"philistines" poems
ponces! nancies! veritable egrets of men!
people pleasing anti-charismatic animals
philistines, every one of them,
everyone else
a curse upon their forebears and a curse upon their goings-on
terrible business, that
the world should be filled with boundary pushing eccentrics, that is progress!
a plague upon normalcy, a plague upon stagnancy
uninteresting, dying off, done
ugh!
greatness can not be expected of all but at least an attempt should be made
how else will we overcome, will we build our utopia?
what use is MY struggle when others are defeated in making a move past the remote
television is for swine
rots your brain and morals
I've swell morals, just look at them
my morals reach to the moon
my morals are so swell I should run the country
my morals aren't two millenia old scriptures written by the seers of goat-tenders
my morals are modern, they are sleek and well dictated, they represent the future
my morals defy the past, my morals create new paradigms
why, you could say my morals defy all of traditionalism
and a curse upon tradition!
who ever learned from the past
history is rife with naught but sufferance
forwards is the only direction
forwards is revealed only to me
my ideals aglow with the lumine of the future
they are entrenched in idealism
me and mine, we are ideal
Jan 30, 2016
Jan 30, 2016 at 1:30 AM UTC
Along the banks of Lake Shelbyville
That’s what I think of when it’s your birthday
A camp fire burning on a cool April night
We two drinking hot mauled cider
Or better yet “Hornsby’s Draft Cider”
Talking and laughing
Making up parodies
Parodies of Zeppelin and Floyd songs
Listening to the nightingales and the crickets
And watching fire light
That almost appears to be living
Watching slow rolling clouds, and feeling the whispering wind
Rolling in and out and over and under
The engaging light of the moon and stars
And maybe some of our friends were there
And maybe it was only us
Brother and sister
Best friends forever
Retelling stories of our past
Creating memories for our future
Waxing religion and philosophy
Such philistines, think my parents
And your parents don’t get it
And yes we have separate parents
And yes we have the same parents
(Adoption is a funny thing you see)
You are my funny BIG, BIG, BIG brother
Santa Claus, Sasquatch, Cave Man, and Viking
And I am your little crazy sister
Flower Child and Sacagawea
And it is your birthday
And I love you always
Love, Sarah Jane Gillian Tiffany Michelle Whispering Wind Grider Minks Summers Jonathan George Washington Francis Fleming Greenlee Whiter Liston Hall
Aka Awesome Pagan Goddess
Apr 28, 2012
Apr 28, 2012 at 1:36 PM UTC
All it took was three steps up
Doors swung open before me
I approached Him, who sat still and unmoving.
unaffected by Time but ravaged by the pain of doubt and ignorance
All it took was three steps forward
Then, strength and courage left me
Worn-down
Beaten by life’s merciless hand
My knees sank as Life’s hand grasped my shoulders and I felt his burden
My whole being collapsed upon the marble floor
The sound echoed and cruelly dealt a strike to my ears,
My senses and my soul
As if Moses struck the rock with his staff
The water came forth
Flowing freely from my soul against sallow, weary skin
Hands trembling
Body aching
I closed my eyes
I saw darkness but an image appeared
****** and bruised
It took all my strength
To utter three questions:
Why (to the Father)
Why does the grass grow, rich and fertile
only to provide for those that destroy it?
Why does my neighbor strip me bare and steal my coat
To leave me unsheltered from the cold wind’s bitter punishment?
Why must I walk this lonely and sullen earth
While the black crow pecks violently at my flesh?
Why? For I have loved but have been despised in return.
Who (to the Son)
Who is the snake that lies?
The brother that prays and the brother that kills?
The husband that beats and the wife that endures?
And the ****** Mother that reigns over all, even you?
Even me.
Who? For I know none and all of them.
Where (and to the Holy Spirit)
Where does the sky end and the Earth begin?
Is it where the body ceases to be and the soul takes over?
Is it where I made my first steps
And tumbled right after?
The indeterminable line between sea and sand;
Truth and lies
Where? For I have looked and looked.
My lips, salted and mad, trembled
Pain pierced my soul
I felt it all
And felt it again
My body began to thrash
I felt it upon me
Misery, sadness, death, despair
I became Samson, tearing down the pillars upon the accursed Philistines
I raged and roared
For hope, wisdom, strength, and faith
I opened my eyes
And Light filled me
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 2:27 AM UTC
when words are few,
or stuck in dictionaries
unused or unknown
like
compassion,
tyrants and wife-beaters
scream
with iron fists,
silencing fluent lips
in clotting streams of blood
...and machetes,
severing lucid limbs
from able bodies
in active states of articulation
...and guns,
the kryptonite of cowards
and buffoons,
the callow voice of philistines
and goons,
blasting cogent words
and vocal women
into oblivion
....and laboratories
where forensics of
fingerprint and dna
scream loudest,
sending tyrants and wife-beaters away
to sleep with the devil
in a shallow cell
on earth
or
hell below...
~ P (#Pablo#OTAWB)
(8/11/2013)
Aug 11, 2013
Aug 11, 2013 at 1:05 PM UTC
Not unlike the monster for which it was named,
With debaucherous whims that divide foreign lands;
Here at the briny, gilded portal to our home now stands
A hollow woman with a torch, whose warmth
Has become faded and disheartening, and her name
Mother of Philistines. From her once guiding hand
Emerges world-wide distaste; deranged eyes ransack
The smog-filled harbor that dystopias fame.
“Keep, other lands, your progressive pomp!” shrieks she
With welded lips. “Take our tired, our poor,
Our huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of our teeming shore.
Take these, the homeless, tempest-tost from me,
Lift your lamp as a guide and take them all!”
Apr 26, 2019
Apr 26, 2019 at 12:45 PM UTC
I would so give a ****
I'd give you all my time.
I'd give of you my pocket,
quarters, nickles, dimes.
I'd tell you that I care.
Ideas and conversations.
So we can,
but split our hairs.
Ours is but imagine.
But it really doesn't matter
No one really cares.
For you can, but tell a truth.
Or lie with purple die.
A drug that made me
See the truth.
The rot upon the rye.
They can call.
Come now,
Be us,
The rust of sicophants .
With love of self
Such self romance.
For philistines don't cry.
Nov 9, 2018
Nov 9, 2018 at 12:24 AM UTC
Goliath never
Praised his wife,
Never said
He loved her.
He came up short
Of his intent,
She felt more worthy,
Had to vent,
So stole off from
The Philistine camp,
Crossed the sands
Like a vamp,
To join Israelites
Preparing
For the final fight.
A challenge
Came
From the Giant,
To send out one
To die defiant.
David rose
In shepherd's clothes,
Goliath's wife
Lay near.
When David reached
For shield and spear,
She handed him
A bra.
Her over the shoulder
Boulder holder
Had Philistines guffaw.
Her Double D's,
Once there to please,
Brought Goliath
Grovelling
To his knees.
He lopped off
Goliath's head,
Enjoyed the same
Back in bed.
The lesson taught?
It doesn't matter,
Tall or not,
Be sure to
Tell your wife
She's hot!
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 10:16 AM UTC
Identity resolved, blue ribbons taut-
I am speech, a verb, a praise, a participial phrase-
There are many battles yet to be fought,
but with respite and awareness of everything throughout,
and to know one's self is to know the world-
Action vernacular, I use words like disappear to identify-
Find one's self in all mundane, rain and flame and claimless blame,
I am the Earth-
Words like crush and blight,
For philistines and charlatans, I preach intrepidly-
A zeal-
Belief is as an ageless hearth,
smelting swords for smiting fear,
for pain and trepidation to disappear.
Reborn red-horned, and one dozen eyes can see
I'm a word, a noun, a **** a key, and All alive is a mirror,
It is dangerous to utter truths when lies are all the rage,
But I reflect the truth-
Every creature, refined or uncouth,
is a form of life, a light of myself.
To forget is just as whimsical as a simple turn of phrase,
all I can advise,
is to simply turn the page-
Normalcy and tact are artificial-
At base, one's merit is no longer superficial,
but to assert this fact-
This is the greatest battle of all.
Apr 5, 2010
Apr 5, 2010 at 8:04 PM UTC
Past the deep Gotham of my eyes --
The authority of my headache reads
The graffiti of the prophets -- scribbled
On the back walls of the train-station:
Commute, work, commute, eat,
Commute, work, commute, sleep;
Work Buy Die
And Say AYE-AYE, Sir.
How many Dear Mr. Heartbreak letters
Have been etched here -- (I cannot say how many) --
Deep in the Gotham of my eyes --
Cold as a city empty of alleys --
Maybe I'll please the philistines,
With much talk of good money. I'll study
Their scriptures about the nonsense of art.
At last I'll make good --
I'll finally make them happy.
I'll try a new part in my hair.
Maybe I'll put down this pen; stop these letters.
From now on, I'll express myself in tears.
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 4:32 PM UTC
Samson fell for Delilah while being the enemy of her
Philistines people, but the gods chose her to take
his power.He tried to make her be a good woman.
Delilah wrestled with The Lord, in fact, using her powers
of seduction and deception against the man.This way, she
found the Samson's secret. She could subdue him to be captured.
For sure, she felt sorry for what she did, when she understood
what real love means, but it was too late to change anything.
For Samson, love has been senseless. He sadly ceased to
continue this fight with her. He ought to love God more than
he loved the woman. He ought to know that faith involved the
sacrifice of sinful love. He became a simple , blind man.
He destroyed the temple of the Philistines, all their idols and
the people being inside it, after demanding the divine power,
when only God's love and the Holy faith became important
in his human life. Probably, Delilah cried for doing what she
did to him ,but she had to fight against the enemies of her
gods. In fact,she has never really loved any man,because she
didn't meet The Lord while loving Samson,while trying to find Him.
She would know that Lord means honest love, truth and justice.
May 20, 2013
May 20, 2013 at 4:13 PM UTC
darling delilah
what a pretty little thing you are
tell me,
when the philistines promised you the world for samson’s heart
did you know this was strength?
anne anne anne boleyn
what a cunning little thing you are
tell me,
when you sliced through rome with the kiss of a king
did you know this was destiny?
cleopatra my love
what a lovely little thing you are,
tell me,
when you drew caesar to your bed for the nile and for yourself
did you know this was power?
holy holy joan of arc
what a mighty little thing you are
tell me,
when you were burned at the stake for hearing god’s voice at fourteen
did you wish it was the devil instead?
golden girl marie antoinette
what a sweet little thing you are
tell me,
when your shiny blonde head rolled down the steps of a revolution
did you finally feel like a girl?
eve mother of eden eve
what a wicked little thing you are
tell me,
when you sunk your teeth into the secrets of the universe
did you feel like a god too?
May 23, 2017
May 23, 2017 at 4:39 PM UTC
Please take a seat
This narration is about a strongman in feat
However, I am sure this story will bring the house down
Our journey unfolds in the desert of the Israelites
It revolves around a kid named Samson
A Super hero if you will to conquer the world
But Samson was different from others kids
In fact, he always had to hid
But as the story gets more involved
There is a problem that needs to be resolved
Samson is now an adult, But God has a decree in Samson’s life for him to handle
Wrath unto humans who fail to follow God’s word
Yet, there are two groups of people, the Philistines and the Israelites
But Samson’s strength for the goodness of God’s mission
Now Delilah meets Samson for all the wrong reasons
The Philistines has a plot for Delilah to find out where his strength comes
Yet it was in Gaza that Samson forgot all about God, and ventured into
Forbidden quarters
However, God was displeased
As legends foretold, Samson’s strength lays within his long hair
But beware and very cautious
God holds the key to Samson’s true strength and character
Samson has failed, and his hair has been cut
He is now a Mordal and weak as a kitten
Samson has been taken by the Philistines be captured, tortured and be treated as a slave
This is what you when you don’t follow God’s word and behave
Samson must go before the Philistines King and the citizens
He is being treated as nobody, but the name Samson is somebody
Suddenly, Samson summons Delilah to lead him to the Pillars of the Temple as he is going to break them using his strength
Samson attempts to push the Pillars, but nothing happens
It becomes a mockery
Immediately, Samson asks God to use his strength one last time, and it becomes granted
However, the Temple pillars began to crack and fall apart
The Temple is falling apart, run for life, but life is not given
All is destroyed including Samson
Samson knew all so well
But his was his own understanding that led to his destruction
Samson has to learn the hard way
God you don’t go astray
Hero or not, Samson was the Great Biblical Strongman, and his story will continue to be told
But the Heavens reign supreme with the thought in behold
However, always remember, the past was yesterday and tomorrow beyond.
Oct 17, 2016
Oct 17, 2016 at 7:11 PM UTC
I feel my words haven't rung true from the start
Because crucially
The reality
is I was never that good to begin with
I only wanted to make some light out of this dark
But the emotion is
A bloatedness
Of my own self-inflated ego and pride
I could never call this as an attempt at art
Nor should others
There are greater wonders
By those who can truly inspire
But still, I try to play my own small part
In this scene
Against philistines
To fail is never a reason to retire
Jul 25, 2017
Jul 25, 2017 at 4:56 AM UTC
I don't know how long it has been,
but it seems long enough
for it to have been a while.
You should see them outside
as if they all came
from the same septic *****
The females become pregnant
before they cease being girls
and litter this town
with more philistines for me to breathe in.
Meanwhile, the men are sordid
excuses for fathers
who glare, hoping
that they can pull
the alpha male trick
once again.
And they will,
because the scare tactics
are deployed
and we are afraid of everything
whilst nothing much
ever really happens
except our passive demise.
The beer tastes the same,
the jukebox continues singing
the same idiot's song.
Everything is the same
putrid plod along disaster,
but there is much more of it.
Those who NEED to change remain
the most stubborn of all
as they push us further
in to this age of idiocy.
Apr 25, 2010
Apr 25, 2010 at 3:29 AM UTC
Smile?
(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCLXVI)
What? ere the daffodils nod with a sense
Of picnics in their sunny yellow scale
As twere of frilly cheer; whileas the pale
Eye of half hidden blue heavns trails from hence
Thin shadows 'cross the naked lawns green thence
Haunts with a ghostly touch; while sparrows hail
At intervals, and breathing is t'exhale
Without a second thought, what's not pretense?
Saul fell upon his sword t'escape as twere
Abuse by lo, the Philistines; died too,
And if war's gained a new face, claiming fer
Is't modern Troy? that it's a horse, what's new?
They'll let you see the palace' room in tour
Which is the grandest, and you thought you knew?
03Apr19b
Apr 5, 2019
Apr 5, 2019 at 10:08 PM UTC
I built the playhouse
To withstand
The seige of time.
Like Hadrian,
I dismayed the border people.
Starlight shone through
Crescent moons
Like the Ishtar Gate of Babylon.
Children shrieked and wailed
Against those walls
As nomads in northern China,
Or Philistines in Jeruselum.
But time is a formidable outsider,
And my small walls would tumble
To the blasts of tempus trumpets.
My hand runs lovingly across
Your names on those
Memorial Walls.
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 11:49 AM UTC
I asked Vanessa
If she had a cure for block.
You know that whisky dipped, **** ****** feeling of despair,
The **** sure, achy ***** tastes like *** Jesus Monday already,
Realization,
You've said every ******* thing you have to say
Twice.
Vanessa said, only pain cures block,
And after the limp life you've led, she said,
You might be incurable.
Perhaps, and she
Stared at me over the black rims of her glasses
Until I felt damp and exchanged,
Perhaps you have inoculated yourself against all forms of creativity,
Simply by being a ******* wimp.
You pride yourself on being a child, she said,
A L'Enfant terrible, a pretense
Someone who would swear in a church,
Tell a woman her cleavage was obvious,
Or pretend to count your change three times
To irritate the bartender.
All a charade,
The artist as infant,
That’s you!
Instead, here she hesitated,
Of the artist as infinite-
Do you get it, she demanded,
Do you understand the distinction at all,
She asked me,
As half a baguette exploded out of her fat mouth.
I didn't and I began to sulk, withdraw
Bite my lip and pick at the scab on my hand.
Pain you fool,
Vanessa moved closer to my face,
Put yourself in real danger
Buy a ******* ticket to Tangiers or New Delhi,
Take only your passport,
No money, no phone, no safety straps, no underwear,
Just go and see what happens to you.
Yes you might die,
Be drugged and have your organs removed,
Be ***** by philistines with aids,
Who will jeer at your poet’s credentials,
And sell your kidneys,
But go.
Go now
I will drive you to the airport and buy your ticket,
Throw yourself into the world,
Powerless,
And dependent on the conscience of strangers,
Here
Vanessa said,
And extended her hand,
Let me squeeze your testicles blue,
It will stimulate your courage
And uproot and cleanse the black mold
Of your depression.
You cannot watch life anymore,
She pleaded with me,
You are useless now and trite,
Know one thing,
You are not blocked
You are dead.
I’m offering you another chance
At everything.
Jump at it.
Dec 16, 2015
Dec 16, 2015 at 9:23 AM UTC
Where do society's extremists abide?
Rallies and Racists go side by side.
BBQs offer up well-done bigots;
On Jordan's lap dance the zealots.
Dogmatists rant in wild front rows,
True believers don't put on such shows?
Sexists cower in coastal Compounds,
Sects marry often in Salt Lake towns.
Troglodytes tan beneath southern suns.
Sepratists hold their final stand
On this side of The Rio Grande;
Fanatics occupy far Left and Right,
Partisans Op Eds are meant to enlight.
Mysoginists grab till they have blisters,
Huns and louts date brothers and sisters.
Philistines take our private spaces,
And whistle-blowers can't show their faces.
Of all the ists I know and abhor,
The musicist is a bigoted boor;
A connoisseur I abjure,
Who chooses tunes he insists
Are superior than my interests,
And disses tunes I like best.
So now I'll lay my needle down,
I've turned the table that goes round,
And plead musicists won't hesitate
To enjoy the tunes... don't discriminate.
May 19, 2023
May 19, 2023 at 9:41 AM UTC
It takes so much effort,
All my mental faculty
To see them equal
And deem it veracity,
Their brain capacity
Actually seems
To be emptier than
The most vacuous dreams
And my intellect screams
At the sky in defiance
But I can't deny
They are so absent-minded
At least in the ways
Of the sociopath
Who has grasped civilized
By the throat as its gasped
In the clutches of what is
Its ultimate form
I became
What it could be
An apex new norm,
But to them
I am just
Foreign ****
Over-privileged
A money tree grown
In a garden of riches
Which just goes to show
How so little they know
Of the world as a whole
As they waste away
Playing their chattering role
Their ambition consists of
A ball and a goal
They aspire to be
What they're told
And accept
That in death they will pass into
God's divine breadth
Every breath they draw
Gnawing
On better addictions
Their language has less than
A dozen descriptions
No gifted musicians
Inspire their craft
All essentially cultural elements
Lack
And the fact is
They are just so different from me
Too condemned to this poverty graveyard
To see
That despite such a site
To behold
I am free
To be living among them
Harmoniously
Nov 23, 2018
Nov 23, 2018 at 6:17 AM UTC
He did not hold me in his arms upon
the sea of Galilee,
he let me down,
left me to drown
but worse than holding my breath,
is not death,
No
it's the somewhere in between
when you're stuck into a scene, a
kind of 'Groundhog...'
A mad dog may foam at the mouth but that's
the last thing on my mind when
I find I'm heading South
into the pit and the bit that really bothers me are
the philistines who roared approval at
my removal.
Death may be an obstacle to overcome,
the Son of Man
managed it
and that's another bit that bothers me as I
sink and drown under the sea
of Galilee.
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 5:49 AM UTC
Son of Ham, slave of slaves, reigned.
Humiliated, but unrepentant, defiant, and unfearing,
They asked for one of theirs to be king.
Saul, anointed and prophesied, crowned king.
David, feigned madness, fought for the Philistines.
Apr 30, 2019
Apr 30, 2019 at 6:24 AM UTC
I think the patron saints have all been left for dead.
The lies have all been said,
and payments been arranged.
The depositions all went down behind the scenes.
The clergy spilled the beans,
but somehow the guilty never found
Have you heard of Jesus?
He was very wise,
now he lives up in the sky.
sing along, sing in spite of all the pain
sing in spite of all of the pain
Children start out in the world so full of dreams.
Then come the philistines,
who run those dreams into the ground.
Yes, it’s been confirmed, the patron saints are dead.
The church is in the red,
and we are all concerned.
I can imagine Jesus,
with a mighty spell,
sending all those guys to hell.
sing along, sing in spite of all the pain,
sing in spite of all of the pain.
The sordid stories that were hidden from us all,
except those on bathroom stalls,
which turned out to be the facts.
Children start out in the world so full of trust,
their faith was easily crushed,
and now we’re filled with a righteous rage.
Now we’re living in a new enlightened age -
sure that we can be the change.
Can we live like Jesus?
Can we avoid lies - can we be compassionate and wise?
sing along, sing in spite of all the pain
sing in spite of all of the pain
Feb 6, 2024
Feb 6, 2024 at 11:30 PM UTC
Late night drive-thru, red lights, stop signs.
Lately I’ve been blue all in the absence of you
And I won’t lie
The Philistines are out in force tonight
And I won’t lie
I’m back on the bottle again tonight.
I can’t control it, the weight of the morning,
I read the warning but I never saw it coming
In my field of view, or in my mind’s eye,
Well, I’ve been blue in the absence of you
And I
Like a beating drum,
Like a washed-out popstar,
Like an artifact
After the fact-
I’ll cling onto what I got stored up in karma,
You see, I’ve been a good man
But I’ve done some bad things in my time.
And I won’t lie
Everything must go here tonight.
And I won’t lie
I’m back on the bottle again tonight.
They say laughter is the greatest medicine.
They say a lot of things but it never makes much sense.
They’re climbing up the walls
To get their monthly pay;
They say laughter is the greatest medicine.
Late night, junk food, I’m ****** without you.
I’m a badly drawn cartoon with red eyes
And an ego on fire.
And I won’t lie
The lunatics are out in force tonight
And I won’t lie
There’s too much wrong here
To try and make it right.
And I won’t lie
I’m back on the bottle again tonight.
https://soundcloud.com/ed-coles-667440414/bottle
Feb 16, 2018
Feb 16, 2018 at 3:49 PM UTC
*Clinton in Harlem, Obama in Dubai... shop at Watergate Mall till you drool on the lives of others! in sequence the N.S.A. archives, meaning you'd be safer off ************ in Siberia than in New York; oi! i'm shooting a documentary with David Attenborough! get your own Jurassic Park of artificial mosquito insemination!*
and with a Nobel prize winner
you'd think the racial tensions
would be left a dying count of
surprises by giving five donkey tails
to five blindfolded children
pinning it on the ***** dozen
of the new testament, starting off
with st. matthew in Ethiopia
and the king's daughter trying ****
in the shadow of the crucifix for
the first time to feel both pleasure and guilt;
hence the lacerations in the Philippines
and would-be philistines when interest rates
came about from chiselling-in faces of people
into raw materials:
write poetry within a canvas of permanent
employment,
otherwise jukebox that ****
come on, let's write mediocre and let's write
without a hint of desperation,
let's fear death... let's fear writing on the fringe,
non-oratory, just there, poetry like
a penny on the pave, a Frank Sinatra sing-along,
raining coppers and dimes...
let's just keep poetry on the knee readied
for the smack for disobedience juggling two
professions, one prog the other pop,
poetry like a penny on the pavement,
rather than an ingredient list for a curry
memorised for a lass a'coming home
for sheer and sweat.
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 9:26 PM UTC