"pillaging" poems
No no no, this isn’t one of those commendable confessional rants of redounded reality.
We all know where that goes and what it leads to.
This rhetoric comprises solely of the faulty intuitive comprehension and the ******** behaviour people have while under the influence of the poor man’s ****
That could be mistaken for a typo.
Xeno-meph, would be what aliens are called if they did this too.
Extended warranty of your sinus cavity is a must.
And a mouth guard so you don’t churn away at the capricious calcium that are your teeth.
Smoke and dance till lungs and legs collapse.
Talk like you’re the spokesperson for an oil company that’s pillaging life and land.
Change your personality in a minute and become the ****** you always wanted to be.
That smart talking, **** wagging, ***** licking, *** ******* back stabbing, self serving, worthless piece of **** is now you, but it doesn’t feel like that to you.
Rational ******** your only reprieve.
Keep doing the same things over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over again hoping the outcome will change.
But you’re cool.
You’ve done this before, it’s solvable.
A break. That’s all there’s to it.
The itch in your nose has stopped. Your jaw doesn’t hurt.
You don’t feel like **** but you know somehow that something is amiss.
Things are not what they seem. Sense doesn’t make itself.
The dark is your sanctum. Fast is your peace.
That’s not a typo.
The world cannot slow down for you.
You have to speed up. Another gram, another line, another lie.
Control is what you say it is.
Handles are what your stomach has.
Fast forward a few months and you don’t have a handle on anything.
You don’t feel down, you feel fine. Nothing’s wrong
But just another fall, and you’re straight out of line.
Justify! Justify! Justify!
Listen, keep listening… Talk! keep talking!
Everything makes sense. Everything is a sense.
The difference is that I’m faster, quicker, sharper.
I’m handicapped.
Leverage is my mind, broken and blind.
I wish that was a typo.
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 5:12 AM UTC
Time collapses between the lips of strangers
my days collapse into a hollow tube
soon implodes against now
like an iron wall
my eyes are blocked with rubble
a smear of perspectives
blurring each horizon
in the breathless precision of silence
one word is made.
Once the renegade flesh was gone
fall air lay against my face
sharp and blue as a needle
but the rain fell through October
and death lay a condemnation
within my blood.
The smell of your neck in August
a fine gold wire bejeweling war
all the rest lies
illusive as a farmhouse
on the other side of a valley
vanishing in the afternoon.
Day three day four day ten
the seventh step
a veiled door leading to my golden anniversary
flameproofed free-paper shredded
in the teeth of a pillaging dog
never to dream of spiders
and when they turned the hoses upon me
a burst of light.
7k
These Gnarled Roots
Withered from time
Will forever control
Those shoots from reaching
The Shine.
Thick and stubborn
Taking everything of
Worth.
Pillaging the earth of
its fruit
All "in the name of the
Shoot".
We are told
The shoot can't be
A shoot
Without the
Root.
But what about
The "root" of
A problem?
So, little shoot
Chew on the bitter root.
Chew and
Survive.
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 11:46 AM UTC
Feared on both land and high seas
Many a tale can be told
Of the pillaging of neighborhoods
Daily setting sail these pirates bold
Days spent digging for buried treasure
Leaving no stones unturned
The pirates ***** was out there somewhere
Blackbeard's gold is what they both yearned
After a day of living reckless
The warm waters would call their name
Where they would do battle in their sailing ships
Perfecting this pirate game
Both of them young brothers
Buccaneers through and through
Wise enough to listen to their mother
When she said get in the tub you two
Yes their high seas are warm bath waters
And their cutlass a mighty scrub brush
As legend would have it in their short years
They are pirates of the tub
Sep 19, 2013
Sep 19, 2013 at 6:57 AM UTC
Purple velvet curtains mimicked purple proses of long dead authors
Auteurs and Anglophiles expressing desire, the desire for Desiree
and she danced, she danced.
Christie too, she danced, she danced
Kick, snare, kick kick, snare, she danced rhythmic hypnosis
Daddy watched from the bar, banal dance of the bandits
And Katzarina, baby in the back, dances for love
Fatherless child begging attention
Dance no more my dear soul, for you deserve more
Lecherous lounge acts, the men in ties
Order another round, girls gather around
Please me, dance for me, ****** and bashful
The purple velvet reminds them of mother
Cruel institutions that decay our psyche
Patriarchal pesticides in pasta and porridge
On the side of the mango, matriarchal monotony
Oh stop this pretentious pillaging of poor prostitutes
You are but a boy at the gates of existence, fear not, for the father and the mother shall hold your hand in the heavenly harem.
Feb 14, 2013
Feb 14, 2013 at 5:53 PM UTC
365Nectar #60 Devour Me
Fri. November 22, 2013 9:18 P.M.
Devour me...
A provocative passionate pouring
of pillaging and plundering...
A pleasing prowling
of a piercing plunderer...
A lovely, limp nymph
laid upon a sizzling alter...
Smoldering...
Awakening all the senses
a choking of lust
unleashes exhilarating
and
envelops you...
Effortlessly evoking ethereal...
a sinister seduction
seductively seduces
and hungry hips
breakdance with hysterical
Stimulating a surreal surge of a sweet seeping...
waiting...
impatiently...
For you to chisel
an unimaginable devouring...
S slow steady climb to the summit
of the ultimate ******
Time-
Time-
Time... a tool to employ flamboyantly...
immediately...
eargerly...
Expose my conquered heart
that leaks
of streams
of cream
of succulent sensation...
Expose my tamed moistness
that whispery whines
as you build a legacy
of torturous licking....
Seductively...
Slithering in spicy spirals
of stirring screams
from stormy shivers
of steamy anticipation
of your redefining touch...
Suddenly...
drowning in the sticky sensation
of all that is us...
A tender luscious love liquefying flesh
and penetrating souls...
We blend in blazing bliss
tapping taboo for titillating thrills
you rock a rowdy ravishing
inside me...
I whisper wet whimpers
and beg for bitten breast...
Our wrestling hips
hug, ***** and groan a hungry growling...
Pounded into saturated submission
I linger in lubricating dreams
for you-
to...
devour me.
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 6:42 PM UTC
Wake up, wake up
The Whole World Is Watching
And your skin is crawling
I wonder why it's
Bubbling, boiling
Is it alive or am I?
Lifting the digital lid to let them in
Feeds that feed my insatiable hunger
For what my ex is doing now
Soon becomes irrelevant
When people are dying
Who will lose their life
In front of the next camera?
Why does it take so much
Just to open our eyes ?
Just to listen, just
Sit down
Get off him, please
Please.
I don’t want to hear another mother
Crying for her son
Another wife sister brother
I don’t want to watch their children
Learn why their daddy died
I don’t want to be this detached
From loss of life because I’ve lost my life
I don’t want to hear from a clown
Or discuss his position, even his mind
I refuse him my energy
I know big and he is the smallest
What is a President
Sorry, who?
What government
The one that destroys us?
Puts everyone in in cages, our strongest men, our brightest children
Makes us watch
From our couches
From our desks
Because we are that good at multitasking
Pillaging, ****** recognizing
Shrugging and closing the door
The powerful people killing real people of power
Of using color to teach color and power flowing
To keep it going
What does it mean
To put a human beneath you
We were not made for this
But we built it anyway
Was I made for this?
I don’t want to be here
God, I am lucky to be here
I am here
And it doesn’t take long
Not to be
Dec 2, 2020
Dec 2, 2020 at 10:01 PM UTC
My poetry is an acquired taste,
So come, dear one,
Place your tongue in my mouth.
Pace yourself, there is so much,
Spoke and unwritten,
That fruitions only when spit-shared.
Flick your tongue-tip to mine,
Sealing bond, the salt caramel of my rhymes,
The iambic meter of my tamarind prose,
The buds, flowering, poems forming,
Watered by the admixture of joint, minted saliva.
My poetry, so very complicated,
Hints of currants and ash,
Soil volcanic, basaltic vowels, oh's and eyes,
Cursed verses that commence with I,
Nonetheless, despite soil inhospitable rued,
Compositions flourish, born wetland soluble.
Yours, for the taking,
Yours, for the tasting.
You place your fingers on my waist,
My body of work to contemplate,
My ditties, you spit out,
You want courses, not appetizers,
You want truths, not fluff, lies, menu tastings.
Columbus and Magellan, thy fingers named,
Trace the curvature of my ***
With tip and tipsy stroked caresses,
You laugh with the pleasure of all the sssssss's.
Hissing all the day your satisfaction,
Capturing my writs, by your tongue's duress,
Recipient-thief of my literary largesse.
I am dressed all in white,
Stripped bare to my native coloring,
Except for two brown nippled spots, you lick,
Imbibing milky thoughts from fountain-heads *****
Savoring, relishing, stanzas that praise love's flavor.
With every line, every word-painting accessioned,
You make my soft parts hard,
My hard parts soft, but my liquidity,
My tears, they, that, you drink straight,
Licking, liking, and oohing and ahhing,
You tongue curled, upside down arching,
The storage point of your seduced gatherings.
To drain me full, your incisors cut,
Straight lines, entry points for your *******
Taking, draining, leaving nothing,
Not even one aleph or bet escaping.
When you acquired my poetry, my verbosity,
Pillaging soul's hiding place, took and *****
Your acquired the best, breaking my nape,
Imprisoned on and by my island's seascape,
Blanched and pained, a blank tape,
I am tasteless, witless, mockingly, tongue-tied.
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 12:23 AM UTC
You're so dangerous with your profane paraphernalia
Your pelvis postures pandering favor
The line of your stomach embossed by the fire is like a pasture for me
So paranoid with your pacifistic lust
As you proceed to please me with your posture so slightly
And I attempt to pursue oh so politely
You make me perk up like a peacock just with one peak
You're aware of every petty palpitation you can feel just under my sleeve
You play me like a piano, so plush with your lust politics
Pandering for a pardon of my ***** talk poignancy
I part you like Pluto from your orbits serene hum
I'll pleasure you, pleasure you until you're purple like a plum
A pastimes poetises to be written with pleasing lead
You plan every move like a predator in my bed
You're polarizing, plump, and pampered like a pageant doll
Pilfering every plausible pause with a pose of voice, your moan
Seizing the post with your post - modern pompous pouncing
Prompted like Pisces to postulate your prognosis
Lifting your posterior like the pun of a phaliccy
Pillaging me like a pandemic, a plague
Something to be paraded by paganistic plauds
Your pale skin is like playwear for sins
You're pinning me plastered with the play of your grin
Such a pretty motion picture to paint in the prison of your promise
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 1:41 AM UTC
Take me back to when top hats were like business suits
When the white moths had become black with filth
When the Thames was brown like the rotted teeth of beggars
And not just because of the mud
When the Irish and the Slavic were exotic
When London was Birmingham
When Birmingham was Liverpool
When Liverpool was a country village
When there were millions
And yet they were still so innocently oblivious
Take me to the city clothed in black
For there was always a funeral somewhere
London
The noisy factories
And crowded slums
The fear that the cold brings
The pain that disease brings
The real London
The honest London
The dark, deadly London of my nightmares
Every narrow, dimly-lit alleyway dripping with **** and blood
Full of criminals and drunks
Ominous dark brown bricks
The suffocating stink that follows you wherever you go
Cursing, begging
Lifting, cuffing, gaffing, looting, nicking, pinching, swiping, thieving, pilfering, pillaging
Hundreds of words for stealing
Where the poor are painfully poor
Where every woman that smiles at you is a **********
Corpses lying in the streets
Next to gas lamps
The only beacons of light
People packed into bedrooms like chickens
Sleeping on the string
Highly disturbing
But it's best not to interfere
For someone else will deal with it
Industry and decency will save us all
There is no trace of that now
Except the noble stone buildings
Commissioned by the corrupt
This is my fear and obsession
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 4:10 PM UTC
beard-red explorers
pillaging-horror practitioners
tribal-family groups
insurgent-nomadic roots
that
trailed wave-rammers across never-ending spans,
continuously-toilfully matters not the demands
women and men side by each
beastly-feasters no table safe
stand up for yourself or be a weak-waif
in the bloodshot soul-panes, fierce
pagan-purveyors by rites
despised-womanizers
siege-setters
monk-murderers
a blood-spilling bee
treasure trove crash n’carry
Thor had his hammer
every wave-rammer had an oar for every
pair of life-stained hands, the stains
were borrowed and the very life-drained out of others
blood-smitten berserkers, heart-stoppers
and yet
discoverer’s children
wandering wet-wilderness
found a Stormy-Stop, a few
actually, and one be Newfoundland
may-haps they settled in peace.
Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 9:02 PM UTC
You and I grew
up by the outskirts
of their society, with no other
choice, but to observe…
We pretended to hide
from a cruel
and indifferent world,
that was never looking
for us to begin with.
Turbulently, we grew
into erratic teenagers,
pillaging our world
with a vengeance.
My youthful rage dulled
with the waning of age, but
you never ceased to seethe.
I stumble by a lake
to find you there;
flinging pebbles to break
the surface, distorting
the reflection of yourself
you’ve never wanted to see.
In the settled water I greeted the
uncertain face, solemn as I was
to share a likeness…
And hesitantly I asked you
what brought you here.
We both said nothing
(we knew you had nowhere else to go)
All we could tell the world
they stole from our tongues;
The reflected face distanced her glance
from you, an aloof and bitter woman
of the rest of society,
and beyond your bent knees
the water had never settled,
revealing cryptic shards
of a jigsaw puzzle face.
Yet in that water I had drowned
a part of myself;
my animosity, and pride
against a mechanical world
that never pitied me…
Your vengeful heart
stayed forever smoldering,
never forgiving a careless god
that let you suffer, blinded
by the walls surrounding
your lesser world.
Nov 4, 2011
Nov 4, 2011 at 11:48 PM UTC
I am a criminal,
So you and the papers say.
They would put me away
For countless nights and days.
Tucked away "safe" in jail,
All for the choice of herbs I inhale.
That they would only have their way...
Yet I am no marauding mobster,
No gangster for hire.
I smoke in the evenings
When daylight is fleeting
And withdraw to my rooms to retire.
I am no plundering pirate
Pillaging your private property.
I go about my day,
As right as I may,
You will find no evil protégée.
I am spoken in the same breath
As delinquents and undesirables.
The infamously unfavourable,
Mire on our tireless society.
Well I am tired now,
Fatigued.
I've grown weary of living
In your narrow minded
Make believe.
Yet I leave you be.
Keep to mine and own.
It is you who lights the torches
From high deluded throne.
It is you who crafted and rounded
That perfect stone,
Hurled with such indiscrimination
Always many, never alone.
Each night now I wonder,
When I cross that imaginary line.
Such fools we've been,
The waste obscene,
Who really commits the crime?
Jan 8, 2013
Jan 8, 2013 at 8:01 PM UTC
May we speak for those forgotten far to soon
You play deaf to requests of human soul
Reptilian lies encasing the heart of stone
Oh Captain, No Captain. On this ship on the edge of the dumb new world
Idiots raised upon the pew, Hailed as Knights of the people
All they’ve brought is numbered days and promises far too few
Too Little, Too late
Deadly victims to the Maybot’s fate
Pillaging idealised dreams of united pride
All the people can do is run and hide
Democracies throat ripped out by the vile disease
British sorry, Not sorry state
Broken system, Shattered across the isle
Devoid of soul, To death do us part
Its Brexit that will drive the steak through
The Iron witches,
Cold.
Dead.
Heart.
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 8:16 PM UTC
A philosopher is one who
strives to think new & original
thoughts; I think you need to
rethink your views on
Christianity...or philosophers;
And I get to say this, because
I was raised Catholic; In church,
every single week, we open up
a book that has not changed
in about 2000 years; I was raised
in an Irish-Italian & Hispanic
neighborhood & lived across the
street from Our Lady of Good
Council, I got to see them all
suffer & most go straight to Hell;
I used to fantasize about being in
the Spanish Inquisition & going
on Crusades slaughtering Infidels
& joining the Knight's Templars;
****** killing & pillaging, then
retiring to a quiet life of Sainthood
Sep 15, 2018
Sep 15, 2018 at 9:59 AM UTC
Internal poetry while doing
Yoga.
I don't mean practicing
Yoga. I mean doing it.
Writing, because although
Yoga
Calmed my racing thoughts
And high electromagnetic frequency,
Additional
Judgmental,
Highly observant,
Rather foreign thoughts
Are returning.
The pirates pillaging
Sanity within
Are no match for the
Ancient Indian
And pre-Indian
Yoga and poetry.
In this day and age,
Yoga is heraled
For the stylish, revealing pants
Used for practicing.
As well as the many classes that reek of ego.
Poetry, on the other hand,
Has more or less gone obsolete.
They killed all the poets.
They have become replaced
By social media
Featuring those unsocialized with writing.
Now, when I need to hear the wisdom
Of a guiding angel,
All I hear
Is the pathetic language
Of the less fortunate in poetic freethought.
These discombobulated ghosts
Haunt me
When I hear far too many
Voices
And need stillness to compensate my illness.
These voices of the day, I fear,
Manipulate me in most unpleasant ways.
And being thinker, as I am,
Drawing conclusion and meaning
From everything I can,
A blessing and a curse --
Which, then again, are blessings nonetheless --
I cannot help but wonder
If this is part of a plan.
Orwell wrote of so not fifty years ago.
The language now constantly spoken,
As well as read,
As well as written,
Dumbing us down.
Losing touch with words of wisdom
In most trying of times.
This is what happens when
You **** off
All the poets.
Mar 31, 2017
Mar 31, 2017 at 10:25 AM UTC
"Every survivor of ****** assault deserves to be heard, believed, and supported."
Rainwater of
the Elysian fields,
you assuredly do
like to drown your winged heroines?
You write them as strange
bitter narratives,
spurious to the calling
or as a bit of
bloodletting go.
The history formed around either
her breaking at the seams
upon the witching hour,
and her own home village
pillaging her claims
in the bonfire;
Or the arcane notion
no woman shall give testimony
against a neighbor
on the occasion he's a man.
Yes, she cried 'no' at the temple gate
Yes, she repeated such entreaties
But she'd also been into the ale
and wore an overtly
fetching carousal dress
you incensed.
Let her dam break
Let her try and flood us over
you mocked.
She was only a wayfaring angel
one reckless bird of passage
What type of wounds
could she inflict?
How easily you lost sight
of her will & halo
becoming stronger than fright.
Down she poured in antipathy,
until covering your gaping mouth!
It wasn't rain that killed you,
for you were the rain,
it was her blood calling out
that finally did you in...
Dec 7, 2019
Dec 7, 2019 at 8:09 PM UTC
*Let's you and I pretend that we are pirates
And we'll both sail away
I'll grab the treasure map
You raise the mast, step on the gas
We'll split all our take in what ever we make
Leaving the sun behind in our wake
Let's you and I pretend that we are pirates
And the highways Southbound lane will be our sea
We'll chart out a course for far distant shores
Pillaging this world in search of lost pearls
Setting our sails for free
Pirates Pretend, you and me*
Apr 19, 2015
Apr 19, 2015 at 5:11 PM UTC
in my mind,
i work at a third world convention,
bleeding saliva and avocado paint
behind a mule's *** like
seeking coverage was difficult
or something.
now it's past
the pillaging of painted americans,
valleys once rolled with corn and feather's weight,
but seized by nation's serious fathers.
the table creaks as sister
literally screams, "Grace!"
and the cotton tablecloth even
bows its head in poultry's spicy scent.
i said it was past,
un-remembered after a
murderer (more than)
antagonized another's HDTV
(bold, high, pronounces, and shrieks
more shivering-ly
than when a spider stepped on my toe).
now there are halos
beginning to blush,
vibratos crescendoing to
the last of leaf's sultry breath.
Noel was large-eyed,
carols twirling lighter than snow.
they made the Lord
wonderous, because o,
my baby king,
the manger was not a velvet cushion,
and neither will his
(or your)
days to come.
Nov 28, 2011
Nov 28, 2011 at 6:42 PM UTC
my window, to the world
has a view of Central Park
the window, the view,
courtesy of Aunt Antonia
whose millions came from
the slaughter of lungs in Pennsylvania mines
she never saw, the lover she took
leaving it all to her, for his penitence,
and her tolerant presence in his penthouse
for forty years and a day
the day she spent at his deathbed
not even holding his hand
no one contested the will
not even his drunkard son who
squandered his fortune on five wives
and landed in a trailer in Tenafly,
some said
when Antonia made her own last laps
I was not there, but in my old place by the river
with my useless legs, the sticks of flesh and bone
that never took one step, the same legs
that earned Antonia’s silent sympathy
and divinely divested dollars
a cousin watched her passing,
pillaging her jewelry once she was gone,
snarling to her nurses the ******* would get all else
and the cat, part of the bargain
and I did, and each morning
when I look onto the park
through the maid’s invisibly clean glass
the feline is pestiferously perched
in mid frame, in park’s green summer
or white winter, reminding me
of the mines, the insolent indifference,
the passing of millions,
the dead legs that were
my first inheritance, my curled curse
that brought me a cat
and a park where
I would never walk
Jul 31, 2013
Jul 31, 2013 at 6:29 PM UTC
Dragon slain,
Vile creature,
Pillaging our home.
Family lying dead
Torn to ****** shreds
In the rubble of destruction.
Senseless slaughter,
Unreasoning winged monster,
Murdering and razing.
Vengeance has been mine.
Hunted down, to its bower,
Slain without mercy.
As it has shown none,
So have I.
Vengeance sought and found.
Exhaustion, grief, pain,
Now mine,
Tell me I have lived this horror.
But going on?
Inconceivable,
Grief unreliquished.
Sinking to my knees,
Praying to that God,
Begging final peace.
No answer given.
Only the quiet sound,
Of one spared.
Calling for help,
Beneath debris,
Safely sheltered.
Tis my own,
My child,
My reason.
Oct 10, 2010
Oct 10, 2010 at 8:14 PM UTC
Under the sun kissed moonlight
Which dapples the streets below,
A man leaves his life time employment
To go forth to his new temporary job.
Along the streets he lurked,
Like a thief in the night
Walking not by faith,
But instead by his sight.
Across the city 9 hours before dawn
He evades any face time
To avoid any wasted time
For he cannot be late,
Not on this date.
Under coincidental circumstances
He found this new job,
Around a few drinks,
A clever little minx.
Illumination by the queen of the night
Stolen by the king of the day,
Breathing life into this forbidden foray
A pillaging of the heart.
At the doors of his temporary career
Intentions in his mind much too clear.
Reaching inside the institution
Risking himself with no safety of income.
Into the office he put himself,
His presence made known
More than qualified
For his personal assistance.
The moon stares within the confines
Of this deep, seedy establishment.
Shining light on the dark proceedings
Which are about to proceed into the night.
Ready to work for his promotion,
Changing into his work attire,
Takes his seat in the workplace,
Planning to come second in this work race.
Forgetting his full time employers face
Moonlighting,
Under the moon light.
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 6:10 PM UTC
We
were kings
in the realm
of distorted things
Indulging in unmitigated lust that it brings.
She
was queen
A pillar
of strength incarnate
busy pillaging the futures of lesser beings.
The moments I lied
the dreams
the spies
tongues untied
The kingdom crumbled.
Walls I built
Accounts
the cries
threats of love
and roots upended.
Spirals speak before they're worded.
Now the future is in the rear-view.
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 12:23 PM UTC
We sit here
Bemoaning our fate
On this rock we call Earth
The only one
In billions of light years
Deigned to jump start our birth
Sheltering us
From cosmic rays
Surrounding us
With abundant life
Supporting us
Despite our ways
And yet...
We still sit here
Basking in self pity and hate
Pillaging this lonely rock called Earth
Nov 29, 2015
Nov 29, 2015 at 9:17 AM UTC