"mortify" poems
April doesnt hurt here
Like it does in New England
The ground
Vast and brown
Surrounds dry towns
Located in the dust
Of the coming locust
Live for survival, not for 'kicks'
Be a bangtail describer,
like of shrouded traveler
in Textile tenement & the birds fighting in yr ears-like Burroughs exact to describe & gettin $
The Angry Hunger
(hunger is anger)
who fears the
hungry feareth
the angry)
And so I came home
To Golden far away
Twas on the horizon
Every blessed day
As we rolled And we rolled
From Donner tragic Pass
Thru April in Nevada And out Salt City Way Into the dry Nebraskas And sad Wyomings Where young girls And pretty lover boys
With Mickey Mantle eyes
Wander under moons
Sawing in lost cradle
And Judge O Fasterc
Passes whiggling by To ask of young love: ,,Was it the same wind Of April Plains eve that ruffled the dress
Of my lost love
Louanna
In the Western
Far off night
Lost as the whistle
Of the passing Train
Everywhere West
Roams moaning
The deep basso
- Vom! Vom!
- Was it the same love
Notified my bones As mortify yrs now
Children of the soft
Wyoming April night?
Couldna been!
But was! But was!'
And on the prairie
The wildflower blows
In the night For bees & birds And sleeping hidden Animals of life.
The Chicago
Spitters in the spotty street
Cheap beans, loop, Girls made eyes at me And I had 35 Cents in my jeans -
Then Toledo
Springtime starry
Lover night Of hot rod boys And cool girls A wandering
A wandering
In search of April pain A plash of rain
Will not dispel This fumigatin hell Of lover lane This park of roses Blue as bees
In former airy poses
In aerial O Way hoses
No tamarand And figancine Can the musterand Be less kind
Sol -
Sol -
Bring forth yr Ah Sunflower - Ah me Montana
Phosphorescent Rose
And bridge in
fairly land
I'd understand it all -
11.1k
I faced the demon of lies who lives within my soul
Now there’s no way in hell I’d let your people go
I mortify my love in the fires of your pain
Burning eternally hot, did you spread my fame?
Blood red those evil eyes, sing a wicked lullaby
Relax, don’t cry, there’ll be time to pay when you die
Do you believe in sins redeemed, do you believe in dreams?
Let the sun beat down and shine on us
While we sing and dance, in god we trust
And when it rains which it eventually will
Let’s blame the devil for the rage we feel
Let every man, woman, boy and girl
Find their place in this crazy world
And crazier yet before we die
Let’s take a chance and believe some lies
Mar 22, 2013
Mar 22, 2013 at 2:41 PM UTC
On
The counters of poetry
I dock and lock myself
Then
I scope on the bottles of liquors seductively
And spellblind by their syllables
I took the shakers and hybrid
The Similes
The Onomatopeia's
The Nemesis'
The Near-Rhymes
And The Triadic-Lines
Then I gulp fourteen shots of Sonnets
From my paper-glass
And glug a paradox
Or a foil-sigh
Trice,
The knots
Bundling my eloquence
Will exonerated itself
And torpidity will cuff my consciousness
And the droplets remains in my paper- glass
Will impel me
To quest for myriad of them
I'm not drunk!
I'm not drunk!
I'm not drunk!
I
Will slur
With half an eye open
As if the other is broken
Stock on a comedy chair
Then
When the
Limbs of time tread
Will I rush to the counter
Like the athletes at Olympia
And hybrid
The Blank-verses
The Alliterations
The Limericks
The Litotes
The Aporia's
And The Dysphemism's
And
Gulp countless
Yet measured shoots
Of Ballad,with my paper-glass
And unravel the oratories
Of sacred secrets,eclectic enchantment and regrettable reflexes
Aside,or injects the world
With my rugged pins of eruditions
Bestowed in me by the liquors of poetry
I'm not drunk!
I'm not drunk!
I'm not drunk!
I
Will slur
With half an eye open
As if the other is broken
Stocked on a comedy-chair
Again
I will rush
To the counter,and hybrid
The Exaggerations
The Personifications
The Imageries
And The Caesura's
And
Gulp uncounted shoots
Of Epic's from my paper-glass
And
Eulogise my steam and wit
Yet,I'm drunk
And deeply drunk wholly
By a might that mortify me so much
That I've become a slave
In the awe of my servitude
Now and then
Will I weep and wail terribly
Each morning,each noon,and each night
For the great demise of myself
And for an emancipation
From the perpetual counter-cells poetry
I'm drunk,and deeply drunk by poetry.
Deeply Drunk
©Historian E.Lexano
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 4:38 PM UTC
Tossing the pigskin
Burrowing and displaying the Ostrich effect
All applause for the chairman of the board of trustees
And all the spiddle on his back up shirt
Mortify them
An incomplete pass
Rally the troops
For unfinished business
Shift gears
Reread the post script
"P.S. The unzipped flies of store owners trying to replicate the success of their fathers. Piddle about, play with implements of torture, instruments of destruction. Wander in the wilderness, grunt and sigh as your civilized brain rattles. Make way for Plan B, and fill out the forms in triplicate. Fumbling at the controls, emergency landing. The gear shift and crankshaft have given out. Listen to the titillating chatter of the disappointed passengers who all longed for the window seat.
Always your's
Edmund Balthazar "
Take two
I could slap you
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 8:59 PM UTC
I'll electrify you if you want me to dance,
Personify you if you give me your pants,
Exemplify virtue and all of its flaws,
Attempt to find demons, albino bear paws,
Mortify humans with all of my morals,
Live in the sea and converse with the corals,
Bifurcate meaning and dissect the reasons,
Quarter the eights and experience seasons,
Try not to fly if I'm given some wings,
I'll die if I fall, but I i've still got these strings.
Isn't it sweet to discover calamity,
Break through the vortex and slip into sanity?
Dec 10, 2010
Dec 10, 2010 at 6:10 PM UTC
Blank is the only thought known in the mind's velocity
Blank is the motive for the one to unleash atrocity
Blank becomes the heart as it encases no pain nor joy
Blank merely senses no rudiment in good or evil's ploy
Blank removes the face far from emotion's function
Blank contributes part in the psychotic conjunction
Blank of colour has it not, neither has it not everything
Blank is the incubator of pure evil for its purpose is nothing
Dark has claimed lordship over the temple of God
Dark shall only not grant the self but others the trod
Dark is the illness for which not shall it cease
Dark is the standing bear to the prey upon release
Dark gives the sun's casket at the funeral the seal
Dark senses no illusion in pursuit of what is real
Dark is the siren's song of tempting desire
Dark is the fuel of persuasion to the raging hellfire
Monster has the person become from a transformation much gruesome
In comparison to the lycanthrope's curse from a life so glum
Silence does the killer perform the wait for this moonrise
Wolf does not in he result but psychosis shall evoke demise
Hell is the starting gate for the devil to begin his race on earth
Slaughtered shall be anyone until achieved is the end's worth
Light will not the butcher dwell in for his blade of razor to land
Lightless will the assassin delay in for the lust of death by hand
Cannot you outrun the follower, ceaselessly he follows
Subject you are to this doctor's experiment of gallows
Shadow does for you he wait in for the death strike
Watcher will he portray such a role in his image alike
Closet shall you beware for the demon's haunt it has become
Drains are elsewhere he shall stay for they are fear to some
The primary sense is vision for it has the ability to identify
Application of the sense does it most suit the villain to mortify
The possessed blade is as sharp as the pain to cause the victim's cries
For such an action does pleasure be ensured for the blackest eyes
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 8:10 PM UTC
Here's to those who suffer voluntarily,
who rise above the mean and merely momentary
pleasure that we feel sitting on a couch,
eating Cheetos, watching reruns of "The Brady Bunch";
those who exercise, walk fast (raising weights
with their arms in rhythm to their feet),
jog, or actually even run --
as long as there's no clear goal in mind,
no Olympic medal, no short-skirted cheerleaders
proffering kisses;
residents of Blakely, Georgia, and Moosejaw, Saskatchewan,
who steadfastly resist removal to California
and similar climes, knowing intuitively
that delight in perfect weather is born in sub-zero winters,
in summer's humid swelter;
those who do without air-conditioning,
using the money for a violin
or books or trips to the local swimming pool;
those who fast, mortify the flesh, --
or at least skip breakfast occasionally,
refusing to indulge every ****** whim,
letting them ripen, at least now and then,
into actual, robust hunger;
monks in solemn Kentucky silence,
some, I suppose, are misanthropes, here I speak of those
with a normal affection for chat and hubbub
who restrict themselves to a reverent silence,
speech being used only in extremity;
blood donors.
Jun 14, 2019
Jun 14, 2019 at 8:27 PM UTC
All the troubles and wars
blood spills and pours
this is the times of revelation
that we destroy all creation
blue skies turn black
days gone we can't get back
this is the end of time
we crossed that thin line
there's no peace anymore
And this is all we have left
between love and theft
children killing children
these are the things we teach them
behind locked doors
there's no peace anymore
Tear down the walls
just to put up new ones
mankind falls
still we never learn
we just let it all burn
there's no peace anymore
We suffer persecution
tortured and put to death
for your belief
you're only just a martyr
in your eye we mortify
as we watch another one die
take your last breath
this is all that remains
there's no peace anymore
Tied to chains
you hide behind repulsion
and there's no resolution
one with power refrains
on your knees he restrains
just like so many times before
and there's no peace anymore
Spiritwind ©2003
Apr 22, 2016
Apr 22, 2016 at 2:41 PM UTC
The light has already cast itself into the dark corners
of this shameful story: a man who was despised
and fell towards death, only for his presence to remain.
Is it such a hard lesson to learn that it is over,
and two millennia past? And yet we mortify ourselves
with holy guilt when we could enjoy these spring days
bursting with the budding leaf, the floating blossom.
Is there really a need for this re-enactment of selfishness
and death? Are we such poor dumb souls that we observe
a Friday to remind us how it was? There is a presence
in our midst: the Eternal Christ who lives among us,
an incarnate being continually blessing us with love.
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 4:44 AM UTC
*They swallowed me and spit out.
My pride was dispelled in a cold land.
The tumid persecution with the connivance of rake rampantly exhume my organs.
My fervent desire in extending my hand was ebbing fast.
I’m a feme. I’m at the end of my tether.
They tied up my hands and feet on both edge of the glandola.
I was surrounded by darkness frozen alone.
From night till dawn they flogging me then soak in salty water.
No more grain of hope for me to see the birth of my son.
I can taste no more the honeydew that my husband had brought me.
They will surely lament for me…
They whom I vowed to serve and cherish.
Who wants to indite a poem for me?
Who wants to limn my life story?
My lesion leaked by flies has been dried up.
My body was mortify in shame without any clad.
I’m at the end of my tether.
But…
They will remember me!
They will tell my life story.
They will fight for me!
They, the youth, will cut the Gordian knot!
*
Aug 31, 2016
Aug 31, 2016 at 12:46 AM UTC
Why not love?
Why not try love?
Why not purify
instead of mortify?
Why own Earth
when we can share it?
Why remain strangers
when we can make
billions of new friends?
Why not join hands and hearts
instead of enslaving, starving,
torturing, ****** killing?
Why not become
a piece of world peace?
Why not love?
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Dec 26, 2021
Dec 26, 2021 at 2:13 PM UTC
Oh young one passionate and unconfined my heart would for to dwell with you but no condition stands for this. It may be blessed by family and law but longer running time would inevitably bring pain. Friend and foe I have saluted you in my mind. I stare deep into what you are and see the innocence that lies on your lips that beckons kiss and heeds offense. Poison you are to my soul but sweet to the taste and numbing to the senses. To let what was die before what could be with you. Blank is the slate which u hold blank and undefined. Mine is not so, caustic and damaged, I long for your purity for who you could make me but alas I confine this imagination contained by only threads and space to protect the milder love we share so it is to mortify my being to keep yours intact, alive, well, gaining. Always in my heart will I live a life of defined joyous habitation with you but my silence will remain my eye steadily fixed on the happiness of your youth oh young one
Jan 23, 2017
Jan 23, 2017 at 8:36 PM UTC
Come to me, Lady of Summer,
Hold me fast with blossom’d arm
Kiss me like a lover
And whisper floral words like I’ve known no other
You’ve given me the strength I seek
To grow my spirits vernal
To flee my love, all for naught
No union e’r eternal
And yet you linger to torture me
Witness me mortify
To shrivel up in your callousness
Let to air to fin’ly die.
With each passing
Of every hour
Your embrace grows cold’r still
Still am I to find the vitals
Which you try to ****
You’ll succeed because I let you
I long to feel your touch
And pray to false gods, the gods of hope
That you will feel as such
When that lonely woman comes
The Lady of the Snow
And blesses me aptly
She’ll show me you were just a phantom
Without I am truly happy
Yet she will leave
They always do
And abandon my love once more
You come again, my love anew
Yet again I’ll grieve
Resultant of my petty wish
That I’m your only lover
Though disenchantment is my blessing
To see beneath the lie
I’ve always wanted to enjoy your grace
Yet void of sky awaits me nigh
No normal man would grovel
And incense your waning passion
As I do
AS I do
As I will always do
For you abandon me
And give my gifts to better men
To those I call normal
And leave me leveled like
Foot of crushed hill
So now I retreat
Into my head, my hand
My eyes I blind, my mouth grows dumber
I spurn thee
I love thee
Oh, Lady of the Summer
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 3:27 PM UTC
Some days, only sometimes,
I crawl outside myself,
To wander the world's wonders,
Peering through it, like a shelf.
I walk the narrow road's way.
Whisper, wispy, thin lies,
To lead those astray,
That don't see with their eyes.
Burning in the light of the moon.
My ethereal flesh is a sight to see,
To touch it is a mortal sin,
A taste would fill one with glee.
I am no mortal in this form.
I climb the highest height,
To know I cannot watch,
The ants, the world in fright.
May I spread my wings of burden?
Go where I am not wanted,
To fill the world with fallacies,
Mortify. Justify, the haunted.
Time has run out for me.
Dreams I can no longer pervade,
To paint pictures, 'pon pulsing skulls,
I hold a purgatory masquerade.
I must return to be full of myself.
As I watch the thick skinned carcass sleep,
To know that what I am,
Is a troubled man, pathetically counting sheep.
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 12:14 PM UTC
Intrepid damsel,
a heroine unsung.
A willing martyr
with courage
unrivalled.
Unransomed captive
with a ransom
infinite.
She gladly faces
death with eternity
in view.
Like her lover before her,
she chooses to be
a sacrificial lamb
to the slaughter.
Leah Sharibu,
the heroine unsung.
She that chose to mortify
her passions
for timeless paradise.
Hardly daunted by
Kalashnikovs and
thunderous explosives,
she inherits a world
deemed abstract by
unfaithful adherents.
Aug 3, 2019
Aug 3, 2019 at 9:52 AM UTC
lets not wonder in a broken frame
even though our words hide away
i wish you could see inside my skin
of how much you haunt me
curved in a never ending circal
to pierce and shatter my dreams
of a wall of bricks of not exciting in yours
mortify in my gref of never finding
scars will stay and you know who's to blame
was once tender but now in ice
i wonder if it will ever heal away
from time to time i remember
Dec 10, 2012
Dec 10, 2012 at 6:23 PM UTC
dreadfully and drearily so she picked around her nose where her ring used to be
full of dead and destruction she ripped out pages of John 3.16, where her crown chakra used to feel free
wistfully wishing for her black jeans with a string instead of a zipper; she now wears a gown
wondering why, she contemplates in her midnight blue constellation journal: to down-
right mortify me,
to make a mockery, to….to, to…. to…. find me in case I pull the fire alarm and try to escape
she puts together puzzles with her mother’s name in cursive in the bottom right corner and puts them together with tape
begrudgingly so she ties up the used new balance sneakers she borrows and moans
she wants to move her body, for her form has been stagnant, oh how she wishes to roam
jogging, running, sprinting from the wolves to the butterflies and bunnies
painting a stain glassed window as a holy shrine to The Queen of The Goths, she’s so spunky
wondering where her soul’s mate could be in a blizzard this thick
but she knows she’s been a real witch, flying into her alter ego’s psyche on a broomstick
if she can infiltrate her reflection in the mirror she’ll catapult into outer space
although, around her neck, she’d much rather wrap a shoelace
In five days time, 120 hours, 7,200 minutes, not only does the doggy door open,
so does the front door, who had the key? Will the door be closing?
Jogging, running, sprinting from the eyes of the doctor to the arms of the unbroken
My feet are swollen
My hands need lotion
My thoughts are golden
I am coping
He is coping
We are coping
They are unbroken
Over a basket of fish and chips, I realize I was chosen
Is that a ****** up notion?
I just don’t want to feel hopeless
Is this excess of energy a bad omen?
Back in the free world now, I’m so scared of my spirit being stolen
But my energy is as vast as the ocean and potent
I win, I win, I win !
But the imperialists are closing
In
Feb 13, 2019
Feb 13, 2019 at 11:19 PM UTC
I'm from the bottom where more than water lie, sick girls looking for victims another person to mortify, where it's a more or less chance you will be in jail from somebody who testified, than high-speed chase in broad day and you crashing out.
It's all about what you do no one cares what your talking about,nothing is for free or given to you, so get a hustle or be without
Whatever take a chance be a Man so what if you have doubts
It's better to know than want sympathy looking for handouts
Cause you only get out of life what you put in it
And a little can only go so far
Criticize by the best of the best F@#k them know who you are.
Jan 24, 2016
Jan 24, 2016 at 2:19 PM UTC
allow me to apologize
on behalf of the love
i bear for you
the love I’ve left
behind the moon
behind the earth
within a shadow
in an umbra
and hidden from the sun
i want these whispers
to escape
from the person
i have buried
in a folded blanket
in the dust
in a fissure
of a scar
within my heart
i’ve been defeated
by my own fears
and self-resentment festers
in my consequential wounds
a gangrenous pathogen
threatening to mortify
what,
i don’t know
for i’ve kept my eyes closed
and my soul at a distance
but every morning
as i try to go to sleep
in spite of the sun
rising above
i think of me
as if i was not myself
and I think of you
and the things i should’ve done
i think of how
you looked right through
my painted face
and when i met your eyes
how my blind-fold fell away
less than a memory
i think of these moments
and remember
that i once knew the meaning
of peace
Aug 6, 2014
Aug 6, 2014 at 8:00 PM UTC
Tell me if I intensify or ratify or eclectically
de-sastisfy or ******* lie or
**** me and stratify artistically mortify
I wanna cry and bend this whole **** thing
over to arithmetically magnify
geometrically articulate and situate
the intensity of the diametrical
opposites
******** the whole ****** thing
claim the reasoning as my own
when it came from
my muse.
Say with me...
Is this real?
can I prove one theory
one thing I know
is I am
deaf and dumb.
Just seemingly
revolving waiting
numb.
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 1:16 AM UTC
Pyres burn my heart tonight
I walk down the timepiece
So it can sip my niceties,
I thaw my soul in the outings
Tears I cried in 63’s,
Shoving my shelf off
Patching the game cards out,
The hotel room’s melting
Fuming the memories I kept for long,
My room is a mess, thinking the dead
I comb my strands recklessly
Bite it like my rusted shackles
The band is dying, I never mortify,
Seeing is a crime
Blindfolded like time,
I have worn out my shoes
Touching the tissues of my mistakes,
I act like Midas.
Sep 11, 2016
Sep 11, 2016 at 6:14 AM UTC
On the eve of laying love to rest
I carried my emotions inside a clenched fist
Dispersing the air for all to see
To feel and mortify at an unrestrained spree
My presence was cunning
Sharper than a serpent's tongue
A forked road a hallowed path
That sheds the pretense of wrath
This was my catharsis at dawn
Spiraling about for my skin
Should I mourn my loss
Or meet the sun for a first lover's kiss
May 14, 2018
May 14, 2018 at 9:46 AM UTC