"permissions" poems
Michael Louviere was a man of the people,
Who held in his hand a book of the law,
And outside his belt a gun for his safety,
But never would he have used it for ******
I'm told he helped many but never killed any,
But Sylvester Holt did not believe it,
He said the actions of one create a whole guilty people,
And he took the matters into his own hands,
And killed poor young Michael for serving his people.
So I'm sorry young man, you been born with white skin,
In a world with the permissions to ****** and to maim,
But just to have freedom depends on your name,
But if you think its good I suppose ill let you,
Work for a cause that is just out to get you,
And keeping in line with the others before him,
Sylvester took the bait and the hook nearly gored him,
But the worm could've lived it was just his misfortune.
Sylvester laid down with a bullet in his chest,
And the gun in his hand had a burning hot barrel,
He assumed death was better than life and life only,
But in his last second he pulled out a small knife,
And cut in his gun small violent furrow,
It was then that he realized this all wasn't worth it,
He saw those two notches and handed himself in,
To a lifetime of no pain and and unwoken rest.
Jan 23, 2017
Jan 23, 2017 at 3:30 PM UTC
Un-Xplained… by Nirvana
How it feels
When we have telephone
But we can't talk
How it feels
When we have number
But we can't contact
How it feels
When we are near
But still apart
How it feels
When we are desperate
But no guts to confront
How it feels
When we can be in touch
But no such permissions....
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 2:58 AM UTC
I expand, ingrediently.
Song
sun, bare foot
on accelerator
all the way, heart
at last
excited.
What roads where?
Who wind who?
Because day meanders a tra la la alchemy
And night shivers me into
the furthest permissions of gold
Jan 14, 2012
Jan 14, 2012 at 6:56 AM UTC
"unconditional love dinner-dance"
so names the advert for an evening of a
big shot, posh charitable event,
which the glossy Gatsby East Egg magazine implies,
if you fail to attend said soirée, you nobody, will have no way to claim truly understanding the composition of an
unconditional love dinner dance
laugh internally, swirling,
riffing on eat love pray,
this ditty is what I instantaneously say...
*what do these swells,
with their self-appointed importance,
know to probe/defame my claim,
to this poem's title?
these are the factors,
the stepping stones from
my minute to the minute next
love
am I not oathed, bound
unconditionally
by my very own name,
which life bestowed upon me at birth,
to compose of this love
in every etching lineage, signed verse kissed upon our faces,
then, as well, oh so well, so swell,
to kiss our babies
whose smooth skin has no familiarity with
time and all my love
all my love,
uncritically makes no distinction
dinner
she loves me through the silence
of my oohing and ahhing,
these sounds,
escaping willingly,
unconditionally,
as delight unconstrained at the delicate deliciousness her love
has implanted in the dishes she preps,
with which she
preserves us
dance
she love to dine upon
her laughter at
my akimbo'd imitation of
'so idiot, you think you can dance'
hip hop
begging me between crinkling boisterous hardy laughter,
please, not to hurt myself
she, a Martha Graham educated,
Argentine Tango ballet mistress,
a life long dancer whose genes forbid her
to pass by the sound of music
without breaking out, breaking into dance,
in perfect synchronicity
to whatever the composer calls upon her,
to present the music, to inform us,
in body graphic form,
unconditionally
what they intended us to
see within and between each note
I need no tuxedo,
no fancy dress,
no permissions to comprehend
the meaning, the actuality,
the unconditionally of
unconditional love dinner dance*
I dine and dance with love daily,
and yes, to be very sure,
unconditionally
for is there any other kind?
Jul 31, 2016
Jul 31, 2016 at 12:10 PM UTC
*
*PART I
Let the world be
- against our LOVE
Let the society also be so
- against our LOVE
Let the laws, rules, regulations be
- against our LOVE
Let the religions, scriptures, gurus be
- against our LOVE
Let our friends, colleagues and
Family, relatives be
- against our LOVE
Let even YOU and me be
- against our LOVE
Let them be, Let us be..
Let everyone be
- against our LOVE
Yet it is NOT going to be
"The end of our LOVE"
PART II
Every "against" is just a gray smoke
Trying to pretend to be a blue sky
"They"- the one who are against LOVE
If they are eager to crucify Jesus
If they are eager to lynch Mansoor
If they are eager to poison Meera
If they are eager to throw LOVERz
In the pyre of FIRE
Remember this...
The air around us is "LOVE"
The whole world shall burn
In the grief of two LOVERz flames
So don't worry, it is not going to be
"The end of our LOVE"
PART III
We all know, we all know
That the enemies of LOVE are many
They are educated, smart, intelligent
Powerful, leaders and identity groups etc.
Those who can reason, argue & debate,
Rationalize with practicality & pragmatism
But they do not even have a heart
To feel the trueness & purity of our LOVE
So don't worry, it is not going to be
"The end of our LOVE"
PART IV
What comes out of our LOVE
Is the most Powerful & Almighty NATURE
LOVE in my heart - is not ruled by anyone
LOVE in YOUR heart - is not ruled by anyone
LOVE in our heart - is "OUR" LOVE
It is not even ruled by us
So don't worry, it is not going to be
"The end of our LOVE"
PART V
Today those who pretend to be masters
Today those who pretend to be leaders
Today those who pretend to be gurus
Those who pretend to "I know it ALL"
They won't be here tomorrow to live
They are only passengers of life
Traveling illegally without tickets
Because they are living without LOVE
So don't worry, it is not going to be
"The end of our LOVE"
PART VI
Do not forget, Do not forget
LOVE has taken centuries
It has taken ages
From the garden of Eden
Where Adam - Eve ate the apple
Since Romeo-Zuliet died
When Layla-Majnun wailed in longing
LOVERz have poured their breathe
Into every living thing on earth
So don't worry, it is not going to be
"The end of our LOVE"
PART VII
The breath you take is of LOVE
The breath I take is of LOVE
The breath the whole world takes is of LOVE
Who are we to say "YES" and "NO" to LOVE?
LOVE does not even take our permissions
So don't worry, it is not going to be
"The end of our LOVE"
PART VIII
LOVE is not even this moment "NOW"
LOVE is not a slave of any constitution
LOVE can't be imprisoned in any identities:
Religious, regions, gender, caste,
Class, society, color, race, age etc.
LOVE is not owned by anyone
LOVE is not even owned by LOVERz
So don't worry, it is not going to be
"The end of our LOVE"*
*
Jun 28, 2019
Jun 28, 2019 at 11:35 PM UTC
3 hands
kidding hands,
an autocorrection title,
was supposed to be
kissing hands but either works
man overcome with an elixir of Sunday bed warming/charming/chilling, lukewarm "hot" coffee,
melodious love songs inducing
languorously hand-to-mouth,
five finger fore play love making
a potpourri of knuckle gnawing and gentling kisses
upon a hand borrowed from the a tablet holder,
while she reads the paper bemoaning the sorry state
of the world, the government permissions bad guys...
and weeps for the world we are leaving behind
a mood changer with 100% effectiveness
newspapers- a safe *** condiment
think I'll reheat my coffee
<•>
my hand
she cant sleep knows that I'm up at 2:08am composing.
and showed her earlier today
the kidding hands poem
just as the lights were going down, downtown on
William's Measure For Measure
so at 2:09am her hand snakes over and wrap itself
around my thumb as if she was weaning an infant from
what infants like doing, or weaning grownup old men like me from doing at 2:09am, what they should be best leaving alone,
like writing poetry or it could just be the woman
pseudo-sucking a poets thumb as a way of saying
can't sleep head buzzing and in between I love the
livening lying of living with your hands thumb in me
<•>
the facement of your hands
dr. mandy is handy with a needling drink of boo boo bo-toxin
that auto corrects the face's reflecting times drawing upon it,
our bodies facement; an effacement I suppose, or maybe a
defacement.
very little to be done to keep the hands couture covering
from revealing what devolutionary year it is for you: why I write of the facement of your hands and why I kiss them, your hands,
lovingly, hoping the natural toxins on my lips can ****** their aging,
and if they can't, then it is a great way of saying
I love you
<•>
2:53am
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 3:00 AM UTC
Hart-Bevil Cemetery, Tyler County, Texas
From service as Companions of the Conqueror
To the democracy of death and dust
This was family land in the long ago
Now alienated from the living
Accessible through permissions and locks
But we and the ghosts are okay with that
They say that only four of them were hanged
The dealer in false deeds died of old age
Some possibly were saints; hard to believe
For after all, we are de Beauville’s kin
From Normandy, and then green Chesterton
And then dispersed to the colonies
At the convenience of His Majesty
De Beauvilles and Bevilles and then Bevils
And some are buried on this lonely knoll
Dim mossy bones and stones among the pines
Across the fence a little heap of glass
Broken flower vases from the dime store
Now the democracy of dust and death
But once
Companions of the Conqueror
Mar 22, 2019
Mar 22, 2019 at 3:26 PM UTC
He ask me "Do you remember me?" he says it with looking my eyes deeply.
"Yes", I said,"I do remember you...
Remember your fingers that touched my face
Continuesly my hair softly.
Remember your breath that closely to my ears.
Remember your lips kisses peatedly mine.
Remember all of our's memories".
"Do I have permissions to feel you ?" he asked politely whispering a words "I love you".
Then we drawn into our love in passionate emotion.
Sep 16, 2011
Sep 16, 2011 at 1:43 PM UTC
in yours, I find the holiest of permissions.
in mine, slips of paper.
and in that of this
oft cut
child-
the least of our forgeries.
Jul 6, 2012
Jul 6, 2012 at 11:58 AM UTC
We are ruled by permissions
that we accept -but fail to read.
These apps may be free.
But we are no longer.
Control comes in many forms.
How do you control your life?
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 10:49 AM UTC
Learning the lessons that happened before
as they come round again in various forms.
Same faces and places setting up themes, we don't always see the patterns between.
Trends tend to reset and test us again, emotions take hold but not as our friend.
Sunk in a cycle of continuous loops, failing to think they may hold just one truth.
Decisions of a short-term visionary, skewed and responsive to his or her needs. This irreverent mist often follows a dip, perspective changes a clouded verdict.
Crystal clarity can skip our reality
as permissions transition beyond each dream,
when we look to our heroes who sit at the peak.
Feb 4, 2022
Feb 4, 2022 at 6:15 AM UTC
Recurrence
And again
You say those words
Evanescent
Now but then
You’re still my world
Repetitions
Ev’rything
It’s still cliché
No permissions
We are nothing
‘Till end of days
No warnings
Heard again
It’s deafening
Stay smiling
Just stay sane
Keep listening
Now explain
What you feel
Before breaking
‘Bout your pain
How you deal
She’s ignoring
How pathetic
Ordinary
Yet it seems
We’re still static
Arbitrary
Lies and whims
Sep 2, 2010
Sep 2, 2010 at 5:06 PM UTC
The young will know what to do
They always do
with their inate sense
of now
to act, react or start again
As needed
The young will speak up soon
They always did
permissions irrelevant
finding new angles
clearly seeing
that there is more to life than
Gods and Tigers
but not that much
They will set the new tempo
carve themselves some sense
from our nonsensical inheritance
In them I trust
Aug 2, 2013
Aug 2, 2013 at 6:33 AM UTC
Provocation is irksome to the humble soul who is incited to cross those conventional norms with ferocious and lustful pursuits.
As we summon the ancient souls of the abyss through questionable mediums, I am truly disappointed by the lack of authenticity.
My roots are important to me.
Therefore, let us move beyond this childish and cryptic crossroad where curses are said to have been released before the sight of those who presume to have been summoned.
The experience of deviance will never be divorced from a state of dissociation, where sincere possession withstands the empty assertions of rationalism and intellectualism.
The scientific futility of violence is an enigma.
Although the ritualistic consumption of various ****** fluids is a characteristic of ceremonial magic, I am unaware of that black light which flickers her forbidden permissions within the deepest recesses of my damp and historical ontology.
My dawn of golden equations is sympathetic to the threefold chiming of the bells.
Apr 17, 2015
Apr 17, 2015 at 11:20 PM UTC
Recurrence
And again
You say those words
Evanescent
Now but then
You’re still my world
Repetitions
Ev’rything
It’s still cliché
No permissions
We are nothing
‘Till end of days
No warnings
Heard again
It’s deafening
Stay smiling
Just stay sane
Keep listening
Now explain
What you feel
Before breaking
‘Bout your pain
How you deal
She’s ignoring
How pathetic
Ordinary
Yet it seems
We’re still static
Arbitrary
Lies and whims
Sep 2, 2010
Sep 2, 2010 at 6:40 PM UTC
I lost a battle
when I was hiding
with you—
casualties made way
for false saviors,
sweet lovers—
*** and snow,
that froze the pain.
You never said no—
not ever
not once
to me.
—A butterfly emerges
without permissions—
you might have said
(if you had said
anything at all).
You were that type—
that wide river,
that spanning branch
—a zen koan wrapped
in flesh
One fall evening
I stumbled through
the roses,
was bitten by the thorns
came clattering in,
fell limp on the
corduroy cushions.
You smiled,
always smiling—
serene like the Dali Lama
or some other
bullshit
you never said
anything—
till you did.
And when you spoke
I heard
the truth of it
the truth of it
the horrible truth of it
thank you
Jan 8, 2013
Jan 8, 2013 at 9:30 PM UTC
Dinner has been at its best
when It is enjoyed with her.
whenever she's at my sight,
happiness comes like a kid flying his kite.
and whenever I see
those deep brown eyes;
makes me see the whole world I wanted
A world without lies.
Without any doubts;
we roam this city of lights.
hand in hand,
as we walk this dark cold night.
Without any fear;
this love have crossed bounds.
my soul have committed;
first time, I have been this committed.
without hesitations,
we are encapsulated into one,
where every day is a new beginning,
I see how far we've gone.
And as we face tomorrow,
there would be bricks and locked doors;
I guess we don't need the key or any permissions.
we'd crash in, as you free me from this rough course.
With all your ways,
all the uncertainties we've laughed at.
my sweet young love.
my only dear, my other half.
Jan 5, 2013
Jan 5, 2013 at 1:56 AM UTC
He drew designs of passion on my naked flesh with his fingertips
the rythym slow and winding delicately, pensively around the tightly wound delicate-est parts of me.
It was as if he were tracing every line, every beauty every imperfection that was my essence in physicality, and on occasion he looked deep into my eyes for further permissions to which I could not answer held hostage by his touch and my indelicate wanting.
The bottom of my lip curled up in a tooth nip constrained the torrernt of love words that threatened to pour from my mouth, breath doing its best to find regulation and all I wanted was to be lost in His adoring admiration floating anywhere in his abyss contented just to stare at his unorthodox beauty, fashioned by his strength and decisiveness and above all the way his soul knew mine.
It was a separation unbearable made more so, by the powerful burning longing ignited by his feathery touch. caught somewhere between sweet Nirvana and torturous Hades; not sure which toe was dipped in which? These were fleeting thoughts that brought me through my confusion and closer to the clarity of madness. Eyes now intent on discovering him, devouing him with each twist and turn of his strong limbs. my fingertips begining to free themselves from thier trance, reach hesitantly when finally touched its destination a gasping pleasure realsed its self from his throat as i slowly realise my touch equally burning my own design trails of longing fire. He threatened to lose control of, breathing love and fire passion as the lines of desire's designs brought fourth an achictectural beauty that ochestrated prisimic baptismal fire that no other could have pervaded; and the words written in the burning flesh had no name just symbols, traced over and over again still not enough to capture meaning. It was all we had but it was enough to sign our love endless to the ages of ages.
some say there is a word that comes so close though many more words are missing, forgotten but still felt penultimate erotismiagapea the unity of all things designed to be craved by love.
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 7:02 PM UTC
Wouldn't ya like to know now what happens just afta,
like when our brains kinda are partially down by dream
day/night as you stream, consciousnesses the lesser of these things,
ways of getting beyond ordinary missions and certain kinds of threatening permissions...
would could The Book of the Dead it's essence be better here off for the so called truly living;
again what of these gifts, callings and missions, would you like my permission's...
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 2:18 AM UTC
Sounds in the mountains make me believe
that even over a million years none has changed
Borders outlined with visions, mere missions
Disarray of division and revisions of integration
A birth from same strains yet different stains
A thread within that never misses the needle hole
Melded with rules that hold prisoners
Forgone permissions deeper than the oceans we board.......
Mar 30, 2021
Mar 30, 2021 at 1:15 AM UTC
I am barely human
A dissoluted
Solution
To man's
Ever changing evolution
The trending
Ending
Beside
The march
To mass pollution
Standing, handing
Down
Inevitable
Slavery permissions
Till the clock stops ticking...
Tick,
Tock,
Resolution
Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 2:42 AM UTC
i follow a lonely, maybe just alone,
woman down the street
watching her
as she glances at shop windows
*or maybe she's taking a peek
at her reflection*
i don't know why i follow her
maybe it's to see where she goes
maybe it’s to take a glimpse into her life...
does she meet with friends
have a lover
does a dog greet her at the door
or is there a sick mother
in constant demand of something
maybe a beer bellied husband
stinking of filth, ***** & sweat
who gets his kicks
out of smacking her around
or
maybe she's alone
living a life
devoid of restrictions
commitments
permissions
& approval
a life that allows her
to wander the streets at any time
absently glancing into shop windows
a life empty of love?
Jul 30, 2015
Jul 30, 2015 at 3:47 PM UTC
I’m deleting you in fragments
Digits before pictures
Like pulling teeth in the wrong order
The apps still think we’re married
Offering me sales on rings
A carousel of anniversaries I don’t want tickets for
Every playlist is wired with shrapnel
A hook catches my ribs
The bridge splits open under me
Even silence feels like background music I forgot to turn off
Your name surfaces in autofill
A half-built ghost the keyboard won’t let rot
Loss written out for me before I even breathe it
I clear the cache
But the body has no settings menu
Skin remembers fingerprints
Shoulders still flinch at phantom weight
The servers keep everything
So do I
Unopened folders
Permissions denied
A hard drive buzzing at night
With what it refuses to erase
Sep 19, 2025
Sep 19, 2025 at 3:16 PM UTC
Let’s get a little wild today
After all, freedom isn’t too expensive.
Let’s dance in the rain today
Don’t resist, don’t be defensive.
Let’s re-write the story
Let’s turn the page
This is your life
Have no time for others’ garbage.
Let’s shatter all the bars
Let the dam of emotions break free
Why do you look for permissions
You can become what you want to be.
Let’s stop searching for love
Let’s become it
Let’s begin to live again
Moment by moment, bit by bit.
Jan 10, 2019
Jan 10, 2019 at 2:10 AM UTC