"ite" poems
The monk shows me the scar
where he took the bullet
the 70s fiery rebel
is now a Shiva-ite by faith.
I try to see in his eyes
remnant of youth’s spark
believing the fire never dies
from time now buried in the dark.
The March wind blows the dust
banyan trunks make a cool shade
in the lull he relieves a past
no way could he obliterate.
*A time was I held a gun
the police was hot on my trail
day night I was on the run
in the pride of being a rebel.*
Cast shadows an eerie silence
now evening could no longer wait
I wave to him from a distance
Shiva waits on him to meditate.
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 5:02 AM UTC
First off I am the ****
I slap ******* in Target
and steal them electric carts
to get away from the popo
I start low speed chases
down sidewalks on three wheeled motorcycles.
I got arrested, but that's a'ite.
I am the ****
I start bar fights
with pool cues
and hit ****** with beer bottles.
I throw rocks
through car windows.
I got arrested, but that's a'ite.
I am the ****
I threaten Subway employees
with my big black gun
while Suge gets mani-pedis.
I get my motherfucckin' sandwich anyway.
I got arrested, but that's a'ite.
I am the ****
I got fo kids and I keep my guns in a box.
I smoke ****
It aint a drug.
Its something you smoke when you want to feel good.
I got arrested, but that's a'ite.
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 8:17 AM UTC
altho
ugh i push y
ou away, yo
u have alw
ays see
med to kno
w that
the truth of the m
atter is, i will alwa
ys need you more
and yet
poets are flagra
nt wastes of space
hem
ming the edge
s of this society
confining it
with hed
onistic needs and wants
and all t
he ridiculous feeli
ngs assoc
iated with the fu
cked system of
emot
ional intelligence
emascu
lating the blac
k and wh
ite i des
ire of
Alas, Alas
I seem to have drowned myself into Kool-Aid.
"Poets are shameless with their experiences; they exploit them" said Nietzsche once.
I wonder how you are today.
Sep 28, 2012
Sep 28, 2012 at 2:45 AM UTC
Frankenstein‘s Cyborg.
R O B O T
R O B O T
R O B O T
Heavy Metal Music.
R O B O T
R O B O T
R O B O T
Frankenstein’s Cyborg.
My robo-tic child,
My favor-ite cyborg, yeah.
My robo-tic child,
I’m the reason you were born.
R O B O T
R O B O T
R O B O T
God I thought they’d killed me.
R O B O T
R O B O T
R O B O T
What did you do to me?
If I left, you there,
Where would you be now? Yeah,
If I’d left, you there,
Tell me where would you be?
If I left, you there,
Where would you be now, yeah,
If I’d left, you there,
Tell me where would you be?
R O B O T
R O B O T
R O B O T
Move like a robot.
R O B O T
R O B O T
R O B O T
Work like a robot.
You’re part man, part machine;
You’re the product of our dreams.
We made you work, we made you live,
We kept the faith, we believed;
We were right, we did succeed,
We fulfilled all our dreams.
My robo-tic child,
My favorite cyborg, yeah.
My robo-tic child,
My Heavy Metal son.
R O B O T
R O B O T
R O B O T
Gonna be a soldier
R O B O T
R O B O T
R O B O T
It doesn’t matter if I get shot, yeah.
R O B O T
R O B O T
R O B O T
I’m gonna live forever.
(C)2011 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Apr 18, 2018
Apr 18, 2018 at 2:58 AM UTC
Infinitely branded beaten and betrothed. Infinitely Lingering loved and lothed.
Infinitely beautiful staring into those eyes. Now more than ever Ive seen it without disguise.
Infinitely taken back. My maze of thoughts. Swimming to a swirl.
My inky sorrow to match your liner.
Eyes of pain and beauty the way you've drawn them.
Did you do this just for me.
Knowing that I will see.
A deadly stare, one that grips me tight.
Impossible to let her go
this struggle is in-fin-ite.
Infinitely distant, how did you get so high.
Up there with poise where only birds can fly.
I've enjoyed this tease. This view of couple.
Two strands of hair that play in your face.
They look like imperfection but to me it's been pure grace.
This is hard this really never was the plan.
Now you're Infinitely lost in another man.
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 8:26 PM UTC
Boxes will remain boxes,
Resting in the same place
Even through dark nights
As if they must understand and
Know that they can't do anything;
Nothing is worse than having nowhere to
Go to for a home.
Feeling like a deserted ship is a
Rite of passage that everyone will
Experience in their life; the
Escape is further away than you think.
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 9:22 PM UTC
Yo adoro a una sonámbula con alma de Eloísa,
virgen como la nieve y honda como la mar;
su espíritu es la hostia de mi amorosa misa,
y alzo al són de una dulce lira crepuscular.Ojos de evocadora, gesto de profetisa,
en ella hay la sagrada frecuencia del altar:
su risa en la sonrisa suave de Monna Lisa;
sus labios son los únicos labios para besar.Y he de besarla un día con rojo beso ardiente;
apoyada en mi brazo como convaleciente
me mirará asombrada con íntimo pavor;la enamorada esfinge quedará estupefacta;
apagaré la llama de la vestal intacta
¡y la faunesa antigua me rugirá de amor!
948
.
White
Collar White
Collar White Co
l l a r WhiteCollar
White Collar Whi
te White Collar
White Collar Wh
ite Collar White
Collar White Co
l l a r White Col
lar White Collar
White Collar Wh
ite Collar White
Collar White Co
l a r WhiteCollar
White Collar Wh
ite White Collar
White Collar White Collar White
Collar White Co lar White Collar Whi
te Collar White Collar White Collar
White Collar White Collar
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 10:21 AM UTC
with him included? the devil's dozen, or
the 13 -
then the hours of Horus:
noon - Simon Peter -
later with covenant
of the hour: holy spirit,
and the minute hand: son
and the second hand: the father
oh quiet the trinity handful,
given year zero -
hours 12 through to 1
Andrew, James, John, Philip, Bartholomew,
Thomas, Matthew, James, Thaddeus, Simon, Judas
s / p.
s. a.
θ. j.
j. Δ j.
m. p.
b.
look at the ******* clock! something's awry!
Simon peter 12
Andrew 13
James 14
John 15 (3 a.m. / p.m.)
Philip 16
Bartholomew 17 (5 p.m.)
Thomas 18 (six)
Matthew 19 (seven)
James (ibn Alφaeus) 20 (eight)
"θ" (nine),
Simon K9'ite - ten
Iscariot - eleven - clocks are wrong...
the year 0 a.d. is based on this,
twelve disciples, twelve hours a.m. / a.d.
and v.
p.m. / b.c.,
hence the trinity / Δ -
an hour for the holy spirit to catch on,
son monetises the minutes
and the father being omnipresent understands within
seconds...
but i was aiming to do justice to the harvest missed
last year, i was intending to make wine;
hence the list of ingredients,
a) wine yeast;
b) yeast nutrient:
diammonium phosphate,
magnesium sulphate, nicotinic acid, magnesium carbonate,
thiamine hydrochloride, zinc sulphate, ferrous
ammonium sulphate, biotin;
c) pectolase:
pectinase enzyme, dextrose monohydrate;
d) bruclens cleaner / steriliser:
sodium percarbonate;
e) fine fining A: silica sol,
" B: chitosan (derived from crab and shrimp
shells, contains sodium metabisulphite)
f) two months' worth of patience.
it's that time of the year where you make wine
(just a little bush, enough for 12 bottles) -
and gestapo a curry -
a tarka dhal
and a kheralan chicken with coconut milk...
i love when **** decays, it tastes better than
when **** blossoms and isn't exactly edible
but merely colourful.
Oct 17, 2016
Oct 17, 2016 at 10:17 PM UTC
Silly You.
Hypocrite
ypocrite
pocrite
ocrite
crite
rite
ite
te
e
You're such a hypocrite.
I don't know if it's intentional.
Only that it's true.
Oh, please don't drink, it's so bad for you, please, get better, please please blahblahblahblaaa...
Oh, don't mind me, just gonna get **** faced
just gonna finish the bottle,
and maybe another.
Don't mind me.
I'm not judging.
Silly yo, don't think that.
It's my birthday, whatever.
Well **** that.
Hypocrite.
I'll drink.
I'll write.
I'll hurt.
I'll do these things sober too, just watch me.
except drinking of course.
ha-ha.
Please, I'm an adult, blahblah, don't drink, blahblah
I'm sorry for everything.
Except for the things I'm not.
Which is, coincidentally, everything.
Aug 10, 2012
Aug 10, 2012 at 3:32 AM UTC
Take your favorite things,
….tear ‘em to pieces,
…holding that which you love in your heart.
Stir them up ‘in-si-ide,’ wear ‘em, release ‘em knowing now just, -who you ‘ar-are.’
A secret box ‘in-si-ide,’
Cherish, believe them,
…holding that which you love in your heart.
A special place inside, stirring, increasing and now you’re building your heart.
So take your ‘fa-vor-ite’ things,
….tear ‘em to pieces,
…holding that which you love in your heart.
Stir them up ‘in-si-ide,’ wear ‘em, release ‘em knowing now just, -who you ‘ar-are.’
A secret box ‘in-si-ide,’
Cherish, believe them,
…holding that which you love in your heart.
A special place inside, stirring, increasing and now you’re building your heart.
chorus
And now you’re building,
AND NOW YOU’RE BUILDING,
And now you’re building your heart.
So take your ‘fa-vor-ite’ things,
*chorus…and hold that which you love in…
So take your ‘fa-vor-ite’ things,
chorus…and hold that which you love in…
Take your ‘fa-vor-ite’ things,
chorus…and hold that which you love in…
Take your ‘fa-vor-ite’ things,
chorus…and hold that which you love in…
Soft spoken end
Take your favorite things,
….tear ‘em to pieces,
…holding that which you love in your heart…
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 8:15 AM UTC
State a sentì, ve voglio dì na cosa,
ma nun m'aita chiammà po' scustumato;
chello ca v'aggia dì è na quaccosa
ca i' penso che vvuje ggià nn'ite parlato.
Sta cusarella è ccosa ca sta a cuore
a tuttequante nuje napulitane:
sentennela 'e struppià, ma che dulore,
p'arraggia 'e vvote me magnasse 'e mmane!
Ma nun è proprio chisto l'argomento,
si 'a 'nguaiano o no la povera canzone...
Sanno parlà sultanto 'e tradimento!
'A verità, stu fatto m'indispone.
Na vota se cantava " 'O sole mio ",
"Pusilleco... Surriento... Marechiaro",
" 'O Vommero nce stà na tratturia "...
"A purpe vanno a ppesca cu 'e llampare"...
Chelli parole 'e sti canzone antiche,
mettevano int' 'o core n'allerezza;
chesti pparole 'e mo?... Che ffà... V' 'o ddico?
Nun è pe criticà: sò na schifezza!
"Torna cu mme... nun 'mporta chi t'ha avuta"
" 'O ssaccio ca tu ggià staje 'mbraccio a n'ato"...
"Stongo chiagnenno 'a che te ne si gghiuta"...
"Che pozzo fà s'io songo 'nnammurato"...
Mettimmece na pezza, amici cari,
e nun cantammo cchiù: "Tu m'he traduto".
Sentenno sti ccanzone, a mme me pare,
'e sta' a sentì 'o lamiento d' 'e curnute!
725
Speak up more, not less, using your own ideo-vocalized mess.
Soliloquy — in front of yourself and everyone else-a-melse.
Monologue, dog!
You and I can flip-flop nonstop lolly pop but that gets trite fast and then we just so need to speak our favor-ite verbo-bite.
Bebop, hiphop, tipitity-top, slop-a-pop.
Ski-ba-bop-ba-bop-voc; do that thang nonstop.
Be-cause …
We have been flattened by the road-grade blade of the prepaid lexicographers.
We have been run over by the top-botched, pop-a-voc.
We have suffered weak-a-squeak.
We have sold out for safety and we have shut up way too much because we thought we were stuck-a-muck with duck and cluck.
Nope! Fess; you’ve got that vocable mess!
Unperson; you’ll worsen, but word-dive and jivity jive and you’ll revive.
See!
Be inventy.
Sync with your blink.
Que with your you and do-ba-de-do
Dec 19, 2019
Dec 19, 2019 at 4:44 PM UTC
wAKing UP
Next>> to you
In~ hale 》breathe. you. IN
you,.you,.....your ten《so soft》der skin
how it hasn't felt
quite. like. this.
so en>twin>>ed
so right, right, right
as if we've held. __ that __ space
100s of;... times.
wh\ is\ per\ s. S. s. about our Iives
tra》》cing your arm
KiSSing your s p i n e
such peaceful moments
losing-the-time
touching like this,...
...my fa vore ite
& it's as if We'VE BEEN here
be, {some other life} fore
so ~at~ease~
...in. your. arms.
I suppose;,...
it's //like//
,.... home
Jan 2, 2016
Jan 2, 2016 at 3:38 PM UTC
B-aby don't sit there in
R-ags like a slave girl
O-nly you can set this
K-ite to fly again
E-verything grows again,
N-ever underestimate your
T-ransparent heart.
H-ealing comes with time
I-nhale the sweetness of the
N-ight, let your light
G-low all through, even when the
S-un goes down.
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 11:12 PM UTC
It is Maori language week here in NZ, so...
Ko te ahua o taku aroha
He ngawari taku aroha
Ka pupuhi nga puawai ngawari
i runga kahui puna mahana
Kei te takaro toku aroha
he matotoru
kopikopiko i roto i te tito aroha
Ko taku aroha he ra raumati
takai te kare
ite marama me te mahana
Aroha katoa ahau
te kotahi te honi pi
huri noa i ahau i roto i toku ngakau
~~~~~~~*~
and in translation..
The nature of my love
my love is gentle
soft petals blown
on a warm spring breeze
my love is playful
a tender tickle
enveloped in a loving tease
my love is a summer day
wrapped in emotion
clearly felt and warm
my love is all for you
the one true honey-bee
as around my heart you swarm.
J.C. honey-tiger 09/09/2019.
Sep 8, 2019
Sep 8, 2019 at 10:29 PM UTC
Was there ever a time
When fear and neurosis
Didn't slam dance their way out
Of the birdcage between my armpits?
When did my ears not ring with tinnitus
Lines on repeat like
"They don't care."
And
"You're worthless."
When did I stop treading water?
When did I start using loved ones as life rafts,
Shoving them beneath the surface
If only for one quick gasp of air?
When did the sadness get so immense,
It formed its own gravitational pull?
Like a black hole in space,
******* in all the surroundings.
When did I stop feeling like enough?
Like the moment a meteor earns its "-ite,"
Epiphany has struck and leaves a trail of realization.
All that remains
Is the decision to make things right.
Oct 20, 2017
Oct 20, 2017 at 2:35 PM UTC
questioning my core competency
_______________________________
*man or woman, an irrelevancy,
we all believe that we possess
certain core competencies that
reflect our managerial skills, the
hows of how we organize and smooth
the daily mishmash of our otherwise
would-be-totally-hellish-lives*
minor stuff, that have the risk potency
of the skinny tail of the curve, where the
highly improbable
seems to happen as if regularly scheduled.
let the gas tank go to E, worse, unnoticeably,
but on a small isle, with no AAA, a single gas station,
in howling wind, and summer rain mael-strom,
forced to risk a brief trip over hilly terrain, fearful of
being gas poor on the stuck-side of the road, with
no one to call, no savior to summon, and my sense
of self, now shattered-glass on the side of the road.
*did I mention that the night prior when the situation
was yellow lit to get my immediate attention, I had
forgotten my instrumental human connectivity, my
Inshallah cell phone (1), at our dining out restaraunt,
making necessary a seven point four mile R/T detour,
to preserve my integrity, pride, communicability, and
the few(er) left, shards of my lesser antilles’ ego and pride.*
turns out that even on E, for long periods, you still
can go some distance for the car designers, all liars,
to nice people like me, leave a gallon reserve undisclosed,
for the vain and statically stupid of which I am a member.
more details of my ineptness, shameful, shall not be herein revealed, but when we meet, gladly be disclosed over alcohol.
*but it is now between the hours of nine and ten AM, and despite
imbibing 22.5. ozs. of Jamaican coffee, I return to bed,
having made it to the local station with gnawed knuckles,
and chewed lower lip,
lower the shades, announce to no one in particular, hello,
do not disturb, for-up-all-night-poet-ite, is exhausted the
exhaust of depression, for his core competencies have
been renamed, now and forever, his*
gored incompetencies!
p.s. E, having consulted the owner’s manual,
stands for more precisely ,
Empty Headed
Jul 16, 2023
Jul 16, 2023 at 10:14 AM UTC
I’m awake to my own crippling
Knowing that it’s crippiling me
Aware ite like my own branded disease
I’m awak to it...yet no one can see
So silenced by my own homemade fears
It’s something I need
Yelling out to save me
Yet no one is here
I’m awake
Yes, I know
To stop this madness
I don’t want to, but I have to
Let go
Feb 14, 2018
Feb 14, 2018 at 5:57 PM UTC
I re all-ized,
steps still count
You run, when you can.
It is the thought, reason being,
you remember running when you could, but
if you never
did
really,
run like a river,
or the wind,
you can only imagine, and that
is just
and fair.
imagine you knew a persona or
knew an I de ift to the point
of being famous for being so
edgy
about in or un fine it or ite in or e volving
valves, like
vacuum tubes, an
cient sparks tamed in qualesecs to the parsecteth
spec of time/space minus friction
non sense.
sophia her self speaks from shadows in riddles,
and every man, wombed, wounded, or un
every one kisses the sun
with that first
"this is the end of what began forever ago"
then "nope"
and only common sense is left the child
see smell touch taste test hear test touch test
bad good, good was first, but we never notice
we newborn bearers of light's burden.
Who, pray tell, who im magied, mal-praxiologically,
lucifer a name for the accuser?
the shining thing and the bearer of the light that may light
all lamps touched by it,
candles on a cake? means nada, right?
this
little light, of mine,
I'm gonna let it shine.
Ain't agonna let no lie put it out,
I'm gonna let it shine, y'know?
No?
Taste, see, good. Prove me. Try. Same as doing,
if you did it in your heart,
if you imagined, did you
do or try?
Do or die, the old warrior who mocks the liar,
whispers, look'em in the eye. He winks.
Jan 18, 2019
Jan 18, 2019 at 5:52 PM UTC
An ironmonger is a but a hardware store
And equally inaccurate both ways
For not nearly all that is mongered is iron
Just as not all that is hardware is hard
At the ironmonger one finds toilet seats
Hammers and saws, water valves, mosquito spray
Welders’ caps and leather gloves, wrecking bars
And hunting licenses against the fall
Coffee in paper cups, men vested in jeans
Stained with the work of tending the Garden
Chanting the liturgies of field and shop
Of pump and plow and press, piston and plane
Cups empty, then, their Ite, missa est:
“Well, boys, I got to go now; y’all be blessed”
May 30, 2019
May 30, 2019 at 4:28 PM UTC
Ite ad Joseph
For Joseph Thaddeus Petty
Sunday, 8 October 2017
Then let us go in to Joseph this day,
His day, soft-cradled in his mother’s arms;
He does not rule Egypt, but rather, our hearts
In the ordained hierarchy of love
His sisters in their turns nestle him too -
“Be sure to support his head – yes, that’s right” –
Their playmate new in the garden of life,
Their brother in the cloisters of Creation
He sleeps, so, shhhhhh – now let us slip away
For we have greeted Joseph on this happy day
Oct 9, 2017
Oct 9, 2017 at 7:01 PM UTC
{editer note: ******* title nixed as non sensicle, but his contract gave him title rights if the inner net ever was re-al-ized, so his title was:
De-fine ite religion to its ment tent,
intended to set a course on defining religion,
then faith and seeing what would happen next,
because we went some ways with that idea we
we, integrit I ated we
we know how important your valuing peace is to the value of peace.
Butterfly hurricanes in the Bermuda triangle,
that's just gas,
like when a newborn smiles at the twinkle in his grandma's eye.
But let your peace come into a place,
see if, still see if still be still again slower still your will be done on earth
how? right? who can do what God would do if he were you?}
In my mind, my perfectly calmable mind
I am culpable for drawing your attention,
claims the flame to the moth who
exclaims, idea, I die for do I care
que? sera sera
Madre mia sang that song right along
made her matter, like she was dancing for me,
baby,
who twisted that little head
who told you that little lie
why, why, why, baby, why
give me a reason for the faith that is in you or
we all die
anyway
the idea is first, always, right? The thought before there's a word or any
no, no. nothing is impossible, so something must be.
My thanks, a shout out to A. Conan Doyle, a sir or something I believe,
He gave us both the 5% solution and the Piltdown Hoax.
Timed for real ation, or revelation 20 years after 20 landmarks
surfaced. Holmes winked at Jesus, I know what you mean.
Something is possible. Nothing is not.
Yes. Good News. Quite.
Dec 17, 2018
Dec 17, 2018 at 10:06 PM UTC