"pillages" poems
…*in every visible character man differs less from the higher apes,
than these do from the lower members of the same order of Primates*.
Charles Darwin, 1871
The Other claims descent from apes
then acts like a violent monkey.
It pillages, it loots and rapes
performing as Satan’s flunkey.
Its actions bear the mark of Cain;
brandishing cameras, smashing things.
We feel its proto-human pain
yet dread the urban woe it brings.
It tries to justify, with words
its primal carnage, childish rage.
With anthropoid designs deferred
it struts the Darwinian stage.
The higher primate government
rewards them well in ripe bananas
for wrecking their environment
(jungle as well as savannas).
Their mate selection (naturally):
a semi-simian solution:
intercoursing sexually,
to hasten their evolution.
The wombs enlarge—they drop their young
then text their friends while getting high.
They swing from tree-tops, fling their dung,
while down below the humans sigh.
Sep 17, 2015
Sep 17, 2015 at 7:00 PM UTC
It is like some steampunk nightmare
Where working overtime is a racket
When what was time and a half pay
On the day I get my check, I make less;
Some kind of tax bracket scam thing
Where working extra hours put me
Into another category and increased
The tax they use to grease the wheels
Of a bloated government that hates me.
Maybe that dates me and it isn’t true;
That things have changed and it is
No longer arranged that way. And maybe
The way things became done was that
I got it all back as a refund. But isn’t that
Redundant, that I had to pay it to them
To use it like per diem for their games?
The shame is that I chafed and did nothing
Besides ******** and frothing at the mouth.
It’s not like I could go south to Ensenada,
Buy a piñata that looked like Mickey Mouse,
It was just that the house always wins.
But I have to pay for my tiny, mundane sins.
Why don’t they? Why does it go on and on
And then the money’s gone and I pay more
The next time some fat ***** of a politician
Begins a petition to increase their slice
And nicely reduce ours to a pittance
So low there is no admittance to a show
Or enough to replace a car that is a wreck?
The albatross around my neck gets larger
As it I move farther from the day it died
Even though I have tried standing up straighter.
It’s The Grand Guignol Theatre that life is
And the strife is to not let it get me down;
To be the happy clown and not the sad one
In a game that was begun to make me lose.
I am not confused. I see it, but it seems
Even in dreams I get no kind of relief
From a governmental thief with immunity;
The pillages with impunity and teases
That he does what he pleases. Neener, neener
What in hell could possibly be meaner?
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 6:32 AM UTC
If that Shirazi Turk would succeed in winning my heart
I'll give up Samarkand and Bukhara, solely for her Indian mole
Serve remained wine, Saki, cause you can't find in the paradise
Such a place as Ruknabad stream and Musall's gardens
Oh! these gypsies who are sweet and set the city to chaos
They drained heart from patience, as Turks take the pillages
My sweetheart's beauty doesn't need my imperfect love
How a beautiful face is in need of paint and powder and mole?
Talk about minstrels and wine, don't seek universe's secret
That is that, no one solved and will solve this enigma by logic
I knew beforehand from ever-improving charm that Joseph possessed
That love finally would bring Zulaikha out of her innocence
You talked to me badly, God forgive you, you said it well
Bitter answer is proper for that red-colored sugar-sweet lips
My soul, listen to advice, for blissful youths like more
That wise old's advises more than their own sweet lives
Hafez! you told Ghazals and pierced pearls, come sing fine
For your harmony in your poetry, Heaven weds Soraya!
May 28, 2019
May 28, 2019 at 12:10 AM UTC
His gaze veiled in a layer of clouds, he looks down upon us with such contempt
A perfect being, driven by such flawed emotions
A jovial comic, or an angry father
A split-personality sadist with a hell of a sense of humor
We gathered any words that he might have said
And transcribed them into our own human jumble
Every syllable uttered, down to a trace of a sigh
Molded to yield to our instincts
Dominance and glory, all in the name of “love”
His favorite son walks on water, did you know?
But the naughty children have a special place to go
If they dare disobey their strict father
It’s in every breath within us, shining in every ray of light
The human will to be, spawned from hands not our own?
It pillages towns, and takes innocent lives
Of those who chose against
The word of the “wise”
It sews our eyes shut from the ugly world of enlightenment
And guides the sheep away from the forbidden trail
The heathens reside on the other side of the river
And only the sinners dare to build a boat
Jun 12, 2010
Jun 12, 2010 at 4:04 PM UTC
dear god of needle ***** and poisoned well
i pray you find my mother
cold and dry and unfeeling
something you can draw no moisture out of
a different god struck a rock with a staff
a long long time ago
and water came to cool his throat
but there are no miracles here
so you can please stop beating her now
dear god of gluttonous apothecary
my mother's body is a mathematical
uncertainty
it is a function with limits
her veins are rolling with their bellies full
of chemicals that burn
her hair runs from the scalp the way
two legs would
from a house going up in flames
my mother's body
is a house going up in flames
i am a child that is terrified of a monster
under the bed
i am helpless to a thing i can feel but
cannot see
dear god of gasoline remedy
your counterintuitive science
your black dream
takes her body like a new land
teaches her it's wretched language
it rapes and pillages
it steals the recognition
that sparks her eyes when she looks in mine
dear god of intravenous dark rider
let her live to see a day
she can wake and not be bound
to her biology
dear god of pink ribbon tourniquet
let her breathe and take it for granted again
dear god of careful rampage
finish what you have started
and lock the door behind you
Aug 23, 2016
Aug 23, 2016 at 11:00 PM UTC
I asked you to come downstairs and share pancakes with me
and you did. You are so obliging.
No. Scratch that. You are so kind.
Not just to me, either,
(maybe I hate to say I may have felt: unfortunately)
but to all the creatures of the universe.
(Except behind the backs of corporate CEOS and anyone who rapes and pillages the land and its peoples).
Your roommate is from Japan and you ask him how his day was because you genuinely care to know.
I could forgive you for almost anything.
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 8:15 PM UTC
firestarter and match,
pitching endlessly to become more
smoke, then intense crimson flames,
aglow in my heart.
brick and stone edifices form a
fortress around abodes
leaving habitats adrift
and alone
(I DON'T GIVE A **** ABOUT MY PHONE)
passing and switching faces -- an
entourage that follows but yet
the girl is alone.
alas, fire ablaze, uncontrollable but
sometimes tame
marking the forest trail and
spreading the damage, sprout and then destroy
like a fiery divine being
destruction of the old path and
a clean sweep of the
trees that once seemed so formidable
the flame spreads with a staunch
persistence, to maybe prove that
yeah, the water is weaker
like a conquistador who
pillages countries leaving them
penniless
the flame continues
no concern about the consequence or
destruction, set on being set and
ever aglow, what puts the fierce fire
out anyways?
Sep 9, 2020
Sep 9, 2020 at 11:17 AM UTC
Many days go by, many nights come through, when I haven’t the faintest, slightest inkling of you. I rest my head easy, hardly do I become queasy, over the memories of what made my love for you so true. Have I ever felt blue, when pondering you? You bet your bottom dollar, though don’t expect the remotest holler, even on the nights when I’m mildly missing you.
How could you, do me the opposite as I have done to you? How could you do the things that I could never do to you? What makes you, so tamelessly shrew, and fail to miss me as I have missed you? What could I possibly do, to know that it could be true, that you have treasured me as I have treasured you?
That’s why I was through, because the moment I found you, you never made me feel as grand as I tried to make you. Complete as you’ve made my heart, you had a particular knack for tearing it apart, and that is why it is left shattered in its own aortic goo.
That’s all on you. That’s forever what will make you the best and worst of you. To be so ruthless and nonchalant with the damage that you do, and play it as though you had no idea that was all you. Now I’m left blue, pretending to be through, when all that I’ve sacrificed was due to this idea that I had of you. To slave in an asylum, to be a lawman and a wild one, a future as bright as a bullet shining out of a gun. That was all for you, my thoughts on tangoing as two, for the rest of our unhappy lives that would have been happier, if only you knew.
Who exactly are you? Who were you to this man who is now blue? Was it your pleasantries, so few, or was it a universal coup, toying with my hopes and dreams, of meeting and ending up with someone like you, someone I thought I knew?
My head is now a zoo, filled with starving animals and poo, moaning and groaning over this animalistic swine flu, that pillages my spirits and slices me in two, all from the memories that lead me to missing you. But I told you to shoo, after your silence asked me that for you, many moons of endless begging for anything to come out of you. In solitude, I’ll watch the drops of the morning dew, condense on my windowsill as I reflect on the person that came from you.
To love such a love, I have experienced so few, the dreams of this young man, who has dreamed a little of you, where I am kissing those sweet, darling kisses of you, in my head as I recall, on the nights when I’m missing you.
Jan 9, 2024
Jan 9, 2024 at 1:15 AM UTC
Americana, fair Madonna, tell me what's become of you; star's so bright, your war's are polite, as your ripped flag's red, white, and blue. Oh bountiful cities, mountain-told villages; starlit pillages foreshadow your deathly paths. Some books hold secrets, while cake candles burn tricks to cigarettes of nuclear blasts! Afterthought you are oh country tis of thee; so blessed in your filth, your kilts are images of projected misery. Find an Alcove you castleview kings; your tongues will soon be silenced to the non-mindsense you care to bring! Resemble with eachother patriarchs of hatred; national to all stations, you are the one in control. Forget what mother told you? Did you already sell your soul? Instant inhumanness; gratitude for filthiness, they feel for girly magazines. Rescind your rhetoric you false entity of enemies kings. Perch behind the clouds where the guard's can't get you; where pharaoh's confront you, only God knows all time! Subjection to viewest bozos behind bar-reason rhymes. Where are you angel of light? I see your face; or have I taken your place?
©Brandon nagley
©lonesome poet's poetry
©prison poetry
Feb 5, 2017
Feb 5, 2017 at 6:01 PM UTC
When the sun hits
She pillages tools from the toolbox
Only herself to fix
When the moon sits
Her ocular mislay the bones buried beneath chest
Matters not where she is
Some nights
She's left to claw a dresser with folded oaths
Inflating lungs, forging trust, to lift two toes
Some nights
The capsules burglarize her gas-tanks war
Stifling her endlessly to the end of the tour
Dec 11, 2016
Dec 11, 2016 at 10:37 AM UTC
I can't part water into verses of basic poem:
the classic forms make me choke.
I can't pull the heart out and serve it up
into every wave that pillages the pores
and I do not know how to raise myself from
comfortable fetus to raging sailor.
But I am still alive
and I am sober apart from the fish.
That is enough.
Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 3:28 AM UTC
“With what stillness at last you appear in the valley,
Join your divine sounds filling the empty vessels of night,
As pillages silently alight upon the shrine you behold,
First sunlight reaches down to touch the tips of pedals,
Her eminent auspicious arm band lusters dulcet canticles,
Sublime reaches things with aptitude able to shrill aft,
Dwells of brilliant wires laurels hymns devout in tune,
May we soon again renew that song singing endlessly?
Abaft her green eyes omens mayhap as emissary divine,
The bewildered by visions apparitions beside a hidden perch,
It seems that the resonance of a dove calls from far away,
Placid content sung before the colored cathedra naiad,
Fronds not ado had not noticed the presence of a naiad,
I know not where this solemn revelry odyssey would end,
My conscious mind we have much to discuss young naiad,
I abiding with heath musing carried by the scent afore me,
Inexorable time that passes quickly as time has stride away,
Sing endless morn of light with the naiad piqued at my soul,
Steadfast heart draws me out of labyrinth and takes Naiad hand”
By Andrew Guzaldo 1/04/2019 ©
Jan 5, 2019
Jan 5, 2019 at 7:11 PM UTC
his hands are not coated
by the same coal instilled in his place of work
they arise out of ashes of an unseen fire
wielding its flame in unwelcomed areas
where truth and lies are rooted in the same sin
masking filth over pale skin too afraid of the sun
and telling shadows their worth can never be proven
in the ether of endless night
his rot, his grime which he wears like a badge
safely dissolving his shame
for he breathes in isolated air
which lingers in the pockets of smoke
hiding the last face she showed him
for its disturbance evoked a different life
than the one he'd like to lead
and kept his hands from the pillages of dirt
hands too terrified of wash
to see what's been hiding all this time
when their sense of duty finds its limit
when the work becomes fire
and the fire becomes forever
venturing into the forest of night
taking pity on the poor souls
too blind to see what they've done
Feb 19, 2017
Feb 19, 2017 at 9:20 PM UTC
The tedious tenacity of time as it skips by, carefree and solitude it destroys your dreams
Boredom breaks the boundaries of beauty, this ugly face of reckless haste rapes and pillages prosperity
In a mess, in a confused state of your own mess you wallow and whine for the days of the innocent and intrepid mind,
To have become something that bears no resemblance to the visions of youth can only strike you down,
With the power of inert capabilities you are forced to stare into a world in which you have zero compliance, a world in which the greatest lesson would be one of self reliance
Obsessive compulsions drive the lifeless machine, its not destiny , its not fate, but it is the manic madness that surrounds breeding hate,
You search but find not the ability to make a change for the good, so the good changes you before your very eyes, anger, frustration, endorsements of the choices forced upon us
The course is set , and the way is blurred, barriers of bewilderment block the boundaries of your heart, slow but sure , as time rages so does the anarchic rebellion burn bright as out of the aftermath of responsibility comes the raw reasoning of liberation
Time shall not take my heart and mind away
As into the dark of my life I stray
And as the welcoming palm of wisdom is embraced
So the savagery of time is replaced
Tamed almost to perfection
Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 8:10 AM UTC
He stepped forward
said this was his one chance
to say what he had to say
That he wasn't there
but that he’s here now
and he’s got a lifetime to make up for it
He knew my fears before I spoke them
what is my truth
is it the kind that cuts and pillages
Because I have
and I do
I have robbed that old lady at will
I have broken through stained glass doors
I have rained fire upon all those who stood in my way
I have taken what I wanted
I have bent people at mercy
I have lied
I have promised
and I have broken
so ******* righteous
What makes you think you're like him?
What makes you think Im not?
He said She’s not like him
four generations of heart ache
Of miserable broken pairings
Four generations of devastation
he said you've saved her
You've saved this family
He said she's not like him
she wont run
She’s got a father like smoke
but she’s water
He Said she’ll stay
She'll be here till the end
There'll a wedding with two dresses
but one father
Because her's is gone
like smoke
He said my son is too selfish
You'll never find the peace you're looking for
so just don't go
He says he If he was a better father,
I would of had a better father
and I'd have a different life
I wouldn't need to be this person
but its too late
Because I am
and this is my truth now
You played your part
and now I guess I'll play mine
Mar 7, 2017
Mar 7, 2017 at 12:28 AM UTC
let me apologize in advance for the way my hatred burns and pillages every civilization in its wake.
it appears that the shell of the broken, mangled old-me has escaped her cage after being exiled for what seemed like eternity;
she's back to lick my wounds and heal my imperfections once again.
for two years i managed to function as a real person.
the naive little girl i am, i found sunshine in the warmth of your gaze,
i allowed your blinding rays of hope to dry every drop of rain that leaked from my soul-
you truly were This Little Light of Mine.
and then your lips selfishly decided they needed hers.
your most sacred monument developed an insatiable ache for her tongue.
less than 48 hours after i gave myself to you for the first time,
you ripped me to pieces as if i were nothing more than a failed attempt at a poem expressing anything other than loss,
or the paper heart your first lover gave you on Cupid's birthday.
i've been hungry my whole life, and though our fairy-tale may have disappeared in the blink of an eye, the entirety of the infatuation fed more dying fragments than i'd ever realized i was composed of.
Sep 29, 2015
Sep 29, 2015 at 3:06 PM UTC
Just because I can't sew my own shadow back on
doesn't mean that I have failed
For where the soap I use won't tack on
there's room for it to be nailed.
For one day I will be a being
that pillages and loots and harms
the hearts of many young girls that I'll be seeing
And my shadow will run from their arms.
May 26, 2016
May 26, 2016 at 2:38 PM UTC
#*Don’t it always seem to go
That you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone
They paved paradise and put up a parking lot*…
Joni Mitchell
Fighting their wars in business suits
Blowing up peasant villages
Lying, While the Pentagon loots
Our failing empire pillages.
The wonder boys from Ivy Leagues
Look good on paper, making war
Their covert actions and intrigues
Exhibit what they tax us for.
Patriot boogey-man ** Chi Minh
Was armed by US in forty-five;
Then made the foe as we sent in
Our troops. And some returned alive.
The Dulles brothers, with their spooks
Testing strategies, had a ball
Dropping ****** on the *****
Earth turned into a shopping mall.
And now, some puppet in Ukraine
(a Chinese laundry for their cash),
Requests more arms. So please explain
Before Crimea burns to ash.
That’s all. Their only long-term vision:
Body-counts— first bomb, then Starbucks.
Spectacles on television;
Do not question Daddy Warbucks.
Apr 12, 2023
Apr 12, 2023 at 2:34 PM UTC