"odium" poems
I have hairy legs.
The dishwasher is broken.
I have been reading books.
I have been solving stupid math equations
I have to wash the food crusted dishes.
I’m writing a novella
I’m also researching sodium chloride
My novella is only six pages single-spaced so far.
Comment vous appelez-vous?
Why doesn’t anyone participate
In the
Wash Your Own **** Dishes Program?
I’m studying French.
-b +/- Square root of b2 – 4 (a)(b) over 2(a)
Anyways.
I have been teaching myself
How to play my
Black
Stretchy
Accordion.
[I don’t know why,
But it’s stretchy
Like mozzarella cheese]
I have to help my sister-in-law move
Into my house.
Into the basement.
Heh heh heh.
Daiya non-dairy cheese:
“Melts and stretches!”
Now I have to scrape the
Black tar gunk
Off the plates, because
Mother told me to do so.
Oh, the odium of sodium!
There is
No more time
For me
To shave
My legs.
Apr 6, 2011
Apr 6, 2011 at 7:15 PM UTC
He only imbibes because of his dipsomania.
She only practices onanism because she's afraid he'll impregnate her.
He despises her monomania.
She's too affable, almost to the point of being obsequious.
He's too acrimonious and muzzy.
She knows she's a bit of a coquette.
He thinks he's a cuckold.
She used to be flighty until she fell into this convoluted dystopia.
He used to find it scintillating to get sozzled.
She just wants a lark once in a while.
His iniquity makes him want her to be lascivious.
Her every fatuity leads to a cabal.
He's too opaque and insipid.
She has to iterate and reiterate everything she says.
He feels his infatuation is unrequited.
She finds this unproblematic.
He doesn't imbue her with anything anymore.
She thinks he's unpitying of that.
He'll malinger tomorrow.
She'll wonder if it's all adventitious or kismet.
She can't handle his odium.
He can't stand her ten dollar words.
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 7:58 PM UTC
Everyone is odium to empty space
Because,
It doesn't have anything to convoy!
Everyone is disgust about empty space
Because,
It doesn't have anything to perturb!
Everyone have repulsion to empty space
Because,
Everyone is dithering to talk with self!
But I am searching for that,
But
Incapable to mark out
The empty space
To talk with self!
Searching for empty space
For
Departing from everything
Searching for empty space
To
Verify my sin and accomplishment!
If you have any information
Please intimate me
With its boundary information and
Milestone of air, water, soil and life!
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 5:25 PM UTC
O Divine Matchmaker, pay heed to my plea.
I guard an egress open ajar, crusted by thorns
I guard this world against the odium behind it
I guard this door, not in service, Matchmaker.
My hands, grip on the barbs of this doorway
To keep it ajar, for a glimpse of my remittal;
Of the extant light of my sole soul so brittle,
Anneliese, Blessed with a name so celestial,
Anneliese, Cursed with a burden so menial,
Placidly fostering the lives behind that door.
Anneliese, my only mud-soaked nightingale.
O Divine Matchmaker, answer my quandary.
Am I to serve this world as an eternal Atlas?
Am I to forsake my mud-soaked nightingale?
Is our union ignoble to you, O Matchmaker?
How many unanswered sunsets remain alas?
In distraught, a thousand misereres, I penned
In every breath, I pine to pen a thousand more.
If only I had a drop of ink left…
If only I had a drop of ink left…
Jul 14, 2021
Jul 14, 2021 at 4:10 AM UTC
*There was a time,
A time so fair,
A zero despair,
Cuz She was fair,
Life as I knew it was drizzling daisies,
Bleeding me the feel like the crazies.
Perfect absolutes,
Chimerical dilutes.
Enchanting moments with ephemeral bliss,
Rapt me into blissful abyss.
Ambient lightnings,
Forming supernova sightings.
My soul trapped in her seductive high,
Unknowing of her destructive lies.
Little was I was aware of her two-tone design,
My ****** Valentine
An alter ego so divine.
Demon with deceitful frames,
Unravelling her intimacy games.
Her bloodless lips whispering in the corridors of time,
Deporting me into her hate grimes.
Mutating into odium of torrential far cry,
Lies sarcastrophic podium of her mislaid demise.
Gagged and bound as me you broke down
And I believed everything,
As my love for you was logic drowned
Round and round I emanated all the way down.
Still submerged in the swamp of dummy beliefs,
Hoping to heal with concealed appeals,
Squeals of her feels reveal choking ordeals,
Cuz it was a different belief in a veiled inception,
Infinitely drowning with these unconcealed dogmas,
Remembrance feels like a past from yesterday,
All I am choked with are these Interstellar beliefs,
Detonating memories,
At the haste of light,
Giving me an anguish fright from the down right,
Corroding my heart with those Sulphur memories we once called a lifetime.
Like those 4 years with 4 million considerations.
Still lost in her maze of psychopathic daze,
Downward spirals decayed & set ablaze.
Reveries of her infinite sentiment once called transcendences.
All that’s left now are your radioactive reminiscences,
Of a place once called Tomorrowland.*
Feb 26, 2017
Feb 26, 2017 at 4:55 PM UTC
The faded dreams roll in with the darkness
Like a whisper in the night
Transported to another time, another you
Surrounded by those who used to love you
By those you will always love
Heartbreak and odium upon awakening
Lost in the midst of then and now
Knowing what was meant to be is
Mourning all that wasn't
Preoccupied with the past, days seem heavy
Ridiculous waste of resources
Yet, it ebbs and flows like the tides
Creeping in, unwanted and unwelcome
Thankful always for innocent mistakes
Grateful that no one can read your mind
Missing bits of who you were
While trying to love who you grew into
May 23, 2010
May 23, 2010 at 7:14 PM UTC
The engulfing darkness,
The plague of agony, terror, odium
A festering scar of angst, anguish, fury
A scathing blade of menace, threat, misery
The mocking face of self-oppression
The plunging hope,
The inducement of wails, cries, suffering
An enforcement of fear, cruelty, reticence
A silence of elation, liberty, thought
The mocking face of self-suppression
The dwindling faith,
The death of emotion, purity, love
A birth of qualm, hatred, abuse
A cry of rejection, refusal, aversion
The mocking face of self-treatment
Aug 21, 2012
Aug 21, 2012 at 1:36 PM UTC
*Odium above all odiums, I have militancy of you now
For I own isochronism; A vigor grim dispute; not now
Your slaying too vile
Uncouth by demands
Which was the admonition I had previously
Whod've known I'd command
Garble after garble, I'm Dexterrized where I stand
Dun and gnaw your way out, go on
The un-zoetic soon will spawn
Out with gyp of hints that dwindle
Furbishing these tinges; out the window of innuendos*
Nov 21, 2010
Nov 21, 2010 at 5:04 PM UTC
Numbers of the lights still don't add up. The dream station on the orange bridge's sands, is so totally too far away to fly to. My life according to the animadversion of my dreams. The harangue and opprobrious odium whilst wandering about aimlessly in the square, on the blackened honey trail where I was cast around like some pebble lapidated by the wind. I barely stand, a hyaloid column soaked in fear and ambiguphobia; one girl's face is blurred by this maddening diplopia. While the haze drapes me in its suits of cinereous gray, I crawl sadly up the rise while I am bruised from the battering. My fuscous body heaps itself, exhausted and pandiculating, all I can make out in the advesperating and cloudy night, in all of its dourly silences- the gold hair fixed against the banner of light in the darkening sky and her beautiful blue eyes.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 5:32 AM UTC
Put your pleasantries aside; Put your guard down.
Lay all your weapons and deceptions on the ground.
Confess to me, to yourself, and confront, right now,
*All things that make your blood boil.
Embrace the hatred.
Embrace the screams.
Embrace the disgust of deception without exception.
If only you would...
If only you could...
Destroy the selfish in name of the selfless.
Hate them.
The deceivers, the liars and cheaters.
The ones that take advantage of the naive and the honest.
For just a moment, crush them all in your mind.
Pretend to be the justice that karma will one day find.
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 3:49 AM UTC
Spite and disdain:
the sustenance of modern society.
Oh how we love to talk **** on others
while ourselves being perfect and blame free:
How is the weather? How is the view?
Up there in your tower, with nothing but you?
So high above the filth that makes up the rest of us,
tell me, o Majesty, how things seem to you,
with your flawless perception,
perfect opinions,
passive-aggressive disdain,
and hubristic spite.
"Wer im Glashaus wohnt sollt nicht im Wohnzimmer bumsen."
"[One] who lives in a glass house shouldn't **** in the living room."
Dec 30, 2012
Dec 30, 2012 at 3:04 AM UTC
odium
reproaching his fellow man
eyes all with burning coals
yearning for the rising sun
the caveats fuel
yet he is without service,
his engine block rusted
the firing pistons stunted
driving the flat stretch
inching nearer
the blank star
Nov 21, 2020
Nov 21, 2020 at 11:39 PM UTC
Mother!
When the world turn against you
And call you
ill-fated man
Museum without Statues
Darkness darker than Blindness
Father!
The Saddened Sun
That will not shine
A rainless **** that brings drought
A trackless Album
Father!/ Mother!
The daily thoughts of these words
Is like the butterfly effect caused hurricane
But you are graced with
Hopeful favour daily.
After the storm,
Comes a new life
Where stiffness echoes,
You are graced.
Where thoughts are underneath
You are hopeful
Where odium creates circumstances of blames
You are favoured
With the Window of Laughter.
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 7:21 AM UTC
i know a secret,
as small as a lump of cancer and pale
as oessin cartilage, insignificant
as the number thirty one
until the end of december.
i know a secret,
locked beneath the tongue of the demon
inside the piano,
-
spitting out keys, oxidised,
corroded, foul, cut for bone marrows
and cheap hotels and umbrage and
odium and pathological experimentations.
i know a secret,
decolourised in the shade of red and
no matter how raw you scratch me,
it will never bleed out, not even
for you.
--
they are coming, the surgeons, you say.
they are here to anatomise, to dissect, to ****
to clean, to find, to **** to dichotomise, to
divide, to sever, to **** to **** to stitch,
to seperate, to hide, to fix, to ****
to make me sick.
---
i may as well be sick.
----
i think i may as well gut out your stomach
and tie your pretty ileum into a pretty
ribbon, to a pretty street lamp,
and make you walk in a straight line
until you die, to show me
how much you love her.
silly boy, getting to her heart
was an easy as a six point
four centimeter incision.
-----
i was the faire semblant and
you were the toothless protagonist
of some drunk playwright's
filthy dream, they gave you
gloucester eyes.
euthanise me, i want
your ugly face
------
to be the last ugly face i see.
Nov 8, 2010
Nov 8, 2010 at 5:56 AM UTC
Sitting on the wire she glooms and alone
‘Down forth’ all beckon,
‘Bits of bread are there
Pick up lest the other demands share’.
The lame bird ***** in the air
Rolling down from her breast a feather,
Pecking a bit with a sense
The escorts saving by defence.
A hunter hits like the lightning from the blue
None finds out yet its clue,
Concreted blood splitting and dog's spittle
Absence of delay makes her utmost brittle,
The barking dogs in the narrow city
Whose have with her no affinity,
All green leaves falling upon ground
That is for love beyond of bound,
Odium! Odium! to the merciless beings
The supreme creatures for whom so long she sings.
Sep 24, 2025
Sep 24, 2025 at 3:57 AM UTC
I recall myself growing
inside her,
moving and reaching and
sliding, slithering,
straining against
any explosion of feeling.
I remember the sharing
of tumescent desire;
the transition from
connection
of mouth and breast
to thigh and ****
I remember, I recall . . .
and that is all that’s left;
the memory,
the recollection,
the evocation
of joys long gone.
Alas
the sands run out.
Nothing now remains
but odium,
loathsome,
vile.
I’d had my way
back in the day,
but this, oh this
it must be said:
I’d left her
in a loveless bed.
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 8:30 AM UTC
A Faster Cleanup
I’ve watched the documentaries,
Read the news and watched TV.
I wish I weren’t ordinary,
More pedestrian than I would wish to be,
Surrendering to traps of
Entertainment for diversion -
All those mediocre pastimes I accuse the herd
Of needing, and I shan’t excuse my nerdy being
Leaning on that chestnut ‘will is strong but flesh is weak’.
So before you puke I’ll speak
And say, we need a faster cleanup.
Plastic on the ocean bottoms,
Record heats and floods and rain.
Deserts spreading, Arctic’s melting: symptoms
Of the odium of inhumane
Expansions everywhere you look:
The Book of Crooked Modern-day,
Modernity’s last supper.
So, we need a faster cleanup
Mr. Trump
and all the others.
A Faster Cleanup 5.27.2017
Our Times, Our Culture II;
Arlene Corwin
I'm sure you get the message. It's a pregnant one!
May 27, 2017
May 27, 2017 at 4:17 PM UTC
when the world was cruel
and you impair
you were alone
and had no give back
when you were bulldozed
for aims you never had
your personality was rescind
and disguised to regular
when you had no choice to
leave and move ahead
you bore the odium of nugatory pack
when you were so good
and gave all your best
you were loathed
and clepe as bad
times when heartbroken you cried to sleep
your head under pillow
words unavowed bide
You turned cold with FIRE inside
it would have been better
IF YOUR SILENCE SPOKE OTHERWISE ....
May 24, 2019
May 24, 2019 at 8:57 AM UTC
Methuselah went gallivanting around town with some jail bait. When a mysterious person with a bag on their head with the word "Yuck" on it crossed their path. The person began to inform them all about the dark arts and practical black magic.
And attempted to peddle stolen his and her towels to them. Passing it off as homemade genuine hand crafted cloths . When they were just used rags with faded embroidering on them.
Neither Methuselah or his jail bait had the wherewithal to purchase the lousy linens.
Methuselah showed the Bag-headed person his empty pockets.
The person shook their head in affirmation and took the bag off to reveal the face of a woman with no eyebrows and the number "96403" on her left cheek.
She put the towels in the bag and went on her way. The jail bait and Methuselah went to a motel that night to get busy .
The young man at check in said he was sorry because there were no towels in their room.
To both their surprise two bags were there hanging on the rack instead.
One said "Odium", the other said "Pang".
-Tommy Johnson
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 6:13 PM UTC
white surfaces flash in fluorescent lighting –
this is no opus, heaving on cold bathroom tiles,
blood and grain against porcelain,
convulsing creature in all its grotesque obloquy:
bleary and snotting. four-walled, windowless, antiseptic vivarium;
life crawls outside. it thrives, it devours, it fortifies.
inside, here, it repulses. ****** effluvium of all kinds.
sharp shrieks of skin across glossed floor, tears soak
before the cliff of the jaw. nothing stays.
wiping drool off the sterile sink and sweat off my knotted back.
snarls choking into sobs, sobs gasping for air.
this is no opus; blackening from corners,
the repugnant vignette held between fingernails –
for the contagious odium of the resigned abhorrent
bleeds and drips and stains.
neglect and rejection strewn like pearls,
pearls, worth nothing, feeling everything.
a fly buzzes in the stark fluorescent light,
and blackness climbs in. blackness consumes.
May 2, 2020
May 2, 2020 at 9:32 AM UTC
Memories are a potent, and cruel existence.
You want to smile, you'd like to think of the flutter in your chest, the feeling of joy covering your eyes.
But memories are full of melancholy and odium.
They remind you of the years you've breathed, they remind you of the things you've seen
They cling to your eyelids like stained blood.
We all have the memories, such sanguine feelings they carry.
But is such, worth the daggers prickling at your eyes?
Are they worth, the engraving pain that trickles down your spine?
I am a reminder. I am your pain. I am your joy.
Blink.
Maybe you'll see me.
-Dakota R. McIvor
May 27, 2013
May 27, 2013 at 4:19 PM UTC
I offer my eternal homage
To the conflagration of spheres and jaws
For too long you’ve been sealed from my realm
By fear and by ancient laws
-
With this offering of flawless life
I grant you passage into my plane
Let this earthly shell be your tool
I give my blood, my soul, and my brain
-
Oh, great lurker at the threshold
Let your will be known
So omnipresent, so perfect, all knowing
May all power be yours to hone
-
The all-in-one shall again return
To bleed the universe dry
With the knowledge of the rift intact
Your feeble race and all others will die
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 12:23 PM UTC
I was merely a speck of vitality
When I observed you all helpless inside a chanted yet broken record
Of conventionality rather than equality
Your ignorance, something I will never be able to afford
Perhaps I attempted to create my own forked tongue,
Succumbing to the toxicity of your belief that love cannot be reciprocated between
a certain two, who,
Despite your concern about the somatic,
Still fight to choose what makes them ecstatic
In fact you are in no place to voice such a strident stance,
When you do not have the slightest familiarity in the feeling of home being brought straight into your hands,
The feeling no type of discouragement could ever destroy:
Home as if it were after years and years away among the people of Troy
In some nights I could feel the loud beating of my heart so erratic,
And in some I found time seemed to stretch on longer than I would favour
But all I had to do was look into her eyes which were beyond cinematic
To be reminded of why these were the moments I would later most savour
I found it within my nature to stick the
debris that was a product of your odium
Into the the depths of my being, even beside my need for sodium
As a result I have outgrown multiple layers of skin,
After which my metamorphosis will begin
And at once without any resistance, I took flight towards the sky,
Because they often said the sky is the limit, I wondered why
And as I escaped into the realm of the pleasant unknown,
I had made the decision that this was the only measure of contentment I was to condone
Finally
Finally
Finally
I am free and most importantly, I am me
Jan 5, 2019
Jan 5, 2019 at 10:16 PM UTC
a serial pest has been stealing poems
at all the online poetry homes
who is this habitual piece of crap
so dedicated to pinching our hard won sap
none other than Mark Keyes
he's got the odium of dog fleas
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 8:45 PM UTC