"levied" poems
Born heavy as adorned many: objectivity lifts ready existance carried more steady with the fist than a switchblade as to fist crave: yall just manisfest id shame when you spit back like all my family here to spit crack bone in been gripped back when at grown taught to **** Macks;
I'm the R to the Mack Marck M heavy to my fam born carried since Nas dropped the bomb that Eminem levied in so to spit back, like ghost spittin the **** shittin at all emcees here to spit back:
only time you'd get a note outta me relative is when i'm posing for death: like tupac menacing his pelvis still for the ****** levy in neglection in pics wack;
i spit bone quick when it comes to being notorious in a jacuzzi playing sega and super nintendo **** be in disrespect to ever understand that i don't spit thick back.
i flow sick that before i flow spit that between to post ****
I pose **** to even to boast fits forgotten what the Ohmegaus finds the rest as undereducated life in being in the sun.
Ghost spittin future written past to see all the conjugatives relative like ****** games on the run:
games on the fun like extension big sides as big sizes like chasing dreams again straight to the the sun is what we've become.
unfinished...
this ain't motherfucken games, and you know id through wish-epic
Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 4:57 AM UTC
O, king
bones ground to chalk
the Herero cry in the dust
The Kaiser had enough
he sent General Lothar von Trotha
to impose his will,
the ending of the Herero
as a people
von Trotha says,
'I wipe out rebellious tribes
with streams of blood
and streams of money.
Only following this cleansing
can something new emerge.'
Ten-thousand heavily-armed men
and a plan for war
von Trotha says,
'the Herero, who in their blindness
believed that they could make successful war
against the powerful German Emperor
and the great German people
I ask you,
where are the Herero today?'
twenty skulls gather dust
in the drawers
of Germany
monument to anthropology
O, king
skulls in drawers
the Herero cry in the dust
Is our language ever rich enough
to name
the evil man has levied
Is sin enough
to encompass
the vast, the richness, the full
depravity
of our visits
to the Herero
O, king
bitter herbs, unleavened bread
the Herero cry in the dust
Oct 6, 2011
Oct 6, 2011 at 9:47 AM UTC
I like the idea of God having an ******
God stroking his **** to internet ****
And galaxies shooting out the end of his ****
Oh, yeah, here comes the Milky Way
Or maybe he uses black holes like a fleshjack
spewing cosmic *** into a parallel universe.
Would we all experience God’s ******
“The little death” as the French like to say
God’s toes pointed and his eyes shut tight
All of us bathed in his celestial seed
Fading out for a time
Fading away from the incessant
Prayers and hymns
Levied against him in a non-stop onslaught
Of need need need.
Floating endless unaware
Devoid of conscious or thought
For a time… a short time
Until the world floods back in
The suns re-ignite, the planets regain their orbits
And we all feel gravity’s pull
Holding us down
once again.
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 5:20 PM UTC
Church bells ring of voices silenced
a darkened Moon is hanging low
crickets stop to hear the empty
as loving waters overflow
As angels call in voices singing
notify my heart goodbye
as deafened ears are opened up
no more tears are left to cry
Dying leaves, a crimson carpet
indigo ink at levied banks
waters flood my aching heartbeat
raising hands to you in thanks
Cloaking eyes, I'm in the shadows
petitioning you another dance
whispering the coming reaper
if only I could have a chance
Softly come draped in darkness
ebony casts a ghostly glow
lovely bones in alabaster
putting on a secret show
Taking off the heavy waiting
holding down my paper heart
a poets voice cannot be silenced
by ticking hands you pushed apart
Silver tears they fall in quiet
in rivers taken right or wrong
releasing me & painful weighting
and sing me as I come along
Violins they speak so mellow
calling me as I go home
morning comes a glowing ember
left for you an Earthly loam
As the leaves outside are falling
and thickened air bids me farewell
whispering of my departure
& secrets I may never tell
although in this...
you mustn't dwell
Waving you off
in slow motion
blinking lashes bid adieu
darkened cloakroom,
veiling... hiding
memories of loving you
the only love
I really wanted
the one I never... really knew.
Cherie Nolan © 2016
Sep 18, 2016
Sep 18, 2016 at 12:36 PM UTC
recycling trouble from the past in hopes you'll make time go fast for your slow hourglass
shake the sand, gravitate towards the new plan
pave the ground, it won't be so bumpy now
we tossed the nails to the side, just don't forget the part where you drive
a rock or two will make you swerve, but ruthless words will be there to serve
gas is ready, handy and steady waiting to be levied
the price goes up but our strive runs slow
Feb 15, 2016
Feb 15, 2016 at 11:14 AM UTC
Wielding one balance before me:
Divine intent, no tool for an evil genius
Levied ‘gainst one jar wrought of glass,
Within fine grains of coal.
My sins may weigh to graphite
Fitting, for no blanket of Heaven
Suits my restlessness.
Cast me on parchment
Where I spell out the pain
Of never capturing truth—no human may.
Enigma, Aestheticus, vibrant, complete
Finished, or full. No, I utter to Venus
A Pygmalion word to know
All as art and beauty so well
As to paint it carnally.
Give me that which is love made manifest
On lithe little toes, walks her
Which, parsed out selectively
Is revealed in awesome moment, eternal
Subjectivity. Either she steps from a canvas
Strides from a dream, I awaited it, organic
To come into being, to escape my grasp
And make useless poetry.
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 9:52 PM UTC
Cup of coffee, a cigarette,
The desire to describe a day;
Over these words, I wince and fret.
A clock chimes it's infinite way
Eroding hours till all lights gray.
Day of leisure, a life well set,
A wish the clock would slow or stay;
This loss of light, I'll soon regret.
The moments quickly slip away
Into the twilights dying splay.
Time spent fishing, from age be let,
And hope that many swim this bay;
Hours levied, against chance I'll bet.
The suns grand retreat seems to say
My stellar prize has gone astray.
Cup of coffee, a cigarette,
The sadness of a wasted day;
Over words, still I wince and fret.
As clocks chime their infinite way
Eroding hours till all lights gray.
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 8:22 PM UTC
Ill **** the ink right off the hemp of the constitution
Just to spit dark remarks like coked up John Belushi
at officials ass-hats enduring constant mood swings
as the hormone pendulum
signifies a revolution
war drone generals,
pimps for hire, lefty tool kits.
hefty duties levied on the public, getting flooded
yes I shot the tariff, but I never quit consumption
off fake happiness
so apathy's getting toothy
Lucidly
give historic figures
clues through dream.
Now thats nifty networking who do you know?
A yeti befriended a spaghetti monster
and got together to spin a blue globe.
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 12:11 AM UTC
Once upon a time, a long , long time to come
A man invented 'vacuum drain'. Yes, that's it's name.
It pumped out fat. Human fat. Fancy that!
He hoped to make a fortune slimming us
It oozed out ****
That poured in vats, all sorts of fats;
Brown and viscous, white and lardy,
He worked so hard he
Didn't think things through.
The vats just grew.
And then he knew what he could do!
He'd sell it on! He'd make a bomb!
It worked a treat
The excess meat
Could feed a nation
A neat equation!
Fat westerners just couldn't wait
To line up and donate.
They even paid its fare
To take it anywhere
But on their bones
So..... Lean and svelte and handsome
They gave it all....and some
To feed the poor and dig into their land.
The idea was so grand
That it caught on
And all around the world the fat was shifting.
So many westerners were gifting
That share prices took a drop.
First slimming world went bust
And all the diet companies shut up shop.
Cheap labour went back home to families big and hearty
Who probably had a party
To celebrate their luck.
But.. Oh dear me!
The poor economy!
A tax was levied on the draining oil
To try and spoil
The benefits of losing weight
The media filled its screens with chubby faces
Fat people now appeared in all important places
But still the people shrank
To be quite frank
They had to sell the fat
to pay the vat.
Fat cats ( now thin) jumped in to run the racket
They hoped to make a packet,
But now the tide began to turn
The fat was used to burn
As fuel. The oil wells closed, the mines shut down
And people learned to burn their own fat too
No middle men, no ads campaigns, no V.A.T.
Just drainage after tea.
So little waste (waist)
(Spell it as you like, it's all the same)
.......now play the game
And carry on this fantasy
Where could it end?
If you have more, just add it on, my friend.....
Aug 17, 2016
Aug 17, 2016 at 12:36 PM UTC
My loyalties ought to be elsewhere
Not self-respect.
Twenty-ought years
Of listening, performing
Commands in my ears
Atop the most prominent point
Of a circle.
Do I speak up and proclaim my wants,
As they have, as they do
Whose execution is one’s normative due?
Do I risk monstrosity
That grotesque
Of passivity turned active?
O, people hate the biting mirror.
Architecture worn and rubble
Precludes the fate of so headstrong nations:
A people, all leaders,
Would swallow and spite
Litter the flowers with bones
And plight.
Great structures built with power
Are levied ‘gainst the weak
For plurality would cancel it out;
It’s not imperative
Bodies of power to push for us all,
The lion’s share.
It’s more an empty cadence, mere practice
To tickle emotions
And prove, ultimately, the infallibility
Of tenets of strength and structure:
The passive are submissive
As they should.
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 8:32 AM UTC
El Nino, the jokes go, is responsible,
to be levied our distaste. What a
disgrace, they're putting a Hispanic
face on 1998's over a 100,000 killed
by supposedly natural disasters. Now
Nina, naming her the cause of world
drought, global warming, which the
technocracies' altering weather cycles
determined. Their greed makes lies
fly as truth, can your convenience,
in allowing them to do it, further?
This while they enjoy unparalleled
short-term profits, paid for in real
deficits, brought by their murdering of
eco-systems, our progeny will pay a
thousand times those delusional
profits to repair, unsuccessfully. That
unending river of humanities' blood
will soon take billions of poor to
middle class lives before the extinction.
Still, every second over an acre of
rainforest is felled, every three a
woman is castrated, a child dies, and
only 50 % of us bother to vote!
Still, we don't have real compassion
for ourselves or others. If no real
changes will take place now, then
when, if not here, where, you, who?
May 16, 2019
May 16, 2019 at 10:56 PM UTC
You're an illusion, Dido,
in a frame of broken glass.
Bleeding at the edges,
maimed on the inside.
Obstinate refusing other men's hands
entrenched in old habits.
You've built a new kingdom,
on the ruins of an old man's land.
There, alighted a lost bird,
pleading for a grain of wheat.
But he ate poisoned bread,
due to your undying generosity,
O unfortunate Dido,
You exasperated heart is healed.
But hit with the wrong arrow,
have you dived into the dark cave.
Blind to the falsehood
of your second darling.
The pain of the first trapped,
the unwanted ring.
Your call for help
dissolves in an infinite echo.
His fleet reached the open sea
and vanishes with your renewed happiness.
Escape the pain in your chest,
the ornate sword levied,
throw yourself into the fire of your sorrow and grief,
to finally fall into Sichaeus' arms.
Mar 20, 2014
Mar 20, 2014 at 1:50 PM UTC
scarred
for life
she was....
not from
the burns inflicted
by an archaic kitchen stove
which quietly
became her life...
or those instances
of physical abuse
levied against her
by her drunken husband
but by a barrage
of verbal diarrhea,
sprayed from
his foul mouth,
each stinging word
sharper than any sword
© 2017
Nov 18, 2017
Nov 18, 2017 at 4:57 PM UTC
Come, silver moon, alight on troubled clouds,
Gift them thy saintly glow lifting the gloom
Levied below, with flowery haloed buds
Springing forth like the lamb from mother's womb,
Light up anew hedgerows and quilted fields
Where cattle sleep in clusters like faint stars,
Constellations huddled upon the wolds,
Breath nebulous as fogging stale cigars;
Ill omens thrive to drift in darkest times
From cloud to stony cloud above the night,
Watching for victims from high lofted climes,
Raining full pent up fury of their might:
Come, silver moon, gift troubled clouds thy lining,
Hope lives in thee as long as thou art shining!
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 10:26 PM UTC
A million monarchs lie dead, though,
No less sociological programming of
Upper-middle to rich classes with
Decadence, affluence, inclusion, is.
No less societal determination of
Middle to lower, being excluded by
Division and conquering, privation.
Yet, they, on wing no more, still fly
In our spirit's eye, heal humanities' heart.
While their silent cry echoes
The 33,000 species extinct each year,
A rate not seen since the last ice age
Ensued; does it move you?
Does your curiosity ask why?
Will you, on this 33rd Earth Day, allow
A tear for all life's fallen? Consider
The losses economic apartheid incurs,
Mirrored by the divide humancentricity
Has levied? Our underlying duplicitous
Disregard for life, greed and oil fueled,
Won't abate for our existence, will you?
Dec 19, 2017
Dec 19, 2017 at 5:07 PM UTC
may my grief residue to no depth sunken into as worth being kept,
but let it reside in falcon wing, ever rising higher
from such burial grounds as to be ennobled by wing
as once ennobled by thought, in kindred with soul,
and levied with tongue lip and kiss a bellowing hark and hiss
chimera beast loved for a minute of its existence;
nein! nein! a third nein be a minded counter well worth a find of an aye;
i too will regret a veto on the life i wished to commence
death-like in a wandering quote in the book of job,
but the new testament jested worse with the commence
of being crucified asking of self-belief as crucible -
and all adventure collapsed into fictive visionaries relegating
the chances of such experiences ever taking place,
as about adventurous as flipping pages: hence
escapist realism.
Jan 26, 2016
Jan 26, 2016 at 10:40 PM UTC
I ask the price before buying.
There's a price tag for everything
upon the breakeven a levied charge
for life has not one bit
bought sans the urge to profit
taken home void of bargain
friend, lover, companion
at a price not to be alone
without a fallout of gain or pain
of sweet or bitter taste
lifelong joy or sooner regret.
Do I have a price?
As for my own
I feel always underpaid..
the woman I took to the bed
the child I raised
friends and companions
seem all miserly in paying the dues..
maybe they rue too
I haven't paid theirs.
Dec 5, 2017
Dec 5, 2017 at 8:54 AM UTC
Olly, olly, oxen fail.
Top Republicans go to jail.
Olly, olly, oxen chump
All those crooks elected Trump
Oh, GOP, why’d you do it?
And make all of us suffer through it?
It makes it worse to see it all
And know you were all crooks and knew it.
Why couldn’t you just take
Your bribes and shut the hell up?
Why did you have to
Demand to overfill your larcenous cup?
Olly, olly, you and your gang
Some of you really do deserve to hang.
At least you’ll get to know at last
Your reign of terror has finally passed.
Disgusting Olly and the rest
Most of us know who your boss is
But half this sick regime
Has yet to realize what the cost is.
For the world to see the toll
Levied on our nation by the GOP beast
And count the casualties,
It’s going to be decades, at least.
Olly, olly, oxen, fad.
This whole affair has been so bad
It’ll be a great day
When this awful president
And his cronies get locked away.
Olly, olly, oxen fail.
Top Republicans go to jail.
Olly, olly, oxen chump
All those crooks elected Trump
Oct 30, 2017
Oct 30, 2017 at 2:38 PM UTC
When I look at you, you are a hotel room.
I see the people that have come and gone,
staying for the moment before leaving you forever.
I see the things that they left behind,
things that were never meant to mean a thing
but suddenly became your everything.
I see the trashed rooms of your soul
and the repair bills they never had to pay,
the *** on the sheets where they left your heart
to lay at night.
I see the waterlogged carpet from the storms
that you wept and the tired springs of your
levied will just barely holding in.
I see your four walls.
They are ***** and cracked at the corners where they meet.
I see you, hotel room and I see your imperfections.
And yet when I look at you, you still feel more like home
than anywhere else I know.
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 1:01 AM UTC
why are poets the first to shy away from politics - when they intended to speak first and foremost? what a fascinating paradox, to be eager to speak first, but last when engaging in politics; hence the attack by philosophy, now that's duly understood, i.e. why philosophy attacked poetry, reason being that poetry attacked politics - it actually sabotaged thinking, by recording unsaid things.
i always get bored of women who don't
have a stomach for the macabre humour,
the sentiments of pre-feminism
and all round banter of not having
a father pick her wedding spaghetti tango
partner... you know, that pot-luck
daddy-day-care gimmick of Freud
concerning the shame males are fed
about ************ and women are fed
the line: take out the guillotine and give
us all alpha male's **** as ****** it might not
fit in our purring mouths...
but nonetheless keep them "wise"
with the crucifix x, y, z - well the z is the
history hiding in shadow behind the x & y
of the crucifix... *oh mary, mary,
(teenage christ), mary, to be so young is
oh so scary...*
yeah honey, mary hears you, along with
all the barbecued heretics... she hears you all right...
and the slime of smiles of ogle ogres of feminism...
the televised procession at easter
ensured the chicken & egg debate levied
the restoration of libraries...
indeed once the reformation against the
Vatican... but these days it's about the Restoration
with the Vatican rather than against it!
we write history when we're involved
into whatever delusional account be readied
as worthy and explanatory;
but nonetheless a footprint, a history -
because you wouldn't call the cave markings
of parietal art in france or spain as a sign of
delusion... ******* leftists, Stalinists...
KEEPERS OF THE VOCABULARY!
at least the far right would have offered me euthanasia;
and guess what... i'd nod a yes rather than wave a no.
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 8:09 PM UTC
I have come head bowed and barefooted to your door
I genuflect and lay in supplication at your feet
I leave my grievances at your altar and implore lore
For I have been wronged by knaves and vixens' deceit
A blameless life shredded by steaming turpitude galore
Meshed in the inglorious machinations of gainsay replete
In the formidable vista of the Most High I bared my soul
Worn sackcloth and ashes inviting to be smite and buried
In that epoch if by deeds or misdeeds been to others foul
Or if in grimness I seek deliberate harm, injury or such varied
Upon this salient oath I stand for I know no sword will be levied
Except the Most High desires me a sacrifice of which is unqueried
The Divine atoned a fearless spirit within His chaste chosen
Blessed with gifts talents and the Light of Everlasting redemption
Whether on earth's ground or the Majestic Throne of the Most High
Oh to have the rare honour of hatred and nays from the ******
A pristine Charisma so sublime as to furiously unsettle darkness
Only graces earth by Divine ordination and steps with ArchAngels
[email protected]
Oct 28, 2018
Oct 28, 2018 at 9:11 PM UTC
Lucky I am, as no one walked before me.
But I had to go, so what I walked became the path!
When I walked for the first time, it was not easy,
The course was coarse and the team was unwilling,
Challenges were many both physical and psychological
Milestones were few, if someone not traveled, would never know!
I pushed ahead, one stretch a time,
Learning the terrain and conquering simultaneously!
We had to walk on it, through it many a times
We created a lot more milestones and stopovers
Others also came, put on signage's,
Thought aloud, how this path could have been better!
Some even asked, 'Where does this path lead to?'
There were many onlookers, travelers, part-time travelers
Many such people were wondering,
'Why are we walking on this path?'
Few team mates wanted to settle down along the path,
One or two launched out on the mission to walk their path!
Travelers poured in and so do the administrators,
Experts came in broadened it, added platforms,
Beautified it, levied tax and even named the path!
Criticisms were plenty from the first step that I took,
But I know people will follow this path!
People after people, ages after ages, will follow this path!
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 6:41 AM UTC
No more a whisper
Such were the demands
Demands levied upon fields of dreams
Fantasies sowed into the field season o'er season
Crops rising bone dry and thirsty for verity
Babes who would never know milk
Carrion who would never know decay
Work that would never know pay
Such were these dreams!
Slave to the whims of whimsy
Tossed o'er a deranged sea, churned
Nay
Spurned by the ****** that cackle in the depths,
Twirling their hands as would a maestro
and the dreams dance by these strings
Reigns upon the centaur
Thought himself more man than beast
but his master proves him wrong
throttles his dreams like so many tragic ****** and still...
And still!
He dreams.
But the dreams begin to seep a saucy essence
The stuff of childbirths and ****** victories upon the battlefield
Both an emerging of brilliance and an escape of nightmare
Both a wailing cry and a roaring scream
And the scaffolding clinks and clanks around the wispy form of the dream
And it clinks and clunks its way up, providing the mold for new dawn.
The prophet, who is both midwife and sycophant, utters a chorus of impassioned voices singing to the ends of the universe,
while the dream bulges and creaks against the form of the mold.
The scaffolding breaks in an uproar of so many eggshell fragments, blasting forth like shrapnel
And the veil of ignorance is pierced by this awakening.
And a hush falls upon the world in a tremor of silence
And the ache is felt in the effort of producing a single thought
For all is absent in the wake of this dream made flesh...
"She is here,"
The paragons of ages announce,
"And she will command your pleasures until your pains are destitute... and you shall live no more, for what is life without pain."
Mar 26, 2019
Mar 26, 2019 at 5:01 PM UTC