"paragons" poems
A farce melanin melancholic soul floating through a void of intertwined paragons.
Trying to be a single entity and not being subdued by the stereotype that is ageism which is ingrained and embedded in the plethora of knowledge which is - the brain
Trying to destroy this boundary in her psyche which has covertly limited her growth and expansion
But this thought is slowly manifesting to those around her
This retrospect thought will only spread through an act of malicious behavior which is inevitable and scornful
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 6:42 PM UTC
Arrow upon arrow the stricken heart endured,
Strife and doom its woeful dream ensured.
Vile phantoms of creed with deception en route
Intended to thwart, unveil their wicked fruit.
Satan had withered our spirit's joy and flame,
And gathered an earthly militia; among those to blame.
A maze he encrypted, the heir's light yet unseen,
All prospects stolen, great efforts wiped clean.
Creative their mind twilight art they presented,
The Sphere's evil hosts all reflected and resented.
Lost was all hearing, faith and sight,
Misplaced sense of wonder and good sense in flight.
"I worship nothing!" His heir once preferred,
Such was the spirit in high degrees deterred.
"Paragons of justice, will I ever get to see
The day my misfortunes cease to be?
They shadow, entrap and starve my soul
Of love and joy and all control!
So tired I am, and tired I shall stay
If purpose here is merely to convey
No purpose at all, except for one:
To enslave the soul, casting punishment for fun.
My simple wish, then, is simply to impart
An end to this misery and to my sanctioned heart."
His despairing heir put in motion so
An idea most frightening, its telling shall forego...
Immerse in their demise, allow for stricken grief,
Then foresee the King's love and His graciousness in fleet.
He gathered around, with love He replaced
Satan and his minions conspiring in space;
The King broke off the heir's chains with great might,
He enlightened our spirit, who had not known the light.
The heir's desperate cries reached The King's vibrations,
He released the heir and nullified all limitations.
Profound divine wisdom our heir now espies;
Seeing The King's glory and the through destroyer's lies.
Great wisdom and revelation now fill this mended heart,
But it's a tale best left for another form of art...
Nov 20, 2016
Nov 20, 2016 at 11:35 PM UTC
We are the material of dreams
A constellation falling into place
We live on edges and whims
An exploration in the dim
Our cigarettes are brighter than our eyes
Kisses forced and unjustified
Our lips reek of haem
And our veins burst at their seams
We fall with a dull thud far from elegance
Mirroring our left of paragons
'Am I to last?' I remember me say
And you say crying, 'Your sad eyes gave you away'
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 7:54 AM UTC
Cheers from inside the catacombs of just-alive vagabonds & miscreant self-delusions of sagacious sabotage & pyrrhic moonscapes, brandishing our eternal return
a tabula rasa for respect & character - bottoms up, too. Mona Lisa
Shroud of Turin, ******* on a trunk. Gamble 66
for trays, dealing steam carrots.
Gag reflex to polite televangelists giving viewers auspicious immunity.
Habits cede to Power, acquiesce to Power, love power.
Peculiarity can recognize & organize to displace.
Something suspicious may run amok , antithetical to the divide & conquer trite.
Defeating paragons, i , Plumed Serpent of release & capture beats, borrowing color from a skylark in forever-flight, conjure remedial winds
Guide inimical bows subsumed in a cosmo-prole dew against the fasces of a few.
Apr 7, 2010
Apr 7, 2010 at 10:20 PM UTC
A nascent society gluttonously feeds
on the palingenesis of hyaline paragons
forged by stolid and archaic eremites.
A whilom friendship leaks a susurrus
of tristful regret,
while pernicious ***** maunder
puerile attacks on munificent
intellectuals who only wish to
augment risible souls and divagate
from vertiginous roads too often traveled.
Such a chimerical respect for tradition
is too rigid to be broken alone.
Jan 13, 2011
Jan 13, 2011 at 3:09 PM UTC
plot out distances between freckles
and count the amount of hairs;
in a beauteous analysis
a cold witnessing
of)a featured lifeless gaze
projected onto windows
refracted in time with the pounding
from lost soulless ghouls
in a dank puddled basement
as we stare through keyholes
the length of life waits to rescind
to wash up on the shoreline
anew, once refreshed
with Angina on
wading in cyclic waves
in deposits of reveries
stale orangeade sonatas
and dull area tirades
the purpose
economized
every axiom
americanized
and as your atoms become depersonalized
tension is materialized, in ornate ivory
shattered brass instruments rusted by
novels written to god
in a
fractured light
and range
cramped in a curtailed distance
a brickwall deadend universe
gnashing with frustration
****** yawns of futility
closed viaducts
and vacant lots
deafened eyes, grey
glimmering in retort
to their own expression
blind sight was squandered by the snapback, of all the
strings of the orchestra as they were simultaneously snipped
by sharp prying eyes, listening to the mixing of paint
to smell the music, its arms limp, vivid
wishing to pull you back (in hindsight)
with dreaded, deadened incantations
a dithyrambic liturgy to the drunken thoughtless night
of slurred litanies and unappeasable, irascible deities
lonely and immaculate, all-powerless and deft
in irksome quarrels and arguments
glossed over by the fine print of another
exalting the vainglorious self-inscribed paragons
and revelling every inadmissible mistake
gazing past to a solo star
dumbstruck and dead
from an evaluation
and dehydration
dying to know
forget it.
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 12:03 AM UTC
I love the number three
In all its numerology.
The universe,
Yes, every atom
Builds paragons,
With protons and
ons and ons...
Three illustrates our progression
As the sum of all before.
Our music finds accord
When three notes
Blend to chord.
Love and all we deem
Of worth,
Is here,
Third planet,
Earth,
Where life gives birth
To you and I and us,
Dependant on
Animal, ore and vegetation
To ensure regeneration.
We grew, grow and nurture
In past, present and future.
Our words, thoughts and deeds
Are civilization's seeds
For a wholesome, safe and peaceful life
With Faith, Hope and Charity.
My favourite three priorities:
Andrea, Maggie and Kathleen.
Now,
With the birth of Aine,
I'm in love with four.
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 12:46 PM UTC
A nascent society gluttonously feeds
on the palingenesis of hyaline paragons
forged by stolid and archaic eremites.
A whilom friendship leaks a susurrus
of tristful regret,
while pernicious ***** maunder
puerile attacks on munificent
intellectuals who only wish to
augment risible souls and divagate
from vertiginous roads too often traveled.
Such a chimerical respect for tradition
is too rigid to be broken alone.
Jan 13, 2011
Jan 13, 2011 at 3:06 PM UTC
You'd better run boys,the fires will come boys and burn you out,girls who would flaunt regulations to haunt you will burn along with you,the night's turning blue and the fire's burning black.
Jack who was Tom's mate unaware of his own fate booked a passage to Paris with Maryss, his wife.
It was Hogarth who painted the ****** and the tainted in the liberty of gardens,men hiding their hard ons,paragons of chastity and chasing the mollies to ****** their follies,how jolly it seemed to the Queen of the boardwalks who listened to wild talks and ate turkey and ham,
Shakespeare was saddened,Marlowe quite maddened by the fayre and the stew houses where blouses were shed and doxies were led like little lambs to the slaughter,and the daughters of Satan who were dressed in fine satin,sat in the background watching this fairground.
Then the curse of the cutpurse was cast all about them,men scurried away quickly to the ferries for Putney and Pepys wrote in his diary,
'hahaha the fire didn't get me'
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 8:41 PM UTC
plot out distances between freckles
and count the amount of hairs;
in a beauteous analysis
a cold witnessing
of)a featured lifeless gaze
projected onto windows
refracted in time with the pounding
from lost soulless ghouls
in a dank puddled basement
as we stare through keyholes
the length of life waits to rescind
to wash up on the shoreline
anew, once refreshed
with Angina on
wading in cyclic waves
in deposits of reveries
stale orangeade sonatas
and dull area tirades
the purpose
economized
every axiom
americanized
and as your atoms become depersonalized
tension is materialized, in ornate ivory
shattered brass instruments rusted by
novels written to god
in a
fractured light
and range
cramped in a curtailed distance
a brickwall deadend universe
gnashing with frustration
****** yawns of futility
closed viaducts
and vacant lots
deafened eyes, grey
glimmering in retort
to their own expression
blind sight was squandered by the snapback, of all the
strings of the orchestra as they were simultaneously snipped
by sharp prying eyes, listening to the mixing of paint
to smell the music, its arms limp, vivid
wishing to pull you back (in hindsight)
with dreaded, deadened incantations
a dithyrambic liturgy to the drunken thoughtless night
of slurred litanies and unappeasable, irascible deities
lonely and immaculate, all-powerless and deft
in irksome quarrels and arguments
glossed over by the fine print of another
exalting the vainglorious self-inscribed paragons
and revelling every inadmissible mistake
gazing past to a solo star
dumbstruck and dead
from an evaluation
and dehydration
dying to know
forget it.
Mar 19, 2016
Mar 19, 2016 at 4:19 PM UTC
Like a fire
During the rain,
A hail
On a deserted place,
Like an astronaut
That’s scared of heights,:
Structures of teachers
While giving future to the youth
Their blood has the color of gold
A treasure in disguise
A diamond
Shining each and everyday
They are saviors
A legend for sure
Taught us to mirror the future
Make it better than that
While learners turn to black and gray,
They use their chalk
To make it vibrant
Like a wrecked road
Alone in the middle of nowhere,
Fixed it
Then made it
A road to triumph
Sep 22, 2016
Sep 22, 2016 at 5:47 AM UTC
poet Marvin Brato Sr
Inspired Pen - Poem by Marvin Brato Sr
Day by day you give me inspiration
Your graceful countenance beatifies me
The innate beauty that you possess
Captures my whole being... my very soul!
Wherever I go or stay, I always think of you
Even in my solemn slumber I see your face
In my vivid imagination, I can not erase you
I dream of you... my fairest one.
If only I have a face like that of Adonis
Or perhaps an intellect like that of Rizal
Who were paragons as being a handsome & a hero
Then maybe I would not have some difficulties!
A guy like me was born an introvert
A lone dweller in life's secluded horizons
As a Pisces I am quiet & sensitive
Yet, I can be a friend, an admirer... a lover!
I have not got enough guts to converse with you
Because I think... I am made a dreamer
And my only means of expressing my sentiments
Is through my pen...my world of thoughts!
Dec 8, 2017
Dec 8, 2017 at 3:49 AM UTC
Prevarication permits pretend perception, presenting
piquantly piqued, pimply pimping ******* plucky
pulchritudinous previously pusillanimous, prevalently
puckish, psychic packman, pokemon playing proletarian
puppeteer pygmy, peevishly ***** plummy, plumy,
pompously pushy, pampered, prefabricated pinchbeck,
pokily plying plowshear, plodding peregrination, pied
piper pitifully peppy pornographic potato pealing,
parsimonious paradoxical protagonist, proposing
preposterous panicky pacification plots, prioritization
pertinent penultimate peroration, perhaps perceiving
perjuring, perplexing, perverting puzzling pronouncements
projecting pulsating pixelated pulpy pinball pinging
packets prompting pacific, poetic, phlegmatic purplish
psoriasis plagued, plumbum pallor pallid, Paleolithic
protuberance pronounced, psychosomatic prohibitionist,
polarizing perfunctory peculiarly progressive, patriotic
postmodern pathologically proud paternal panache,
peripatetic panaceas portraying prescient perfidious
puerile president, predominantly proposing parochial
principles, plenty public parking, purposefully
promoting pharisee phalanxes, pilates practicing
paragons, perennially peaceably proficient protesters,
profitable polygamy, pugnacious pitbull powerball
players, pandering polyandry, propagating professional
palindrome pensive peeping people, peddling,
proselytizing predicating prostitution, proliferating
phenomenally, populist persona promulgated peyote
phased physicians pioneering prescription promoting
paradisiacal pricey photographic pictures, placating
phrenetic physical perturbation partaking place
purchased (paid paltry pennies) por palatial piazza.
Jun 7, 2018
Jun 7, 2018 at 7:48 PM UTC
No more a whisper
Such were the demands
Demands levied upon fields of dreams
Fantasies sowed into the field season o'er season
Crops rising bone dry and thirsty for verity
Babes who would never know milk
Carrion who would never know decay
Work that would never know pay
Such were these dreams!
Slave to the whims of whimsy
Tossed o'er a deranged sea, churned
Nay
Spurned by the ****** that cackle in the depths,
Twirling their hands as would a maestro
and the dreams dance by these strings
Reigns upon the centaur
Thought himself more man than beast
but his master proves him wrong
throttles his dreams like so many tragic ****** and still...
And still!
He dreams.
But the dreams begin to seep a saucy essence
The stuff of childbirths and ****** victories upon the battlefield
Both an emerging of brilliance and an escape of nightmare
Both a wailing cry and a roaring scream
And the scaffolding clinks and clanks around the wispy form of the dream
And it clinks and clunks its way up, providing the mold for new dawn.
The prophet, who is both midwife and sycophant, utters a chorus of impassioned voices singing to the ends of the universe,
while the dream bulges and creaks against the form of the mold.
The scaffolding breaks in an uproar of so many eggshell fragments, blasting forth like shrapnel
And the veil of ignorance is pierced by this awakening.
And a hush falls upon the world in a tremor of silence
And the ache is felt in the effort of producing a single thought
For all is absent in the wake of this dream made flesh...
"She is here,"
The paragons of ages announce,
"And she will command your pleasures until your pains are destitute... and you shall live no more, for what is life without pain."
Mar 26, 2019
Mar 26, 2019 at 5:01 PM UTC
They asked for excellence in all things
money made for the masters’ purse
relying on sweat to show my worth
coffers filled by my work
put on the smile that radiates
a thousand watts of brilliance
happiness is the currency
of social norms all embrace
the bonding between one or more
is paragon for all involved
never with tears, avoiding the shouts
happiness found with these masks
never to sin is the goal
lest Lord Satan takes my soul
forever and ever in lakes of fire
rightness avoiding this awful Hell
model citizen that knows what’s best
balance of helping the unfortunate
while keeping the troubled in their place
Solomon smiles at my wisdom’s breath
refinement of manners and of speech
never a hair seen out of place
always the best said in its time
suave is only way they know
finally there’s beauty’s realm
seeking ****** to show my worth
pleasuring all by sight and by touch
creating a world with ******* ******
these paragons are not my life
as ideal achievements escape my grasp
I was born to be real
not to be perfect in all things.
© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170428.
Apr 29, 2017
Apr 29, 2017 at 10:22 AM UTC
the good will fall
when we eliminate the evil
careful wrought balance
dashed upon the rocks
and so our paragons
our storied heroes
entomb their hearts in dark places
and sink with heavy burdens
the natural harmony must
be preserved at all costs
new demons for new heroes to brave
the scales can tip
and level once more
in victory we found defeat
betrayal, a sour taste in our mouths
but in defeat we found courage
bravery, hope in darkness
never forget that what is high
can always fall
and what is low
can always rise
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 1:12 AM UTC
Two petite pretties
pranced before me
paragons of the
impoverished society
that values surface
over depth
The dancing debutantes
Dangled their dangerous
And dubious dispositions
Directly in front of me
Enter stage bad boy
Blustering buffoon
With a silver spoon
So far up his ***
He spewed silver polish
On his nice Polish pants
Cash in hand
He passed around
His affluences
Like it was influenza
Vomiting vague
Platitudes with
So much attitude
As if he had
Anything valid to say
But this crowd was rapt
With the vapid vocalist
He drank expensive ****
To prove he was valid
No valor just vain vagaries
On display to frustrate me
Greatly
They celebrated the success of a
Failing millionaire who was premade
By the fortune that his father made
To bail him out of all of his mistakes
As he played society like a broken violin
I was trying to bring talented art back in
But society placed me in the trash bin
Before I could even begin
To purge the poison
The incurably incurious
Perpetuators of
Shallowness
So I bow out of this
Cause I thought
We were working together
To make each other’s life better
But it turns out I was
Running a race
I did not even know about
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 7:08 PM UTC
The following is not a paid advertisement. It is the truth. It is arguably plausible for me to state that I received the best secondary and higher education in the world.
I graduated from Phillips Academy (more commonly referred to as Andover now), the oldest boarding school in America founded in 1778, two years after our nation was founded. Andover and its sequel, Exeter, it seems, now take turns being voted the best high school in the United States.
Though I received an essentially unequalled secondary education at Andover, I paid an exorbitant social and emotional cost to receive it. The years I spent at Andover were the worst of my life.
I chose to matriculate to Columbia College, the tradional undergraduate liberal arts school of Columbia University, over Yale
for principally two main reasons: the Core Curriculum and New York City. More years at Yale would be like returning to Andover, anathema to me.
The Core Curriculum, now over 100 years old, is a rigorous, two-year course of studies that include philosophy, literature. art, music, language, frontiers of science, and writing. All College students, regardless of her or his majors, must take all the Core courses, which, in turn, make them learned for life. Columbia College is the only Ivy school to have anything like the Core. Living in and exploring New York City, the veritable capital of the world, for four years makes one a Citizen of the World for life, even if one decides to reside elsewhere after graduating, as I did. I now live in Boulder, CO. Columbia College's 2019 admit rate was 5.1%. Columbia College admitted a few over 2,000 applicants out of slightly over 42,000 applicants worldwide, making Columbia College the second most selective school in the Ivy League. 5.1 % admit rate: that's about 1 out of 20.
But even Columbia has its "bad apples:" Roy Cohn comes to mind readily. So does William Barr. But it also has Barach Obama. 84 students who studied or professors who taught there won the Nobel Prize.
So what to do with this piece CAN WE PROFIT OFF IT?
It sees to me that the maxim DO UNTO OTHERS...is rapidly being supplanted by CAN WE PROFIT OFF IT? Our political leaders, who have never been paragons of virtue, have for 3 1/2 years have become, in a word, corrupt. The Washington Post has authenticated more than 15,000 lies emanating from the Oval Office, not to mention the cheating, the racism, and the ******
CAN WE PROFIT OFF IT? is the new adage these days.
I say "Make America A Democracy Again!" should be.
May 19, 2020
May 19, 2020 at 12:19 AM UTC
Primeval drops concealed
in meteorites cascading
on a coagulating planet
where temperatures dove,
just enough to hoard
the lymph gingerly forming
oceans springing life, birthing
after many million years
of labour humans, hiding
inside their beings composing
their bodies dooming,
them endlessly to need
liquid blue paragons covering
the surface of a rocky sphere,
while only few dare to dig in
deeper. Of the entire treasure only
one percent can quench
the thirst of living creatures yet,
as all diamonds on Earth entice
ignoble notes of greed,
the exchequer is governed
by unfair rulers careless
of the poor, albeit their poverty
is by them imposed.
I spoke words of water
cycles to the kids who walked,
miles with buckets to polluted rivers,
frantically running to place
rusted containers under
sporadic tropical rains. They listened
and looked at me in awe,
uncomprehending why
some had less and some had more.
To date each time I open
the faucets each drop,
reverberates my gratitude
as my skin absorbs, particles
saddened by the unjust
sharing of a gift
given to us by stars.
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 4:59 AM UTC