"malingering" poems
Russia and America circle each other;
Threats nudge an act that were without doubt
A melting of the mould in the mother,
Stones melting about the root.
The quick of the earth burned out:
The toil of all our ages a loss
With leaf and insect. Yet flitting thought
(Not to be thought ridiculous)
Shies from the world-cancelling black
Of its playing shadow: it has learned
That there's no trusting (trusting to luck)
Dates when the world's due to be burned;
That the future's no calamitous change
But a malingering of now,
Histories, towns, faces that no
Malice or accident much derange.
And though bomb be matched against bomb,
Though all mankind wince out and nothing endure --
Earth gone in an instant flare --
Did a lesser death come
Onto the white hospital bed
Where one, numb beyond her last of sense,
Closed her eyes on the world's evidence
And into pillows sunk her head.
9.8k
Reject me not if I should say to you
I do forget the sounding of your voice,
I do forget your eyes that searching through
The mists perceive our marriage, and rejoice.
Yet, when the apple-blossom opens wide
Under the pallid moonlight's fingering,
I see your blanched face at my breast, and hide
My eyes from diligent work, malingering.
Ah, then, upon my bedroom I do draw
The blind to hide the garden, where the moon
Enjoys the open blossoms as they straw
Their beauty for his taking, boon for boon.
And I do lift my aching arms to you,
And I do lift my anguished, avid breast,
And I do weep for very pain of you,
And fling myself at the doors of sleep, for rest.
And I do toss through the troubled night for you,
Dreaming your yielded mouth is given to mine,
Feeling your strong breast carry me on into
The peace where sleep is stronger even than wine.
2.4k
Procrastinate to irritate
Aggravate to agitate
Treading on thin ice
Are these malingering time wasters of life
Festering in ignorance
Frolicking in abstinence
Wading in their excrement are these malingering time wasters of life.
Arrogance in abundance
Subtlety null and void
Unwittingly self confident are these malingering time wasters of life
Belligerent in the face of peace
Weary to face their fears
Blasé about things that matter are these malingering time wasters of life
Malingering becomes
Mal'ignorance
Mal'ignorance becomes M'alone
Therefore the malingering time wasters shall forever this earth roam.
Feb 22, 2013
Feb 22, 2013 at 9:11 AM UTC
those pensive ones
as they seem to me
birds on the wire
gazing this way
and that
lost invariably
to their ennui
their melancholy
their obliviousness
to the point
some may say
pointlessness
of their existence
in these moments
without reason
or incentive enough
to prompt one
or the other
to take to the wing
embracing the bluster
of the ever-blowing winds
rather they sustain
this idle malingering
waiting listlessly
for that which none
can know
Jan 5, 2024
Jan 5, 2024 at 12:28 PM UTC
In final autumn heat,
Two weeks after apple picking,
The bushel baskets sag,
Laden with the summer's pickings.
Growing sadness clings to me.
I sort the dead and dying
From the thinning lot,
Fearing loss of all to rot.
The first to go,
Soft and brown,
Nearly fall apart,
Require gentlest touch;
Dripping cadavers
Leave healthier neighbors
Wet, in danger of early death.
In separating them,
I hold my breath.
On spotted skins I then
Must concentrate;
Look for inner decay:
Sagging indentations,
Fallen stems;
Hollowed caverns
From bird bites and beetles;
The evidence of worms'
Varicose trails, faintly brown,
Just visible beneath the skins,
Revealing company within.
My eye looks inward first, then out.
I know what this malingering's about;
The cankers that I seek may find me out.
Hesitation clouds my separations;
I wonder what a paring knife might do
To save some portion,
To spare the summer work
Of apple trees.
I wonder, does the apple
Dread the knife, considering strife
As much as I, when I confess my sin
And writhe beneath the penance
My sinning puts me in?
Sep 23, 2017
Sep 23, 2017 at 11:36 AM UTC
The devil is
Malevolent
Infectious
Hideous
Spontaneous
Vile
Corrupted
Psychotic
Hypnotic
Malingering
Morally bankrupt
Seducing
Producing the menacing
Offspring of
Destruction
Apr 17, 2012
Apr 17, 2012 at 6:34 AM UTC
(20 minute poetry)
There was Judas who knew it and went forward to do it,
betrayal is a quick zip in the fastenings of night.
Sight unseen, but we took it in good faith and the legend lives on.
John took to his toes and ended up in Panama, as far as I know he is doing quite well.
Pete looks like hell,
Thomas has his doubts and thinks he's malingering.
Mary,
********* the rosary in the garden at Gethsemane and wondering if her man will come home.
Paul's at the wall with Michael and wailing, screams tailing off with the arrival of dawn.
It all makes me wonder if life is so tragic
why are we even born?
Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 at 7:59 AM UTC
The way you scrapped me
solidly so the meat on my bones is picked clean.
Malingering with the charm of a sweet cream
but filled with distaste underneath,
neatly putting me in the box beneath your bed.
I find it unweildy, inconvenient;
To be carrying such a scene
in parts of me that you outlined without knowledge
They tell you to say grace before a meal
or at least wipe your hands first.
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 10:55 PM UTC
The darkness behind our eyes
Malice within our souls
The rebellion our menace
The prison we locked ourselves in
A cage we built to trap our wild hearts
Treading the fine line between
Normalcy and psychopathy
Vengeance, violence and brutality
All that we've masked in our grace
Hiding beneath our placid demeanor
Gentle breaths tender caresses
Soft lips whispering sweet nothings
Our words carefully scripted
Depicting a picture of purity and perfection
False sincerity reaching out to others
Only to burn all that we lay our hands upon
Malingering through days
Sugar laced actions and innocent smiles
Life is but a masquerade
As we dance or days away
Mar 4, 2018
Mar 4, 2018 at 12:21 AM UTC
Sleep has been a sluggish pixie and the moon a constant Patheon
Of Twilight Sirens. I am lulled into molasses eyes and am never sane.
Only a ghost in my sheleton. A malingering cocoon
in the shape of a perpetual Snow White Crane.
I garden the grove of Midnights inner thy
and valiantly persist. I lay siege where I lay down my arms to suffer peace - as merely a mirage of luminous Tchotchkes and stolen kisses from Abyssal Lips.
Under wrong stars, I roam the Halls of UnTime. I go on my way where looming is sprinting into stagnations embrace
with all the vigor of Hermes. Floating in the hall is like surfing a dark gods wave. An undulating fog
of prodigious oblique. in haste.
I am a Time Machine that writes poetry
and may never finish my Tea.
Earl Grey.
With the Soul of a
Frozen Agog.
Feb 15, 2019
Feb 15, 2019 at 12:04 PM UTC
The **** cackled on a huge granite rock , tales of suffering and penance
among his harried flock ...
A now woebegone keeper of the past , intent on rest , cheerfully
malingering the duties of leader to no end , leaving his subjects
to quarry amongst themselves ...
The governed whispered rumors of mutiny , the loyal Knights implored
patience to no end , the once determined King visibly shaken , the future of the Royal Flock in sudden jeopardy , confusion swept across the entire barnyard , the flames of revolution intensified daily , young Roosters openly declared change , defended their space and new Hens
quite vigorously !
The old King came to terms with his fate amongst the flock , graciously
lowered his head on the chopping block !
A new leader was crowned shortly thereafter , the hens settled down and returned to peaceful , contented cackle ...
The old Rooster was remembered for his courage , the brilliant leadership he bestowed toward his subordinates and subjects as he was most assuredly reduced to chicken and dumplings ..
.
Feb 2, 2016
Feb 2, 2016 at 12:29 PM UTC
As I am being sandwiched
Between taut malingering palms,
This sudden correct placement
At the feet of a digit.
The tips and their prints shaved off—
Blank and ****** spots
Like a trail of breadcrumbs in fresh rain—
Leave thick dabs like oppressive dewdrops.
You can spread lips or cheeks
And allow this insertion again—
Perhaps the pleasure will emerge.
Finally I am human enough for your sick urge—
And it is too late for you to love me again.
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 11:22 AM UTC
Who were you
when all their affections' malingering
mirrored only actor's guild
guide of the sly guise
while you were as open as the skies
which you scry for them
in joyous paints of hopeful hues
intermingling laughter
assumed them to be true...
Who were you?
when their packs of wolves
with sheepish fondnesses
belied fangs of cold intentions
while you were as open as the skies
out numbered and made pre-occupied
a carcass kept unmentioned
a stolen name
a life without action...
Who were you
then
is who i was now...
the patina on a crown
still as true as the gold beneath
a stronger heart
from the break now beats
But will no one come walk with me?
(none who lie and steal your name)
better yet to learn from grace
kept true
and kept face with my faith
brutal and honest
inner war with hate
but how slowly on my heart
this impasse attends
how like a fish that craves to breathe again
of such cold seas
to not depend...
who were they to play pretend?
and this is where my concern
now ends...
question unanswered and
vacant.
--------------
*Oh how slowly on my heart
this impasse attends*
*How like Atlantis lost in the deep
crave to breathe again
of such cold seas to not depend
Oh heart of my soul ascend!
In love we live again!*
*(Reclaim all of our heavens hence
patience of my goddess' kiss
reminds all time forever since arrives
All is One is Light
mother / father of the infinite
let me be your sacrifice)
Goddess how I love thee*
Apr 21, 2016
Apr 21, 2016 at 4:54 PM UTC
Spendthrift,
malingering
along
uncharted frontiers
liquid sorrow
bastes
unformed words
whose crystal
resonant vibrance
reverberates
within
a pilgrim soul
gaze once more
upon your
lint-filled navel
and share
the blossom
of heaving *****
therein find
a brokenness
with no need of mending
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 11:18 PM UTC
**The sacrosanct statues at the statehouse
follow me with their eyes
A ******* socialist trespassing on
holy ground
A bumbling , ne'er-do-well demanding
free medicine , free college , insider working knowledge
I demand transparency
Term limits
Organized guerrilla religion is killing us
Wall Street will continue to bill us while 'Big oil ' methodically drills and kills
Malingering big Pharma has no business interest
in cures
Environmental agencies will wave us off -
till we're able to walk across polluted rivers
The news is dead
Journalism is dead
Someone help us , for the news is dead** ...
Mar 22, 2017
Mar 22, 2017 at 8:47 PM UTC
Get that window open!
Go on, do it!
Feel the fat rotation of the planet
throwing a little spring our way
to poke our amygdala
and rattle our dormancy
and sure, we know at the back of minds
a bare faced bait and switch is in play
which means our twitching fingers
will seek to put the big coats in the loft
only with dismay to find the grey frost
return to bite our ***** mid-March
but we can dream and show some ankle
can’t we?
We hold out for this spring
harder than a man who’s lost nine digits
to frostbite
so we can point to where it hurts,
be heard,
aware that we’re linked,
a swarm of warmer hands
that need to hold, to cling, to brace
against this lingering, malingering pain
We’re ready to emerge,
but only together
and while inclement, duplicitous weather
still rages
we’re better, sadly,
caved
Feb 20, 2021
Feb 20, 2021 at 7:40 AM UTC
Toward Material Trappings
Gold and silver upholds
true value capitalist money tree
Thrown down upon gaunt
lit alter of Midas,
treasured as current sea
Countless denominations
cashiered legal tender to grant
Rich Midas, who straddles
diamond compound,
billed as sacred Kant
Tickles with dollar signs
motley foolish crue scrambling
towards drawbridge gate
Pedestrians malingering
hungry thirst
for wealth of nations to satiate
Inexorable appetite
for wanton money to amass
Fuels reverence
all that glitters even brass
Whence madding crowd
behaviour cruel and crass
Deplorable if perceived
from one-way looking glass
Fool hardiness to revere
what beast called money,
lucre, and green back
Can buy - sweeping across
World Wide Web
scarring globe on fast track
Toward accumulating
high excess lavish life harried style
parade with pomp
and swiftly tailored circumstances while
Ninety nine percent
of less wealthy live hand to mouth
Envying those billeted
behind sealed mansions
east, west, north and south
Except this dollar less chap,
who could not give a rat’s ****
For ka-ching melodic sound
twenty four seven that does swoosh
In burlap sack clothes
and bank accounts preferring
to slog and push
Along boulevard of broken dreams
that resembles nothing but mush
Yet preference prevails
foregoing attachment
to government sanctioned loot
Freeing mind and body trying
to cherish voluntary simplicity,
which does suit
This quest for knowledge seeking writer,
who disparages
tooting his own horn
Nor imposing personal philosophy
that gives reason exuberantly to exhale
Versus vacuity and purposelessness
sans, blind faith toward Holy Grail
Goading most people to persevere
for millions of bucks over hill and dale
Despite owning next to nothing,
yet detaching psychological
bond that doth choke
Ability to experience unfettered psyche
likened to oxen iron bound yoke!
Jun 7, 2018
Jun 7, 2018 at 9:21 PM UTC
There's an ominous melody playing in my head.
A kind of uncharted echo only heard in melancholy tunes.
Splitting and splattering against the walls of my soul.
Skin, skin is all we see,
not the depth of a vast ocean of emotions.
Every fiber and molecule taken forgranted.
Hearts are a dime a dozen in this ****** up world.
Bleeding hearts ooze broken fragments out of glistening veins.
Tearing up paper,
rewriting line after line until these words have been defined.
Defined to spell out emotions to a broken society outside of this vessel called a body.
Concrete cyinderblocks cemented to these feet,
casted out like a fishing line into the abyss of a never-ending sea.
Drowning metaphorically, gasping for air but no one cares.
Painted faces in a culture full of clowns.
Intentionally hiding pain but the paint is starting to crack.
Vicegrips continuously squeeze this life,
harder and harder as light fades.
A tear weeps across the moons face.
Icicles sparkle,
melting a desprate soul and the rain falls like shards of glass.
Searching for a trail to follow,
walking with many others down this road.
Yet walking empty and alone all in the same moment.
Nothing more than a shadow underneath feet.
Silence saturated with malingering grief,
torment residing deep within.
Memories clawing through nightmarish dreams,
barely describable.
Mired in debris from the past - ****** into quicksand.
Dreams filled with hope; dashed and dimmed like a flame from a candle.
A life extinguished,
a void created where a future ought to reside.
Jun 23, 2018
Jun 23, 2018 at 1:52 AM UTC
Listen
Technicolor dream screen
Conditioned glob of a thing,
Synchronicity / listen / close
Electric sanity
All a pulse a puzzle
Abuzz in wandering wonder
(In the brain)
Explosive rain / pains:
Alight
Each breaking bone
Thunder loud
Razor-heat bullet hole
You are mind
Always a flight
Even in respites' malingering
Wight
Ghosts
Living machinations
Of physical information
Kept / Wept
Even in plundering / times
Deformity
It is difficult to hear you
In the dark vale / veil shrouds
Truth...
Listen to all the pandering /
Crimes :
Symptomatic cacophony
Like pixelatious chaos
Snow of black & white
Void of hi-def depth
Just a box of a skull / **** tube / (blight)
Still flesh heavy
In the silt of reality's sleights
Conditioned for numb
To naught care / less aware
Chewing gum
As the wilderness from without
Floods
Cantankerous / gelatinous
Countries of grey
Matter
Overwhelming mind
Rather than mind over
Thought to spontaneous
Flame
Create universe
In your vox cave
So listen closer now
Such multitudes of crave
Life,ride focus to rife clarity
Imagination & knowledge - just the same
As sane and
Obtuse / for Over- use /
Voracity...
I am you
And you are I
I am the fire
Magic in the eye
If we are one
And one are we
Shed light in this space
Mountain / that is mine
Seeing is knowing
Stay true to thine
For you are mind
Technicolor wisdom now
Awake
No longer dead or blind /
Listen, no word need spat
This is the beginning of all that
We are infinite
Music
I hear You at last...
No enemy minds
Listen.
Jun 5, 2016
Jun 5, 2016 at 6:08 PM UTC
Stuck in complacency
Facing calamity
Suffocating disillusionment is near
Can’t you see that, my dear?
In demons you find
The strength to fight
The human trait
That gave power to fate
Greed or hunger
A malingering farce
That’s claimed your heart
Will forever linger
The worth of pretense
It’s sometimes the only defense
To claim you really are that dense
So you can stay on the fence
Recognition is the price
For a freedom to sacrifice
Shallow depths to drown
In waters all your own
Go for submission
And spare the false contrition
You’re free to instill
A truth
A worldly one, if you will
Jun 29, 2019
Jun 29, 2019 at 4:48 PM UTC
versification is like ‘ taking notes ‘ in a plasma state.
the crest of a wave galloping the radius of a pinhead
to the center of
a word.
poetry is a conjuring of rare scabulous fables
told from lawn chairs, behaloed by fireflies and Occam's Razor.
with a warm breeze untangling the vortex into wee gems
tumbling in turbulent telemetries
malingering in the ginseng sonatas, gobbling the Nada… And-
with two hands, heaving a Sun ton of Moonlight
from the dark side of the same moon.
with your moonrocks made of wood.
and your Wisdom teeth
for flint.
Nov 16, 2018
Nov 16, 2018 at 4:53 AM UTC
I know what it means to give in.
I've already tasted the warm beer,
the sticky counters of a mid day bar on the breath of a tall man.
I've heard of sorrow's dependence and
I see what it turns us into.
Stigmatized and scented of sidewalk's old gum,
Invisible to the naked eye, the seeing eye, the breathing eye.
How the folds of skin come faster-
The voice- crackled like old tinfoil used again and again.
I can picture it all, I can see it in the mirror.
I admit to the fear of it. I admit to the dread I so detest in the faces of privileged youth;
Washed up, Burned out.
In high school a concept I easily accepted as being applied to myself.
But as my cycle of living and dying draws to its middle ground-
I feel it, the horror. The relief in the knowledge that I'm not like that. I'm not like that...
I carry my voice like church bells and feel myself grin at this mantra,
Even as i taste hesitation's sour malingering bite.
Aug 13, 2018
Aug 13, 2018 at 9:51 PM UTC