"plebeian" poems
In the dimly lit chamber, we set the scene.
An owner and his pet, a game of primal and prey.
She kneels like an eager dog, a collar around her neck.
He stomps his feet and keeps her obedience at play.
The owner, like a magician, keeps tricks up his sleeve.
He wants his pet to learn— to be his student and please.
Commanding her to crawl, to fetch and beg.
Waiting for him to call her a good little pet.
She barks and whimpers, a puppy in passion.
Spins three times and licks her master’s feet without a whine.
The pet surrenders to her master’s might.
She delivers his sturdy leather boots in a straight line.
With a flick of the whip, the pet curls in elation.
Her master chuckles at her sounds of temptation.
Submitting to the cynicism of ******* and discipline.
She is flogged like a plebeian, forgetting she’s a citizen.
Pet and master, a bond so strong.
The two are bound by zeal, craving one another.
She wallows in the comfort of her belly rubs and treats.
And runs around with a rush of red in color.
She goes through treacherous training.
And yelps if she’s ever caught complaining.
Waiting for a tasteful gift: the eternity collar.
When she is ready, he puts it on with honor.
Jun 16, 2024
Jun 16, 2024 at 6:25 PM UTC
With each
CLICK
Our breath is held
Will he,won't he
Will he, won't he
The suspense is killing me
And....SHIT
Door left open still
Pestered by the plebeian chill
In this gay little coffee shop
Surrounded by the unrecognised talent of Brighton:sketch artist staring at me, writer on his laptop, songwriter etching vigorously with his pencil.
All of which aren't closing the door.
The eyes roll.
Labouring my body up, hammering my legs across the floor, turning the factory handle.
All is ask is for some carrot cake,filtrate water,polo jumpers, avocado salads,tiger bread, slimmer trousers, slipper sock , a toyger.
Click
And then images of Kim Jong un pass through my head.
If I ruled you'd all be dead
Firing squad for an open door,
Loud music on the train'll be no more.
Stop the screaming misbehaving brats
The rabble of Spanish students
All this PC stuff on the news, train seats filled with cans of *****
Suddenly
The artist strolls up
Let's down his cup.
Closes the door swiftly
And slips back in his chair
Oh, so there is a god.
I guess Jesus didn't lie.
Oct 21, 2017
Oct 21, 2017 at 12:15 PM UTC
Prescient, her essence
Casts a demure persuasion,
Endowed with verve and vision;
Concept to consummation,
The serenely possessed,
Creator, originator,
Allusion to the eternal azure,
Logos of abstraction,
Word and image collision.
Tonal palette of faith infused reason
Beauty and sublimity,
Serve to season
Verse, canvas and film,
Mediating aesthetic, seminal senses blossom,
Lyrical each permutation,
Seeds of vibrant chroma diffusing the mystical.
Visage and hair, her figure haunted
With perfection - a work of Art
Nurtured and lived invocation,
The canon of taste;
Crystal for the *****
Devotional fragrance ,
Holistic ethos, melodic invention,
Animated, pure -
The embodiment of redemption.
Transcending form, parenthetically
(Merely) the decorative,
Allure, artistry and symmetry
Superlative complexity,
Her erudition satiates, supplanting
Winds of constructive banality.
Purveyor of an uncommon savor,
She collaborates in the peculiar
Pursuit and reward,
Encounter with depth, explored,
Human and divine, prosaic meets sublime
Igniting within an Eros
Passion for truth, being and Telos.
Visionary of grace and peace
Transforming our earthbound dissonance;
Our caprice,
Hope and abundance, the myth of scarcity,
She narrates the Good.
Pen, lens, color and stage
Vulnerable, unrepressed, effusive
Romantic articulation,
The reservoir deep,
Innately primed conduit of Love.
Beyond plebeian, cosmetic, the trite
Woman of substance, pulchritude
And delight.
Effervescent - her smile exquisite,
Eclipsing suffering,
Wordless expression, understood language.
I am transported, my imagination replete,
Sonya Rose -
Art personified; unabridged, complete.
©2008 & 2013 W.S . Warner
Mar 28, 2013
Mar 28, 2013 at 12:28 PM UTC
A frozen avalanche set my night aglitter,
A festive shroud descends upon the theater.
Crimson sirens cleave apart the verdant veil,
Into the darkness we stride without fail.
Beyond the jubilation lies the next chapter,
With adamant fortitude we give thee cheer.
To each their own joys; for none with least,
Lest we drown in today, few dice are cast.
Behold my picture, let the verdict be: asleepy.
I jest, I grin, yet within: smooth boreal sea.
Tis simpler to repulse that which is coveted,
A gaze that levels souls; I've gladly forfeited.
Why? I cannot answer what I do not know,
Yet reason continues to war with my soul.
Let the rain cleanse my self-aimed ire,
From whence come this burning desire?
By dulcet caitiff, I set my conundrum aside,
The crux of life remain, my Draconian hide.
Plebeian ennui paralyzes my gifted facilities,
Enough sophistry, let I bid thee turgidities.
Let mine eyes be painted blind.
How else to behold beauty so fine?
Why, my sober vision...
Scream in revulsion! :DD
Aug 28, 2010
Aug 28, 2010 at 5:13 AM UTC
I sing of life at state expense
a state devoid of common sense
addicted to obesity
impolitic in body weight
yet headed for austerity
as other people’s money ends
plebeian class-revolt transcends
our bureaucratic history.
They stack the monthly welfare decks
complain the service second-rate
those sullen clients, thankless louts
pajama-clad with tattooed pouts
whose girlfriends swell while babies cry;
the fathers mumble, sagging high
and wait in lines. The women try
to fool the lunar period
conceptions waxing myriad
while teenage dads discover ***
and social workers cash the checks
the daily urban nightmare is
enough to scare a nation broke
in clouds of marijuana smoke:
the cashless global mystery.
The breeders born in tropic lands
are tempted till they take the bait
no baby-momma understands
what family means, what life demands
Your undertakers overstate
in order to remunerate
your Democratic history:
a bankrupt urban mystery
the not-so-Great Society.
The ghetto sperm-donation ploy
makes babies but maintains the boy
to run around from mom to mom
slow-motion population bomb
as if to merely demonstrate
that social program funders wait
till number-crunchers aggravate
the urban teenage welfare state.
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 4:36 PM UTC
The undeniable sense of presence, seen through the realms of deception...
Amidst the very capillaries strung infinitesimally throughout our bodies...
Overwhelming at times, the very concept cripples our thoughts,
Circling us back to seemingly endless questions -
Endless roads without a point of reference,
Leaving us standing in a dark crowded space searching for the unreachable light...
Yet, the meaning behind the unseen presence forces the deluded mind to forge on -
Stretching our morbid ideals even further...
Leaving us the inhibited beings we possess...
Still concluding at plebeian answers -
Fitting, yet discouraging...
The common capacity of our restraining thought process, leaves us almost hopeless to accumulate the information needed to fulfill our determining destination...
But it is that feeling,
That inkling sensation of the undeniable presence that keeps us searching -
That gives us hope...
And in that minute innovative state we dwell on what could be...
Sep 13, 2012
Sep 13, 2012 at 9:05 PM UTC
Frozen moments,
embraced,
visions of
luminous things,
unpretentious
pearls dancing;
embers of memory linger,
elegy of the lachrymose,
this horizoning self
lying low in saturnine
tranquility
and repose – paternity lost
to the provisional.
The cross of lassitude,
forming
scars of loss;
estrangement,
preface to
ineluctable autonomy.
Earthen treasure - immortal
footprints, the migration
of fair maidens across my
effusive heart.
Venus trio in bloom,
aesthetic allusion,
ephemeral incarnations
of beauty - perishable fruit,
transcending the plebeian.
Aerial substance-
the hermeneutic,
betraying desire’s
ambrosial tyranny;
The permuted passage -
savor the sojourn, submit
to the fated peregrination.
Purple orchids blossom,
immortal creatures,
culminating
in perfection
from the sheath
respectively,
each plume,
singular,
the continuum of
splendor, mediate
the inviolable.
Eternity compounding,
time and essence suffuse
the already and not yet
into an
orbiting mosaic.
The susurrant devotions
of a satellite father,
summon the quest -
both, and,
absence and proximity,
conduits of
distress and peace
ironically,
solace and
terror
traverse the
same path.
Plunge though,
deep, the depth of pain;
deeper, sweeter
the taste of pleasure.
Engender and witness,
window into
preeminence,
surface azure,
the sacred -
inimitable gravity of
grandeur,
ma petite,
you - are
lived poetry
seen and heard;
cosmic order,
a mediating heuristic -
to love is to see,
in the dismal,
gift of distance.
child of delight,
evermore, Don’t I hold you?
Beauty and strangeness,
music found
in linear,
secret places
beyond the tangent,
purview of limitation,
arousing imagination -
infinititude as near
as it is far.
Long loneliness -
dissonance that
resolves;
perceiving,
the tertiary refrain -
as exquisite verse,
and matchless liqueur,
sublime gratuity
derived
through
doors of surrender.
Daughter,
in adoration and wonder,
I hold you.
Jan 19, 2012
Jan 19, 2012 at 5:25 PM UTC
Clawing up grey walls,
stumbling on,
breaking nails off
paper and ink,
in silver screen
dreams
they haunt,
if you ignore
them cause you could be like them
if you ignore
the qualities you bring, inborn,
since you can't be
what you see,
what's your worth
to redeem?
I repeat:
Why are you alive when you could be dead?
Hide your hideousness, plebeian.
The silver I love, the love that I want, lies just behind
your, "Lovely Countenance".
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 7:13 AM UTC
The sound of your voice,
linguistic forte
digital portrait combined,
reads lyrical, like Joyce,
the use of imagery -
elevating the plebeian,
resplendent -
the imposition sublime.
Pellucid prose, tête-à-tête
immersed in esoteric allusion
spoken with au fait.
Liberating my pedestrian
inhibition,
premise of surrender -
adrift, desultory,
delicious ambiguity.
Seduction begins in
the mind,
assets of imagination,
intellectual property;
side by side: lying supine
didactic invitation,
in assertions of diversion;
a chance to find
euphoria within our reach.
Linear alliteration;
fulgent flowing Fumé
Blanc,
fire and wine
private beach,
rhymes of elucidation
two bodies align,
I will learn if you teach.
Sensual epistemology,
curvaceous
figure of speech,
the Orphic; woeful
lover’s plight,
a porous song recite
art professor, verse confessor
tutor me tonight.
©2010 & 2011 W.S Warner
Sep 12, 2011
Sep 12, 2011 at 11:03 AM UTC
All perish whence they quest for immortality,
Such foolish dreams will result in fatality.
Critters struggle in nets of ersatz reality,
Hormonal clashes unbalance our morality.
Under the influence by budding, ravishing thyme,
Oft' that sunny beam leaves me doing pantomime.
Chaste clues and envy droughts left me mellowing,
Such pain ipso facto I can't kiss this porcelain.
My seat of notions drives me to calculate,
While undead, fatigued, I falsely formulate.
Floundering in viscous fluids, I am drowning...
My verdant sail is half-mast: lonely, frowning.
Within moon-lit meadows, shadows flow cursively,
Beyond the kaleidoscope lay a rustic key.
Beg you pardon the rust and blackened fissures,
Pardon those slights to open eternal treasures.
To crave two heart beats align in synchrony,
To sluice my fingers through the strands of memory.
Embracing silvery asps soaring on the breeze,
My sight spies thy adieu and I shatter apiece.
Un-writing errors, distantly, unstumbling,
The abyss: now a star, wings unfurling.
'Tween the heavens fell meteoric golds,
Sinusoidal cascades of such sublime codes.
Traversed steadily upon the gilded firmaments,
Was so small, blind to the unseen monuments.
To be offered aristocratic absolution,
From my humble plebeian resolution.
I am sublime. 'Hold my dichotomous, nay,
Such cantankerous introversion within, eh?
Sep 22, 2010
Sep 22, 2010 at 3:40 PM UTC
Brilliance in mode and tone
Elegance without loquaciousness
For language is her gift to all
Poetess your evanescence
Shines eternally in your verbiage
And the imagery that lingers
Sincerity, essential themes,
A labyrinth of life altering morals spun with
An unadulterated touch oh humor
Poetess, you are admired
Humbly honored in this plebeian's
Pedestrian attempt at articulation
Aug 15, 2013
Aug 15, 2013 at 9:02 PM UTC
“The trouble is, we think there’s time”
Buddha said it so urgent
Complete with Sanskrit contractions
The baby delivering doctor saying we all have a cancer, no matter how slow
so pick up your passions with a god’s effortlessness
Play a concerto that makes your hair stand on end
because the music was more important than a reflective surface
Looking like a you were born in a stormy garret
Writing, thinking, and plucking, as if the gods set you there
instead of the million hopeless mediocre ones
No, instead you are brethren to those gods
All competing for immortal kicks – like mortal tail
Until the game board perspective ceases
looking down on the plebeian pantheon
and it’s just you and what you lived for
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 10:13 PM UTC
O vicious household gods of Rome
you Manes, Lares, Muses, Fates
who justified patrician homes,
whose reign this poem celebrates,
Allow me now, in retrospect
to excavate, then analyze.
Depravity with cause, connect;
depriving you of alibis.
Relax your stiff noetic poise
as my plebeian pen records
through lyrical poetic noise
the crown imperial crime awards.
My lines, like foundlings, long to ****
a mother’s milk in measured draft
and dredge some gold from Tiber’s muck;
Lord Christ: illuminate my craft.
ROMULUS, let that wolf-tit go
and REMUS too – unlatch that breast…
milk of Etruscan madness, flow,
with empire’s crimes forthwith confessed.
We will not blame your leaden wares
nor ergot mold in rancid bread
for genocidal state affairs,
brutality, and martyred dead.
The Circus, leering, restless, loud,
cheers gladiatorial excess.
The haunted forum’s phantom-crowd
awaits the tyrant’s next address.
He speaks. The wind blows through the arches
stirring up the roadside litter.
Trumpets blare. The legion marches.
Empire’s aftertaste is bitter.
You were Antichrist. That is all.
We cannot dignify your past
or glorify from whence you fall
or praise the mold from which you’re cast.
Christ traveled far from Galilee –
came, saw, conquered – and on it goes.
Our king shall reign eternally;
that she-wolf’s milk no longer flows.
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 8:08 PM UTC
**abstract endings assaulting
pedestrian beginnings,
save yourself before
you're too late
for your own game,
choking on bourgeois
mind-control interludes
under a spell of
plebeian sugarcoated reality
whitewashed with
iridescent rainbow colors
and unicorn attitudes,
come out, come out
wherever you are
from behind
those glossed over walls
and blush-fogged glasses,
jack and jill weren't
fetching at all,
he royally ******* her
on the way down,
there's a world beyond
blanched veneers
and vanilla excuses
concealed in resolute
conventional facade's
of vindication**
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 9:28 AM UTC
I am starting to remind myself where I came from. Not some royal family, not some kingdom of rulers, I came from an era of hard working hero's. Hero's who got no respect in their every day lives, from their jobs royalty would see as low-status. I came from a blood-line where the blood may have been low-born, plebeian, and commoner background! But that bloodline taught me about what's really important in our short spanning of living. That low status blood is what makes me royal, because by the hard work that may have never payed into royal king blood, it payed into my morals, that's far more priceless,
Jan 10, 2016
Jan 10, 2016 at 9:50 AM UTC
I want no one there who knew me
find a young crew of miscreants
to do the deed: they can drink their suds,
play soccer with an empty can
carry out my plebeian plan,
as long as they dump me
in a shallow hole--I don’t want
the buzzards to tire of the dig
I want no one there to say my name
or utter some sap like,
’tis a shame, the old guy’s gone
just have them ram that shovel
hard into the devil’s dirt
wipe off the well earned sweat
with a glove covered hand
I don’t want bubbles
on sissies' palms, to be my
blistered legacy
Dec 13, 2013
Dec 13, 2013 at 10:59 AM UTC
#One World Limerick
The notion of nations united
gets the global progressives excited.
Their party of Babel
is Nimrod’s own rabble
(we’re left with the Right uninvited).
Values Clarification Limerick
Many worldlings (whose ways we bemoan)
hope their lives we’ll approve and condone.
But we couldn’t care less
for the views they profess;
we just wish they would leave us alone
Roman Limerick
Our antichrist leaders (so Fabian)
are more Nero, and less like Octavian.
So with Caesars and salad
I’ll dress up my ballad.
(The future’s plebeian or Flavian.)
Kente Pajamas Limerick
A racist obtuse Afro-whiner
Tried to give the right-wing a black shiner
While applauding Obama
He railed at my mama
His manners could be a lot finer . . .
Apocalyptic Limerick
The riddles of John’s Revelation
imply a large-scale devastation.
The end is not too clear
but looks rather nuclear:
a well-deserved A–bomb-in-nation.
Freethinking Limerick
An atheist, weary of fables
Found his intellect turning the tables.
He declared: As a nihilist
held to a higher list,
I’m for erasing the labels.
Mendacious Limerick
Fake propaganda as news
only fools those it’s meant to confuse
there is wrong, there is right
when you’re left in the light
of a nation with little to lose.
Apr 6, 2018
Apr 6, 2018 at 8:18 PM UTC
look at me center stage
send your brain to sleep
if you can't, or won't
this is going to look a lot like satire
but picture me here
with yourself in the audience
you've seen my name on the internet
you've probably seen it on facebook
maybe you've heard of my movies
let's see if you can name five
isn't it funny that i'm being conceited
isn't it funny that i'm not like other women?
let's see if you can name five
maybe you've heard of feminism
if you hate it, i hate you, if you love it,
i reinvented it in a co-opted form
so please, don't forget to thank me
but seriously, though, just kidding
there's some real acting, here
i'm acting like i give one slimy **** about you
and your plebeian existence
i'm acting like i give a single, genuine *******
thought or care
to your meaningless, peasant
life, but i've never thought of you once, at all, .
you think it matters once your
stank cash and card swipe become my available
balance? i drive a tesla, ffs
i've heard the word philanthropy, it's meaning
is a mystery, or is it? ****
you, thanks for the view, but this is my business
Nov 3, 2017
Nov 3, 2017 at 11:05 PM UTC
How thin must Cassius be
For Caesar to not trust?
He had good reason not to for
A dagger he did ******
But intentions unbeknownst to he
Just eyes a gossamer frame.
With an ambitious hunger
To keep crown from being proclaimed.
For in the Tiber Caesar did flounder
As if he were the archaic Anchises.
A yelp for help for Gaius Cassius
To save him from this crisis.
And he as Aeneas,their great ancestor
Lifted that mortal Julius upon his shoulder.
Waded through the angry flood
And dropped him down like a boulder.
How could you not trust
A man that saved your life?
Doing something so careless
Maybe deserves the ambitious knife.
Et tu, plebeian?
Jun 13, 2018
Jun 13, 2018 at 2:11 PM UTC
My life seems to be frozen in time.
Waiting for the sun, but it no longer shines.
Nothing ever changes. It all stays the same.
Searching for the happiness that I want to gain.
Everyone else is moving ahead.
But all I can do is lay here in bed.
People, their lives, their friends, and their luck.
I'm going nowhere. I seem to be stuck. Some tend to think that my life is quite good.
I don't agree, but maybe I should. Plebeian types have to live on the streets. While I sleep at home, tucked away in my sheets.
I shouldn't complain but it's become very hard, To enjoy life's small moments.
I'm internally scarred.
My life isn't bad. It's just somewhat tougher,
than the people I know, that's because I do suffer.
It was never my purpose to bask in my pity.
I just needed to express my deep pain subsequently.
Nov 7, 2017
Nov 7, 2017 at 5:29 PM UTC
Can’t get no
Status faction
Satisfaction guaranteed
Just parakeets
A pair of beats
Commodifying
Cost of need
The price of greed
Inflates like ego
Gives you power over me
Or so you’ve seen
The dream machine
Forever justifies
The means
But in the hands again
Of people
Breaking equal
Treatises
We feed the treachery
The fallacies
Of drama queen decrees
Jul 8, 2023
Jul 8, 2023 at 12:58 AM UTC
I got lost hiking through thick forest
on a random planet stumbling up to
stepping stones leading me off
into a peach horizon at sunset.
I could've rested at the last
town I came across, but where's the fun at?
I'm search of long forgotten,
under-appreciated, maybe ancient gauntlets
treasured for centuries, tempting pleasures
like spices, mind bending herbs in desert
oasis' isolated from contaminates, gestures,
efforts at fixing or sanctifying, a substance
which is unique upon magnifying.
eek a gratifying, death defying act
out nothing suspect about it.
expect nothing less than upset order
its too late for complacency
funds get shorter, currency replaces spring
and anything tangible turns to arcane bling
kings oversee things, analog faces, plebeian's
day dreaming of amazingly rich places which
old modes don't allow us to behold, nope.
Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 9:40 AM UTC
An empty bottle of Mateus couldn’t help me drown my sorrow.
It cannot bring you back to me, and I’ll pay for this tomorrow.
All it has done is render me numb to your parting words and kiss;
a kiss goodbye, no public scene, no angry emphasis.
I had lost at Love before, yet something about today.
I think the finality of it all, drove me to this plebeian rose’.
When the love of your life has walked out of your life
What remains then to do or to say?
I will live work and sleep, pay my debts, keep my peace,
And still love you when I’m old and grey.
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 1:03 PM UTC
The Sun proudly gazed over His system, His kingdom,
A small golden jewel in a milky stripe of existence. With
Nobility he ruled, strong and constant, creating the heart of
His realm, peaceful and warm, home of hearth and plenty.
But even so the Sun had a weakness: a love, a fair maiden of silver.
His light smothered her beauty, and so every day the Sun
Died so that she might illuminate his kingdom as the lotus flower
Lights the murky and bleak waters from which it’s born.
The Moon, in all her silvery elegance, blushed at such a
Genuine compliment of affection as the Sun did again begin
His surrender to night for Her, letting her glow brightly
Amidst the dark cosmos, while He quietly admired her beauty.
Yet a small plebeian rock, denying all divine law, spun between the two lovers;
The Sun stared in bewilderment at the fading of His love, and the red
She shone took an ominous turn, and slowly the shade changed from
The rosy blush of shy affection to the deep dark blood red of fear.
Thus the Sun who died every night so that the Moon could shine
Lamented as She did disappear from His sight.
Alas that a mundane existence, a mere rock of mortality,
Should estrange such a cosmic union of lovers!
Such a tragedy! The audacity of a little trivial rock to
Apprehend the beauty of His love from Him! Such a
Crime against the laws of the cosmos this meaningless pebble
Committed surely out of its own jealous impermanence!
The Sun began to swell in His anger and anguish, threatening to
Sear the material terrestrial into a brilliant raging inferno.
Death! Destruction! Rage! A massive conflagration for this unremarkable
Secular dust-pile! A plague! A holocaust against this criminal!
But then, softly in fear, the Moon reappeared before Him,
Red, this time in the reflection of the Sun’s bitterness,
She stood as He gazed upon the mirror of his own passion-
His hate, love, fear, and rage- shone from her face.
Aghast at His own burning, The Sun suddenly felt the coldness, the
Emptiness of the macrocosm without his love, the Night
Without Her love, and thus His growing nova fled in relief
Of Her return as they danced again in the heavens of eternity.
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 12:13 PM UTC
the most dim sun is in my hand, and
nothing swells. just the recalcitrant narrows
of a plump romp thru the plebeian joys
of a man's misadventures....
Now
is the only future plan
with it's clocks ticking clamorous.
all diamonds more amorous
than a dog.
today is the future
you haven't put your mind too.
a wisp of required in the miasma of maybe.
a nail in the often...
we are driven out
from our inward inventions
to carry the waste of so much pluck
our chickens roost
in hemispheres.
gone, gone... are the old days
Now is the
only future plan
that has Never
had a
price.
we can only assume God has ears.
but the years wither
as our questions
clump.
And the Present must be dreamt
to console Us.
for we are us... strapped to the oblivion
we love so
much.
Jan 20, 2016
Jan 20, 2016 at 5:48 AM UTC