"obfuscate" poems
*Then Peter came to Jesus and asked, “Lord, how many times shall
I forgive my brother or sister who sins against me? Up to seven times?”
Jesus answered, "I tell you, not seven times, but seventy-seven times."*
- Matthew the Apostle
I
Seventy-seven bottles of gin
lie in the guts of sensuous men;
seventy-seven I forgive you's dissolve
in a fanatical mind's resolve.
II
What offence occurred under Saint Constantine's priggish eye?
Was it specious as a Samian's thigh?
Or Sumerians receiving alien diplomats?
Maybe somewhere far under Moscow Putin's massing cloning vats...
III
Whatever discursive and belligerent milieu
church authority finds most tried and true
seems to be the most important decider
in the future of things like the Large Hadron Collider.
Perhaps, unfoundedly, they find it funny that Higgs
(though it seems much like calling the Liberal Party "Whigs")
is a name shared by a man and a theoretical particle
(though it be libelous in any journalist's article),
and thus label similar advancements as "blasphemous".
I guess that this is what it is: believing just because.
IV
Who can know blasphemy from piousness?
Maybe all Luther did was obfuscate a prior mess.
V
Seventy-seven palm-branch-adorned, donkey-riding kings:
an automatic-ring-making-machine beleaguering proselyte rings.
Sep 19, 2012
Sep 19, 2012 at 1:40 AM UTC
∅⚢☢⚧☯✰⚩✿⚥∅☢⚧☯✰⚢✿⚥☠⚩☯⚧✰
Too little and of course, too late
they spend what’s left imprudently
attempting to alleviate
the love of God’s own liberty:
The world transexual one-party state.
They think it’s normal — right for all
lost in a prideful dying fall
their lions heed the sea-horse call
attempting to transgender fate;
the devil searches for a mate
his nightly Babylonian date:
the world transexual one-party state.
They’ll legislate the Lord away
(his fundie followers as well)
their hateful heaven, holy hell
shall wither up and disappear
before redemption can draw near.
Their myths no more shall obfuscate
nor dangle such celestial bait
that underwriters overrate:
the world transexual one-party state.
Their antichrist is overpriced,
the nations, globally enticed,
now glorify the deviance
in herd-like mass obedience
surrendering to expedience:
where good is bad, and bad is great
and Christ the only one to hate,
allegiances exacerbate
the world *********** one-party state.
Parties will form and parties end
but parties can no more defend
consolidation into one
than flip a switch and dark the sun;
the Caesars left this part undone
the Muslims are just having fun
with our *********** one-party state.
Bring on the night until we see
that dark means dimming by degree
two parties? Overdone by one !
So let it bleed and let it be
till One is All and all agree
that we are doomed to hesitate
when God cannot resuscitate
the late One-World *********** State.
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 6:34 PM UTC
Acerbic antagonist alliterates agonizing accusations,
blasting ******* backbiter butting beautiful bombastic brainy blond bomb.
Cumulative cranial casualties cease caveman's cognitive coherence.
Doom digger derides Daddy's dangling dire dreary ****
Eclectic esoteric eccentric egotistical estranger;
Forthcoming fathoms fetch faithless fleeting father.
God given goblins gather gossamer ganglions;
Hell's hairy harlot harpies hover heeding Hyperion.
Ignatius imbibes irrevocably insisting,
"Jesus juggles justice's joy jarring jams."
Kindness kindles Kilimanjaro;
Malicious mountains melt, Mmm, morning marjoram.
Nothing negates Neanderthal ninnying.
Overt obsessions obfuscate original object of
purest passions, paltry past pinings,
quickly quieted, quelled,
resisted, relinquished, readily, ruefully, roundly
saturated, suffocated; surreptitiously silenced,
terribly torturing the thrashed tamed tormentor:
Ugly, ungrateful, unapologetic,
Vanity,
woefully wallowing, wailing, "Where's
Xanadu's
zeitgeist!?"
Jan 15, 2012
Jan 15, 2012 at 12:09 AM UTC
?¿?¿?¿?¿?
secret in creation
poetics set in code
difficult translation
they ***** me like a goad
wanting to improve
wanting to impress
do i write this for myself
or follow all the rest?
written in frustration
and when, at last, i read
my own words do obfuscate
quite puzzling indeed!
perhaps you have written one
then you may have been
trying to solve their riddle
for you don't know
what they MEAN!
soulsurvivor aka
Write of Passage aka
Invisible inc
Catherine Jarvis
(c) 6/13/2015
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 10:40 PM UTC
My fingers bleed
as I scratch the inside of my skull.
Like cleaning out a pumpkin to carve,
removing pulp and fingernails,
and scattering seeds to be planted.
Vacant minded, a candle
placed and centered in my head,
illuminating my eyes
and putting color to my cheeks.
Tape measure stretched,
razor sharp snap back.
Graphite on pine.
Rusted teeth cut deep.
Being boxed in, yet waiting,
anticipating the metal nails to sing
as wood meets wood.
Plumes of smoke escape
the pine structure.
My candlelight depletes along
with oxygen. This containment
only serves to obfuscate while
holding a crowbar.
And the seeds planted above
linger in soil
marinated by wood chips.
All the while the vegetable
shrivels up and cries.
May 13, 2017
May 13, 2017 at 6:51 PM UTC
I can see a smoky haze
The billowing fire died down
Once clouds of blackness
Obscured the bright sky
One flick of a matchstick
And a single spark
Enough to spread the mayhem
Caught off guard
Every dried leaves and sticks
Came into the lure of mighty fire
Flowing like a raging ocean
Flames gallop like wild horses
Forests are bogged down
To become ashen-faced
Once a glorious site
Now ravaged by mighty flames
Spiraling out of control
Winds give wings to the flames
They travel far and wide
Across the forest floors
Unruly flames engulf everything
Sooner flames will die down
But the smoky haze will obfuscate
The vision to look beyond
It’s a maddening haze
From the fury of embers
Jun 5, 2015
Jun 5, 2015 at 12:28 PM UTC
The Hardest Forgiving Slant
<|>
9:19am Fri Sept 22 2023 ~ 8:02am Fri Sep 29 2023
commenced during the Ten Days of Awe
<|>
we debase our language daily,
robbing the spectacular majesty [example]
of awe with the common overusing
vernacular of “awesome”
especially forgiveness is degraded,
we utter “I’m sorry” trippingly,
costless, less than cheap, with even the
snap-on veneer (1) of sincerity discarded,
but move on to the next rudeness
but today I will not permit myself
an easy letting-off-the-hook, no shifting
of blame to anonymity, or fast forward to tomorrow,
when we can obfuscate our intrepid
dishonesty one more time…again
to forgive those who have injured us,
not that hard, or the judging deities,
who silently wink and nod, but offer
no certitude beyond trying, itself a
maybe, maybe not, truly tiring this
trying tacking the constant requests
so first an etymology explication on
the tension inherent that very word,
f o r g i v e
As a word, as a sensed,
intuitively-
it is a
Perfect Continuous Infinitive! (2)
to
forgive is
perfect,
to forgive is
continuous,,
to forgive is
infinite!
what a marvelous, perpetual
past, present and always futuristic
word (alas)
The Hardest Forgiving?
to forgive oneself
so nearer to impossible,
the first responders doing triage,
leave people like me for last,
as it a unconditional condition
with no cure that can be effected
indeed, by our very affect,
they instant diagnosis seeing our
very gestures, body language, or ****** expressions,
all reveal the hopelessness of
the never-to-be-given-grace,
among us
for a thousand years,
I have tried and failed to forgive myself
for the worst I’ve done,
and there is no sword or club,
blood-letting,
that can dispatch the onerous burden I carry
so I write poetry,
a salve that offers
temporary relief,
while I write,
imposed a
momentarily distracting,
a kind of dusting of self~spin,
that chills myself
just until
the, this!
poem is finished,
the slant is drawn
<§>
Tell all the truth but tell it slant —
BY EMILY DICKINSON
Tell all the truth but tell it slant —
Success in Circuit lies
Too bright for our infirm Delight
The Truth's superb surprise
As Lightning to the Children eased
With explanation kind
The Truth must dazzle gradually
Or every man be blind —
Sep 29, 2023
Sep 29, 2023 at 8:12 AM UTC
I was enjoying the bright moonlight,
Rambling about the starboard,
Rambling about the starboard,
I let my memory go stray backwards.
My ship glided through the calm sea,
Cleaved through brief obfuscate,
Cleaved through brief obfuscate,
My ship exited into the starry waters.
And you will never believe what I saw,
I saw my spirit lifted from me,
I saw my spirit lifted from me,
My body falling dead on starboard.
Out of the body, my spirit wandered,
It wandered furthermore,
It wandered furthermore,
I hope they would cremate my body.
I want to reach your Kàìláshà
Rescue me, my Shiva,
Rescue me, my Shiva,
They reach you through the land.
I shall reach your realm gliding,
Receive me, my Shiva,
Receive me, my Shiva,
Zapping through the night sky.
Your Yamaraj reaches closer,
May they stay happy, my family,
May they stay happy, my family,
Let them move on peacefully.
Apr 7, 2021
Apr 7, 2021 at 6:09 AM UTC
He didn't live in darkness
It was the light he couldn't bear
Illuminating the futility
Exposing the reality
A world full of selfish people
A trait of the species
Darkness would have been his friend
To hide the truth he could not deny
Obfuscate lust, greed and pride
Survival of the fittest, hey that's alright
Instead he proclaimed humanity's state
Without the hope of even temporary escape
Grim as the Reaper knocking at your door
A car crash aftermath
You can't help but slow down
Turn to see what's there to see
But not for long
The guy in front of you slowed down too
(We've all the same hard wired brain)
Lest you find more than you thought
Not turn back in time
And rear end the other guy
He found ways to sing of loneliness
Despair given a melody
Between the look in his eyes and
The tremble in his voice
He could sell it to a poor man
He was no faker
As real as the sun
That will burn out the eyes of the one
Who gazes too long
At it's blazing light
From light years away
Giving decieving darkness
For the moments you bask in it's glow
The burden was too much for his skinny back
More than the weight of many worlds
He fell beneath his own weight
To him the logical response
But not to me
And not to you
Regardless the empathy and solidarity
How he seemed to have read our mind
Known our story, all our years to now
But he never knew the ending
How I wish it would have been his too
ESCAPE
From the blinding darkness and the piercing light
My third eye has been blind
Open it, Lord
Show me the reason
And I will sing your song
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 12:19 AM UTC
*Each day is a new day
Trials and temptations
come my way
Each day I battle my demons
Monsters clawing out my closet
I am not perfect, I am not divine
I can hardly claim to be sane
I can remotely proclaim
To be his true child
Yet the Father,
loves me for his own
For those who think
Religion is obfuscate
God knows no religion
HE IS LOVE ABOVE ALL
I know this eternal truth,
because in my heart it resounds
His eyes all seeing
Your sighs are not unnoticed
Your soul bare before him
Every threat and torment
Right from ground zero
He knows you so profound
Yet he chooses not to judge you
Your own makings often trap you
The guilt you feel in your soul
Is the longing to be restored
Reasons of your behaviour
To your may appear sound
To him your logic is profane
In human reality ground
Yet in all His omnipresence
Your free will to Him is sacred.
This Father alone is the one
Who knows to make you strong
His loving nature hands you tests
Life's precious lessons follow
He know experience is a great teacher
Else slothful you'll grow.
So when I know my Father's Heart
I'll put my heart and soul
To get up just once again
knowing my heavenly goal
His loving lessons I will learn
Bear the bruises on my soul
In the bargain stronger I'll become
His grace I will earn
My Saviour is my model
Thrice tripped He persevered
He kept forging up ahead.
Despite His enemies jeers
He beckons now with assurance
Don't give before your state
Heaven's shore is not far away
Just try once again!*
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 1:30 AM UTC
Alexander k Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected])
Of Orwell George and his satirical 1984
Manufacturing words abracadabra and demagogic phrases
Making juvenile English to swell in size and all
Beyond Shakespearean bossom of a teen African woman
Forming ubiquitous the double-speak whose
Attendant ****** sisters of England are
Double talk, double talk, and double smile
Who said the suavity in double love and double cross are
The twin progenitors of Eric Blair the farmer of animals
Collaborating with Jones to sleep in the pigsty where swines mate
Plummaging the world with plethorae of yutopianisism
Wherein glorious big brothers watch you African double speakers
As you sheepishly Sleigh international criminal justice in a beautiful ploy
To obfuscate mellifluous bambinos off the buffoonery powers that be
But When 1984 comes after a full circle of idiosyncrancies, the fools will be seen
Dec 14, 2013
Dec 14, 2013 at 4:17 AM UTC
Wooden skeletons
Silhouetted by unblinking eye
Somber light obfuscate
through ghastly spirits
The smell of bemired mother
frondose shallow graveyard
Winter is near.
Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 5:43 PM UTC
Castigate Sublimate
Sanctify Indoctrinate
Expatriate Disseminate
Proselytize Reiterate
Reject, Deny, and Obfuscate
Incarcerate Dehumanize
Desensitize Decimate
Incinerate Rejuvenate
Simplify and Permeate
Jan 7, 2017
Jan 7, 2017 at 9:44 AM UTC
“You should write about it.”
or
I Learned to Smile at Mirrors: A Demonstration
The city was oddly near barren.
Strides hit the dimming sidewalk in two-to-one ratio.
Money looming tall above our covered heads.
When cornered into the shade
humans are unable to cast shadows.
Our path was laid clear by store closings,
locked doors ushering us down toward neon outlined water
to stare across gleaming black
while the shadowed lions bray.
Cloth turns to quarters turns
to pink fortune turns
to bright reflections across irises
while years of the same story vibrate
across our fingers.
Gears paid in hope spin warm with the smiles of
those come before.
Lamps once bright now flicker and crack,
and the ballroom dancers
don’t quite turn with the fervor of before.
Sometimes what seems a flaw is what makes the object most itself;
inconsistencies or strange logics
from somewhere different than where you wanted.
Certain hands grasped against throats are
comfort blankets to soothe the burning,
forcing skin and bones to remember that with selflessness
and love
the past will no longer obfuscate
paths where feet need to fall most.
No sparing rejoinders for improvements,
or constant encouragement in what is already done well.
Every mile and hour leading to those sea salted boards totally rearranged me.
Fought 11 hours and 771 miles of asphalt
to press my face in where I was worst.
The greatest gift one can receive:
not encouragement,
but total excoriation of the places
where I was once only limping.
Let the train cars tilt with our backs due West,
shoulders sagging with knowledge half-learned,
thrice remembered.
Two deer stand in the rearview
as my tires turn heatward.
Smiling as I realize your Country
grew to reflect your worth.
Not the other way around.
Feb 18, 2016
Feb 18, 2016 at 3:05 PM UTC
My past has become my present,
A broken gift you can say.
Everyday has become yesterday,
Like reruns stuck on replay.
I'm always a few steps away from happiness,
But always fall behind short of breath with reaching hands.
I guess Time walks only to cast shadows to fall behind.
It teases me like a fleeting dream,
Let's me see what's ahead but truly only a mirage,
A present future that's so close yet ever reaching.
I guess Time walks to only cast shadows to fall behind.
Now it seems like I'm getting use to shade,
The cold darkness has become my comfort zone,
Thinking to myself if I deserve happiness?
If I step out my comfort zone will the light blind me?
Is it worth it for a moment of happiness?
I guess Time walks to only cast shadows to fall behind and only Time will tell.....
and when it tells would I listen?
Or make a decision without precision,
That obfuscate my vision that cause this collision of choices.
Each thought eludes me like reaching to grab a cloud,
So close to that answer but truly I'm off by miles.
I guess times walk to only cast shadows to fall behind.
Safe in the comforts of darkness fearing the light would show my past,
Maneuvering through the streets of life without headlights so I crashed,
Stretching out my arm hoping for a helping hand.
Yet so hard to find like a grain of salt in pile of sand,
Waiting patiently to be greeted by happiness before my expiration of time.
But this time, time walked to only to cast shadows to fall behind.....
By Sidney and Tien
Jul 7, 2013
Jul 7, 2013 at 11:34 PM UTC
Ad infinitum
embroiled in another
waking moment with
a bated breath nothing like
this day inclined only to obfuscate
its meaningless joy of seeing yourself
in a pond swimmingly doubling the inertia
of the koi the day constricting within the verdigris
ready to seal shut in hermetic this vermillion eye
to wake up into a long-held confrontation
of what this system closes in a document
why bother this validation when valedictory
Ad nauseam
why bother this confrontation
when disappearance this space much like a long-held performance
if concert is hermetic in front of a nonchalant audience
laudable with no sound, an untranslatable music
unhinged from the inherent risk of felling
an inert day struggling like koi trapped
in a pond seeking what it is to transcend
or the multiplied joy of seeing yourself meaningless
ready for an eye to be caught in a monotonously
claustrophobic loins of a tremulous middleground
with no possible agreement other than:
this potentially demands an end
when beginning you are lionized
to a fault, repeated, trite: what for?
Jun 3, 2016
Jun 3, 2016 at 1:06 AM UTC
The sound of silence in my ears,
A lonely crowd to hide my fears,
A bitter-sweet song in my throat,
A symphony of just one note.
The darkness bright within my mind,
An open secret none can find,
An endless dream cut short by sleep,
An ancient story none can keep.
The death that lives inside of me,
A chain that sets my spirit free,
A distant place so close at hand,
A paradise deep in the sand.
Sep 4, 2010
Sep 4, 2010 at 2:33 PM UTC
Oh, there is light in such places:
The galleries of Soho, the catwalks of Milan,
The boardwalks of Blackpool,
But it exists to flatter, to obfuscate, to tell alluring lies,
A trompe l’oeil of a family picnic
Etched on the wall of an abandoned orphanage,
The siren song crooned by a spider
To the enraptured and wholly credulous fly.
Ah, but the illumination here!
The sun reflecting off the roofs
On those Bob Evans and Shoney’s you would shun,
The starlight backed by a host of owls, a symphony of crickets,
All serving to peel away the layers of artifice and cunning,
To be shucked away like so many cornhusks,
Allowing the secrets of the universe to be whispered to you,
Faintly yet unmistakably, and once moved by these epiphanies
What is to stop you from running along the narrow, unlined streets
And green open spaces in mad, unfashionable celebration,
Exempt from the clucking of the chic and the congnoscenti?
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 10:34 AM UTC
~ for the poet by the same name,
Melan,
a name derived from the Greek "melas"
meaning "black" or "dark"~
<>
*oft have we warned you, be wary,
every phrase, a provication,
a cribbed script from a message,
a poem, even a pen name, says,
marke me man, the notion of the*
Melancholoy of Innocence
*a burr buried in my head's bed,
a sleep robber, a pseudo~scholar,
so intriguing this grand challenging
notion...
of the purity of melancholoy's essence*
*my oldest friend from an early age,
before I knew the word to grasp~capture it,
in my youthful* tristesse grave,
*what rendered my soul so vulnerable
to an emotion that had no direct visible cause,
but powered me with a puzzling
strange insight of keen visibilty,
that filtered a glow about all, about what
my eyes saw, my heart felt*...
*nearly now, the better part of a century,
I recall the first days of exploration,
of a world, that
dished out equal portions of
ecstasy and misery,
and well taught me the value
of silence
of observation,
and how to record
a memory so that so many, so many decades later,
is crisp with its original fraglity
that overwhelmed way back when
I was but a toddler*
*a world that was cruel,
a lesson, that came very early,
but made me quiet but not surly,
observant of the human quirks and their potential,
the people surrounding acting in an up dated version
of a Bible Tale*..
*where guilt and innocence were precise and clear,
and there was no middling muddle,
to confuse, or be abused,
to obfuscate or obscure*
*lines of demarcation in black clearly drawn,
so it was soon gone, the innocence,
that was gifted to us all at birth,
and though I mourned its loss,
very quick came the silent thought of*,
well, that's no surprise!
*that melancholy matures, extends and distends,
now and then, even shocks,
by the newness of returning old sadness,
and the ceativity of its constant reintroduction,
accompanied by a startled,*
well, that's no surprise!
*and here the shocker though,
acts of human kindness are not so far and few between,
just perhaps, less well advertised,
so when spotted. self similar words emerge,
even happy shouted*,
well, that's a surprise!
Mar 29, 2025
Mar 29, 2025 at 9:58 AM UTC
A finger pointing at the moon:
Such are the Teachings, they say.
The Writings themselves are not the Truth;
They merely point the way.
Direct experience leads us to
The gateway of the inspired.
Yet trying to describe the ineffable with words
Leaves MUCH to be desired.
Journeying through life we encounter distractions,
Which in their clever fashion
Can obfuscate the clarity
Of the heart of true compassion
Or lead us down a confusing path
Where knowledge and wisdom are blurred,
And the hopes of our transcending the mundane
Are stifled by a word.
Seeking the Truth is a noble goal;
Awareness comes never too soon.
Just be careful not to mistake
The finger for the moon.
- by Bob B
Oct 9, 2016
Oct 9, 2016 at 8:53 AM UTC
To begin with there begins a little sprinkle, only a delicate sound
just delicate, a small "titter" as it taps on your secondary passage.
This, at to begin with, you have a go at overlooking 'til it's decidedly pouring
it reestablishes and continues invigorating each living thing around.
At that point it streams down the timber of the trees with branches agile
what's more, the leaves surrender clean as, drinking heartily, they sup.
Where the beads make a sprinkle, there the drainpipe begins a ******
or, on the other hand it tickles through the rings 'til it douses into the ground.
In the canal there's a puddle, only a little center obfuscate
at that point it develops into a gusher as it sputters past the control.
This downpour tumbles towards the tar, ten times as quick and twice as far
as the tormented educators pull at both their tunics and their sleeve.
Furthermore, once more, it makes an air pocket and makes a little inconvenience
for the wetness of the water causes sobbing from the astute.
There's a flooding of the fields as the water waves and wheels
what's more, the grieving Mormons on their bicycles are crying to the skies.
While the raindrops keep running round edges and they swell down the extensions
at that point they join the happy excursion at the intersection with a run.
When they accumulate in the canal there's a sputtering, merry splutter
with a splashing and expression, they're singing as they clear out.
There's a stammer and a shake as the gusher battles a fight
with the gravity of planet as it joins the droning throng.
However, it's inclination is constant and disregards each safe
pattern of obstructions as determinedly it wends it's direction once more.
Presently it looks for the last butcher and it jumps into the water
of the sea at the passageway of the place we call the narrows.
There's a happy "hurrah" of adulating to the Ruler who has been looking
down on every one of his youngsters, named or not, who looked for his favored 'Rain'.
Oct 25, 2017
Oct 25, 2017 at 6:49 AM UTC
Why is simple so complex?
Why is complex so ubiquitous?
Why can’t we follow simple?
Why do we choose complex?
Why do we obfuscate the simple?
Why do we glorify the complex?
Is it so complex to be simple?
Or we simply love the complex?
So is it that complex allures us always?
Simply can’t decipher the choices.
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 9:31 AM UTC
Chased alone by Exterior Judgment he found himself face to face with The Mirror,
Its surface winked at him, but the person who stared back from within did not.
And then came his Interior Judgment. He asked of The Mirror,
“Phase me out,
Obfuscate me,
Obliterate this judgment I feel.
Make me concrete
against which solitude will
beat its relentless fist
so that I will no longer bleed or bruise”
And so came his christening, the depth of shallow water.
For years he paddled and splashed there knowing his time would come,
Because this was where real pleasures lurked, just beyond his reach.
“Cloak me here,
Keep me invisible to all,
Except those who matter,
And then take me blindly to my coffin”
And one day, while he lay in the pool, he felt the world’s foot on his back,
And he gasped for air, though for what use he didn’t know.
Years later when he finally captured his breath, the only words left were:
“Make it stop.
Make it stop.
Make it stop.”
And now he stares back into The Mirror and the Mirror glares back.
And he wonders who he could’ve been.
Where all those years had been spent.
Dec 7, 2016
Dec 7, 2016 at 2:21 PM UTC
Think about the way you emote when you speak
That upwards tilt of sarcasm
That high-pitch of curiosity
The break in your voice when you try to hold onto those tears
Take all of this on social media and none of it is projected
People misunderstand, people obfuscate
You're stuck at the cliff, all by yourself, instead of supported by a million others
All your kindness is taken for weakness
All your support is taken as a stunt
The next time you call someone problematic,
Keep all of this in mind, try a little tenderness
You both might be on the same side,
except you made a decision to assume too early.
Apr 22, 2017
Apr 22, 2017 at 4:38 PM UTC