"literates" poems
The scientist-psychiatrist
the psychologic sociologist
has proved with his statistics
and his data-riddled literates
that nothing will be crippled
if they sweep the city clean
if they slay not only Tybalt
but the whole Verona scene
so they ****** it from our hands
from our brains and those to come
as the Ravens sear across the lands
and bindings come undone
They watch the pages flitter by
and cackle with delight
as the populace of fiction
by their hands is ripped alight
The licking of the laces
by the hungry tongues of flame
will ravage on the characters
you've come to know by name
Montag barrels forth and finds
the Fahrenheit has risen
Hester screams and claws her mind
out of this hellish prison
and Dorian will clamber up
to sit atop the pile
and weep for Pictures yet to sup
upon his looks and guile
And you'll watch as they obliterate
the city from within
de-storying our Paradise
so it won't be Lost again.
But I, Calpurnia? I warned you
that the fiery clouds would rain
I told you all, fictitious youth,
but you called me insane.
Apr 27, 2010
Apr 27, 2010 at 1:52 PM UTC
when i ask my father to spend time
away from his quibbling
and political diatribe
to read poetry
it pains him
as he reads he seems to sigh
why why why
is she wasting my time?
he reads, he skims, he stands up fast
a grimace marks his face at last
its depressing
he snarks
with a disappointed air
i don't like
depressing poems,.
a poem about death
is it really depressing?
ok, well, that's
obvious in its truth
but there are plenty that speak of
the other side of life
reading one two three
down
down
my feed
there's love
life
hearts
dreams
all splayed out
on the operating table
we 'literates'
call poetry
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 10:43 PM UTC
Hark! Bestow my Rival Literates bare
Yet Gold must be their Sincerities take
For that I Praise; Souls pawn and cast my Ware
With Finer Pens sketch him a better Shape
Shape, you say? That which a Mother would spend
For treble hours sum her Nine Month's Due
On such Degree, parallel his Roman bend
Then insert your name what you both can do
For some - Himself; For others - Family,
Two Royal Themes which will always write-out
And in-between - your Life and Sanity,
Two Mouthful Memes which cannot win this Bout.
The Master-of-the-Miniscule dabs his Paint
Whilst the Mistress-of-the-Glass wipes his Saint.
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 2:18 AM UTC
Life of millennials are so juvenile
A day they walk down the stars
A night they run through a beaconof light
Encircled by a drape concealing darkness
To baffle those minds with no clue left aside
With no hope to survive
Either to curb those filthy signs
Or to get chucked in broad daylight
Is this how those spotless minds
Keep their body & soul together
With lies and iniquity all together .
Life's so miserable and impolitic
All we do around is so hasty
With a bunch of ethics to live by
All we do to turn Equality upside-down
With a flock of literates heading through
Under the norms of monestry
All we do to be a cannibal out of misery
Is this how we dream of a paradise,
Where there's no humane ilk left in human minds.
What if a girl wants to live her life
And breathe the air under no ties
What if a lassie wants to be a bit sassy,
To fulfill every yearnings that come by
And to be around those masses
Who makes her feel devine.
What if a wife wants to outlive that happiness
Which she craves round-the-clock
Even after she pampers indubitably
Every requisite her spouse endures.
No matter what she contemplates,
Alas! Those desires land to oblivion.
This generation never fails to stagger
Even if she suffers and serves
Every needs of a man that deserves
And ease his pique even if he resents.
But a man never blunders to let her guard down
Frowns like a ruffian who got on the loose
Hit & slap her as if she's the lost cause
All he does to take control
Over his priceless possession
As if he enslaved a jailbird in his mudhole.
This mankind never rue
Slapping someone without a clue
Even if there's no rationale to go through.
Such a despisal is hard to ponder
Even if a girl neither hold out against
Nor cross swords against those odds
Till there's nothing left to lose.
Maybe it's high time,
One should stand audacious to those crimes
To stand tall against the ferocity
That beholds million lives
Maybe it's time,
To let go of those henious folks
That make their life miserably unknown
And oppose against those slaps
That make them devour,
As everyone's one and the same
In the eyes of the impartial law.
Jun 9, 2020
Jun 9, 2020 at 2:19 PM UTC
Little Light Leaches past Lock tight Lids
Lampshades Laid over Living Lenses
Like pulled tight Laces Looped as Lattices
Letting Lingering Lies Loom
Late nights illuminated by Lunar Lampposts
Lighting a Landslide of Lopsided Lemons
Like those Littering Liberated Lands
Lacking any Lucid desire to Leave
Loose Lip type Lexicon Literates the Last Link Left
Leading to Literal Lemmings
A Legion of Like-minded Livestock
Leads to a Leap before you Look Livelihood
Lambasted but Lucrative
Due to Lavish Liberties that Life's were Laid down for
Lacerating all Links to Larger than Life Leaders
Becoming a Ludacris Laughingstock
Just Lowly Lackeys that got Lucky
Lambs in a Lions clothing Line
Ladened with Laminated Limitations
Rooting through and Looting the Leftovers
Lacking any Long-term Learned Lessons
I Lunge and Let go for the Last time
©2024
Jun 25, 2024
Jun 25, 2024 at 5:09 PM UTC