"nuisances" poems
Humanity i love you
because you would rather black the boots of
success than enquire whose soul dangles from his
watch-chain which would be embarrassing for both
parties and because you
unflinchingly applaud all
songs containing the words country home and
mother when sung at the old howard
Humanity i love you because
when you’re hard up you pawn your
intelligence to buy a drink and when
you’re flush pride keeps
you from the pawn shop and
because you are continually committing
nuisances but more
especially in your own house
Humanity i love you because you
are perpetually putting the secret of
life in your pants and forgetting
it’s there and sitting down
on it
and because you are
forever making poems in the lap
of death Humanity
i hate you
285.4k
At the end, will it be brandy-wine or mescaline to sugar coat
enlightenment, the purpose,
the omnipotent influence?
Some live to make a whirling dervish swoon.
Some pray to Love, composing sonnets for the moon.
Some find themselves floating, bloated lungs with lazy currents,
mourning free-will.
With questions perched atop your windowsill,
do decomposing wings pull with yearning to wake
in dawn's warning? Your beak,
a rattling, pneumonic drill.
It's a dead end,
fear and adrenaline.
Invite me in
to ostracizing nuisances.
Therefore,
I may imprison myself in cylindrical cells,
pop out wisdom like bubble-wrap,
fight the mighty ocean swells,
or shimmy up the lobster trap,
With inevitable siege by buzzards eying wildly,
shedding sea-salt feathers that won't be washed for weeks.
Still, the mad-hatter trades me one more spill for spill.
And I taste the honesty we sip for swollen memories
whose frantic bodies let fists fly on flushed faces
that we never truly see.
In profound confusion we stumble, blind.
Then, we all forget so blissfully,
once we reach the rainbow's end.
Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 9:46 PM UTC
the vagrant, a pretense
letting light in tiniest cracks
on the pavement, again
wherever did i pass out
seizing the Ssseferoth sufferer syndrome
sinking in this suffragette
i am almost a cough away from zeitgeist
the world complained
the gods , sure they listened
but only with a nuisances negation
does the noose hang higher
nonsense st of patient anger
plagiarize my past lives
seal my fate with cement
pavement, how do i feel you
when my ashes scatter
how do i fill you with children,
cracks seeping sin and sensation
eradicated slowly by noiseless geraniums
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 7:16 AM UTC
Arachne’s Shadow
Silver spindles manifest, each one
unique; artistry
at the tip of eight long
fingers--crafted carefully to
catch curious creatures;
trapped by the allure of Circe’s
web of lies. Glistening
and bright from distances, yet
dead upon impact; sticky, dull.
A corner, so decorated with
cobwebs and dust; Arachne
spins her loom in the dark, a room,
that is used seldom, with the exception
of the dinner show; always
on time, 8 o’clock sharp. Witness
the cunning I lack, benevolence
she disregards; a fly—simple in intelligence,
but chaotic when trapped
in a small room; nuisances
that need dealing with.
Once caught, the struggling ignorant
victim chokes on
mistakes of days past, cheating on
a test, beating the ******* boy; observed
errors of judgment, punishable by death.
Every victim is different, but each is caught
screaming, praying, gasping
for life, only to be
muffled, hushed, stifled; No remorse
during mealtime.
Apr 28, 2012
Apr 28, 2012 at 9:32 PM UTC
It was late
And the night was beginning in earnest
When I learned about love.
I sat one night
And eavesdropped without intention
Into the intricate lives of a pair
Creatives, artists doomed to a life of non-satisfaction
Yet they are humans too
They may conjure out (in this case) music out of thin air
Melodic moments and sensuous sing-songs
But they feel pain too
And try to lose it in viscous, pungent, happy-making liquid.
This fellow, bearded and thick spectacles atop his nose
(Is there a more stereotypical artist?)
Would lose his father soon
Intuition and expensive healthcare told him so
What to do?
Well take a sip and another and another
Because drunken words are sober thoughts.
A dog he suggests, so that his mother will not be lonely
Who will care for it? We will of course he says,
And she is lost at 'we', a confirmation of their union
To take over the world, together.
Is this not love?
I sat another night
Encountering two whose sips became gulps
And gulps become swallows
Diving into the pool of intoxication
Rid of all senses they walked, together
Up and Down carriages,
Stumbling in unison
Destination unknown, they would find it together
Matching trench coats flapping in rhythm
Giggles as they rocked to the swaying melody of the train
They may have appeared as two nuisances, inconveniencing others
But they were two foolish lovers,
Holding on for the moment in a night they would forget
Is this not love?
The last night on the last train
A soft pitter-patter of midnight rain
An arctic breeze had blown in
Across me a couple huddled
Touching
Not groping and wandering with perverse hands
Subtle sensual caressing
Involving no movement
Just the pair joined in body and soul
Tucked into each others arms
Clicking together as two jigsaw pieces
Slowly slipping into splendid slumber
I wondered
Is this not love?
And when will I find it?
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 12:19 PM UTC
Trying to figure out why a ***** tried to stunt on me.
While my homie fronts on me.
Triggered lie’s blasting out like bullets into your chest, golly!
Vigor dying whilst family crying that left me locked up now in a little celly.
Why did I pour out my heart to that ***** named shelly?
**** got me melancholy, casting out poxy curses.
My proxy is dropping down which got me feeling worthless.
Growing up in projects where one survives by snatching purses and killing snitches.
While society bides their time by tying nooses.
Rigged games yet we are told to give no excuses.
So, a minority got no choice but to role with the punches.
But with darker skin colour most don’t or won’t notice the bruises.
Vile nobility just loves hunting gooses.
Stark contrast idly confides and resides Inside institutionalized nuances.
Some people can be such nuisances.
Got me feeling like tony roaming through the different cosmoses.
Lonely sinking feeling, with my hope which was once flickering but is now slowly fleeting.
Reciprocal tensions pokes through my barriers like an unwelcomed greeting.
Typical tropes of under-achieving maybe it’s time I let God start intervening?
However, I’m doubtful on whether spirituality is real or nothing more than Kris Kringle.
Jingling jester choirs who always be harping on my people.
Which makes me ponder whether or not God’s supposed love is fickle.
Or if supposed believer’s have actually ever read the bible?
Religious pharisee’s not seeing the irony of praying to their falsified idols.
With their heads so far up their own *** That they don’t even realize that they’ve actually been worshipping the devil.
Feb 6, 2019
Feb 6, 2019 at 1:05 PM UTC
To become one with all, one must lose
their **** their wallet, their mind, their car keys
you must lose your sense of time and space so that it all becomes a dream
and you can't decipher up from left or hot from green
and you just sit
(or fall?)
until you fail and wail and bump against the grind stone 'til your skin errodes,
revealing muscle, which is weak when peeled away, to reveal
bone, ground into flour for the cupcakes and bread et al.
Let their be fights, and strife
and lice and barium
because to accept all
you must love the disgusting, the heinous, and is that what you want?
To accept all means to accept close mindedness, and chosen blindedness,
evils, weevils, steel easels,
do you really want that?
Yes.
Yes you do, if you want to become one with all.
I just want to forget the nulls and nuisances and sleep in peace and riot.
May 21, 2012
May 21, 2012 at 4:37 PM UTC
The terrifying teeth chatter into the crimson lips of a wound up smile, chattering along the very risen table top that draws all small toys to their finite dooms. While breaths sour hour upon hour, each idling ear suffocates the last gasping breaths of its epicurean syllabic tongue, drizzling down the stomach like melt water from a cubic glacier in an ornamental silver tub, and sternly quibbles the stem-like dactyls drawing rose champagne into a fissure of the brain's tumescent humming.
Each finger tips' nail rouge and red, each dry crevice sewn into the knuckles, and a leaflet on sadism near the scratchy illegible lines whittled on the topside of the wrists and the slalom runs of the ankle. The ankle sinister. The ghost-like hallow sockets of where eyes could have once be seen. Plaster and albicant-like dying death white skins forbade from the Flushing streets where the jazz dance once began. And with each nellypotted hop, three useless nuisances could not carry the bridle towards each nearly favorite sound that curiosity enslaved man to lean towards.
The women weirded out by corners, plastic-wrapped furniture in outdoor corridors, where sinners veil their retreats into state run triage centers. Fake plastic countertops built from fake plastic trees. With an M14's muzzle stiffening and shuttering, she who vents off her cured romances will always find herself flaccid on rubber knees. The disease of the plea, is once more an affectation of not falling for royalty but instead the royal we. There is this weapon of fraud that perplexes geneticists, that enslaves heterosexuals, where albeit nor the time or place, she venerates the libations that her mind creates, she lubricates her cells, dressing, her skin ripening, heaven trickling across her humble nape, where gentleness is only a fool's disease and need.
She. We. Heathens of eternity bowing our breaths in grand hyperbole see. I see she, and she sees me.
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 3:28 AM UTC
Braving lapses in neon dreams
You don’t like the look of air max 90’s
Besotted language intercepted not digested
The babble of youths who don’t talk correctly
Basking loosely in nonchalant demise
The **** on the floor, what a mess
Buttoned lips insinuating nothing decisive
You are hard eyed from men outside the pub, you look away at
Bluebottles lying inside neatly dead
Get me off this ******* bus.
Black lines, interrupting nothing deep
Why always black and never red
Broad landscapes intrude narrowness, delicately
But you close your eyes and hum the cure
Breaking laughter, ignorant nuisances drain
I wish they all were quiet and tame
Berating loud intuitive noises, djembe
Banging hands against the glass
Banging, lightning, ignored, deleted
There’s a fight going on, you will stay seated
Buried liquidized imagery, naturally dancing
The reflection of drama in a window behind you
Because listening is not done
You think about dinner and where you will buy it
Because light is no fun
You again close your eyes and think about home
Busy lovers inseparable never daring
You enjoy your thoughts
Being left in near darkness
You enjoy your thoughts
Watching interesting things happen
Eventually yelping even shouting trill howls
After the watch, offset retina kicks
Mar 28, 2013
Mar 28, 2013 at 11:33 AM UTC
They weren't born with a silver spoon
only an umbilical cord tied round their necks
alas this stopped enough oxygen getting to their brains
creating minds full of mumbo jumbo ideas and fantasies
and a bleeding wound that gives them pain without relief
reminding them all the time they are low and never good enough
cause they were born without a silver spoon on a dusty ***** track
It's a blemish that can never be erased
even with a million lucre they still feel small and stained
you can take them out of the manger not the shame out of them
they always believe and know that those others are better than them
with stunted-brains and raving-angst they never see the world right
its us and them burns the burning passions in conflicted sad minds
life long struggles for the struggle to find that silver spoon never had
Their leaders had a brilliant idea in time
mind without a silver spoon their brains always suspect
find all the silversmiths and **** them all and then nationalize silver
one called Stalin killed millions because he saw silver in their teeth
one Pol *** decided he saw silver in the educated and killed them all
this Chavez took all the silver and gave it all away now they are poor
and Fidel says we'll share equally but I and my brotha will only give
The Silver searchers in the some of the West
decided, we should just fight and talk and hold rallies and hate
all those born with the silver spoon must be punished to kingdom
but look says some, you can have silver if you only apply yourself
that's a trick says them of the befuddled minds and complexes bad
let's just be nuisances and hate and holler and torment and harass
Looking closely all their leaders had silver spoons but that's OK
Apr 15, 2019
Apr 15, 2019 at 5:40 AM UTC
Those people,
Doing things
That they shouldn't do.
Those people.
By day, oblivious
By night, nuisances
To us.
I feel guilty for even
Saying a word
I feel like a gossipmonger.
But, like all things that seem bitter.
It's for the greater good...
Their greater good.
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 8:34 AM UTC
Almost 6 in the morning,
lying on a cloud,
jazz is hinted in the air,
Music is all around me,
whirring,
worry,
Say a little goodbye,
and turn off the light,
It's a wonder why,
why oh why,
that I have felt,
the bare brisk morning,
exhausted under the rain,
I can feel a pull somewhere,
That surreal roadtrip of dear,
afternoon, setting adrift into,
the night's dementia,
Knowing hell is very much at the gates.
Arrogantly sitting in denial,
That we'll need to learn
to
Swim
So high I'm flying,
Then Wham, all of it hits the fan,
Tearing a place down,
Giving no *****
Common decency and conventional nuisances,
basic human self,
Then their shots are heard,
Each penetrates at a different
angle,
each unique unsuspecting happenin'
dudes.
Waging war on themselves,
Publicly!
Felt the thigh that I was forced,
to **** was whale ****
I cursed 5 guys & Dinkytown!
Smoldering in the wreckage,
A white Kenyan or a
Brave Lunatic
who gave me three dollars.
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 5:32 PM UTC
Open the gate
An empty spot without your car
Dew droplets fresh
Tyre treads left on the dirt
The smell of you still lingers in the air
Dampened by the scent of the unfamiliar
Pushing it into the walls
And staining the floor
No sound of laughing, everything's changed
The mosquito net left dangling on a hook
The dust will finally settle
In another empty room in an empty house
And when I come back "home"
And sit where you sat
Light a match
And engulf the iron *** with searing flames
I get thrown into the insanity over again
Without the pillar of light
Guiding through all the nuisances
Guiding me through the night
And if to once again inevitably stray
And falter off the path
Will you be there to pull me onto the road
And back into the day...
Sep 8, 2012
Sep 8, 2012 at 6:13 PM UTC
I devoured your eyes
your swiveling nuisances
they peak into my belly
dropping to rest in the
curve
of my thighs
Sliding by a hip bone while i spit
into a cup
splash into my stomach acid
causing an abrupt
End
To the pilgrim songs
the sing as the ascend
i gently stick my finger down
and up they come again
Jun 20, 2012
Jun 20, 2012 at 12:28 AM UTC
In the good book, theres a heaven and a hell.
Theres also limbo.
Purgatory.
Oblivion.
Siberia, for the more literal minded.
Siberia...
Siberia?
Wouldn't the Earths gifts pale in comparison to whatever golden higher realm there may be?
Wouldn't the Earths miseries shrivel into mere nuisances compared to tortured dwelling?
Wouldn't the Earth therefore be...
Middle ground?
Siberia?
Oblivion?
Purgatory?
...
Limbo?
Feb 2, 2012
Feb 2, 2012 at 7:59 PM UTC
Trying to heal a broken spirit
Damaged by loss
and in search of purpose.
Echoing richness in
Peripheral thoughts.
Crying for atonement in
each anguished breath .
Knowing this is our precious life
Even if any soft places
remain well hidden .
Fleeing outside to disappear
into the seven streets of Antioch
Asking for a God to save me
Cutting the fool , with prayer.
Losing the trust of the world
As bells rattle the belfries.
Ideals were put to the torch
Sequoit creek smelled
Rich and dark
With sweet sentimentality
Creative vibrancy and
My loves lost laughter .
Nothing happens that has no meaning
All of our experiences connect
Our lives
Through the open window of time
Into the nuisances that move the tides , paint the terra cotta steps with snow and
steal the deserts wind .
I make an incantation
for mercy
Un reconciled to suffering
Waiting to be cleansed of the unknowable .
The uncaring and indifferent
Stars watch from above .
Like fate .
In a mysterious biblical betrayal
Laughter fled and
Became a spider
Lost in the snow .
Mar 12, 2018
Mar 12, 2018 at 10:42 PM UTC
Anxiously hypothetical,
These dreams that surround me
Are glued together with the flow of time.
They strain the conscious dimension,
Which both separates and connects
The multitudes of I’s,
To flex and bend
Until they touches themselves at every point;
Illuminating to us whispers of infinitude.
As we move farthest from the light
And sink the deepest within ourselves,
Twisted creatures aggress upon us
And glittering sirens beckon us to their embrace.
With the splintering light of morning,
A first gasp pulls you from the water
And troubled footsteps wash away
The glories and nuisances
Of that surreality whose path you walked.
Separated from the present,
by a single moment in a single thought.
Nov 30, 2012
Nov 30, 2012 at 3:53 PM UTC
Copyrights and patents
"What up reality?"
"Whatch you got for me today?"
The Marksman ****** on his cigarillo
His voice was distinct
A whirring voice
Vocable word choices
A man of great aptitude
Never blinked, never winced
With acute paranoia
And a metallic nucleus
Daft
He heard voices
Egging him on
Baiting him
Taking ****
Nuisances
"How's the ulcer oh glorious gunman?"
They said
"Hurts doesn't it?"
"Ready to give out?"
"Put that plastic bag on your head and end it"
The Marksman pivoted and headed toward the kitchen
And made a stew of whatever he could find under the sink
And ate it
"Hail to the chief and send my complements to the chef!"
He put the barrel in his mouth and pulled the trigger
He was buried and had the most dignifying funeral I ever had the privilege of attending
-Tommy Johnson
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 6:40 PM UTC
Every day we pretend,
nuisances,
breadth of knowledge,
it is futile and hollow,
no fear,
left wanting,
pining and pathetic,
contradictions within,
phenomenal and enduring quiet,
I am alone.
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 6:07 AM UTC
she was lost in the apparitions of uncertainties
where fragments of her being slowly fall like those
petals of red roses once given to her by the man
she only loved when she was still young and
vigorous and beautiful;
she can still hear the loud, inscrutable silences
of people waiting for the train as if the antidote
for their long-suppressed emotional regressions
depend on this vehicle where the inevitable
cycle of coming and going makes them question
their existence—yet,
after all the nuisances this world offers
she always finds herself lost in a swarm
of human beings whose souls continuously wander
for the enigmas of truth and shades of faith only
for the reason that in the process of losing herself she
could find herself—once more.
she always wonders what lies within the eyes
of people whose lives she randomly intersect with that
made her feel alive. she felt that in
letting herself get lost in places people normally crossed;
one by one she was getting a portion of herself
from their souls—
the paradoxes of their expelled breaths;
their incessant internal monologues;
their bittersweet afflictions;
the achingly pleasurable warmth of their skin;
the vulnerability of their voice;
the resiliency of their hearts;
and the combination of their grotesque yet
picturesque visions in her eyes— that made her whole.
she was standing in the middle of nowhere; oblivious
of her world’s existence when she remembered
the reason why she forgot to redeem the love from those petals
of red roses she buried within the pages of her favorite book.
with the moonlight showering upon her being, she felt the
rapture from her heart as it slowly knocks and awakens
her soul with certainty— like a lost child coming home at last.
06.21.16
Jun 21, 2016
Jun 21, 2016 at 8:08 AM UTC
late running in on your silver steed
ride with grace, no desire to race
harsh fences to admire with dull eyes
entry devils whisk away troublesome friends
hanging red tulips, divine nuisances
growing weary reading subliminal stanzas
yielding, or instead, risking loss,
to appear perfect
-c.j.
Mar 13, 2016
Mar 13, 2016 at 12:55 AM UTC
I love you Cow
I love your shape and sound---MOO!
I hate the fact you are constantly beleaguered by flies,
In your ears, in your eyes...
And you accept them like the air you breathe.
Is there something to be learnt here
About pestilence and nuisances that beset
Us in our lives?
Ignore them
Resist them
Remember we are bigger
Like you
My bovine friend.
I hate
When humans call you stupid, cumbersome!
Obviously, they haven't looked into your
Eyes!
THEY
have no right to disparage you
Or chop you up (sacred cow)
Heavens above! they cut up their own
Species.
I
Just wish
You could fly too, Precious
And
**** on their heads!
Mar 14, 2016
Mar 14, 2016 at 7:50 PM UTC
i shall carry with me
the steel morning as words
unmoving in swathes,
petrified
in my shoulders
and i shrug,
unbecoming of Atlas.
all the birds gone.
only trees zither
untold messages -
all stones displaced
in riverbed silence.
in the night
there is a lyre
and the fingers
nimble-dancing, unplayed,
alone as wind
fuses with ornate drivel.
my bones rattle
in unimpeachable oblivion!
an inamorata weeping
left touched without
violent hands, arms choke
out nuisances from
still-sitting inamoratas.
the loom of my hands
famished with light's fabric,
the children's laughter
frayed as i genuflect in thorns
and bleed only minute blood.
the threshold breaks
in the unrest of somnolent eyes.
a somnambulist without path,
a path without feet,
or no journey at all!
time's monuments leveled off
the Earth and the clanging
of metal collides with air,
a senseless caveat -
all gone, all gone!
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 10:49 PM UTC
The difference with you, sadness
You are the extreme loneliness or madness
You are temporary, and you can be thrown away
Once the circumstances change, you fade away
The difference with you, anger
You are the height of any issues and murders
You make them impulsive
You absolutely love it when they get abusive
The difference with you, attention seeking
You often deceive, telling everyone that everything's depressing
You urge them to mislead them, you want them to think depression is foolish
You find your peace when they get all the attention you have wished
The difference with all of you, I'm what they called "depression."
A mental disorder which seeks medical assistance
None of these changes can me go away in an instance
I make them turn their backs to their healthy lifestyle
And push them to an irregular and abusive lifestyle
Not everyone who I possess, slit their wrist
Some of them can actually resist
I never gave them the chance to articulate my causes
That is why people call them nuisances
The others think it's just feeling and temporary
No, I'm not, I'm real and far more than ordinary
I do deceive people by making them do happy things
That is why others tell them what to feel and do, saying it's nothing
Not all people whom I hold onto right now
Recognize my existence because I keep it low
I'm not sadness, anger nor attention seeking
I'm something you have to pay attention to because I'm not joking.
Jul 23, 2017
Jul 23, 2017 at 11:34 PM UTC
It's been one of those days
When the leaves fall from trees
The birds sing out of key
Flowers shoot up crooked
And I lay in my bed
Slightly discontented
Chipping away at every imperfect cell
Slightly angry
No sound's close enough to tell
Slightly furious
Until the fireplace resembles my Hell
On these days, the clock arrives seconds too early
Everyone's schedule tightens until dark
The air is moist enough to burrow under my skin
Words just painful enough to leave a mark
Wednesday feels like a Thursday
And we're all standing still
A little too long
With no apparent will
You feel the need to sit and right
But that takes far too long
Instead of enduring minutes of awful
You chose a lifetime of wrong
Wrong as betting on the second-best horse
Wrong as the eggshell-shaded wedding dress
Wrong as crying at your pet firefly's funeral
Wrong as the next house's over address
Perhaps if you lie in the sand
Let the nuisances wash over you
The rhythms will start to make sense
Greens forming shades of blue
Oh, take care not to drown
We only hold so much air
If you get lost on your way down
You're only halfway there
Apr 28, 2019
Apr 28, 2019 at 6:41 PM UTC