"panoptic" poems
She is equipped with sensitive *******
and those other secret places
that ladies give out as prizes
to deserving guys as long as
they adopt the right disguises
of gods, gurus, intellectual giants,
goats, children, father figures, macho brutes,
sugar-daddies, supermen, seminal vessels,
house-repairers, jar openers, jocks, hate objects,
handy shoulders to cry on, emotional support systems,
sensitive, intuitive, yet strong silent types
who can also pay the bills,
tall dark and handsome total strangers,
toy boys, clowns, jugglers, jokers, millionaires,
wood choppers, ******* removers,
bottomless reservoirs of reassurance
or just plain spunky studs when the moon is right.
In fact, anything but woffly wimps.
Oh God, no. Anything but woffly wimps.
Yes, but what about stoic, steadfast SNAGS,
you know, the Sensitive New Age Guys
who won’t face-shift for a ****
Yes, well, let's try to sum all this up here right now.
I think that the woman is dripping
with a brimming reservoir
of luscious and sensitive resources on tap for
the man who can figure out her cosmic kaleidoscope
of swirling dreams and desires,
which is definitely not to say she can’t be totally independent.
Although please don't be confused.
Friendly boy-next-door types who are handsome,
aren't too hairy, who like to laugh, who have a boyish braggadocio,
who are students, who appear to be intellectuals,
who are not nerds,
and who can **** it in the kitchen, who can be oh, so cool,
who can convince a maiden that she is in distress,
and is in need of rescuing, while he has
a swaggering hard-on will do, too.
Oooh. You devil.
And if you think this poem is misogynist, misanthropic or myopic,
well, I’ve been around and by now, well,
I really should be panoptic
because I’ve seen all the fads,
and really, it’s sadly too bad
about those poor old
earnest SNAGS.
But you know what?
I don't think I understand anything, because
I'm really a victim of worshiping women.
I'm bedazzled and as blind as the next man, and
yes,
I'm just happy whenever I'm with them.
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 8:28 PM UTC
At spawn of first light
Darkness embarks into the recesses of hibernation
And so begins the blinding incline,
the inevitable blonde coiled wreaths frustration is on the rise
forces a discharge so multiple and emanate,
the skyward black shrinks back
from panoptic reaches,
into a delinquent weakened rumor
When this daily task of ridding the black ends a victor
The climb continues upward in a high sky setting
Consequential over the mornings painstaking labors
Wiping from his brow,
in a waving motion
To release mists over global hydration
By welcoming this morning dew,
the earth is one more day new
and can take great relief in this rebirth
Assuring all parched famine will gain resolve
taking in their absolve
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 12:15 PM UTC
No trees around,
But there are leaves in the gutter
A thousand eyes in every home
& in every eye there is a storm
A Panoptic Design
Prison planet
Web net
Spider eyes glow red
Multi-layered
Multi-players
Virtual seams rip apart every dream
Virtual screams on virtual screens
Blood & circuses
Hive mind & mob body
In every crack there is a hole
& in every hole there is an eye
In every eye there is a storm
Your streets, the sky-not blind
A thousand eyes
A thousand eyes for every home
Digital trap. Don’t fight back
We wake to dream
We fight the sleep
Is there something we are missing?
5- You are alive
4-Go thru the door
3-What is your reality, really?
2-Yes, I’m talking to you!
1- Look up
Don’t look behind.
We are being followed.
Do you follow?
Do you mind?
Jul 2, 2016
Jul 2, 2016 at 3:28 AM UTC
There are no words for how you make me feel -
Not wholly happy nor is it all sad.
So Orphic, how do I know that you're real?
This ambivalence is driving me mad.
The hypophrenic habromania!
I can't define the sense that you inspire.
So I experience metanoia,
To feed my chaotic internal fire.
Panoptic, I see you entirely
And I'm entranced by everything in view
The shadow of your soul reflects in me
And beckons me to move nearer to you.
No Epeolatry can spare my soul.
This gap in lexicon engulfs me whole.
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 12:29 AM UTC
Where did they hide a punch clock in the timeless solace?
Or did they hide it all?
Perhaps it’s difficult to see some mornings?
We walked together to the school bus-stop, Billie Jean and I,
…she seemed to have a thing for me although I don’t know why?
I had a birth deformity; my feet were horned like snakes,
…a scaly-green monstrosity that locked away my heart and mind,
…so that; like the time clock, no one would ever see me.
Even the trip to doctors in Thebes, it only made it worse,
...all the children in my town found out, and said that I was cursed,
An ancient Greek named Urias claimed;
That tranquil purple’s peaceful dawn had hid a pitcher of lies,
And Zeus’ anger at the act brought down lightning from the skies,
…and struck down the people just like me against a ballad of rainbow fusion sunrise.
For the dreamy cosmos exercises as the pantomime he realizes,
…the many fancies of his disguises that the panoptic mind has in its surmises,
And in their parrying fall the distended fragments of the egg,
…formed some like me who were formed quite queer, said to come from Apulian’s nightly fall of fear.
Glass-bottled visions of events not clear all framed in a circle of Plato’s Great Year.
My feet the scaly-green monstrosity which sealed my heart and mind,
Billie said it was a gift from that Great Old Father Time,
A spring of rocks, a great mountain, a whirlpool and a navel,
I guess one day I’ll become them all, if and when I’m able!
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 5:20 PM UTC
in what archaic light
might i be made to be seen pure?
when shadows will not taint
the progress of a life reborn
& what projection may impart
the whole of what i truly am?
in what dimension might we see
outside of where the fringes end?
to recognize a truth
how can we say we know it’s path?
when even light may bend and ruse,
deceive the structures of the past.
to awaken any hope,
hold fast to faith in what you know,
but even that is made like sand
elapsed, with no hands made to hold
unbound by words or thoughts alone,
the spirit flies above the sea
& language foreign to the earth,
can somehow now make sense to me.
the ancient life, known before birth,
the way we were before;
is somehow still a flick'ring flame
that burns forevermore.
so cast your burdens to the wind
that carries our hearts home.
a vast new force from deep within
has overturned all stones.
within the currents,
all encompassed progress, not our own.
as galaxies may shift,
so may all hearts become one home.
Aug 11, 2013
Aug 11, 2013 at 2:33 AM UTC
I love to have this vision
Of my shadow watching me
Like beauty from a sad
Bitter place
Life shines through black wax
Voiding all meaning
But love and death
Aug 16, 2011
Aug 16, 2011 at 1:26 AM UTC
From the esoteric Asia
to the wild Amazon,
I feel my spirit standing still
while life is rushing on
Kaleidoscope of countries
melting in my dreamy eyes
For now I sit and wonder
at the blue panoptic skies
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 10:26 PM UTC
Understanding depth
light and dark tandem opposed
Panoptic balance
Apr 19, 2020
Apr 19, 2020 at 8:57 AM UTC
i arrive
fragmentary trajectories
polyvocal mass
burning assemblage of resentment
walking to the kitchen to grab an apple
leave me alone
i lock the door
i eat my apple
i feel no guilt
panoptic father
you know
we tried
with the counter
the indexical signs of worth
the grade average
you let fall
three years is too long
to watch the same ********
repeat
to provide multiple outs
you didn’t want
except the one who was
never enough
i’m done with feeling
anything.
Jul 8, 2018
Jul 8, 2018 at 1:44 AM UTC