
built like pyramids to last in the eternal sphere;
Gravely woven into a faded, jumbled tapestry,
weakened by Fate, holding on with pride revered.
Words--how they burden us with legacies,
descriptive and expressive but not always right;
The ghosts of our past seem ever-present now,
as they seek what's meaningful in spirits of the night.
Nov 18, 2023
Nov 18, 2023 at 2:43 PM UTC
How many faces
do you pass by
with broken dreams
and lonely eyes?
Lives and men you
have brought to their knees.
To adore you and love you
until you discard them
without a second glance
or thought
again.
As you cast your eyes away
because I will not cast mine,
as you cast your stones,
and I will not cast mine.
And you pass by,
telling yourself you don't love me.
You do,
I tell myself.
What trails of sadness and
regret
do you walk?
How many people can you step
on to get to the next
and the next and
to deride and discredit
their being as humans?
Do you stumble and fall
as we do,
or are you as sure as the
earth and fingers you so
irreverently step upon?
And so you pass,
with your silence and haste,
with your shrinking and bowing,
and your eyes cast and face of stone,
I find that my answer is
many
and that I am but
one.
Oct 7, 2015
Oct 7, 2015 at 12:44 PM UTC