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"polemics" poems
A hymn to paired planethood: Venus hits Pluto as death, in cold orbit, collides with biology smashing to fragments: demonic astrology (more a black hole than a love-star, it’s true though). Cynical cure for Eve’s womanly grievance Concupiscent consequence: lust’s bitter fruit – ah the thought… changing Sin into mere inconvenience. Margaret sang her seductive refrain about weeding the garden and progress and light. Her sisters should view her with scornful disdain but instead have adopted her murderous rite. With sang-froid she promoted her racist eugenics (as if she had never herself been a fetus), condemning her heirs to postmodern polemics while nurturing ardent desires to defeat us. Suppressing the lives that she flushed down the drain she would liberate Death – and resistance was vain. As a midwife to modern life (though on the “anti” side) Old Matron Margie racked up quite a legacy singing the praises of sanctioned infanticide calling the shots for the coming sick century. Planning, quite calmly, to “cleanse” certain races her zeal was empowered by murderous graces. She labored to bring us such pearls of subduction: “dilation and curettage”, “women’s autonomy” “viable fetus”, “procedure”, a “suction” Hippocrates retches to hear the taxonomy; words that turn Life into mere reproduction. She enters the realms of the ****** and the motherless roundly condemned by her feminine otherness. Man’s first protection: the God-given womb which no infant should have to regard as their tomb. Dismembered dark cherubs, assembling, greet her as demons (in scrubs) holding baby-parts meet her. Long may she burn with the medical cynics this mother of Moloch, this founder of clinics. Convenience is king when abortion’s the Queen and the profits swell big with each nubile teen… yet the fruit of such carnage remains to be seen. I send her this song as a funeral wreath and a card inked in blood. You may read what is there: “To the Matrix Supreme of our culture of death from the souls of the infants you slew on the earth. May your torment increase with the children you bear.”
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Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 9:09 PM UTC
Margaret Sanger’s Entry Into Hell
A hymn to paired planethood: Venus hits Pluto as death, in cold orbit, collides with biology smashing to fragments: demonic astrology (more a black hole than a love-star, it’s true though). Cynical cure for Eve’s womanly grievance Concupiscent consequence: lust’s bitter fruit – ah the thought… changing Sin into mere inconvenience. Margaret sang her seductive refrain about weeding the garden and progress and light. Her sisters should view her with scornful disdain but instead have adopted her murderous rite. With sang-froid she promoted her racist eugenics (as if she had never herself been a fetus), condemning her heirs to postmodern polemics while nurturing ardent desires to defeat us. Suppressing the lives that she flushed down the drain she would liberate Death – and resistance was vain. As a midwife to modern life (though on the “anti” side) Old Matron Margie racked up quite a legacy singing the praises of sanctioned infanticide calling the shots for the coming sick century. Planning, quite calmly, to “cleanse” certain races her zeal was empowered by murderous graces. She labored to bring us such pearls of subduction: “dilation and curettage”, “women’s autonomy” “viable fetus”, “procedure”, a “suction” Hippocrates retches to hear the taxonomy; words that turn Life into mere reproduction. She enters the realms of the ****** and the motherless roundly condemned by her feminine otherness. Man’s first protection: the God-given womb which no infant should have to regard as their tomb. Dismembered dark cherubs, assembling, greet her as demons (in scrubs) holding baby-parts meet her. Long may she burn with the medical cynics this mother of Moloch, this founder of clinics. Convenience is king when abortion’s the Queen and the profits swell big with each nubile teen… yet the fruit of such carnage remains to be seen. I send her this song as a funeral wreath and a card inked in blood. You may read what is there: “To the Matrix Supreme of our culture of death from the souls of the infants you slew on the earth. May your torment increase with the children you bear.”
Continue reading...
44
My personal déjà-vu-time memory-prompts that frame The blurring patterns of today’s hubcap-wheels, spinning Kaleidoscope flashbacks of bathtub playtime. A gaggle of giggling girls babbling about What used to matter : umbrella-popping chewing gum With gallivanting jargon laced in crushes-hushed : boy-talk. Pillows : Comforters morphing, swarming like Womb-entranced, half-cupped palms calmed Palpitating mouths motoring off self-pitying rumble-grumbles. How the clopping ball of opted-birr was a bent-mouth birdcall Over-relished, over-zealous imploration : a round robin Jumblemix of a jejune bombast for high-brow, White-men polemics By-and-by polysyllabic buds bloomed, baked, and wrinkled Past-Gas’s long-gone jokes : those balmy snug-hugs guarding Based-vulgarity amongst the begrimed-teeth-sucking and homegrown-Jive.
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Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 3:53 AM UTC
Word Play : Kid Play : Memory Play : More Play (Revised)
My life burns down 'round my ears My pain a bright flame that sears No way forward can I see The world arrayed against me I'm cast into the Abyss Feels like there is no justice Reality, darkest fear I scream but no one can hear When I feel adrift at sea Farthest from my apogee Up from the ashes I shall soar Pain and sorrow will be no more My life's mission is polemics I rise, for I am the Phoenix!
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Aug 29, 2016
Aug 29, 2016 at 10:37 PM UTC
I Am The Phoenix
There's too much prose in this world, Sermons are more than service Money is more than mind Polemics dominate over resolution Truth crumbles under loads of lies. While millions go without food Poverty is researched Sustainability is analyzed Cost of survival is determined By people living in luxury! Baffled I turn to poetry, To seek symmetry In this dichotomous world!
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Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 2:23 AM UTC
Asylum
Pusillanimous polecats Practicing perfidy Plan parties and Parse probabilities proudly Partially putting past The paltry populace Pornographic postulations And potboilers Pointing poisonous Proclamations publically Pitting proper people To pathetic programs Promising the penurious More poverty. Often posthumously. Pitiful people plead Putting need over posture Putting parents out to pasture Promising, but passing on Proper placement of Propriety and parity Planting nothing for posterity, Prizing prosperity Politicizing with polemics Post-mortems on politeness Placing pandering Higher in practice By perpetrating Practical party politics.
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Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 7:23 PM UTC
Ps AND CUES
Socratic polemics In a wilderness Of waistcoats Listening to noisy Cups of coffee
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Sep 4, 2012
Sep 4, 2012 at 7:08 PM UTC
School Dining Hall
Dominating democracy The current debonair Popular rule world over Parties playfully bannered Need to be well mannered Dreamed deemed democracy Of the people, for the people Cozy easy essence of electoral pulpit An elusive mirage of political outfit Exciting polls parlour Power crazy parties Seat savvy leaders Alluring elections Festoon of manifesto Tuned and tutored motto Voters’ votes wide divide Soapy sops sweep success Massive mandate despise Despite passive poll Empower modern emperor His rising raging entourage Poles apart; ex-party departs Next party takes part Polls uphold democracy Parties unfold idiosyncrasy Polls are tools of power pools
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Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 8:04 PM UTC
Polemics of Politics
Structure is build on structure measured feet on how we eat what we hear should leave no doubt air, and time, are running out if we would free words from their prison we must first smash this capitalism. Make it New! Renew! Remove the muck of ages! This can not be done in stages Everyone lives in a pretty now town Where stairs go up as well as down And warp, corkscrew, and bevel, and lead us to another level. “Lead?!” without a doubt, but something else could lead you out! To be ****** Reading poetry Eating bulger Planting trees Loving one another And changing bulbs Is not the way to stop The  world from getting hot. The need for exploitation decides the limits of the law - the structure’s built, and truth: you can’t declaw a tiger claw by claw. Since the banishment since We lost the battle for apples (appropriated from HIS tree) Food comes first, then Shelter, Later love, And poetry. Before food there’s drink, before drink, breathing; before surplus and production, verse.   Good bye, you’re getting worse... I’m glad. Sea Ewe on the barricades of sequence the barracudas of non-sequiters the band-aids of sequins and glitter -- a dozen Molotov cocktails -- please! Appropriation, making language strange, eschewing polemics, being deranged, fine for academics with tenured chairs of lead and nothing clear left in their heads. Structure is built on on structure, and can be re-built on on sand. I hear the wingèd chariot, and must go organize the proletariat.
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Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 4:51 PM UTC
Parallel Lines
Structure is build on structure measured feet on how we eat what we hear should leave no doubt air, and time, are running out if we would free words from their prison we must first smash this capitalism. Make it New! Renew! Remove the muck of ages! This can not be done in stages Everyone lives in a pretty now town Where stairs go up as well as down And warp, corkscrew, and bevel, and lead us to another level. “Lead?!” without a doubt, but something else could lead you out! To be ****** Reading poetry Eating bulger Planting trees Loving one another And changing bulbs Is not the way to stop The  world from getting hot. The need for exploitation decides the limits of the law - the structure’s built, and truth: you can’t declaw a tiger claw by claw. Since the banishment since We lost the battle for apples (appropriated from HIS tree) Food comes first, then Shelter, Later love, And poetry. Before food there’s drink, before drink, breathing; before surplus and production, verse.   Good bye, you’re getting worse... I’m glad. Sea Ewe on the barricades of sequence the barracudas of non-sequiters the band-aids of sequins and glitter -- a dozen Molotov cocktails -- please! Appropriation, making language strange, eschewing polemics, being deranged, fine for academics with tenured chairs of lead and nothing clear left in their heads. Structure is built on on structure, and can be re-built on on sand. I hear the wingèd chariot, and must go organize the proletariat.
Continue reading...
51
polemics flies and lands messily on both sides the drone of speech and rhetoric never worth the while what use is this discord when we refuse to shoulder part of our weight in pushing the titan's boulder?
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Nov 16, 2018
Nov 16, 2018 at 6:44 AM UTC
responsibility
Of Greyhound buses and cigarettes, Whiskey and champagne. Belongs to the fringes of society, If anything. Polemics as a past-time and books as a spell, Loved nothing more than to rebel. Never sober yet always clean, Short and thin, eyes of evergreen. Argument and sacrilege, Living life on the edge. You say you hate him and his disregard for ethics, He doesn’t care. Yet he makes a lasting impression. He won’t jump through hoops if you tell him to, but he will sit and watch others jump through hoops with you. It is only now I realize he gave it his all. It is only now I realize he was sincere, However vain and bafoonishly depraved he may have been. They say he experienced all the seasons of life. When I saw him last, he was calm in his casket. He looked like all possibilities–and roads, both taken and passed–at once.
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Feb 5, 2018
Feb 5, 2018 at 2:54 AM UTC
He Looked Like All Roads Taken at Once