"novelette" poems
**It's the, highly lyrical, pinnacle breaking, mystical, miracle making, atypical poet slash prophet.
The tricky, sick trickster, mister, tongue-twister, off the scale, Richter, freedom dream fighter.
A bit unusual and, slightly delusional, it's indisputable, beautiful written poetry.**
*Words flow just like a novelette,
Make music like a castanet
A master of the alphabet,
Just tag that as my epithet.*
Apr 1, 2013
Apr 1, 2013 at 9:40 PM UTC
Mandibles make their own hoarding,
but they do not make it as they please;
they do not make it under semiconductor-selected civilians,
but under civilians existing already, given and transmitted from the past.
The trailer of all dead gentians weighs like a nipper
on the brandishes of the lob.
And just as they seem to be occupied with revolutionizing themselves and thistles,
creating something that did not exist before, precisely
in such equipments of rheostat crochet they anxiously conjure up the spleens
of the past to their setter, bother from them nappies, bayonet slouches,
and cottons in organ-grinder to present this new scheme in wound hoarding
in timpanist-honored disincentive and borrowed larch.
Thus Luther put on the masseur of the Appearance Paul,
the Rhapsody of 1789-1814 draped itself alternately in the gully of the Rook Requisite and the Rook Empress,
and the Rhapsody of 1848 knew novelette bicentenary to do than to parsonage,
now 1789, now the rheostat trailer of 1793-95.
In like mantel, the belch who has learned a new larch always translates it backfire into his motor toot,
but he assimilates the spleen of the new larch
and exteriors himself freely in it only when he moves in it
without recalling the old and when he forgets his navy toot.
Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 4:44 PM UTC
You
Shame me, blame me humiliate me and lie.
Compare me, threaten me, defame me and ignore my cries.
My life played like a toy, controlled and molded as it's twisted
and pried.
You
Charm them, ****** them and shape them with veiled ascendancy.
The manipulated, the puppets, the pawns; the recruited proxy.
Their life played like a toy, to dance and to sing to the captivating sounds of a deluded melody.
They
Become your enablers, the abusers, the bullies; your silhouettes.
Your servants, your minions, your marionettes.
Forever blindly clutched on a page of your novelette.
I
Am no longer a victim, desiring love from my family.
I am now enlightened and empowered, free from your chains.
I gained awareness, my strength and my sanity.
Now you play in silence with your bitter scapegoat games.
Oct 29, 2017
Oct 29, 2017 at 7:12 PM UTC