"moralist" poems
the ***** ghost
comes to those who have suffered long
the agony of torrid loves hunger
he is a savior that needs to be saved
a glittering pageant of ****** despair
his color sapphire
a weeping shell
a dark cloud of smoldering ash
that never burns out
he is heat and light
he can smell the musk between your legs
taste tears of want
as if they are his own
his ****
bursting like trees
bludgeon hard, substanceless
no you can't put your finger on it
your heart
a weeping furnace
your parched mouth dire
is his
the emptiness between your legs
is his
he comes to you a vacant smudge
then,
white attendant with black eyed gems
be not afraid
he was lost in life
a moralist
who could not find Jacobs ladder
nor free him self of false boundaries
set upon him by the good people
their minds spider bites and corpses
who imagined a god
who loved them by decrees
of thou shalt not not not
and did not know
that flesh needs flesh
and only human love could save him
then to the grave,
just a ***** ghost theory
to the living
Dec 6, 2016
Dec 6, 2016 at 10:01 AM UTC
Lo! where the rosy-bosomed Hours,
Fair Venus’ train, appear,
Disclose the long-expecting flowers,
And wake the purple year!
The Attic warbler pours her throat,
Responsive to the cuckoo’s note,
The untaught harmony of spring:
While, whisp’ring pleasure as they fly,
Cool Zephyrs thro’ the clear blue sky
Their gathered fragrance fling.
Where’er the oak’s thick branches stretch
A broader browner shade,
Where’er the rude and moss-grown beech
O’er-canopies the glade,
Beside some water’s rushy brink
With me the Muse shall sit, and think
(At ease reclined in rustic state)
How vain the ardour of the Crowd,
How low, how little are the Proud,
How indigent the Great!
Still is the toiling hand of Care;
The panting herds repose:
Yet hark, how through the peopled air
The busy murmur glows!
The insect-youth are on the wing,
Eager to taste the honied spring
And float amid the liquid noon:
Some lightly o’er the current skim,
Some show their gayly-gilded trim
Quick-glancing to the sun.
To Contemplation’s sober eye
Such is the race of Man:
And they that creep, and they that fly,
Shall end where they began.
Alike the Busy and the Gay
But flutter thro’ life’s little day,
In Fortune’s varying colours drest:
Brushed by the hand of rough Mischance,
Or chilled by Age, their airy dance
They leave, in dust to rest.
Methinks I hear, in accents low,
The sportive kind reply:
Poor moralist! and what art thou?
A solitary fly!
Thy joys no glittering female meets,
No hive hast thou of hoarded sweets,
No painted plumage to display:
On hasty wings thy youth is flown;
Thy sun is set, thy spring is gone—
We frolic while ’tis May.
3.1k
Oh happy shades--to me unblest!
Friendly to peace, but not to me!
How ill the scene that offers rest,
And heart that cannot rest, agree!
This glassy stream, that spreading pine,
Those alders quiv'ring to the breeze,
Might sooth a soul less hurt than mine,
And please, if any thing could please.
But fix'd unalterable care
Foregoes not what she feels within,
Shows the same sadness ev'rywhere,
And slights the season and the scene.
For all that pleas'd in wood or lawn,
While peace possess'd these silent bow'rs,
Her animating smile withdrawn,
Has lost its beauties and its pow'rs.
The saint or moralist should tread
This moss-grown alley, musing, slow;
They seek, like me, the secret shade,
But not, like me, to nourish woe!
Me fruitful scenes and prospects waste
Alike admonish not to roam;
These tell me of enjoyments past,
And those of sorrows yet to come.
1.6k
It's love
for the love of love
Are you a crazy love woman
skivvy to the scourge of happiness
that jealous sister of hatred
who keeps herself
who gives herself
for the love of love.
Well, you've been had
it's the epic travesty
our nature, corseted
into words and sermons
contorted to fit more moral mouths
than mine. ******* moralist hypocrites.
I'l show you love
when I shove that love
where the sun don't shine.
Always thinking of you
Happy Valentines.
Sep 29, 2010
Sep 29, 2010 at 7:45 PM UTC
1
dearest readers online
be forewarned
when you read a poem
there may be irony ahead
and if you don't look out
yes, it can be like you've
run against an iron pole
smack bang against the forehead
(which may not matter if you're Ironhead)
but if you're anything like me
flesh and blood and heart -
Ouch! It can more than hurt!)
2
be forewarned also
when you read a poem
it can be like
driving in a school zone
when the kids are going home -
so watch out:
*irony may be walking with persona
and the literal with metaphor
and maybe a figurative pig round the corner
and sarcasm hand in hand
with opposite-of-what's-being-said*
3
so do drive alert
eyes open, mind open
when in Poetry Land
O most intelligent reader
for you never know
in the thoroughfare of poetry
who you might
just bump into:
*Mr Alternative;
Mr So-in-your-face;
Ms I-Want-to-Talk-About-God-Yet-Again;
Vicar There's-No-Bloody-God;
Mr and Mrs Moralist;
Mr and Mrs Hey-Let's-Have-Sex-While-at-Poetry
like-they-do-in-the-back-seats-at-the-movies* -
and so on, you know:
It can be like being Alice in Wonderland
with the Mad Hatter
but you got to keep your sanity
for company
yep, stay alert
or you might just crash your Reading
4
An Afterthought
and I know
wise reader
all the above might make me sound
like Mr-know-all
but hey! - modesty's never been
the poet's professional trait
(you must think about that -
cos even the poet devoted entirely
to Subjects Divine and Holy
and of Such Lofty Things
and exuding sweet humility
is ****** arrogant -
cos they do implicitly or explicitly claim
they know what really matters,
while you or I don't)
Feb 21, 2012
Feb 21, 2012 at 5:58 AM UTC
The moralist is playing again,
bleaching your hair
is an unspoken uniform,
with so little soul
acetates don't get played.
New words gets bandied "plebs",
but without the de-rigueur Corduroys
or navy blazers,
we are all be tarred
with the same brush.
Meanwhile the coach exhaust fumes
abnegated our pilgrimage to Stamford
and we all now agree we
lived beyond our means
in exiguous Britain
Sep 27, 2012
Sep 27, 2012 at 5:24 PM UTC
Oh happy shades--to me unblest!
Friendly to peace, but not to me!
How ill the scene that offers rest,
And heart that cannot rest, agree!
This glassy stream, that spreading pine,
Those alders quiv'ring to the breeze,
Might sooth a soul less hurt than mine,
And please, if any thing could please.
But fix'd unalterable care
Foregoes not what she feels within,
Shows the same sadness ev'rywhere,
And slights the season and the scene.
For all that pleas'd in wood or lawn,
While peace possess'd these silent bow'rs,
Her animating smile withdrawn,
Has lost its beauties and its pow'rs.
The saint or moralist should tread
This moss-grown alley, musing, slow;
They seek, like me, the secret shade,
But not, like me, to nourish woe!
Me fruitful scenes and prospects waste
Alike admonish not to roam;
These tell me of enjoyments past,
And those of sorrows yet to come.
952
We the moralist of society.
Seems to judge many others many of times.
But when our lives gets exposed.
Then, that's when we don't want our life exposed.
That secret life.
The one we afraid to mention.
Maybe you was a stripper.
Or as some call it.
An exotic dancer.
Maybe you was a business woman.
Serving mutiple males.
While making tax free money.
Maybe you a male escort.
Who, now have the trade of being a respected lawyer?
Oh, that secret life.
That many of us don't want anyone to know.
Some of the most respected people have a past.
That if pushed could ruine them.
The famous face scandals more than the poor.
But the poor has just as many to run from.
Maybe, it's a secret child.
Maybe, it's the secrets of being too wild.
Oh, these secret lives that we live.
Sooner or later, we must ask someone to forgive us.
Scandals in church.
Scandals at work.
Our privacy is becoming a dream.
When we faces being exposed cause people are mean.
Mar 30, 2013
Mar 30, 2013 at 1:21 AM UTC
I swear girl
you've made me want to
take all your ****
and throw it
out on the steps
these past days;
thou shalt not steal.
Lately
I've been wanting
to chop your head off,
but I'm a moralist
so I do it in my head
but sometimes...
thou shalt not ****
But I love you....
thou shalt love they neighbor
as thine own self....
and I love you in the agonizing way a man's heart can be caught and snared.
I've had to sleep in my car
for six days now,
because of you yelling and screaming
and just hating everything about me
until you wake me up in the morning
tapping on the foggy glass
in a bathrobe, them pink, ***** slippers,
and some scalding black coffee in a mug,
and I look at you and I just want to....
thou shalt not ****
again,
thou shalt not ****
And it all started with you
waking me up with a bible to the head,
thumping me awake
at 3:15 in the morning,
standing over me reading
"thou shalt not covet another man's wife."
And everybody's a sinner.
Jan 27, 2012
Jan 27, 2012 at 11:32 PM UTC
"they deserve to suffer," the moralist chimed,
tones of genocidal rhetoric cutting out the sun
Oct 4, 2015
Oct 4, 2015 at 5:14 PM UTC
We all have it.
We just try to surpress it.
We all have standards.
We just live up to them.
To the mistress.
We have a commentary about them.
Except if given a chance.
Some man would try to be with them.
To the prison that commits a crime.
We truly lay into them.
Without realize one bad choice of a decision.
Will have us being a inmate next to them.
Mistakes we make them.
And in many ways we hate to be judged.
Just ask their family.
We no moralist.
Well outside church we aren't.
We only show our moral hyprocrisy.
When we're around the minister preaching.
Where we nod our heads to anything said.
But pay attention to truth.
Even they aren't firm on things.
When dealing with God's creation.
The commandments are strictly guidelines to abide by.
We very aware that many will fall to the side.
It's just our moral hyprocrisy code we go by.
It took a brave soul to assist the soul lying at the road.
The Good Samaritan's that we all seems to know.
Those in position just passed him by.
Maybe it just was the sign of the time.
We still see this in the priviledge.
Who still tries to judge the poor?
And the word states, they shall inherit the earth.
Words to the wise that states so much.
Dec 5, 2012
Dec 5, 2012 at 8:08 AM UTC
Postpone your tiresome
quarrels if you can, or leave
and take them with you.
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 1:26 PM UTC
What is greater,
Your desire to speak, or to be heard?
If you argue for superiority-
(Moralist pugilism)
(Last man standing)
Then may you feel like a man
May you be satisfied by bringing another
To stubborn contradiction
Or to submission
But may you also know this:
Once you have finished killing all those
Who oppose peace,
Once you have burned the last bigot
At the stake,
Once you’ve crucified the non-believers,
Or choked out the last censurer,
When every bully
Has been ridiculed
And embarrassed,
You will have only reflected this world
Onto a surface of your choosing
So long as you expect Truth to arrive
Unmarred by your fluster and arrogance,
Through you to dispel the evil
You are hell bent on redeeming,
You will remain
A force of Darkness
In this time
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 2:18 PM UTC
Nima's aunt's spare bed
was firm and old
and after we had made love twice
we lay back on the bed
and lit up cigarettes
this is my moody cousin's room I think
Nima said
wonder what she'd think
if she knew I'd been ravished here?
not please I guess
I said
she'll know I've slept here
but not that I've had ***
in her big bed
Nima said
I looked around the room
there were a few paintings
on the walls
a big mirror on one wall
opposite the bed
a dressing table by the window
well Benny
what do you think?
about what?
I said
the bed?
the ***
the foreplay?
she said
all good
I said
(the foreplay
had been her idea
and it kind of
stretched things out a bit)
twice over too
she said
watching smoke rise upward
what would your aunt say
if she found out I'd been here?
I said
not pleased
she's a bit of a moralist
Nima said
(as if being a moralist
was a kind illness
with little hope)
but I can picture
my moody cousin's face
had she come in
as we were well away
Nima said smiling
in fact I imagined it
the second time we shagged
imagined her by the door
with a face as white as snow
and her eyes
as large as an owls
she laughed
I imagined nothing
just went with the flow
sensing myself
in a bright sun's glow.
Jan 7, 2016
Jan 7, 2016 at 11:23 AM UTC
we refuse to believe,
to denounce the dream,
to not remember.
we refuse to accept,
a false defeat,
that the process has ended.
but I look around,
and it appears you've won,
and they all consented.
deafening pluralism
post-modern [rant]
victims of culture
spectacle love
packaged meanings
individualist mass
interconnected points
one-dimensional facts
(i) sit here and meditate on all that
(i) am so terribly meta
(i) love my corral
give all the pleasures (i) can possibly have
teach me to accept anything and never stand up
(i) wanna be a spectator of the things to come
participate the least possible and not care at all
see nothing outside my little microcosm
be a relativist moralist and completely apolitical
please convince (me) too
that we've figured it all
the details remain
but we get the whole
please assimilate me in the pack
(i) wanna be sheepish
(i)'d love to feel numb
(i) love the screen's light, (i) fear the dark
some want to be, (i) just want to have
the self is a process and (i) can't bother with that
(i) now gather tokens to show you my value
bureaucratic meritocracy, let me glorify you
tag me, price me, define me all the way
(i) hope you find a tag for my soul as well
(i) will now be infotained to catch up
will watch a news satirist to understand
after that there's this show of people losing fat
(i) get my "values" from jesters and marketing fads
look, this poem's so meta
(i) could open my heart:
[negative feeling here] [joke about that]
[unoriginal opinion] and [trivia]
[self-resentment], [a very bad pun].
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 6:45 AM UTC
Glossary of generics, favourer of all merit, ****** to detach detained editorial.
Some come in softly, hard heads take big splats. Lukewarmness salts thy unfruitful earth, where newborn births are stars to their own mania's, Cranium's go connected! Stretched parsels to broken fibula's!
Moralist preachers teach to the misbehaved, can you account for the thousandth day you've encountered?
For the slaves you've made out of your own bloodline, you've lost much of your own commandments you lowly persuationer!!
Old partied savourer!!!
Dissatisfaction finalizes all authories where glory is none, cheatings no more fun? Haha for you can clap your solid hands to gentled tears, for missing years are operetic in cower and palate!!!!!
Wake yourself to thine nail, strike one time with a mallet for all reasonings gone, gone, gone . when its you that has lost,
When its thy world who hath won!!!
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 10:13 PM UTC
Internal journalist
Pitiful moralist
Brave declarations
Cleverly made
My words are a weapon
An army attacking
Myself - but my friendships
Are casualties laid
May 31, 2025
May 31, 2025 at 10:42 AM UTC
The dissonance should
splinter your sparkling
billboard reality
as tv images
hyper energize
our innate *** drive
and media moralist
shame said desires.
While your leaders
proclaim a specific faith
but then in turn
spite and debase,
with malice and false claims
anyone who doesn’t
pray each day
the way that they
don’t even pray.
When the main protagonist
in your religious texts
was pretty obviously
anti-capitalist
but your current church leaders
make a killing
selling their parishioners
false promises
of making them
multi-millionaires.
When you
were set up to be
the steward of your society
yet squander
each opportunity
to be more Christ like
cause you have developed
a strong immunity
to reason and logic
which costs us
our humanity.
Jan 7, 2018
Jan 7, 2018 at 10:10 AM UTC
Torment passing under the suns allotted gloom
Eclipsed by the dirge of the funeral moon
Falling over man, the tide of infernal doom
The mortal victim falls to insanities eternal swoon.
Humanity deceased, falls to its four
The beast lives, a monstrosity alive
A naked form scratches at the door
With eyes, dead as night, hunting to survive.
The elders rot (on the pyre) away
Child cadavers pile by the day
Mortal lust succeeds the moralist decay
Under the sun of sanity eclipsed.
Jul 28, 2017
Jul 28, 2017 at 5:25 PM UTC