"offences" poems
OH, TOLERANCE!
Imagine a world filled with various attributes of tolerance
The somewhat cheaply expensive substance
Exuding from the spirit of acceptance
Giving the assurance of living and interaction
Oh, tolerance!
Imagine the impending disaster or menace
Evidence of living in this world without tolerance
If we could reminisce the possible chaos of its absence
Then acknowledge the need to seek for its protection
Oh, tolerance!
Imagine a city filled with the fragrance of tolerance
The acquiescence of human coexistence
The aura of the essence of our existence
In a city of unity and strength
Oh, tolerance!
Remedy for our shortcomings and ignorance
Enhancing strength and resilience
Giving us evidence and endurance
To forge ahead and be hopeful that we can make progress
Oh, tolerance!
Antidote to our offences and weaknesses
Exuberance and mistakes
The consciousness that you are with us
Gives us reason to accommodate all and sundry
Oh, tolerance!
You romance our ego
Showing us reasons that we are not perfect
The remembrance of your tenets
Increases our stimulus for acceptance and coexistence
Oh, tolerance!
Jul 25, 2019
Jul 25, 2019 at 6:16 PM UTC
Every morning I sleep with a frown
Each night I wake up feeling down
My dreams commited suicide
And soon after were joined by my pride
Fortune, on my shores, reaches in low tide
And of life I only see the back side
I calm the pain with injections of hope
To delay the urge, to keep away from the rope
But soon I will no longer cope
Ending my days is the epilogue of this scope
Because life is enjoyed through senses
And mine, to feel joy, have to jump fences
But jumping is vain though my repetitive offences
True smiles on my face are high expenses
I try to forget, but I forgot how
And soon I will say ciao
I've already chosen my bough
Where I will say "pain, do not follow me now"
Because if death is the enemy, I'll be a pow
I no longer can gad
You may say I am cad
Yet of dying I am glad
And to this poem, I want to add
"Mother, I love you so don't be sad
Father, forgive me and don't be mad
Friends, you were the best thing I had"
Jan 31, 2013
Jan 31, 2013 at 11:06 PM UTC
and the myth goes along the lines - had i but the eyes to spot
a silver spoon - there chimed a magpie in the the night,
a cackle compared with the rhapsodic
crow call to wake up Barbarossa...
the cackle and the literary laugh...
there she was, with the Kraken -
she was there bewildered
to sing a song, sroka among the magpie calls
to tell tales of silenced lightning
without thunder.....
shamanic in the extreme:
what a strange nationalism being born
with extracts of a former colonialism in Ukraine -
lost, forgotten, and a brief testament to Israel -
do i feel any pride? perhaps i should...
i better myself in the word spoken:
sroka is above magpie -
the serenity of the sharpened consonants,
the flight to become werewolf legend -
sroka, or magpie -
as a language there are some offences -
which cannot translate, but merely
tarnish...
s and r
are two consonants that out-perform stress /
authenticity when m and g are used...
the tongue is more important than the breath,
counter the metaphysical greek breath that's known
as psyche: i.e. γλωßα -
to treat the tongue akin
to the mind, and soul as the authenticity of the verb
thought: when all organs automate, akin
to the kidneys dialysis.
yes, sroka / magpie...
crow / kruk / crux
or the shadow of Golgotha...
toward us: the darkened hour...
to gloss over - to speak a phrase in demand -
sire *** qua non byzantine sprechen.
Oct 16, 2016
Oct 16, 2016 at 7:28 PM UTC
My beautiful walking Angel,
please don't fly away.
It was only you who could lift
me, from the darkest night and
days
of life without her.
My walking Angel.
He talks as though he has one foot
above,
he walks this earth afloat
already. Leaving me fitfully to
wait, in my safely anchored boat.
He's so sure of his inadequacy,
yet I would gladly soak myself in fear,
just so that I could have him near.
Sweet glorious Angel.
Clipped wings yet so ready to fly.
If you were to die, then part
of me would surely go too.
I'm already bound to you.
We both chose immediately to
shield that which makes us,
from others,
yet to each other, we managed not
to yield to the temptation of
our defences.
In spite of the offences of those who've
gone past, leaving a lasting brand
in our skin,
of each terrible individual sin.
Each scar wrought within.
Innocent Angel.
I am completely vulnerable to you.
Usually so overly aware of danger,
I have already, affectively,
sworn my life to you.
This next page is yours.
Dangerous Angel.
Whether you lift me up to fall,
or pull me down to drown,
I shall walk where you tread.
A breadcrumb trail of tears in my wake,
as I am shaken awake from your
dream
Your soul left to rest in the gleam of
my eye.
An unsnuffable candle
to guide you back to me.
Athiest Angel, I was asleep before
you came
and awoke me with your kiss,
jerking my heart from it's
Ivy covered cage,
our instantaneous gauge
of our compatibility
creating a feasibility
of merging.
Gentle Angel.
You took my beating soul
and gouged it with
a caress,
spelt your name
and my destruction,
with your irresistible seduction
of vulnerability,
and tranquility
of purity.
My tender Angel.
Your knifepoint was always fated
for my ribs.
Take me with you if you leave,
allow me to anchor-
no better- hold you,
and embolden you to be
whatever the **** you want to be.
With your battered suitcase of a soul.
How many more kicks can you take
before they pack you in?
The irony in that the sin was never yours.
I abhor those who chose to lord over you.
Please come aboard my raft of
defiance, which is learning the science
of your chemistry.
Darling Angel.
I do not wish you to fall or fly,
instead remain afloat,
allow me to paddle my unshakeable boat
towards you,
with a view of amorous intentions.
My salvation,
who will surely be
my downfall,
my Samson.
I know what you have undone.
Me.
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 5:20 PM UTC
You struggled to make friends the first day of high school.
You lied about your interests, and changed your style
Just to be in a group
Who got drunk every Friday, and high every Saturday.
Who screamed, **** ******* get money,” at the top of their lungs
Like it was their teenage religion, and they were the preachers.
From being homeschooled, to participating in that cross-faded crowd,
It was a big leap for you merely to say the phrase, the prayer,
Much less act upon it, pushing yourself over your limits, once again.
It is your senior year now, and the cliff into chivalry
Is one you could not even consider jumping off anymore.
Your mom drug tests you once a month, shame on her face.
And you have too many petty offences to make anyone outside your group proud.
Sports were too cool for your group; you have to be sober to play, apparently.
And if you had anything higher than a C in a class, you were kicked out.
To “go with the nerd groups” and be the topic of next Friday’s teases.
Now everybody hates you, the kid who was so quiet on the first day
Who is on a path to nowhere, with, **** ******* get money,” as your only prayer.
Apr 18, 2015
Apr 18, 2015 at 11:57 AM UTC
Oh, Anne, your offences to me have been grievous:
I thought from my wrath no atonement could save you;
But Woman is made to command and deceive us—
I look’d in your face, and I almost forgave you.
I vow’d I could ne’er for a moment respect you,
Yet thought that a day’s separation was long;
When we met, I determined again to suspect you—
Your smile soon convinced me suspicion was wrong.
I swore, in a transport of young indignation,
With fervent contempt evermore to disdain you:
I saw you—my anger became admiration;
And now, all my wish, all my hope’s to regain you.
With beauty like yours, oh, how vain the contention!
Thus lowly I sue for forgiveness before you;—
At once to conclude such a fruitless dissension,
Be false, my sweet Anne, when I cease to adore you!
1.5k
You absolutely do not get the honor of burning a numerical value on her self-worth.
You certainly do not get to measure that assumption from the hem-line tailored on her thighs. Or the daring dresses she wore because it made her feel a different kind of beautiful.
She is not asking for it. What she will demand for is neither your attention nor stares. She wants respect.
Can you do that?
Oh, and when you are emboldened by your 'witty' validation that she is a **** or of promiscuous nature, all down to the clothes she wears on her back.
Don’t.
Cotton stitches against warm skin. (She was enjoying a walk.)
Silk swathes on slightly chilled bones. (She forgot her jacket on a Wednesday night out with friends.)
Thick knits adorn even more layers of cotton. (It was a winter night.)
Their cold lips pursed by the late hour, scream silence.
With that validation, you normalise and excuse the acts of **** soul-destructing ****** offences.
For you have blamed the victim.
You excuse a depraved psychological state.
The veins that choked from ice and no’s. You have forgotten.
Rapists and ****** offenders do not get the luxury of being excused.
Neither do you, ****
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 8:52 AM UTC
Alas, ’tis true, I have gone here and there,
And made myself a motley to the view,
Gored mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most dear,
Made old offences of affections new.
Most true it is that I have looked on truth
Askance and strangely. But, by all above,
These blenches gave my heart another youth,
And worse essays proved thee my best of love.
Now all is done, have what shall have no end,
Mine appetite I never more will grind
On newer proof, to try an older friend,
A god in love, to whom I am confined.
Then give me welcome, next my heaven the best,
Even to thy pure and most most loving breast.
1.2k
I smell. . . .
horse ****
It's less offensive than the
********
i've been seeing lately
They say it with their
hands, mouths, eyes
Desperate offences in defence of the indefensible
Tonight i sat in a safe space
where we clicked to show our appreciation
Heard resonations of clicking when a poet spoke words
that darted through our foreheads
And lit something there.
We knew the responses:
"This is new ****
NEEEEEEEWWWW ****
Clap the poet, not the points
the points are not the point
We knew we were offered
hearts
more than words
Their rhythms and awakenings,
arrhythmias, overflowings, and
midnight ponderings.
So we put our own into our palms
and beat them together for every poet
who dared to touch that microphone
to their chest.
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 6:21 PM UTC
That tragic moment
when I finally settle down
and realize...
I am upset over the idea
of our relationship ending...
rather than the suffocation of it.
We both had become
tired and lazy
and selfish with our
understanding
and withholding...everything
resenting...everything
It had been way too long...
since we kissed...
circumstances...
were extraordinarily difficult
from the very beginning...
never really letting up for very long
and they took a heavy toll...
eventually we each
spun inward
unable to communicate
without offences.
So...
We each began letting go
insecurities ran rampant
it became too hard too hold on
so we let go...
a little bit at a time
first, of our desire
then
our ability to believe.
..in Us
and what we had
was special to be real.
No one got what they wanted
No one is solely to blame
To me...
that is the true tragedy..
what we could have...
should have been
That is where
my true sadness lies.
jammed between
the should haves and could haves
I hope we each
find our comforts.
I wished SO much...
Believed so hard...
That someday I would find you...
That when I did
I didn't see all the cracks...
Now it seems
the search begins again...
I am left to find
someone like you.
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 8:47 AM UTC
You're obsessed with being a unit because you never feel whole
Soul sullied by the deceit of past flames
Betrayed by the boredom and apathy of she with crimson hair
Why do you care if I’m alone right now?
Why do you care if I’m fraternising with newfound friends of the male gender
Bending me till I break down in tears and ask for forgiveness for sins I did not commit
And offences with heavier burdens than they are due
Forgive me Father, for I have skinned my knees on repeated apologies until my lips are chapped and raw
Until I began to see how my God couldn’t possibly love me
Until a smile was all it took to intoxicate me into another winner-takes-all verbal brawl
Until I learnt to scrawl the ten commandments into my skull
Thou shalt not choose your new friends, for you are too naive, consult me
Thou shalt not lie with anyone other than me, I’d rather you didn’t sleep
Thou shalt not talk to men other than to exchange pleasantries, I’d rather you didn’t breathe
Thou shalt not choose career opportunities that could take you away from me
Thou shalt not
Thou shalt not
Thou shalt not
I see you broken and bleeding on a cross and you whisper, “how could you do this to me?
I died for your sins
I died for your sins
I let the light in and I died for your sins.”
Enough!
I will make my own religion
One that breathes rose petals among the barbs
Armed with the knowledge of what worship should be
And you told me I must learn to pray on my knees,
But tell me:
If you took me to the altar,
How much life would I have to sacrifice
For this all-consuming, greedy god
Of love?
Oct 30, 2017
Oct 30, 2017 at 9:00 AM UTC
She’s at a loss.
Her voice quietens, weakens.
She’s not herself.
She’s been transformed, absorbed into someone else.
She’s a fishing boat in a stormy sea.
Stormy then calm.
Stormy then calm.
Her mind is a whirlwind of easy offences.
She is a pit of jealousy;
a lustful late-teen.
Her mind is a television
broadcasting her desires:
Eight red lines upon a pale back,
Shoulders indented with two curved rows
from clenched teeth.
Morse code embossed on sweet flesh.
Love bites around *******
on thighs, on buttocks.
A fictional programme.
Turn fiction into non-fiction
and rescue her mind; a mere sailor.
Reach the shore and rescue her.
Find her again.
Find her voice, her strength.
Evaporate the stormy sea and leave her,
wholly herself.
Mar 9, 2012
Mar 9, 2012 at 12:55 PM UTC
This pen could write as others write,
all full of woe and self defeat.
Or send this ink, like tears of shame,
to tell a lie, and forge deceit.
To moan of loss, and whine of life,
and sit there seeking eyes
to hold this heart, and hear these words
and see through a dark disguise.
To never perceive in reality
what lingers beyond the dark screen.
Oh, but to shelter a pain, we hold in vain,
is nothing less than obscene.
So tell us a tale of why you are loud
and why you don't accept the fact,
that nobody cares bout how you once lost,
or that day when your words were attacked.
To write of this woe and signal denial
of the social encumbrance all round,
is to harbour injustice for false offences,
and to always lie broken on the ground.
Could we lift up our hearts and sing of the past
when love was not just a myth?
Or would you rather die to get attention,
a plain, barren, wordless wordsmith?
So, with love, I tell you, all wannabes and such,
to quiet your voices and listen.
For when your mouth shuts against life's complaints,
then that is when your life glistens.
Nov 26, 2018
Nov 26, 2018 at 10:47 PM UTC
Come now, spill your secrets
on this slowly rising floor
paint me in your misdeeds
for I am craving new colors
flickering eyes expose fresh
hesitancy that lingers clearly
upon untasted tongue
that (despairingly) longs for freedom
unfurl cold nuiscances
they hold no power here
come, proclaim your hidden inquiries
while we’ll decorate these steel walls
in our variegated offences
Dec 26, 2012
Dec 26, 2012 at 11:02 PM UTC
**THEREFORE Having been Justified by Faith, we have Peace with GOD through our LORD JESUS CHRIST* Through whom also we have Access by Faith into this Grace in which we Stand, and Rejoice in Hope of thy Glory Of GOD* And not only that, but we also Glory in Tribulations, Knowing that Tribulations Produce Perseverance* And Perseverance, Character* And Character, Hope* Now Hope does not Disappoint, because thy Love Of GOD has been Poured-Out in Our Hearts by thy Holy Spirit who was Given to Us* For when we were still without Strength, in Due Time Christ Died for thy Ungodly* For Scarcely for Righteous-Man will one Die* Yet perhaps for A Good-Man someone would even dare to Die* But GOD Demonstrates His Own Love toward Us, in that while we were still Sinners, Christ Died for Us* Much more then, having now been Justified by His Blood, we shall be saved from Wrath through Him* For if when we were Enemies we were Reconciled to GOD through thy Death of His Son* Much-more, having been Reconciled, we shall be saved by His Life* And not only that, but we also Rejoice in GOD through our LORD JESUS CHRIST, through whom we have now Received thy Reconciliation** Therefore, Just as through One-Man Sin Entered thy World, and Death through Sin, and Thus Death Spread to All Men, because All Sinned*** For until thy Law-Sin was in thy World, but Sin is not Inputted when there is no Law** Nevertheless death Reigned from ADAM to MOSES, even over those who had not Sinned According to thy Likeness of thy Transgression Of ADAM, who is a type of Him Who Was To Come* But thy Free Gift is not Like thy Offence, For if by thy One-Man's Offence many Died, much more thy Grace Of GOD and Thy Gift by thy Grace of thy One-Man, Jesus-Christ, Abounded to many** And thy Gift is not like that which came through thy One who Sinned. For thy Judgement which came from One Offences Resulted in Justification*** For if by thy One-Man's Offence Death Reigned through thy One, Much-more those who Received Abundance of Grace and of thy Gift Of Righteousness will Reign In Life through thy One, Jesus Christ*** Therefore, as through One-Man's Offence Judgement came to all Men* Resulting in Condemnation, even so through One-Man's Righteous Act thy Free Gift Came to All Men, Resulting in Justification Of Life** For as by One-Man's Disobedience many were made Sinners, so also by One-Man's Obedience many will be made Righteous** Moreover thy Law entered that thy Offence Might Abound. But where Sin Abounded, Grace Abounded much more** So, that as Sin Reigned in death, even so Grace Might Reign through Righteousness to Eternal Life Through JESUS CHRIST Our LORD**
Aug 26, 2015
Aug 26, 2015 at 7:17 AM UTC
Wolf is a symbol of guardianship, ritual, loyalty and spirit. Having the ability to make quick emotional attachments, it trusts their own instincts. We too should do the same, trust our hearts & minds, and have control over our lives.
When St. Francis encountered the wolf of Gubbio in 1220, he did not fear its coated fury armor and when the creature devoured animals and humans and became a force to be reckoned with, St. Francis made the sign of the cross and went out to meet the wolf , one on one. The crowd followed him from behind but as St. Francis entered the wolf's lair they held back, keeping a safe distance, they could watch and not be harmed. The wolf at first rushed at Francis with open jaws. Again Francis made the sign of the cross and commanded the wolf to cease his attacks in the name of God. The wolf trotted docilely and lay at his feet. Placing his head on Francis's hands he listened to Francis:
"Brother wolf, you have killed men at the image of God, so now you are worthy of death but if you make peace with us, we will forgive your past offences and you shall live. The wolf bowed its head and submitted to Francis, completely at his mercy. The wolf placed one of his forepaws in Francis' outstretched hand and the oath was made once ferocious wolf now behaved like a household pet. Like the wolf, we too have our net worth, as compassioned beings, capable of change. So tell me, after reading this, where do you stand on the empathy scale ? Are you going to help the wolf change, or are you going to watch him fail.
The End.
(when we all stand around and watch, we all lose)
Aug 8, 2021
Aug 8, 2021 at 6:36 AM UTC
*If an impeccable ally is false or the implacable ingrate
Resolved to ruin or rule our combined fate
Or to encompass us with the blood oath bonds they've taken
The pillars of our safety shall forever be shaken,
A jilted child removed from a foreigner awakened.
Then seized with fear, yet affecting fame,
Usurped by an intruder’s unatoned name.
So easy still it proves in falsely factious times
With public zeal to cancel their most private of crimes.
How safe is treason and how sacred it’s ill,
Where not even a child is safe to be free at will.
Where evil marchers are all hoodwinked and their offences not be known,
Since in each other’s guilt - they confuse and hide their own.
Yet their fame is undeserved, for I am their enemy with a giant grudge
Once a child that they abhorred, but praise be – I am now their judge.
In my court they sit for me to annihilate their scheme
With my discerning eyes, with these hands that are bloodlessly clean.
Unbribed, unsought, these wretches I redress -
Swift to dispatch them to ease the victim’s distress.
Oh, some call me a heartless hanging judge,
As I dispense my medicine on this vile blood thirsty sludge.
But had I the ownership of these evil souls freed
I’d hang these oppressors twice hoping to redeem their evil seed.
A hanging judge I’m truly not, I’m just a historian in love
Setting heaven straight for the one I serve, the true guardian above.*
Apr 24, 2018
Apr 24, 2018 at 2:07 PM UTC
People think they can cure you with words.
But in reality, they can only scar you.
For a compliment is washed away
with tears of disappointment
when offences are stamped
with stains of judgement.
Jan 2, 2021
Jan 2, 2021 at 1:45 PM UTC
The sky; choking in smog,
Seeks its former freedom.
The dam denies the river,
Still and lifeless, lacking flow.
The forest; cut and culled,
banished far at man's designing
The fire sits fragile in its grate,
Stays domesticated; docile.
The Earth; anger raising,
At the subjugation of its sons.
We people walk through life,
ignorant to our offences.
Ours minds; seized still,
Synapses froze and never firing.
My soul knowing the outcome,
Asks deliverance from its fate.
Mar 1, 2019
Mar 1, 2019 at 7:00 AM UTC
Give me solace and release me from this world,
Rest at last from the constant, aching reminder of all that is lost now,
Whatever powers up there that be, please now set me free,
In these final hours as I lay here with heavy, weighted breath,
If not, if my end must prolong much further here then please,
Give me forgiveness for my countless sins, offences against all I touch,
Every life that has suffered or fallen in my name or in memory of me,
All the ****** burning battlefields left in my unwilling wake,
Let me know that all now be at peace and live peacefully as I, no more,
But no, you will not be so gentle and kind, you never are,
As always, you choose to let me suffer through it all, even in death,
You won’t give me peace or release from it all, now, of course not,
You give me guilt.
Jul 19, 2012
Jul 19, 2012 at 11:56 PM UTC
Two Stories of Minorities
Growing up in the hood as a mexican
You learn your no good and your pedestrian
Now we have trump running for president
So now "a mexican will *** offend our women" and "they're all drug dealers that dont deserve to be residents"
Growing up in the Suburbs as a african
Martin Luther King speech was ran down like a pedestrian
Trampled over by those skin colors who chose the first black President
And a african will steal anything just keep family in mention, they're all low food stamp having Residents
We are hard workers, we helped build the country
We arent shady lurkers that ship drug loads filled with some tree
We had our grape boycott like the americans at boston with their tea
In reality we're no different from the white man, despite our cultures we are human completely
We are the anchor of alliance defining us would be passion of soul
The beat to another's code, we're not different from the white man, despite past offences
We all walked the trail of tears and picked cotton
Different languages came from the Tower of Babel the immigrants alike we fell from ourselves
Feb 24, 2016
Feb 24, 2016 at 12:35 AM UTC
Rupert Timlin, is at it again
Got incredibly drunk and beat his girlfriend
Now, he’s going down, going down town
And we all really want to know what went on
Now he’s charged with quite a few
Offences and he knew
He’d gown down, he’s going down
And we all really want to know what went on
Underage drinking played its part once more
Misplaced aggression played its part once more
The cut and the bruises on her, what was it for?
Well I may be young
But I know what’s
Right and wrong my friend
Rupert Timlin, is at it again
Rupert Timlin, is at it again
Rupert Timlin, is at it again
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 5:41 PM UTC
a sudden Bonanza viz ****** abuse among
faux Green Acres within Mayberry RFD
now spells showtime for The Avengers, Batman
and Robin to Get Smart
take to heart (what haint no new bob bing beast),
those perpetrators to forsake their Good Times
yet, who determines what constitutes, and how to differentiate
mere kibitzing from unwanted overtures
though most people would concur when
definitive, tangible, verbal assault occurs,
spoiling future Happy Days, yet numerous incidents *** hide
from clear cut serious offences indeed)
rather when details appear nebulous, sketchy, vague,
et cetera defy categorization, giving benefit of doubt to
females or males in question claiming harrassment,
especially when minors testify as adults, asper
major gross indignties (such as pedofilia, date,
incestuous, statutory **** ******
et cetera committed), that occurred years or decades ex post facto
sans molestation, said time delayed contention
must be taken at face value without fail informing
a jury retroactive justice must be must be handed down
to the accuser blatantly, flagrantly, flaunting illegality,
hence fair sentence accordingly adjudicated
insync decreed capital crime abrogated child welfare,
defiling and permanently affecting emotional well being
of said underage youths, as best one
to compensate aggrieved subjects must purge
abominable categorical imperative
asper deliberate wanton (I soup pose), tricked, mislead,
forced to participate unwillingly
risking mental, physical and spiritual health of innocent kid
imposing unforgivable, horrible, execrable misdeeds
irrevocably damaging Lassie or laddie,
which indelibly foisted battering, whereby
even Doctor Marcys Welby M.D. unable to mend
condemning sufferer to psychological Mash pit
triggering Maude lin while Knot's Landing flooded.
Nov 19, 2017
Nov 19, 2017 at 7:59 PM UTC
With my arm gently resting on the window sill
I watched intently as the rain slowly fell
Sitting there, dazed, my ears ringing my silence
I was frozen in time, captured by such violence
The criminal offences happening just outside
I was shocked that I didn't notice in time
She was beaten and broken, laying in a puddle of blood
His hands were bruised, his face angry, all he could do was run
He started to run down the long winding road
Then he stopped in a rush, like something was pulling him back
His son was screaming at the top of his lungs
"Daddy what happened? Mommy was still so young!"
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 4:13 PM UTC