"profligacy" poems
From my perch,spanning the vast,
fathomless sky at night,
where 100 billion galaxies
vie with one another, for foothold,
shoals of fish on the swim
in diverse forms of being
( or nothingness of various kind)
in cycles of birth from dust,
growth, death in dark holes and rebirth.
I now see only a lone star above,
cowering at a far corner, in silence
anxiety ridden as she's alone
in this celestial grand opera house.
Wonder, where had gone all,
the spectacular display of star power,
profligacy of fish of ocean above
proudly displaying just yesterday.
Lessons, on equanimity perhaps,
nature teaches,writing on the night sky.
Dec 11, 2015
Dec 11, 2015 at 7:42 AM UTC
The gushing river through his interior landscape, runs very deep,
this surging Ganga, glaciers feed, is one of Himalayan profligacy.
Wouldn't stop, or deter a bit,on any eventuality; a mighty force it is.
his beloved sea, was moved by this, swelled up to meet midway, merge.
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 12:20 PM UTC
Lustful deceit of truth;
Unadulterated treachery of youth;
Transformation acceleration - Sloth
Like candle to moth
Deliberate disregard of lucidity
Profligacy elected humility
Portly modish scrawny
Legislature legitimate parody
South Africa today
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 4:05 AM UTC
I want to open a business
but I will never trade
every words of sanctity
for it.
Teach me,
on how to open a shop
without a table
without a sign
without a premise
is it all done just
to break the promise?
I want to be like them
but I can't sell my words
on a tee, on a tele
becoming part of
the rotten machinery
is a sign of chaos
and profligacy.
even if I have to wait
at the end of the line
, I will do that.
Mar 31, 2018
Mar 31, 2018 at 6:52 AM UTC
No tengo - Spanish for don't have
<•>
*woke up bushy and mushy,
"Siri, get my muse on the line,"
wise *** asked which one,
guess she was feeling feisty
as well as girl-gorgeous,
poem perfect on a July 2 Sunday
fake growled and she said
"alright, alright, just a sec..."
"0 Muse, it's me,
it's not even seven am,
got the urge, ready to cruise,
pick me one of my Natman outfit de-skyizes and
let us write many jive poems
let us write till the sunsets texts us
sire, dude,
I'm
just above the horizon,
poems no mas,
unless you will write by
the fire of the maister's grill"
My Muse,
strangely morose, denies replies,
"sorry sire, (she's nice English)
all of the available words
have been purchased until
July twenty tooth"
What, I screamed, threatened and challenged,
must be one of those rude dude tech billionaires,
who think limitless is just another word for more please!
Siri
"get me god on the line so I can maccabee end,
this poetic oppression"
***** an old friend,
an A list star of many prior writs,
would surely insist that a
special rabbinical dispensation,
could be found to squeeze nattyman me,
a few thousand or so
God (looking straight at him, makes him crazy)
"so many things I do not have such as,
your prolificacy,
making me jealous that all your poets
rain down in greater quantities
than I can manufacture clear crystallinely
but now is the hour of your power,
the minute of my need,
give me some words please"
the disembodied voice's disemboweled me
"sorry son,
gotta run,
if it is words you want,
suggest get an in with
wordvango and betterdays,
me, no tengo!
their profligacy,
poems by the hour
have drained the list,
and had I not put a stop to it,
they would have taken them all
till Christmas!"
*So made me some future reservations,
selling them likes suns, 3 for a dollar,
which is even cheaper, (Eliot!)
no ifs and ands about (it)
come see the maister natser,
my words are made of obsidian
and specialty Valyrian steel,
and nobody eats my words
they just-wink at them,
then lift some, a nice steal
cause I never read a poem
undeserving
Jul 17, 2017
Jul 17, 2017 at 6:02 PM UTC
wedded that day, on their way
to El Paso, for two nights in a grand motel
with TV, and AC
they would splurge,
for profligacy was not a sin at such times
and a fat steer was sacrificed for it
the radio filled the cab
of the pickup with Tammy "Why-not"
singing D-I-V-O-R-C-E
they sang along, changing the letters
to M-A-R-R-I-E-D, creating one cheerful
cacophony in their shared space
when the next tune started, he hit:
a greasy buzzard, wingspan wide as a fence post was tall
black as an oil slick
the old windshield was no match
for the vulture, and it was a vengeful one
that crashed through Ronny's side
glass, bone, feather and flesh
tore into his sweet face like a chainsaw
his blood blinding him
Ronny turned so hard on that wheel
the truck rolled, twice, landing them on
the passenger side in an arroyo
where he lay on top of her,
gasping, his blood dripping generously on her
"Ronny, Ronny..."
her legs were numb, and she felt a warm
liquid crawling down her back, one she knew
was from her own head
which smacked the roof
so hard she was surprised her skull
hadn't popped
or maybe it had, for she saw double:
two steering wheels; two setting suns; two mangled birds
and two crimson faced Ronny's
who then had stopped gasping, and only
slow breaths came from him, like a warm whisper
on her cheeks--but only until the song ended
and she knew, he was gone--and old verse
came to her, from Psalms, from Matthew, and she knew,
she was sure, someone would find them
and make her whole, and resurrect Ronny
for the good Lord would not do this to them, on this
hopeful highway, before they consummated
she harbored such a notion until
her own eyes closed, and other dark birds came
to find them, still, under her God's closed eye
(1968, north of Marfa, Texas)
Sep 12, 2016
Sep 12, 2016 at 11:09 PM UTC
meteorites
in quick time , displayed
their profligacy
in a heavenly
poetry writing contest.
Dec 19, 2011
Dec 19, 2011 at 7:35 AM UTC
Eschewing that second thought,
let me tell you what I truly sought
come, lock me up in your heart
you, I've no doubt is a true despot
I don't hold back, life is way too short
can't heckle and haggle like an idiot
on the planes, see profligacy of robust water
hills are in the reign of wild sun and winds
Here ends the vast fields of ripened rice,
where prowl crooked foxes eyeing hens,
on the foot hills furious bisons flare nostrils,
as you climb,eager leopard smells blood.
Love is the fragrance that outlives the flower,
my trek to the mystic mountain continues where
**** and shroom grow tangled everywhere
the trek to the love hill, to strike gold,is in progress,
Mar 31, 2017
Mar 31, 2017 at 3:39 PM UTC
Wishing to dialogue
About the joy of our
Shared salvation,
I must interrupt
The joyous conversation
To warn you.
Dangerous men have invaded
Your circle of faith,
Men who purpose
To corrupt the truth
Of God's free gift,
To franchise immorality
For their own profit,
To pollute the Sovereignty,
To deny the supreme Lordship
Of Jesus Christ
To deviate
For profit and profligacy.
I write to warn you.
Jude
Oct 9, 2015
Oct 9, 2015 at 11:46 AM UTC
Profligacy in restlessness
At alcoholic anger
Unflinching in collision
With a femme fatale’s charade,
Philosophising’s netherworld,
A place of sprawling labyrinth,
Perfidious to fiction
In a novel written hard.
Compellingly original
In counterfactual verbiage,
Accented to the ******
With a leggy broad’s demise.
Discarded on the pavement
In a moonlit show of disarray
Auburn hair cascading
To her open, hazel eyes.
M.
Auckland
20 September 2014
Sep 19, 2014
Sep 19, 2014 at 5:34 PM UTC
The elephants can't stand anymore
Their feeble legs
Can't afford the weight of their profligacy
While the ground cracks beneath them
The whistling of the earth
In the center
There's a coal burning
It sends its energy
To each of its residents
A woman scraping her eyelids on the street
A decrepit cactus plant
The drunk father next door
Who beats his wife, spares his children and loves his dog
But the elephants are happy
If world is for our enjoyment
Why does it **** us over?
Dec 13, 2012
Dec 13, 2012 at 1:15 AM UTC
write me a poem
paint it with words that light up the page
make it glow like the fireflies we saw
on that august night
write me an epic
with a profligacy of pages
that flow to the floor like the stream
we ran through
on that august night
write me a ballad
sing it to your hearts content
let it ride the wind and float across the sky
like the stars we gazed at
on that august night
write me a sonnet
pour out your thoughts
have them dance beyond the clouds
into the sea
like the kiss you gave me
on that august night
Dec 25, 2012
Dec 25, 2012 at 2:40 AM UTC
I’m not quitting, I will not…
But I’m tired of visiting that market
Holding pages that show others my worth,
Constantly reminds me of my failures
In not inculcating traits of brighter mind;
Them alphabets and numbers mesmerized,
My all happiness, every dream revolved around a wooden bat
Father, always scolded me, saying;
“Time never returns, returns only regret”
My adolescent arrogance refuted it
But now, I know the price.
My life was straight
I meander it with my mistreating,
Of dreaming a dream that I couldn’t afford
Of not confining them in the periphery of the countryside,
Letting time to stroll away sitting on a pew
Not making enough efforts to catch in the middle,
Father, you were right
How I long to go back in time
And start again from the beginning,
With all the cautions and advice of your’s,
Accepting all that previously refuted;
Those afternoon walk in the heat of June
Shirt soaked in ‘rejections’
Clothing a dead Will that dies daily in Loo,
All absorbed in counting failures
I wait for a bus to come
With an unknown number
That could take me all the way to that ‘wish factory' place
I heard in childhood,
But the dust fly and settles in the eye
To awake me from delving into another dream;
“Those who take long ladders to reach 98,” the mother says
“seldom wins without bitten at 99.”
But my life turned out to be mazier
Than the game of snake & ladders,
How I abhor to go back home and confront her
Whose trust in Gods diminishing by my defeats,
Whose every prayer is going unheard
I am the victim, she a sufferer;
I remember the days of my college
With immense dreams and a never-dying spirit
And an age where everything seems possible
Where every person looks beautiful
An age with profligacy and extravagance
And complete ignorance of the world,
Later when I stepped my foot into reality;
The clock’s hands had taken so many rounds
That a fastest run could not chase them.
I’m tired of answering the same question again and again
I’m tired of waking in the morning anxious
With the fear of rejection,
That travel from bus to interview place seems infinite
With endless emotions heaving up and down
like a tree on a windy day,
I’m tired of living a life that I do not control
I know, after one hour from now
I’ll exist no more,
And this is not quitting
I just want to start it all over again…
Mar 6, 2019
Mar 6, 2019 at 6:55 AM UTC
I am
a rock
that sock
her dangle
on wiles
and her
heart dials
a profligacy
where croft
bovine her
crèche this
epiphany shall
divine with
nativity that
would roster
a king
in Bethlehem
Jan 7, 2019
Jan 7, 2019 at 8:29 AM UTC