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Julian Jan 2016
Gruesome blister on a denatured mind
Chimes rumble the anchored soul foggy with Elysian wine
Flippant ruse ignites a battered fuse rusty with malevolent impotence
Blustery portents beyond expired extent throngs the chapels and pickets along the electrified fence
That separates the grave from the gravity of a physics enslaved
A physics where disillusioned mathematics and decay are as sure as taxes and the last earthen day
Nescient of giant leaps our stepwise ascension is helical and cheap
It snails along with unctuous repetition of pendulous rhythm and sails biologically with evolved and animated meat
The advent of acid and bass is a keepsake for the epicurean chase
Of a fulgurant galvanization of phases that remain unfazed
Trends punctuate vain diversions and lionized conversions both raise and raze
The velocity of money ensures a melliferous alchemy of a well-oiled plutocracy buffered by praise and pay
Ivory-tower elegance is immune to demotic ignorance
When the shot-callers devise the rules to the game with impenetrable clandestine eloquence
Hebetude and lassitude sink abundant platitude and offer trite prescriptions for useless attitudes
But the vogue of disembogued vanity entraps individualism and trains martial raillery
Trends tantalized by preening epigamic tens makes the roosters become owls that neglect nest egg hens
Fatuous ambush of the Kardashian putsch is as clockwork as Big Ben
Murky lies appear in flimsy disguise suitable for mice “say cheese” demise
Privacy cries and answers only lurk accessibly when spurred by wise “why’s” never asked when garish time flies
Tweets and beats make us obese with threadbare wheat cultivated by nescient bleats
Beatific ambition obscured by the wail of sheepish sheep
Outnumbered by obtuse angels and a cute horde of meretricious dissolution that ever wrangles
The shelter turns to rubble and the cloister turns to bustle: useful convolution thus entangles
Agorophilia defiles a voiceless lechery on speed dial
Disembodied violence sprints a green mile bankrolled by the peaceful throngs slowed through the paid but dilatory turnstile
Thus we loiter in queue as the slew of vibrant militarized celerity taxes our pews
Pews which enthuse jingoism eager to apportion sentient deaths through religious abuse
We can surf beams of light chasing verisimilitudes of diversion bright
Of unwagered immersion gambling a pittance for vicarious thrills and riskless fright
To discover the vestige of war, a useless artifact of sore egos we now deplore
An enormity of unmoored evil percolating apace of the paradoxical rush hour from shore to shore
But more decisively than an implacable brush fire on pristine ground abetted by sleek star-crossed winds that soar
Irenic ignorance placates, because a vagrant vacant mind is more a felicity than a bellicose grimy crease
Because excess corrodes squinty detests, and partial enslavement is both a rest and arrest to earth’s untenanted lease
Decries the devolution of pop culture that transmogrifies people into sheep and then makes them sheepish over their peccadillos. It also bashes war as a callous mechanism of useless death. It concludes by asserting the paradox that the throngs in real life slow our movement but we can move at light speed through technological implements. It concludes that useful idiots are irenic if also disheartening. In the earlier sections it laments that materialistic monism is taking over because science has made us deterministic and thus blind to the numinous beyond that staggers beyond our comprehension. It addresses how we are silently monopolized by artful esoteric chess masters immune to trifling quibbles, and how distracted society has become with respect to digital plasticity and consumerist disfiguration spurred on by fatuous and meretricious values. It further satirizes the effigy of modern culture deliberately disfigured with grandiloquence to deploy resourceful linguistic invention. I hope you enjoy this piece!

Here is a response I posted on another poetry site with respect to this poem. It explains the emblems, themes, philosophical agenda and metaphors of this poem so that more people can appreciate the level of meticulous care I preen with my craft
“I understand the charge of hyperbole, that was unintentional. It is an epiphenomenon of protean grandiloquence ( multi-pronged connotations suffering entropy through translation) crafted to emblazon lurid imagery and to conceal arcane mystery with an emphasis on cadence. When you use big words it is inevitable that some words chosen connote more strongly than you originally hoped for when writing it initially. Also, it was not designed to be solely a scathing harangue bemoaning the decadence and anomie endemic to this zeitgeist. You should read the final four or five lines (after I lambasted how war makes human life unnecessarily disposable for expedient aims). In those lines I marvel at miracle of technology wizardry and insinuate that in modern times we can wager much less to gain the same thrills we would have risked life and limb for before. Instead of a bottlenecked turnstile of industry that admits one person at a time like when entering an amusement park (the sluggish pace of premodern industry) to fund the clunky and internecine annihilation operated through rapid-fire death ( “Disembodied violence sprinting ‘the green mile’ A.K.A. a prisoner’s last walk before execution). The pace of society is a central theme of the poem throughout. The gravity of a physics enslaved implies the dilatory and dismal apprehension of a universe moving at an infinitesimally slow rate. A helical and cheap evolution mediated by animal meat snails along throughout history only to precipitate the exponential acceleration of human progress witnessed more recently after the advent of language. The rate of speed (the velocity of money line) is the lifeblood of all culture and all entertainment but it has become such a blur that it obscures the inveterate values of a leisurely stroll rather than a hedonistic galloping gallivant. Ironically, the plutocracy depends on gradate—(thus slow enough to lull people into the “say cheese” mousetrap (privacy eradication)—cultural devolution (clockwork like Big Ben to me evokes the imagery of a slowly ticking clock, a fixture and emblem of the proctor of the old world domineering over newfangled world prospects). Pop culture centered in the Anglophonic world depends on a rapid velocity of vagary blustery with money inuring people to fast-paced changes that abide by slow-moving subterfuge( the Kardashian putsch). The word ambush in that sentence implies that the encroachment of hegemons depends on a furtive approach solidified by an alacritous leap at the heartstrings of mankind in a moment of brinkmanship. The mousetrap is the slow roll but steady bet “say cheese demise”. The irony is that the only way this plan could work is because “wise why’s are never asked when garish time flies. This bewilderingly rapid pace is also the mechanism whereby sheltered obtuse angels are desensitized by breakneck cultural celerity that disabuses their naivety thus leading to useful convolution (paradigm shift). But there is also a lament that “meretricious wranglers” could lead to unmoored decadence bewildered by a smug agnostic relativism tethered to nothing more than the culmination of momentary fads reverberating in a plangent delay chamber like a finely crafted sound effect in a musical production program. The poem ends optimistically by concluding war is a vestige and concedes that partial enslavement (PC culture) is irenic precisely because it shepherds pedestrian considerations predictably in order to secure a stalemate. The Earth’s Untenanted Lease is thus arrested by counterbalanced nuclear specters. This leads to a rest and also an arrest of territorial claims. There is so much deliberate and emblematic imagery deployed here, drenched with subconscious enrichment that is unintended. A perfunctory interpretation of this piece misses so many astute cultural commentaries. The poem ends on a relatively positive note. The final several lines announce war as a vestige but concede that peace is built upon a latticework of acquiescent sheep indoctrinated to despise the past rather than learn from it (this goes slightly beyond what is directly stated). This poem in essence is about the ironic dynamics of history at the intersection of our modern cultural identity.
Sputter Outlaw Apr 2016
Rippled and waxed with want
Flesh un flesh
Desire lines
And drives.

She’s in the backseat
Unervously
Takes doesn’t placates
Sharp left
She swerves
I swerve (swine)
Not to the right
Flashes, beams of light.

Piercesome lights
Flooding the nights
A Borealis got naught
On this blight.

Shadowed beasts collide.
Oh. Look. Crash.

At the wake.
Desire still breathes.
This time though
On her knees.
The nights don’t appear so long with you
Until you go to sleep
Your peaceful face placates me some
As jealousy floods my heart
How can you sleep with a smile
As I while away the hours
Imagining you surrounded by flowers
And many cloaks of black
Wreaths of crimson red roses
As a tear falls at my choices
What I did while I was shaken

I hate how you sleep...
Nevermore Feb 2015
Do not find love
For it finds you
And find you it did
Like the first beams of dawn
Kissing the dew
On the slumbering meadow

And what was once
A verdant vale of calm
Is now a riotous explosion
Of cerulean and crimson
Caressed by the velveteen kisses
Of the eastern breeze

The languid shore
Now a maelstrom
Of spraying foam
A gale of berserk fury
Poseidon thundering
Confronting
The forbidding cliffs
Of time

O maiden
Sighing into
The lonely watches of the night
For whom are those tears shed?

Tarry not
For Helios comes
To take you in his embrace
And within the tongues of immolation
Is purifying salvation
That even
The Twelve Labors of Heracles
Are impotent to redeem

And you are no frail Icarus
Jesting and boastful
Impertinent in his youthful optimism
Who eludes and placates
The assault of the elements

Now take the plunge
O Athena
Laughing into the depths
Of the mercurial Aegean
For she who dares the fates and furies
Commands Olympus.
Wedding present for my only sister. Congratulations!
Sjr1000 May 2014
I
actually feel sorry for him
my
extension
my
avatar

I
wake him
every morning
no matter how sleepy he is
get him out of bed before sunrise
while I hide
deep inside.

He arises
to reply
respond
put out
and
deny.

A hook through the nose
to
catch the bucks
and
cast him out into that
old main stream
where he does his perfect avatar thing
he dances jigs
he placates
he sings
he says please and thank you
can I get you anything
the fingers
waving
at
him
no longer mean a thing.

A master of the palms up
he
can
always say
"who? Not me."

And
when his day is done
I
reel him in
remove
what ever little bucks
he
caught

Sit him down
in
front of the t.v.
gin and juice
and
dancing images too.

Give him a sleeping pill
so he sleeps so sound
no dreams
to
disturb
his life
and routine
a
brown nosed role
in
the
consumer machine.

I
slip
him
into bed
and
sometimes in the late night
I
hear
him weeping.

In
the morning
I
get him up
to
do
the same **** thing .
Thanks to the singer-song writer Todd Snider for the phrase "fishing in that old main stream"
Martin Trahbeg Apr 2010
Parched and wanting, I search out the aquifer
My soul longs for a drenching, let it wash over  
I reach out to accept its’ comfort
I want to immerse myself in the glorious flood
It envelops me in warmth and placates me
Soothes my muscles, and settles my heart
The calming flow sluices over me, cleansing my spirit
It relieves the stress of day to day life
My wrinkled skin cries out to absorb it,
To be caressed by it, at one with the flow
Pour it on, the stream never gets cold
The rapture and glory, never grows stale or is wasted
It’s love, of course, I wish would rain on me so readily
May I never again be in a barren wasteland without a drop to behold
Dylan Halvorsen May 2016
Verandas at supper time & plates without rain
cutlery placates the hands to the vein.
We watch our fingers as they feed upon air;
our bodies moulded into the normailty of chairs
nostalgic is the taste of ravenous affairs.
Our hands grow tired of non-essential shoots
As we remember that this ritual is just displacing air.
Now clawing the ceramic, reaching for instinctual roots
beyond our own edible malfunction of sought repute
growing trained eyes for gnathic refute.
Now beyond the slumber of western lands
knife and fork asunder; we eat with our hands
now beyond rituals of conservative man.
farhan Apr 2016
So what some have bought the future today
We are scared the most today ever than yesterday
Others say a better today than the yesterday, so what,
Are we not scared the most ever than today?

Men seek pleasure from what yesterdays’ disdained
Greed we had but now ingrained
Take the trial of love, and see,
Are we, are we not sure, that we will be detained?

Geeks are making life elegantly comfortable
Innocent of the price that will be paid by our dependable
In the placates such as these, on the doomsday,
Can we be sure, so sure, we will be salable?
Heavy Hearted Feb 2023
21 for the decades, times double date
22 for your memory & how still, it placates
23, for my parents, with all their support-
& 24 to reflect, record and report.
25 for the sound of my friends breathing sleep, and
26, for the shared memories that only one of us keep.
27 for Heaven & 27 for Hell,
if my next years worth living, its worth living well.
28 as an EP, The Mainstream, the mandate;
the lifestyle, the butcher, the people relate-
29 in a battlecry,when we run towards the light,

& 30- for all those who fight the good fight. The addicts, the victims all without support systems:

may peace keep you warm & may you know love  is a place,
& that
Together we'll triumpth, in the futures we face.
LJ Eaddy Jul 2014
When did life
Stop being so simple,
That you don't remember a time
That it wasn't chaotic and difficult?
What happened to
The sweet childhood memories
Full of sunshine and fun times?
Why after each conversation with you
I want to cry?
And why after each conversation with you
I want to cry?
Where did it all go wrong?
When did the sun burn out?
When did rain become the only forecast?
How can you live
Knowing how many hearts you've broken?
How can I live
Knowing I'm breaking yours?
I'm sorry my love, but
I need you to hold me like you do.
And I know I'm not deserving of it,
But it brings a peace back to my existence.
It brightens up my black hole.
It placates my pain endured.
It heals my broken heart,
And keeps it safe in your hands.
And that,
Brings a true meaning back to the world.
Things aren’t entirely smooth.
This is the best that we can do.
As we are able to move,
Just as they do on TV,
With the help of words on cd.
I don’t stop though I should.
Oh it pains to be that good.
And the pain’s from watching TV.
It placates with songs on CD.
But is still from such falsehood.
Sam Temple Jun 2015
each day brings more frightening imagery
compounding hate and bigotry, free press
humanity cannot survive under such duress
the wall writings tell a simple tale needing to be heeded
there is no winning a race war on American soil –
blacks attacked will eventually fight back
and tear down any vestige of the status quo
leaving those of us with fair pigmentation
to bake and rot in the late summer sun
this, of course, barely placates the new power –
too far gone down paths of racial injustice
has America travelled to tout itself as the land of the free
from mistreated natives, land stolen and treaties broken
the poor Japanese citizens placed in concentration camps
more than two-hundred fifty years of my country
abusing, cheating, prostituting, and disenfranchising
the men and women who built the nation that hates them –
I find myself with a growing concern regarding our direction
daily, news outlets give fuel to the most dangerous of fires
working with super-human diligence and verve
they impart violent propaganda to impressionable children
babies with access to bullets, beaten, battered, and beneath
the lines of poverty so prevalent within this culture –
I sit at a dinosaur click-clacking away
behind the glass patrician, inmates of every walk
all quietly working, pencil to paper
fourteen testers with no common heritage
working together for the goal of their education
it is here, in the penitentiary, I see what hope looks like –
Anthony Pierre Nov 2019
The butterfly is a frugal fellow
His dancing wings float ever aloft
He is always well mannered and mellow
Yet deemed queer because he's modest and soft

He passes his time in contemplation
Placates with colourful diplomacy
Works hard and avoids procrastination
He's artful and filled with tenacity

Not a slurp when, his ambrosia, he sips
His etiquette shows: it is well entrenched
For outings and ins he'll sure catch that tip
The rarest charm to behold but not clenched

Luck sees you such a butterfly at play
He's a frugal fellow and so he'll stay.
The Butterfly
Jason Margraves Mar 2018
The hate is there, buried, vaguely on the surface,
deterring, detached, detesting and serving its purpose.

An invisible web of lies is what’s broken and blind,
within us, without them, a situation, foreign and undefined.

Pleasure rising as intolerance and indecision placates,
I look to my greed, my selfishness and wants as I advocate.

A knot of trust, tried and true, with a twisted unrealistic worldview,
Let’s continue, retry, forgive and see nothing new in round two.

Clutch to hope and wonder what about life makes it so unfair,
Getting answers to questions that no longer matter, I swear.

Undone and forgotten, you’re everything that I wished removed,
I’ll stay with you to make myself unhappy, even if my heart doesn’t approve.

I place the blame for troubled times on situations out of our control,
It was those eyes, that smile and false promises that put good decisions on hold.

Our love was relevant, once, before nature took its course,
We were unstoppable until we became unlovable,  such an unnatural force.

Teach me grace, give me mercy, use your words to fan the flame,
Take my pride, lend me leniency, it’s our disregard that’s to blame.

I’m the rock, sturdy strong, crashing waves the least of what’s breaking,
A steady stream of forgettable memories is all that we’re making.
Michael John Oct 2018
monday is a day
in any old way
(not,say a
fray..)
it holds i
like a new baby
like a found stray
(no time to be
like a honey bee)
placates me
like the *** brays
butter on maize
utter a sigh
be blithe!
monday morn

ing
ring
swing
sing
thing
ping..!
inspired by depression and stuff
Empty Nov 2019
I failed to feel the failure, too stupid was I.
Thesis for thought and food for the mention
With wit we all slumber in sloth to ease the tension.
Pass me the flask, “my operation makes me a new idea”
Stare at the cliff, and wrote a note, nothing comes to mind ill repeat
“My operation makes me a new idea.”
Outward, we march, the drole hole, the spitting imagine-ation placates temptation with a blue rosebud toppling ******* mountain ranges, but yours my dear are so near to my fears.
How dare thy sky turn red and rose and pink and peach and holds the wind but has no heartbeat.
Shedding pedigrees after Fahrenheit stole the slow show
Send off a pigeon but call it a crow,
The bar apart of a far war warning a barmaid for having scar less arm blades worth arming.
Nuke head hyperactively shear sheds at the bleating of Radiohead, bled my radio activity like imagine wyverns with arms.
That’s drag-in like Dragons Racing **** poor lightning…and losing.
Choosing over watching senpai, oh GOD YOU CARD feasting in the deck don’t you process meat don’t I think you think you know thinking…then why am I here?
Peerless lost and still you follow, hello senpai but gone we are. Insert beast mode not follow throughout a breast made of clay cupped by victory in secret. You wont ever look at that brand the same again, I promise.
“My operation makes me an idea”
Floating on you mouse so modest, sails of canvas, flapping in a breeze we made with our lips.
Dips and rolls, folie a deux dec-a-hide-my-heathenish dodecahedron like chest-bursting wound ***** light. Fist deep measurements making three wonderful numbers. One two, and you.
Romanticize failure fluting failings, march with a brother unlike my ukulele, comes with another.
1 two three, 1 two three, sink. 1 two three, 1 two three blinking and she $TOLE the showmakers ***** work **.
IF only that were me…
1 two three, 1 two three drink.
1 two three, 1 two three drink.
For me
Shamai Nov 2018
I look for a poem
It has been a while
Since words have come to the page
And I was wondering to where
I had gone ‘way again
And why it was so hard to stay
Sometimes my poems
Come from a place inside
That is deep and has so much meaning
And I feel from the core
That my words are much more
Than placates and speeches are seeming
So I’ve come back again
To find words to explore
And I think I have made it here sane
And I sit and I ponder
On the depth of my wander
And I welcome me back
Again
Rambling thoughts run through my mind,
ruminating, stirring, creating chaos;
I've awakened to these many times,
and wondered if I was still dreaming.

But looking around I see the truth,
of the inescapable boundaries here;
And cause my wanderings to appear,
as strange revelations outside my skin.

The walls close in around my eyes,
the ceiling becomes a monstrous roof;
Which suffocates me inside a world,
of wasteful moments of pain and fear.

Then--a sudden spark within my soul,
lifts me up through all the haze;
As confidence wins its rightful place,
and Divinity placates my troubled home.

My eyes will see what they're meant to see,
and I'll live this day most peacefully !
The inspiration that comes from spiritual awakening can seep through our souls at the most chaotic times !
Dawnstar Jul 2021
what am i to do
to win one fond kiss from my love

april
and the wind's turning down
at last

i got to go
but my mind
placates the past

voyage
to a darker feeling
when one thought
emerges

i sought
we bought
splurges

and the CRACK! of a combine stun baton
was felt at home in old hong kong
they pushed them down
they ****** them off
they know
what goes
they know, they know

mario andretti!
pronounce his name real steady
you've got a chance to emigrate
now's the time to seal your fate

you could be a moronic sculpture
could make neo-scotland rupture
corporations wanna buy you
judge and juries wanna try you

why
can't
i
why
can't
i
have superpowers
have superpowers

why, why
must i
cope, cope
c-c-c-c-c-caw!

copycat, copy cope
last one out, elect the pope
feral demons walk about
judge is in, the jury's out

one mistake, you snooze you lose
brush your teeth or get a bruise
hate is a six letter word
opposing voices can't be heard

why
can't
i
i
why
can't
i
i
be something better
and change my gender

why
why
must
i

cope, cope
c-c-c-c-caw

copycat, copy cope
hang yourself, i'll buy the rope
shut up about your mental illness
it's just a form of wish fulfillment

take a bath in hydrochlorin
if you don't use neosporin
if you're short and have a *******
you're the bottom of the totem

why
can't
i
aye

why
can't
i-aye

be innocent
be president

what am i to do?
what am i to do?

can't live in a daydream
can't shoot off a magazine
can't make stories perfect
can't learn how to work it

mother!
mother!
what am i to do-o-o?

can't write an editorial
can't play super mario
cannot file my taxes
and i don't know what a fax is

why
can't
i-aye

do anything
do anything

mother!
mother!
what am i to do-o-o?
what am i to do?
a song
Rambling thoughts run through my mind,
ruminating, stirring, creating chaos--
I've awakened to these so many times,
and wondered if I could still be dreaming.

But looking around me I see the truth,
of the inescapable boundaries here--
Which cause my wanderings to appear,
as strange revelations inside my skin.

The walls close in around my eyes,
and the ceiling becomes a monstrous face--
Which suffocates me within a world,
of terrifying moments of pain and fear.

Then suddenly a spark within my soul,
lifts me high above this web of darkness--
As confidence wins its rightful place,
and Divinity placates my troubled home.

My eyes will see what they need to see,
and I'll live this day most peacefully.
I remember moments like this during my lifetime, only to be salvaged by my enduring faith.

— The End —