"pariahs" poems
Lest you find yourself amongst the bones,
Mask your face and quiet your soul.
Flock in lines of the mundane and meek,
Zip your lips, peacful keep.
This genocide of individuality is perverting our kind, incestually.
Perfect patterns, mechanically, processed, soundly.
The flawed are pushed aside,
The individuals are boxed up, shipped out, Pariahs.
So, don your masks, one and all!
Suit up, and watch your sheeple fall.
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 10:42 AM UTC
Poets, the disciples of the modern world.
Followers of the great Almighty Lord of
alliteration and symbolism.
Their eccentric natures make them the pariahs of this world.
We cannot wrap our minds around
the words they artfully speak,
so we refuse to accept them.
Their eyes burn like fire in their skulls
as they stare you down from a podium.
In their hands, they hold their own hearts
which they have ripped out of their chests,
holding them out as if asking for you to accept it from them, wanting you to understand what every beat means.
Poets are misunderstood beings,
tortured creatures,
but they are far stronger than any others,
because they have the gall to speak their minds unforgivingly,
bare their most inner secrets and struggles
to an audience of strangers.
They are quick of tongue,
speaking faster than one's ear can hear,
but somehow they still manage to work themselves into your head with every word.
They're parasites,
infecting your mind and soul,
tugging at you and driving themselves into your brain
until their poems are all you think of.
But they are not evil parasites.
They hurt us and make us feel to save us.
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 11:49 PM UTC
Metaphorical stringency
Idiotic transgression
Coat this democratic autocracy
Flailing capitalism slowly drowns
Splashing freedom in the face;
Obeying party goers
Stand as if a wall,
Indeed they are
A rich, extravagant barricade
Of outcasts
As pariahs under cloak
Stab the new age constitution;
Egocentric totalitarianism will sway
At the sight of a metaphysical blade
And the ghastly crown
Will topple to the bottom
The country has shed her lizard skin
Regurgitating for her new flock
Feeding a new set
Of avaricious minds
Oct 8, 2012
Oct 8, 2012 at 3:32 AM UTC
Planting excitement upon us,
My daughter asks how to thin the beets.
"When the plants are three inches tall,
Pick the weaker ones and pull them up,"
I say. "You'll take out two thirds of the young plants
So the rest can grow."
I see a troubled look upon her face,
And realize what I find in myself....
The teacher's quandary:
Picking whom to keep,
Whom to cull...
We put our love into them all.
Watching for first and tender shoots,
Celebrating as the fledgling leaves appear,
Not thinking of a time ahead,
Dreaded time to thin....
Teachers are reluctant to cull,
Building emotional connection,
Providing loving direction,
Promising success to all....
Then come the standardized tests,
The team selections,
The popularity contests,
The invitations to slumber parties,
The division of elites,
The rising of divas,
The rostering of first teams...
The separation of pariahs begins,
The promise we made to early learners ends,
Superiors, exultant, drown out the tears
Of those left standing by the fence,
Excluded from the chances to advance.
Standing in the seedling beds,
Spring breezes rustling tender leaves,
I turn to Kate....
"It's never easy....
But if we don't thin the beets,
The beets will not develop
Beneath the leaves."
These damnable analogies arise
Infrequently these days,
And I am standing in the dirt,
Black soil upon on my hands,
Wondering about survival of the weak,
The treatment of humans and young plants,
Pondering humane ways to honor every student
In which I am investing...
Wishing I could see the end of high stakes testing....
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 12:29 PM UTC
it was an inevitability
that we'd unearth the evidence
to validate Einstein's theory
of general relativity.
three cheers for the
method of science,
an appliance that
liberates and enlightens,
suffocating the miasma
of dogmatic parasitism.
pariahs can't stand beneath
the weight of empirical data.
a culture of imperialism
intoxicating inane idiots,
inundated by asinine philosophy.
ideologues instigating turmoil—
vainly believing
an intergalactic being
created the cosmos
in seven days for the
predestined elect.
to insist inanely that the legacy
of our existence could be measured
in seven millennia
is to extinguish the light
from the majority
of our neighboring galaxies.
you read the opening lines
of your holy text too literally.
open your mind to the poetry
of a reality that no deity
could ever breathe into existence.
we are not special.
our fate is tied to a
planet choking on CO2
and you deny the truth
in the same breath you
disparage any challenge
to your impotent,
imaginary friend.
**** sapiens—
mere animals
cursed with
conscience.
if you would deny
the ancestral history
of our evolutionary biology
simply on the premise
that it's “only a theory,”
then i'd invite you to put
your vain hypothesis
to the test and take a long walk
off a short bridge.
perhaps the theory of gravity
will provide with you some clarity.
Feb 16, 2016
Feb 16, 2016 at 12:01 AM UTC
1.
I heard the sound of your crying
from a bird.
Animals have souls, too.
Like the moat round Mont St. Michel
The size of the soul
Shrouded by
Accidents of life.
2.
Cobwebs and wax round the candles.
The woods are alive
Pariahs have eyes thrown at them.
Why **** the floor so?
Don't sit with your back to the doorway
Monkey's monocled eyes stare back,
glass orbs, while
Empty chair a-rockin' - a-rockin' - a-rockin' - a
Puppets dance
No solace in the shades
Don't follow the shadows
Which lurk and lead...
Marionettes and tin soldiers
On pedestals long forgot
A dead child's toy chest
A lion in a tallish glass cage.
Little drummer boy, rusted
Plays agitated drum
To match heart beat of......fear
Of drying sweat ....on upper lip.
Dusty frames on the wall
Interfere with flow
Handprint on window frame
Dog barks warning.
Spectre's trudge in mud
Closer...closer...from grave waters
Scream in windowpane: a figure holds
A face of anguish, trapped eternal.
Letters on the wall
Writ in heavy blood
Silhouette of an axe
Windy.....Branch tap on window frame.
Brass door handle turning
Staircase winding up to forever
Gargoyles leer
Leaves on the dry floor....wet footsteps.....
3.
Who knows who dwelt in this place?
Who's hanging from the ceiling?
Whose body....felt that pain?
4.
Then, into head flits one 'I love you'
Of gentle memory
On the lap of the mind
Of a lover
Of a friend.
Grey skies, musky odour.
5.
Then...
Wielding weapon to defend
Against....
The....
Self.
6.
Stop SCREAMINGGGGGGGG!
Star Toucher, 28 March 2013
Mar 28, 2013
Mar 28, 2013 at 12:59 PM UTC
Remnants of firecrackers litter parkgrass, splitting seams once encasing them;
exposed twine ribs attached, stretched out beneath shade like sunken reliquiae
dashed against the earth, as freedom is, withered paper husks abound.
What explosions in the sky were heard
above the quietus of patient submission?
Tracing the dotted white clouds to our horizon with thread and colored cloth,
held breath until nighttime, expelling then
-- as wind does each languishing puff of smoke--
from our lungs, sordid smells of Summer; vanquishing the past.
Isolating each other, like memories on kodak prints
we separately cling to that sleek filmy acquaintanceship of proximity and hue
-- disavowed pariahs and hearts lit anew.
Fused inside one sallow skull-box, which doubled once for holding shoes, we linger.
Ideas, impulses and infringements on the eye, until-- once--
bound, unbroken, encased and unspoken,
our ribs unwind with dew-- after,
unstitching seams outlined from heaven and inundating visions with brightness
we descend.
Violent fumes of childhood intercede amidst our shaking fuses lit.
--and BANG!
Jul 7, 2011
Jul 7, 2011 at 4:19 PM UTC
A beast,
only a little frightening, a little wicked.
Only as much as possessed
by demons in Scotland.
I don't know if it was just
the cocaine-induced acid-psychosis,
or if we really swapped lives,
and shared with Burroughs in the Sahara.
In any case,
we share the joke of sacrificing children
in repetitious ritual.
We fiends, we leprous pariahs,
who know too much to be safe,
and too little to be truly dangerous.
Jul 23, 2013
Jul 23, 2013 at 7:48 PM UTC
Meticulously maintaining
Impossibly feigned nonchalance,
Toying the cigarette ever so slightly
In her fingers -- careful so not
To appear as too calculated
The pariahs parade the dancefloor,
Shades of ignominy culminating in a
Prismatic rainbow, heightened by
The stale odor of ***** and body heat
Still, she stays in her perch like a silent sphynx
Waiting -- watching --
Aimlessly, but with direction, such
Carefree flamboyance below her,
A stoop to which she’d never deign
And so she watches, resigned
To fate, as much a fixture in the joint
As the gilded barstools --
The closest she can come to confronting
The fact that she is no different
Than any of the rest
Jan 29, 2021
Jan 29, 2021 at 3:23 PM UTC
Plunged are the drifters, into cinders, born to ash, amassing, the blisters, of level headed listeners, in lesioned legions of the crass, who crashed in rash plagues, of pressed pariahs, burned in the churning melting pots of the bomb, and they sing the songs of the gone, while withdrawing, and unlearning the yearning to see, the unhealthy teething, of lost beings, gnawing on the beams, of lamp lit eloquence, fenced, behind closed doors, just living the dream, in blind sentiment to the cling, of the embarrassment in, smearing the sediment of the king, upon the all being, and all seeing, in the fleeting feeling of falling from the ceiling of his revealing thoughts, leering in the steering of the searing plot.
Sep 23, 2012
Sep 23, 2012 at 6:17 PM UTC
Have you ever killed someone?
I did once - it was fun
Coursing through your veins, a feeling inexplicable
Society labels me as absolutely despicable
A skill totally applicable
To the unnerving inevitable.
Psyche twisted like a finely crafted drill
Use the power tool to let the red water spill
Manipulate the masses - fill yourself with the thrill
Heart palpitating at a rate insatiable
Mind blank when I'm choking my victim on the table
Breaking down? Reconstruct it
Won't shut up? Throw 'em in the pit
Won't back off? Shoot their kneecaps and watch them sit
Talking back? Break their jaws
Disobedient? Light 'em up, show them who's above the law
Pariahs shall overcome those who gloat around with their farce sanity.
Fear and isolation shall corrode your mentality
Courage and friends are a waste of time and end up peacing out eventually
Bustin' knees and pounds of rope didn't help initially
Psychopathic waves shout justice and formality
Fear inducing rage - human flesh like candy between your teeth
Break the chains of 'proper' behavior
Brainwashed cattle are so different because you're-
Above the rest and let no one tell you otherwise
The path of the common man leads straight to demise
So take the hand of an unstable mentality as it shall teach you how to set yourself free and claim your prize.
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 9:36 PM UTC
They suffer
the harshest loss
family
lovers
friends
community
occupation
respect
dignity
pride
Yet they endure
They live in the streets
or the hills
or the places where
no one goes
because for them
there is no home
Yet they endure
And there is no one
to care for them
or feed them when
they're hungry
or treat them when
they're sick and
they have no money
to depend on so
they beg for what
they can survive on
Yet they endure
They are disparaged
as pariahs instantly
and automatically
by most who won't
spare a second
to know them before
passing judgment
and who themselves
would self-destruct if
their better fortune
were to erode by only
a fraction of what
they have lost
Yet they endure
Despite suffering
every painful circumstance
and being dealt luck far
worse than they ever
believed possible
time and time
and time again
they continue to breathe
and to hear the sounds
that play throughout
each day and to see
what visions come
their way and they
feel the sun on their
faces as it wakes them
and brings yet
another day
And they endure
For them the privilege
of being alive when
all the Universe but
this tiny planet has been
without life from
the beginning of time
somehow gives them
the strength to struggle
through each moment
as it comes and to
be grateful for each
experience and whatever
still remains for them
without drowning
in the endless misery
of what is past
And they endure
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 10:38 AM UTC
Guided by beer light down moonlit streets
pockets stuffed with stale tobacco and receipts,
pariahs of the night, queens of the teen-age
attacking their youth in a drug fuelled rage
shaking their bodies 'neath schizophrenic lights
a typical night filled with hatred and fights,
the bloodlust was fun, a midnight boogie,
danger both caustic and infectiously groovy
girls all wearing dresses too small for their *****
disk jockeys playing electro-pop to please the masses -
#WAM!#
#BAM!#
#OH YEA, OH MAN!!!#
like raving corsairs they arrived; guitars lean, leather jackets sublime
o'behold the rip-roarin' Raven's Clandestine
["People ARE YOU READY?!"]
they played rock that growled in your ears
snazzy lyrics metaphorical tears,
indulging in passion, *** alcohol and heavy drugs
dismissing dire warnings with cockily executed shrugs
swaggering to blistering tunes in front of the crowds
singing songs 'Psycho-Bitch' and 'Rebel-Tastic' obnoxiously proud,
falling in love on the stage, falling in love in their beds,
adorning their wild hair with tassels and threads
blissfully ignorant they simply didn't care
wanted to do what they want, alas life ain't that fair -
the bassist met a rogue ***** contracted ***
the guitarist lost his sight, carried on playing though he couldn't see,
the drummer lost his cool and battered a fan
found high on ******* for 10 years locked away more than
and the lead singer, with his hip swagger 'n jive,
suffered a massive stroke, upon the stage in a screeching solo he died
*[he hides his sinister within songs
died gazing at scantily-clad chicks in fluorescent thongs]*
promising to be legends they rocked the 1970's ambiguous nation
alas their substance abuse and ****** desires had already cursed them to damnation.
Dec 30, 2015
Dec 30, 2015 at 5:59 PM UTC
Who art thou
to pass judgment so?
Harsh and unthoughtful,
what do ye know?
I have wiped
the tears you gave.
Gods ye are, if
live by thine name.
For dishonor
is what you are mourning.
While it is her name I
set on mine lips each morning.
Haveth you not,
Created ample distance?
Haveth I, the fool
not displayed resistance?
Cursed are ye,
in blessed disguises.
Ye, who laugheth at
thine Ungodly surprises.
Why? I needeth ask
why must i be subjected?
To these plays of
Satan your mate-in-bed.
Blind me, ye Cruel Ones,
for I, if ever stray,
thine throats shall
be mine prey.
Pariahs, Messiahs,
will not deliver.
The Absolution of thine name
as your hatred I shall utter.
Giveth my beloved,
surrender her unto me.
Unless thine aim,
is to faceth a lover's fury.
Throw, I pray, throw
thine jests Earthways.
But then watch me at mine death,
when I climb your celestial pathways.
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 12:56 AM UTC
Bravely you answered the call
for your fatherlands,
fought revolutionary wars for your mothers,
protected you children from the scourge
of corruption & greed,
the murderous acts of
villainous human-rats.
You became nocturnal sentinels,
counted stars, cupped cigarettes,
yearned for new creations,
kept faded photographs
in the special pockets
of you tattered knapsacks.
You learned the art of insomnia,
slept in the mud & dirt of your homelands,
spit lead into the sick hearts of the wolf pack,
whom you were always certain would **** you.
You became eternal combatants
& fought with great zest,
confessing your strength
from machine-gun nests,
laughed like mad dogs under fire,
those times when things seemed dire.
You were killed with fireballs & tracers,
gunships & tanks & planes & artillery,
died in shallow trenches
& in hardened bunkers,
in the thick jungles
& in endless deserts,
on mountaintops
& on beaches,
even in the cornfields
& on the city streets
of your own neighborhoods.
You were assassinated by pariahs,
the enemies of your people,
your blood watered your lands,
helped to nourish
your strong beliefs,
the flowers of freedom
& now you sleep soundly,
deep under the sacred-grounds
gifted to you
by the same blood
shed by your ancestors,
your forefathers & mothers,
brothers & sisters, aunt & uncles,
all the members of your family trees.
And with great love
poetry will be written
for you rebels,
recorded histories
& unknown graves
will be the stark reminders
of the size of your hearts
& your mountain of courage
will forever stand as testimony.
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 8:34 PM UTC
I drink whisky
While she drinks wine
All I know
Is I have run out of time
She's heard all my lines
About how she's a queen
And I'm the outcast
*****
So tonight drink
for all the Queens
I'll rasie my glass
For all the pariahs
Dec 22, 2015
Dec 22, 2015 at 4:57 AM UTC
(20 minute poetry)
Beat around the bush
no rush
you'll get there
in the end and
eventually
to the mortuary.
Meanwhile we smoke them,
the good and the bad men
it makes no difference to me
to be
the pariah in society.
What use is poetry
to a loser or a man
like me?
They sicken me
pick on me
soon we'll see them
dancing to a different tune
it
can't come soon
enough,
In the meanwhile where the
smile persists
evil exists.
I balance the books
bigots or crooks they're
all the same to me
pariahs in and of
society.
Put your cure or your curse
on the worst of them
they're all men
heading to the mortuary.
May 9, 2016
May 9, 2016 at 7:31 PM UTC
On the corner of 3rd Street and another downward spiral
The ghosts of saints drift above the haunted concrete,
And blood like cathedral bells stains the skyline
And they allowed the city of pariahs a goodnight kiss
And to die, by night and be reborn
Three days hence in resounding glory
But their utopia was stillborn
The sky stank of gasoline and there was a ****** on exit 52
The taste of cheap cigarettes was inescapable
And sic transit gloria mundi!
Tagged on the cathedral wall
The wind that howled was frightened and the skyscrapers echoed the cries of the abandoned
Hallelujah, haligh
Let them join hands and sing!
Let them meet unholy demise with divine grace!
And let their voices be carried off on the lonely wind
To disappear like so many ghosts in the snow
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 12:17 PM UTC
We draped ourselves in the failures of others
we hung ourselves on youth
in all the small places the people whispered
"there go they, pariahs of the dead faith,
stumblers in the dark...
watchers of bruised and battered hearts"
the news of it flowed swiftly from the cities
coursed through towns and markets
to eddie in the wild hills
and seep into the living hollows
there go we, alone
the last true believers of one another,
and an intoxicating madness we could not hold
Sep 1, 2016
Sep 1, 2016 at 12:13 AM UTC
Travelling higher than God through my former wasteland
Skyline was littered with star spangled pariahs
and the Earth swallowed the bones of the believers
And for the street youth, burning rage into their skin and choking the ashes down for supper they left no shelter
These are the spirits that sing your soulless chorus
These are the ghosts that bear your unborn demons in utero
These are the convicts that kneel humbled outside your door, crossing themselves in fervor every time you walk past
These are the junkies that sketch your morbid admiration in dull sidewalk chalk
These are the con men that pace restless across your bitter heart
And these are the children you lead to ruin, baptized by filth and fury
Wasteland, I gave you my youth
The screams of the lovers I buried with you haunt me still
Though the cathedral of the ghosts I made has long since emptied
My brothers, my sisters, my dearly departed psychoses
For you all I will return, a martyred liar,
Crucify me atop the graveyard of my artwork
And paint shades of vivid gray with my ashes
Wasteland, I've given you all and now I'm nothing
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 3:57 PM UTC
Pariah dogs pain me.
I feel for those mute sufferers
But can’t fill their life.
Many a times I have dreamed of
A doggery in my backyard
For those giver only friends.
Do for them something tangible
Send appeals to kind souls for charity
Creating a kind of NGO for these bravehearts
Giving them something from the more
They deserve.
I haven’t done anything of these.
Under twinkling stars
I feed them scraps
And mourn
When one is less.
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 7:31 AM UTC
MODERN DAY, DISTANT DREAMS
this atrocious war of insanity that rages within, the shrouded beast of dysfunctional desires that dictate and debilitate , the 24 hour transitional trance of commerce and commodity, modern day with its distant dreams
An unstoppable brute force , ruler of the skies, hearts full of love and lies, visions of hell exchanged during the first coffee of the day, modern day, its distant dreams, and battery bred headless chickens
The marketing of mayhem and prohibition of ambition, an intrinsic and intimate introvert the individual, ridiculed and ostracized for its apparent need to be that bit different, modern day modern thoughts the future of distant dreams is but a story of hope with an ever-changing finale
****** the pariahs, the instigators of our world fires, their expectancy high their losses low, nothing new just new machinery, new symbolic scenery to cast a rope over , tie tight , clasp hands and jump, careful not to make a mess as this modern day will find a way to profit, find a way to proportion the blame,
The new world order, you cannot cross our border, not with your attitude, your inconsistent way of life, bow down to our regime, to our points of view, the theme park rides run every 20 mins, get in line get on your carriage and get busy with conformity and ignorance as these modern days run so far from the tracks of your distant dreams, no more than incapable, inert, and shuffled along into others unquestionable and unscrupulous schemes,
JANUARY 29. 2016.
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 1:00 PM UTC
I want to thank you friends, wanna thank you family
for burning my dreams, filling me with verbal dysentery
my thoughts never hated, I'd hoped you'd known
If I'd gotten my own way all the people would be gone
they said they wanted freedom, said they wanted hope
so using chloroform I choked
their pretty little mouths, ignorant to the pleas
desperate panic running down their knees
I'm the god of extortion, of twisted violence and distortion
a pathetic lie, a ******* let down
sat atop the throne of shattered dreams,
rusty nails and surgical wire my makeshift crown
*falling in love with thy blackened abnormality
cauterizing the exposed wound of human morality*
they say God loves you, say he's always there
I say God disgusts me, he never ******* cared -
pariahs of false dreams, society's preaching rejects,
building holy structures of false promise and respect
the antithesis to every moral you've been told
if God were alive I'd shoot him lifeless, bang bang, cold
oh yeah I'm the designer of death, the superstar of disdain,
killing in the name of love so others never feel my pain.
Oct 23, 2016
Oct 23, 2016 at 10:18 AM UTC