"kublai" poems - Hello Poetry

Charge forth into Dis-topi Ah, City of Kanye-esque antics and Oxford commas looking for lovers Bliss-ful dive and conquer in Shakespearean soliloquies thus Learned to romance on the breast of Juliet and *** ******** despite plaque Toe the line, Lady Macbeth, let your murderous rhythm sing harmonic Matthew 18 rendition on the dias of Gatsby, 1920 Thousand and fifteen we still age inappropriate Lee, Spike jump rage against God Hates **** yet black lives live without crack ******* Kublai Khan to the sanctified Amazons.

0

Mar 4, 2015

Mar 4, 2015 at 9:49 AM UTC

elle-hermes

Ceramic Virginity

Charge forth into Dis-topi Ah, City of Kanye-esque antics and Oxford commas looking for lovers Bliss-ful dive and conquer in Shakespearean soliloquies thus Learned to romance on the breast of Juliet and *** ******** despite plaque Toe the line, Lady Macbeth, let your murderous rhythm sing harmonic Matthew 18 rendition on the dias of Gatsby, 1920 Thousand and fifteen we still age inappropriate Lee, Spike jump rage against God Hates **** yet black lives live without crack ******* Kublai Khan to the sanctified Amazons.

9

I met her on the road Exhausted just like me. I asked her why she's walking She told me she is free. I told her I'm a pilgrim. She warned me, don't forget, You may be tired of walking, But your end is 'lejos' yet. I told her Santiago Was now my Xanadu. She laughed and said the Khan awaits. I laughed and said I knew. I've seen his horse on hills afar, He canters while I walk And Kublai champs his teeth and shouts His sword spits while we talk. He wears the forest as a cloak And chains the wind as breath. I see him chase me further on He tracks me to my death. I asked her where she's going. To Santiago too, But I don't seek the spires and peaks I'm hunting one like you. He's running as his boots get worn And I champ my teeth and shout. He's keeping eyes out to the hills While my sword point seeks him out. Her deep black eyes and strong disguise Bled from her and she stood. Kublai Khan afore me spoke. I ran but 'twas no good She spoke out strong and in a blur, 'You are not my prey. For many men along the road Flee demons every day.' And she roared and drew her breath, The wind took up her gait. She took the time to smile before Her horse flew fast and straight. I watched her go, still for so long, The road behind ignored. I heard the wind blow on before I turned and saw He roared. The hill was crowned with forest Drawn around his back. He spurred his horse on and the steed Cantered down the track. I turned and walked, slow and calm For I am used to demons. Though on the road I keep him towed. The Khan is still the freeman.

0

Jan 2, 2015

Jan 2, 2015 at 1:01 PM UTC

Porto-graffiti

The Demon Khan

I met her on the road Exhausted just like me. I asked her why she's walking She told me she is free. I told her I'm a pilgrim. She warned me, don't forget, You may be tired of walking, But your end is 'lejos' yet. I told her Santiago Was now my Xanadu. She laughed and said the Khan awaits. I laughed and said I knew. I've seen his horse on hills afar, He canters while I walk And Kublai champs his teeth and shouts His sword spits while we talk. He wears the forest as a cloak And chains the wind as breath. I see him chase me further on He tracks me to my death. I asked her where she's going. To Santiago too, But I don't seek the spires and peaks I'm hunting one like you. He's running as his boots get worn And I champ my teeth and shout. He's keeping eyes out to the hills While my sword point seeks him out. Her deep black eyes and strong disguise Bled from her and she stood. Kublai Khan afore me spoke. I ran but 'twas no good She spoke out strong and in a blur, 'You are not my prey. For many men along the road Flee demons every day.' And she roared and drew her breath, The wind took up her gait. She took the time to smile before Her horse flew fast and straight. I watched her go, still for so long, The road behind ignored. I heard the wind blow on before I turned and saw He roared. The hill was crowned with forest Drawn around his back. He spurred his horse on and the steed Cantered down the track. I turned and walked, slow and calm For I am used to demons. Though on the road I keep him towed. The Khan is still the freeman.

52

abridge the air above the aria because basically I'm bent on balancing books center to the capacity of culpability derived from the demonic disappointments entering my ethnicity. Forget the foul fate of so greatly glazed a high horse inside an icy inescapable jail, where juveniles jinx Kublai Khan, knocking the kimono lying lazily upon the lamp. Mortifying my middle man never negating the negotiations of an open opinion perhaps a pernicious quagmire, quietly and quickly, ravenously rages, sickly. Stop spewing this title to tempt under the universe very volatile in waiting. Wonder why Xanthippe from Xian is yearning for your zenith and zeros in on your words. Pondering, wondering, if this is all for nothing. coming up asundering. their voices thundering. and I am silent. now. alone. staring into a world undone, wondering where the sun could be. And seeing, it's right behind of me And I wonder how I got where I ought to be. my food for thought is free. it's the words inside of me.

0

Apr 18, 2014

Apr 18, 2014 at 7:17 PM UTC

iris-rebry

This poem is a failed idea

abridge the air above the aria because basically I'm bent on balancing books center to the capacity of culpability derived from the demonic disappointments entering my ethnicity. Forget the foul fate of so greatly glazed a high horse inside an icy inescapable jail, where juveniles jinx Kublai Khan, knocking the kimono lying lazily upon the lamp. Mortifying my middle man never negating the negotiations of an open opinion perhaps a pernicious quagmire, quietly and quickly, ravenously rages, sickly. Stop spewing this title to tempt under the universe very volatile in waiting. Wonder why Xanthippe from Xian is yearning for your zenith and zeros in on your words. Pondering, wondering, if this is all for nothing. coming up asundering. their voices thundering. and I am silent. now. alone. staring into a world undone, wondering where the sun could be. And seeing, it's right behind of me And I wonder how I got where I ought to be. my food for thought is free. it's the words inside of me.

45

certain words don't provide adequate ontological modes, they provide ontological medians or means, but not modes, for example, a good comparison would be to compare two words, only two words: a. atheism and b. apathy. dissect the words during a syllable cut as a meaningful prefix, in both examples that's a-, what do you get? a- (without) god (/ theology), contradictory given that atheism is a type of theology, a logic to disprove the existence of something, but it's still a theology of some sort, now the second example: a- (without) pathology (/ailments of range whether phobias or their antonyms, psychological constructs that are stressed more prominently than serious pains that leave everyone psychologically paralysed by that parasite of pain). in terms of ontology, in simpler terms simply qua, which is more important in human affairs? qua apathetic or qua atheistic? personally? i think the former - there are more obstructions in the former's rubric of obstructions than in the latter's, given that it's a rarity to be suddenly struck down with plagues and prophetic ailments of ill fate... i don't care how cool it looks, to be an atheist, you could only be a true atheist if you were illiterate and couldn't use the alphabet (that old chestnut from the book of genesis, in the beginning there was word, and the word was god), or if you were part of that famous experiment done by frederick ii hohenstaufen where a bunch of children were raised in a phonetic celibacy by nuns, just to prove what language was spoken first; well the experiment conclusively produced a bunch of mutes... i guess extending the experiment's parameters to animals would never work: try forcing a cat to bark, as many vanities of "proven reasons" died when kublai khan moved the horde east without due respect for peace-loving mongolians.

0

Jan 16, 2016

Jan 16, 2016 at 1:32 PM UTC

removed.polaroid-scrabble

the frederick ii hohenstaufen linguistic experiment

certain words don't provide adequate ontological modes, they provide ontological medians or means, but not modes, for example, a good comparison would be to compare two words, only two words: a. atheism and b. apathy. dissect the words during a syllable cut as a meaningful prefix, in both examples that's a-, what do you get? a- (without) god (/ theology), contradictory given that atheism is a type of theology, a logic to disprove the existence of something, but it's still a theology of some sort, now the second example: a- (without) pathology (/ailments of range whether phobias or their antonyms, psychological constructs that are stressed more prominently than serious pains that leave everyone psychologically paralysed by that parasite of pain). in terms of ontology, in simpler terms simply qua, which is more important in human affairs? qua apathetic or qua atheistic? personally? i think the former - there are more obstructions in the former's rubric of obstructions than in the latter's, given that it's a rarity to be suddenly struck down with plagues and prophetic ailments of ill fate... i don't care how cool it looks, to be an atheist, you could only be a true atheist if you were illiterate and couldn't use the alphabet (that old chestnut from the book of genesis, in the beginning there was word, and the word was god), or if you were part of that famous experiment done by frederick ii hohenstaufen where a bunch of children were raised in a phonetic celibacy by nuns, just to prove what language was spoken first; well the experiment conclusively produced a bunch of mutes... i guess extending the experiment's parameters to animals would never work: try forcing a cat to bark, as many vanities of "proven reasons" died when kublai khan moved the horde east without due respect for peace-loving mongolians.

48

those gods like rotten meat end up in a dump buzzed over by flies scratched and left over by some canine 'cause his master said "don't eat that rotten **** you fool!" there are worms they don't think like that if they think at all but be modest, Charlie give'em some credit for they never complain for making a fertilizer now will you look down that bridge there lay a dried up whale exploding boiling organs all around and there hides the entire city behind the stink now we wait, Charlie, 'cause we are patient wait for some Kublai Khan to interpret as he wishes 'cause, Marco Polo does not speak the same language and god is still an ever rotting meat.

0

Mar 18, 2014

Mar 18, 2014 at 2:24 PM UTC

chintanshelat

those gods

those gods like rotten meat end up in a dump buzzed over by flies scratched and left over by some canine 'cause his master said "don't eat that rotten **** you fool!" there are worms they don't think like that if they think at all but be modest, Charlie give'em some credit for they never complain for making a fertilizer now will you look down that bridge there lay a dried up whale exploding boiling organs all around and there hides the entire city behind the stink now we wait, Charlie, 'cause we are patient wait for some Kublai Khan to interpret as he wishes 'cause, Marco Polo does not speak the same language and god is still an ever rotting meat.

27

those gods like rotten meat end up in a dump buzzed over by flies scratched and left over by some canine 'cause his master said "don't eat that rotten **** you fool!" there are worms they don't think like that if they think at all but be modest, Charlie give'em some credit for they never complain for making a fertilizer now will you look down that bridge there lay a dried up whale exploding boiling organs all around and there hides the entire city behind the stink now we wait, Charlie, 'cause we are patient wait for some Kublai Khan to interpret as he wishes 'cause, Marco Polo does not speak the same language the language, the illusion it is. and god is still an ever rotting meat.

0

Mar 18, 2014

Mar 18, 2014 at 10:46 PM UTC

mike-arms

those gods ...

those gods like rotten meat end up in a dump buzzed over by flies scratched and left over by some canine 'cause his master said "don't eat that rotten **** you fool!" there are worms they don't think like that if they think at all but be modest, Charlie give'em some credit for they never complain for making a fertilizer now will you look down that bridge there lay a dried up whale exploding boiling organs all around and there hides the entire city behind the stink now we wait, Charlie, 'cause we are patient wait for some Kublai Khan to interpret as he wishes 'cause, Marco Polo does not speak the same language the language, the illusion it is. and god is still an ever rotting meat.

27

Upon reflecting with misty eyes childhood days of yore the mantle of anticipatory excitement mantle I wore upon advent of December twenty fifth not quite threescore years ago knew nothing about being dirt poor yours truly doggedly felt sense of belonging among k9 korp versus moody blues hangdog look resembling Eeyore. Now fast forward envisioning gray bewhiskered scraggly muttering old Unitarian that would be yours truly courtesy hyperbole as would be obvious upon quick visual scan, who dabbles writing at least one poem within twenty four hour time frame i.e. quotidian basis, eh not so much an outdoorsman these days and definitely not, nor ever trumpeted taps as militiaman within the ranks of Kublai Khan emperor of China, and grandson of Genghis Khan I remain holed up within one bedroom apartment unit b44 as iceman, no, not by choice, but series of unfortunate events primarily faulty heater at the mercy of fate, a mere dice toss gameplan always associated as separate among establishmentarian forever dreamily fancying married to countrywoman, combination platter academician. Lo and behold days mein kampf slipped and slid away leaving faded memories precious young lad oft times felt alienated (think) castaway yet simultaneously unable to flyaway loosing self from mother's apron strings, while slipping grip signals foray into abyss conjured courtesy thru information superhighway. Reflection upon tempus fugit incredulous kick **** lightspeed precocious age sentimental reverie storybook happy go lucky idyllic past indeed, then bound by ignorance, hence blissfulness no longer doth proceed.

0

Dec 25, 2019

Dec 25, 2019 at 2:28 PM UTC

matthew-scott-harris2p

The day after Christmas letdown when just a little boy

Upon reflecting with misty eyes childhood days of yore the mantle of anticipatory excitement mantle I wore upon advent of December twenty fifth not quite threescore years ago knew nothing about being dirt poor yours truly doggedly felt sense of belonging among k9 korp versus moody blues hangdog look resembling Eeyore. Now fast forward envisioning gray bewhiskered scraggly muttering old Unitarian that would be yours truly courtesy hyperbole as would be obvious upon quick visual scan, who dabbles writing at least one poem within twenty four hour time frame i.e. quotidian basis, eh not so much an outdoorsman these days and definitely not, nor ever trumpeted taps as militiaman within the ranks of Kublai Khan emperor of China, and grandson of Genghis Khan I remain holed up within one bedroom apartment unit b44 as iceman, no, not by choice, but series of unfortunate events primarily faulty heater at the mercy of fate, a mere dice toss gameplan always associated as separate among establishmentarian forever dreamily fancying married to countrywoman, combination platter academician. Lo and behold days mein kampf slipped and slid away leaving faded memories precious young lad oft times felt alienated (think) castaway yet simultaneously unable to flyaway loosing self from mother's apron strings, while slipping grip signals foray into abyss conjured courtesy thru information superhighway. Reflection upon tempus fugit incredulous kick **** lightspeed precocious age sentimental reverie storybook happy go lucky idyllic past indeed, then bound by ignorance, hence blissfulness no longer doth proceed.

59

It can always get worse And it most likely will George W. Lied So that he could **** California sun Mansions on Fire Suffering, Suffering Caused by desire Zen Center silence Distant is Rome Hagia Sophia Kublai Khan pleasure dome Philosophy fails All is unknown Americans make you Go it alone Apophis!

0

Aug 31, 2022

Aug 31, 2022 at 1:58 PM UTC

myqualyxians

most likely to ...

It can always get worse And it most likely will George W. Lied So that he could **** California sun Mansions on Fire Suffering, Suffering Caused by desire Zen Center silence Distant is Rome Hagia Sophia Kublai Khan pleasure dome Philosophy fails All is unknown Americans make you Go it alone Apophis!

17

Please help me relax When anxiety attacks The sound of flowing water Safe inside my home In Xanadu did Kublai Khan In Santa Fe did I Silence of the Lambs In the Y the Life of Pi relax. relax. relax. try

0

Apr 28, 2023

Apr 28, 2023 at 9:30 AM UTC

myqualyxians

Por favor, Senyor

Please help me relax When anxiety attacks The sound of flowing water Safe inside my home In Xanadu did Kublai Khan In Santa Fe did I Silence of the Lambs In the Y the Life of Pi relax. relax. relax. try

10