"oratorical" poems
#
From an ornate podium
the orator spoke words--
..extraordinarily elaborate ones..
as if,
as if
But those who know..
we who have laid low,
down in to the trenches
as grunts, both outside
and inside
of the wire..
Those who have quietly
done their legwork..
who have accepted their
difficult fate as that borne of
and in to, a training.. an equipping;
lay low,
lay low
. . . .
The throngs
at the foot of the podium--
mesmerized by their own need
to be mesmerized, never even
noticed the children
who in their innocence, peered
out from under the crowd's legs
to better see the 'magnificent' podium..
The oldest of which, ran back to trenches
trying to describe what they saw.
Two of the quiet, unassuming-ones
made their way back to the podium,
and in blocking out the orator's voice,
(which to the knowing,
was as that of a clanging bell..)
Now observed up close, the inner-workings
of the elaborate podium
and sat in wonder of its expenditures--
wrapped around such slipshod, weak
and hastily assembled framework..
And in having become interested in the
structure's groundedness to what one
would hope would be a solid-built
foundation, placed onto solid, earthen ground
They instead gasped as they saw its
legs floating upon nothing..
*"What the **** is holding this thing up..?"*
War-trained and battle-hardened,
they remembered their superiors speaking
in hushed tones that even ****** with all
of his blowhard oratorical ******** at least
had a semblance of the podium's fastenings..
Albeit, partially assembled by our own country's
stupidity within certain provisions brought forth
in the Treaty of Versailles,
but this
but this;
This oratorical misleading of the broken-ones
this empty illusion of a presentation, borne
not from a suffering leading to true regeneration
but instead, a distractive short-cut into the Realms;
This counterfeit substance..
as if borne in power, as if.. as if.
.. But the realms.. they know
It is only those down here on earth, spirit
cloaked within the deceptive misgivings
of the flesh-- so aching to establish itself
apart from the necessary legwork needed
to humbly become a part of Stream's flow:
(borne, solely from the inner Wellspring-- deep
within the bowels of Love's True Ache)..
It is here.. on earth.. that you will find
the reward you seek.. oh wondrous orator,
oh magnificent 'smither' of fine words..
**Your podium, a whitewashed soapbox
floating upon nothing..**
--And therefore meaning nothing
within the Substance-Based parameters
of the Realms.
#
Mar 22, 2021
Mar 22, 2021 at 3:48 PM UTC
I have never been a man of many words.
That is you would not call me by any stretch of the imagination bombastic. Nor would you refer to me as long- winded. I try to be as concise as possible.
I feel that most people have a select few adjective to describe themselves.
Personally chatty, diffuse, discursive,flatulent, loquatious, palaverous, pleonastic, prolix nor verbose would be on this list.
My words are not ample aplenty bounteous bountiful generous plenteous plentiful profuse or super abundant.
And when i make a speech it is not oratorical or overblown...
I am not pompous...I try to be as consise as possible.
May 9, 2012
May 9, 2012 at 3:38 AM UTC
Is it wrong of me to be sexually satisfied,
merely by the expansiveness of your mental capacity?
Intrigued by your complacence.
See, at first you were just this figment of my imagination.
But now you've transcended,
into this complete sensation.
No matter the misconceptions that others may have about you,
I could never replace you.
I could go on and on about the metaphors
that compare you to the sun,
or other gleaming objects.
But really, my attraction for you is far more complex,
to just subsidize you to comparison you probably already met.
I no longer base my relationship on ***
I now seek intelligence,
an intellectual, oratorical genuis - one who knows what the birds say,
why the ocean waves, why society emphasizes self-hate.
And ever since I've sought all of those determining qualities in you,
I've since, loved you.
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 9:15 PM UTC
Thieves, thieves.
Christ are we petty.
Could not have imagined
such a death
Such a short-sited
venomous slip of the mind
such a death-toll...
so unpredicted-ably sad to see
A mighty species
Die.
That's the fate of the fate-less, I guess
Our gods were a faceless
Mass
of derangement
Massive enough to take us to space.
What we've plucked from out of our souls
We can never replace
Such as it is, we have no chance
Put to death.
****** and detached.
That's how it ends
--surrounded.
We write out
these sorrows
that aren't really sorrows
and
Pin the tasteless love to our chests
Oratorical shit-hoarding
Trade-card victims
with no actual dignity left.
How embarrassing..
the glory of man-kind
To face a demise,
so mundane.
Forsaken by lies.
Our souls have been neutered and
Turned into tools for
Violently-popular
Prostitution-alized fools
Love for the luscious
the rush of the snarling
Hysterical rousings of
Tumultuous twerps.
This is the way that history ends.
Resting in our dreams.
Jan 30, 2018
Jan 30, 2018 at 3:14 PM UTC
Our followers will stream out of the libraries
holding books of poetry in their right hands
knocking and ringing on doors
by the words of Plath, by her command
they will quote verses of Elliot
as if he was biblical
and his wasteland
as they smile most oratorical
they will give them Byron
right down their ****** throats
till the revoke the art of war.
This battle has just begun
poetry can bring great peace to this world
I myself will lift this banner of peace
who will come and hold it with me
poetry has become my religion
and all I seek is peace
war by words is better
then any blood that is vent
making my useless madness
my strange ways
work for humanity
and to make inhumanity
a forgotten way
swords should be wielded by words
as doves fly high in blues skies
all do want to be good and kind
I do believe in that
I know I can be a conceited mega puppy
but poetry is my love
the want of a white dove
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
© 2011 NeonSolaris (All rights reserved)
Nov 22, 2013
Nov 22, 2013 at 5:04 AM UTC
Extravagance is characterised by the excessive expenditure of materialistic resources, where those unbridled lusts of the masses have catapulted our anthropological status from an initial experience of innocence and ****** us forth into a debauched state of relativistic and allegedly progressive utopia.
Can I now be reborn into unknown astrological pastures of yesteryear, where time and space confine themselves to boundless parameters and cosmological streams trickle beyond black holes?
Droplets of our soul are seeping through the cracks of superfluous constellations.
Having been admonished to merely adhere to instructions, it is worth giving consideration to the possibility that we may simply lack accurate realisation.
Yet, the anatomy of integrity is contextual and is juxtaposed with popular and palatable propagandist dogma.
Therefore, although the nature of reality is ever-changing, there is a pattern of non-conforming adherence which spans those artistic ages of presumed literary and oratorical genius.
We know that defense mechanisms are dichotomous, as they may ward off personally undesirable experiences – yet they can also inadvertently champion the cause for solitary confinement.
As we unwrap this explosive socio-political gift, let us reach across the infinite gap and radically accept the folly of what is deemed to be prestigious.
Let us now make a record.
Saturn has rings.
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 4:25 AM UTC
for the white matter slipping between
us
sorting itself
to make another way back.
Tell me
some oratorical satire.
I want to believe you
then laugh at you.
Feb 1, 2017
Feb 1, 2017 at 8:35 AM UTC