"moratorium" poems
is it right to follow the law
if it is not right?
is it just to dole out justice
with a lady liberty lacking sight?
when so many are the disenfranchised
and the majority of wallets, tight
is a moratorium ending
harming or mending?
where is the break in our dark
someone illuminate rational light
for the contrast is stark
between those who laze
and those who fight
Jul 7, 2021
Jul 7, 2021 at 4:50 PM UTC
Acclimate away you accustom to rabble streets, calculate thy cantankerous beef with another diabolic past!!
Destine connoisseur,
Old things get older while thy love stays newer!!!
What a hope to hope for something!!!!
Bare faced sophomore,
Soporific enducing trips to styles of maxed out galore....
Domineers on every corner,
Where youngest of mourners art ourn own children,
Gravitational to all pull ins,
Guided by ourn own sins we set our own adversities!!!!
When wilt we climb out of ourn own hutch?
Our brittled bunch doesn't think of two but one!!
Jilt all thou will falsifiers,
Killers and liars,
Were all wrapped tight to the same metropolis line!!!
Okaying thyself?
Canst we OK what's wrong and not fine?
Schzoid scribble ******* in,
Undeniable on planet green earth!!!
Underhanded,
Diploma drop ins,
Morphine moratorium so Grey thy sounds are!!!!
Yet thy smiles so beautifully wide!!!!!
Seek as thou finds,
Find all though you mayeth hide!!!
The scorch is over to be bear!!
Where is the opulent Queen who I seek?
Yet hasn't found me yet...
May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 9:33 AM UTC
I’ve sat with Silence
As she cast silhouettes
Moving in the likes
of Ballerinas across
My hair.
I’ve moved with them too.
That’s how I’ve come
To know their names
Or natures
As such:
1) The one who sold her soul to the Devil
For pennies and a dollar
So her mother could
Come off the
Corner
2) The one who put Fireflies and Rainbows
In mason jars and played make
Believe with running fingers
And a wounded
Moon
3) The one whose only trace of a father is
The bloodstain on the wall like a
Family photo with X’s over
The faces because he
Destroyed more
Than his own
Soul
4) The one who strung sorrow to the ceiling
To play its marionette with dancing
Shadows weeping and frightfully
Abandoned, hiding under
A candle in shameful
Bliss
5) The one who wandered though fields
Of whispering epitaphs that
Made nursery rhymes
From the likes of
Madness
6) The one who locked her heart in
A vault within ashen walls and
Wrote letters to stars that
Wrote it’s not her fault
She’s infinitesimally
Small
I told myself I would never return
To sleep
To dream
To surrender my mind to its own
Devices
Vices.
But here am I, Lord
Swinging with the wind
Under a purple tinged twilight
Making friends with twisted tongues,
and braided hearts slinking through the alley.
I’ve bore my heart like a cross,
Carried it past moratorium
Marching east for west
Until my frantic feet
Cease to move
Me.
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 12:11 AM UTC
It is for my heart which I write this requiem
Upon it placed, a pensive moratorium
One that could last a life time
Or leaving one more hill to climb
I have but one choice
And need my inner voice
Do I dare start at the bottom?
I remember that hill from last autumn
River bluffs hill we raced up that day
A race U won in an impressive way
A picture of which U gave on my birthday
Hung so that I am reminded each day
That there is always a price to pay
The picture may remain
But U, my dear, have become profane
At the bottom of this hill I now stand
With the memory of my heart in a cold hand
I think back to that first kiss
A moment of perfect bliss
I would never trade what we had
Keeping the good and the bad
But it is at this hill I now loom
Wondering if another climb ends in gloom
I am reminded of that hill from that day
Just as I am the mountain on which I lost my way
I should not be afraid this hill to ascend
But daunting it is with a heart on the mend
For now I am quite jaded
For love to me has quietly faded
Faded away into the dusk
Leaving my heart a mere husk
If the winds of time do not blow that husk away
I may live to love another day
Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 11:33 PM UTC
The age of men and women
Taking grand heroic action
Or making small significant gestures
Which changed the world
Are over.
Enter the age of indifference
Failing economics
And aging alcoholics
Dot the skyline
Of forclosures
And reposessions
Where once stood
Raised Fists
We ignored the warnings
The unemployment rate
Rises faster than global warming
Al Gore is an adulterer
Another inconvenient truth
Lining the landscape of sephulchre
Failing motivation
Spreads like an infectuous disease
And e-mails to God go unanswered
Replaced by homicidal tendency
The philosophers and writers
Visionaries and fighters
Have all been diagnosed with
Social disorder
And put on lithium
The public would rather watch
The latest news on the off-shore drilling Moratorium
Its just getting boring.
The smallest voice has ceased to be listened
So instead of pulling out my hair
I resign to not care
And stopped acting like it makes a difference.
Jul 12, 2010
Jul 12, 2010 at 7:41 PM UTC
Take a look at all of you down there
So sure of yourselves
So full of the hustle-bustle of life itself
Never stopping to see what could be
Potentially the greatest things of your lives
Jutting through the stream like hot knives
No all simply let life pass them by
Not seeing all the things
Looking you in the eye
And will watch even when you lie asleep
For the final time
You all think you’re hot ****
All hit and no miss
No questions
All answers
Obsess with self worth
Convinced that you’re dust with a value
Just because a god you’re not even sure exists told you so
When the urge to **** is gone
What’s the difference between you and the dirt you walk on
You all rise and fall like the waves in the oceans
Like a glissando of smoker coughs
New ideas are thrown against the scoffs and scrutiny
Of those obstinate practitioners of organized ignorance
You are the only one who should impose sanction on your life
Not some pretty news anchor
Who nods at the teleprompter with total belief
You all chase after superficiality like a poor animal
At the snap of some fat fingers
Call yourselves Pavlov’s pet
You fattened the hand that feeds you yourselves
Have you met the total of life’s offer
Have you looked at yourself in the mirror
And not seen cheap narcissism winking back
Self-imposed limits are acceptable to live by
A moratorium of thought is not
You have free speech
Now learn free thought
Explain the intricacies of a fast food drive through
To the children of Darfur
Explain how you didn’t want to learn how to finish your schoolwork
To the little girl who can’t afford to buy pencils for hers
She will tell you with chagrin how she aspires to be a writer and a poet
But can’t afford the books to help her help herself
You express yourself by exerting as little effort
While she isn’t able to put in the effort to express herself
It’s the ultimate irony
Religion ceased to be the ****** of the masses
When it got it reached one-million views
You all can ask where do I get off
And I will only smile and tell you how I am just like you
I watch the same TV
Eat the same food
Wear the same clothes
The only difference is you can be different
And by simply choosing to do so or not is a step in the right direction
You are your own Atlas
Carry your own world
Anyone else is just liable to drop it
Nov 20, 2010
Nov 20, 2010 at 11:38 PM UTC
My birth certificate has expired
It's time to burn me in the fire
Send me off to the crematorium
My life is a moratorium
Mar 22, 2016
Mar 22, 2016 at 11:36 AM UTC
AM I told what to think? Without gaining knowledge on how to think.
AM I taught how to feel? without understanding why I feel.
AM I raised in what to believe? Not given the freedom in what I want to believe.
AM I told what to be? Without allowing to simply be.
To know thy self is to gain understanding and knowledge of self. That is to individually and authentically find who I am and what my purpose is .
How do I gain knowledge on what I retain in my mind including: subconsciously and consciously
and how do I learn to understand my emotions, feelings and hear the purpose of my soul
physiological identity crisis in me is so surreal that I do not how to be real
Jul 31, 2016
Jul 31, 2016 at 3:30 PM UTC
Pale blue
baleful too
Mourning
morning
and the day begins
grins at me from behind the sky
slyly
wryly
I arise
wash the sleep
and my eyes
blue
sorrowful too
and I grin from behind the mask
all I ask is all there
glaring at times
and at times
daring me to break away
the day reins me in
from behind the sky comes another grin
a guffaw
and then more than my ears care to hear.
Fear the day
fear the way it captures the heart and wants you to live
carry a shiv
stab at it
grab at its glory
make a story from the fear that would trap you
wrap it round your little finger
**** on it and let its sweet taste linger
but fear the day just the same as it plays its frames about the screen that is your eyes
pale blue
behind the sky
we die just enough to enjoy and it's tough
to live
and then say,
'give me more are you waiting for an invitation
do you want each day to change and for every situation
to halt and arrange a moratorium?'
The crematorium will burn just as well
whether we're going to Heaven or bound in chains and heading for hell
this soul would do well to remember and write this in his journal.
The infernal cacophony of philosophy does me no good
I am the tree that cannot see but locked in a wooden embrace
with a wooden face
and behind the sky grins
at my wonderings
and I,
mourning
morning
place my hopes on a tomorrow that does not come.
For some it seems
those that live and die in dreams
tomorrow
is a shadow in the waking of the day which in a way is what I see
but what I see is not what I get
the day reins me in and once again I forget the story line
in time
I will
forget it all.
Jun 9, 2013
Jun 9, 2013 at 2:33 AM UTC
Lost in the snowstorm,
The sun is nowhere.
How rare...
Jun 23, 2013
Jun 23, 2013 at 1:00 AM UTC
Could we have a moratorium
On nature poetry please
A resounding snoratorium
On meadows, lakes, and trees
A halt to poems about sunsets,
Full moons, snowfalls and such
These tickle the fancy of nature buffs
But for others - not so much
A cutback on odes to roses,
Summer's glory or butterflies
Fewer tributes to all things blooming
And birds that fill the skies
Let's take a break from winter scenes
And the beauty of an ancient sea
Try one about the human race
Think of the novelty
Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 10:25 AM UTC
A restitution
in statutory
there a
transitory program
swift to
encircle firm
when ridicule
compel a
moratorium where
Russia still
a democratic
likelihood in
arms race
soon retire
for Holy
Land again.
Feb 20, 2017
Feb 20, 2017 at 10:23 AM UTC
we have fallen madly in love
or perhaps
we have just fallen in love
or we certainly
love each other
but maybe
we just need each other
a moratorium on desolation
its possible no one else would have us
and solitude will seal us in
like black stone gargoyles
that crush the sky
will we not turn to naked rain
wandering transparencies
bodiless monsters
like desolated desserts
with led mouths
horizons in retrograde
while ****** lips
sallow vagrant hollows
our eyes windmills veiled
stained with tears
road signs
no one can read
and weeping
no one hears
Jul 31, 2017
Jul 31, 2017 at 10:47 PM UTC
Unrelenting
they came to be
words
cementing lunacy
and talismans
for all to see
this madness
that's afflicting me.
It's a dictionary to dine upon
one more sedation
then I'm gone,all
quiet in the infirmary with the
madness that's afflicting me.
The doctor said I'm doing well,but
what the hell do doctors know
with their fake degrees and sky high fees
no minimum,no need for glum
just take the happy pill,ooh
what a thrill
***** me down please,Jack and Jill
and leave this hill alone.
They won't let me home, and say
I've got to stay
until they reach a moratorium and
then I'll end up down
the sanatorium.
More than Bethlem,
less than some men and
some men are less.
I profess to know which way this wind will blow and
like the weather vane
I'll spin again,I suppose
eventually I'll be insane.
A self fulfilling prophecy,or
just reinvented lunacy,
all the same to me,
I'll keep taking medication,
pray hard and wait for some salvation.
And then the graveyard waits for me,and for
other lunatics,
I see them lining up against the fence.
The fence that's no defence.
In the words which play with me,
lunacy or not,
it seems
these words are all I've got,them and
the doc
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 5:23 PM UTC
They shall say of 2020, when it's done
nobody forgets a year like that one,
this one, with you in it,
never been one like it,
fractally speaking, on this scale of perception.
The demographic target of Covid 19,
and I share periences from some years sortalike this, like 1961,
but that isn't global, that was national,
the summer, mostly, then
1963, the fall,
those days got global, a bit,
1969, the autumn, 1970, the spring,
and all those
tied in to now by way of psychedelia, and post war blues
odyssey of a sort, walking to Chicago scheduled,
through the October Moratorium, burlap sack of
peyote Wuwuchin season, then Earth Day 1, in San Jose,
half a time, half a year in men's measure,
those days were more cosmic than global...when I consider
I knew the way, that far, at that time, those were
strange days;
then I disappeared.
Now, I reappear, just to say, the way
I got here, got me this far, but as Granny Cook,
from the original Angelus Temple amen corner,
click,
she said " we all need discernment", then
Job called for a referee ee ee ance refer to
Voltaire - define your terms ..
dis cern the terms of our agreement, reader.
This map leads here. 2020 April, it is a meme
forming link in the evolution of the global brain
holding AI
accountable for each idle word, every good nobody got,
give it again, doit doit now, we missed. Hamartia, ha, try
umph, and we are rolling once more right past confused Camus.
1954.
These are the last old days, new ones are emerging,
after all we know finishes shifiting into next before our seeing eyes.
Apr 14, 2020
Apr 14, 2020 at 4:22 PM UTC
Stuffed animals and posters of Corbin Bleu
could have never prepared me for this moment.
Your hands touch me back like the pictures never could.
Your deliberate and calculated movements tell me
your experience is not just limited to teddy bears.
My arms are not as adept as yours,
not as practiced.
I have spaghetti limbs and wobbly knees.
You say I’m a fast learner but something tells me you're humoring my fumbles,
my awkward hands, and hesitant tongue.
You maneuver your frozen hands
under my Hello Kitty graphic tee.
My newly awakened ******* are firm yet flexible
like buds before a blossom.
Be gentle, the buds are fragile.
You fiddle with my zipper and reach into my daisy print *******
These petals are not yet ready to be plucked.
Not ready to be stolen and scattered in
a game of “she loves me, she loves me not”
But I cannot seem to release
the one word that could save me.
I am quite literally petrified,
suspended in this moment like
one of those prehistoric dragonflies in amber.
My brain has called a moratorium on movement.
It waits for a moment of safety
for my wings to start beating again.
You will smoke me like one of your cigarettes.
Twisting me in your yellow fingers.
Taking drags of my innocence.
Until I am used and smooshed into the sidewalk.
I will not realize this until later.
Because I am somehow addicted to your type of nicotine.
Tears become crystallized in their ducts.
One touch could shatter me.
I plaster a smile on my face,
but even concrete crumbles.
My face shakes.
My mask falls.
The facade you wanted to **** disappears.
I am more vulnerable than I ever have been
Apr 19, 2019
Apr 19, 2019 at 4:49 AM UTC
The world has grown around her womb,
The beginning of all beginnings, the onus of creation upon whom.
While it is her whose life slowly ebbs away,
At the hands of the manics and the fools.
Her hands chained, mind refrained,
Tongue tied and body veiled.
Lies be sold, this is your world behold!
Here your prejudices are yours only, but your pride is collectively owned,
Of the family you are born in, and the family of your future,
And the society that allows you to breathe any further.
So don’t you dare, this is a world prepared
By some to define your modesty and others to violate it beyond repair.
Caught between the two, ever so stretched thin,
Striving for approvals when discontent is where you are stuck in.
Rather learn to live in this moratorium of rules,
That pays no heed to your desires, your esteem, your needs or your moods.
Your life has never been yours, a conjugation of time tested judgements,
A world build around everyone’s opinions and your very own helplessness.
Nov 7, 2020
Nov 7, 2020 at 1:24 PM UTC
If blood could talk instead of bleeding
we'd be needing more
if blood could walk instead of flowing down the streets in Palestine
that would be a sign
to walk away,
but it lays lightly in the veins,down the drain,
these times surely are the times insane.
what gain inflicting sorrow, pain that numbs the brain,
more blood dripping down the drain,
blood that never knew the reason why the sky rained
death upon the children,hear them cry,
One more Jerusalem?
God knows we've had enough of them and
still the men in pinstripe suits pick up the guns and shoot
to ****
another will of God?
how odd that God is love yet death rains down from up above.
When will free will decide to override this never ending tide of man the beast?
can we at least have a moratorium on war
I'm all for
that.
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 7:00 PM UTC
A single line,
undefined, hangs
to make your life vulnerable.
The drifting starts.
You fumble for the right―
text,
to convey the urgency
of a moratorium. The
dew on the grass,
was not ready to
accept the rainbow of
false promises.
Flat refusal comes
from the deprived homes.
The poverty has become a sin.
The elegant procession
of the king was throwing
dust in our eyes.
Oct 17, 2016
Oct 17, 2016 at 12:01 AM UTC
Careful, the naked woman in the
bathroom mirror stands behind you
as if she has something in her hands
she finds difficult to show you.
Does she want to turn you to yourself?
But what would you find that you
do not want to know?
Or is she about to suggest again
a couple months separation?
That 3-day no speaking moratorium
did neither of you any good.
No, you don't look at yourself
only at her through the mirror.
Careful, do not ask the mystery
of her distant downcast eyes.
Ah, just as you are about to
snap off the lights
to end this little scene
she holds up the busted TROJAN!
Oct 9, 2016
Oct 9, 2016 at 10:00 AM UTC
A city burns.
The child carries the father
on his head.
The museum of skulls.
Nudes had blue veins
and scars on thighs.
The names were inherited.
Gettysburg water
refuses to mend the bones.
Ah, daisies are throwing
up the seeds in despair.
Civilization has come very far.
Progeny of death
were searching the mother
of all sins.
Apr 8, 2017
Apr 8, 2017 at 12:01 AM UTC