"proliferation" poems
The beauty of comatose can only be seen through
the eyes of a wizard in a blizzard
strutting in garlic slippers,
or Christ with knees bent at the tabernacle
peeling bananas and kicking prayers
farther than eternity with each gapping second,
or like Basquiat slumped back to the wall,
with ounces of speedball dancing through his veins,
eating 80’s free-based fried chicken *******
as his eyelids paints beautiful nightmares of lemon flowers
and Bacchus bacon over a glycopyrrolate desert
of flagrant cuckold buffoonery.
Or like leprechauns burning chocolate ******* candles
on the mantle of Zion, sipping oatmeal sprinkled
with Staten Island malt liquor bacon.
or like Tupac reading the thoughts of Mother Shipton
through the daze of California cannabis
and hearing the ominous voice of Plutarch sing death assignments
from heaven to Assassins on horsebacks goggling ***** water
to wet the dry bones of their throats as they prepare to fulfill
the gospel of self-fulfilling prophecies of being fell by ***** bullets.
Or like sophisticated wallets of spice and kitchen characters in a bald head
cooking chemical kisses and 18 February nights under Moloch’s skin,
where constitutions are written in charcoal diaries with Egyptian ciphers and razors.
“I had rain sowed into the pockets of my sneakers and composed 1310 eulogies
at the basement of king David’s tower,” said the Kraftwerkian caricature,
as he dangles cigarettes in remembrance of Klaus Nomi and philosophizes on the proliferation
of poetic vandalism at urinals where modernism failed under the phosphorescence of coloration at the avenue of no trees where Picasso's "Guernica" **** Lies All.
Jul 17, 2012
Jul 17, 2012 at 6:01 PM UTC
When we think about the choices in our lives
When we fight and we bicker and become bitter
When we think there is only power or powerlessness
If we can realize that there is power and powerlessness
Then haven't we began to acquire consciousness
In that instance haven't we began the process of choice
That there is those who have not have given birth to this consciousness
To those who have only lived powerlessness
And know nothing else
Haven't you owed them part of your consciousness
That you have ceased to be one of them
Or your mere power has denied one of them
That there is no choice for them
Because they haven't birthed that consciousness
And if you choose power they'll remain powerless
Because within you there is no loyalty, right?
It is a choice predicated by an erroneous concept of self-preservation
It is a treacherous dichotomy; doesn't make sense
This is not an indictment of your desire not to suffer
Because surely to hold power would cease your suffering
But it is this type of power that thrives on the proliferation of powerlessness
This conceptual understanding of what it means to have power
That is not what we've come learn, but readily ascribe to
That a mind and body can cultivate power
That can be harvested, shared, communal
For the sole purpose of the survival of the other, not the self
That that can survive in this world is impossible
Its antithetical to the modes of production
In which our societies operate and thrive
How can workers begin to derive power from their collective efforts
How can workers' purchasing power equal the power of the production of their labor
How can any community in any corner of the world escape
The misanthropic missions of first world free trade capitalism
When will we reclaim our escaping humanity
When will we cease to keep feeding the system with our minds, our bodies, our labor
How much longer can we become fodder, scraps, waste feeding the machine
And don't think that you are safe when you have made it
When you have entered the circle of dominance
Because it is then when you will loose your humanity or die
It is at that apex of power that your presence becomes
Just as dispensable as that of the powerless
Because to maintain that circle of dominance
Requires a total conversion to misanthropy
The rigor with which your power will be required
To keep proliferating powerlessness will give no break
And when you become useless, it will replace you
So that we must realize that the modes of production
That we allow to exploit us
In powerlessness, or the semblance of power
Can never safeguard our humanity
How much further will we allow power to be concentrated
So that soon we ourselves, or our children won't have a choice
Won't have the consciousness of power just powerlessness
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 9:49 PM UTC
Society moves like a bullet
And there's no way to cool it
We're not big fans of reflection
So we become slaves to deflection
Bouncing off of hard surfaces
Like limiting gun purchases
Constriction isn't part of or vocabulary
Proliferation is all we know
Watching weapon supplies grow
I live in a country
Riddled by bullets
Bullets that blast through our ****** body
Though the holes in our mind are bigger
When we can **** those we think are naughty
We become judges when we pull the trigger
But the media makes mountains out of molehills
And it is for those exaggerated reasons we ****
We are stuck in a bullet storm
When TV advertises bullet ****
This helps make bullets the norm
So we treat mass shootings with a familiarity
Because we can't acknowledge the only similarity
Is obviously the gun
We're blinded by the sun
Of defense contractors
They're negative reactors
When we purpose a change
The conversation they rearrange
By firing in every possible direction
This is the aforementioned deflection
And it works
You can tell because people are dying
Or standing in the street crying
Or watching the news sighing
Bullet time has wooed us
Bullet crimes have moved us
There are people who gain wealth
From our diminishing health
They hold society on their rope
And the only way we can cope
Is to ****** that rope from their greedy grasp and pull it
But that's hard to do while being punctured by bullets
Nov 7, 2017
Nov 7, 2017 at 3:21 AM UTC
The underlings stare
In submissive awestruck
Subjugation in landmine-filled
Landfills, are stuck
In the trenches, the feces
The carcass-strewn muck
Where the vermin-spawn ****
As they're taught how to work
And to fend for themselves
Like the Fall of Dunkirk
As the imminent doomsday device overhead
Incapacitates them
As mere prey to a web
Of a global dominion
Ambition connection
Subconscious hive-mind
Buzzing out the objection
And phobia-spreading
Pandemic misanthropy
Greed in disguise
Subsidizing atrocity
Not for me,
I am
The justified treason
The reason the man-hunters
Close open season
The cease-fire peacekeeper
Proliferation
The water war's rising
Desertification
An MIA runaway
AWOL defector
Still haunting the tombs of detente
Like a spectre
With what I assure
Mutually in the end
When I send go-aheads
On the ICBMs
And avenge the dependent expended
Caught in
This crossfire for-profit
Arms race it has been
Oct 27, 2018
Oct 27, 2018 at 3:33 AM UTC
Many years past by to get to this new age
Now there are so many new ways
What is wrong with the old ways
They call it evaluation
There needs to be a revolution
I am afraid of this new nation
People of gratification
The new age of ligation
summation
starvation
So much talk of deportation
And of emigration
No legalization
This is
The new age , The new way
The new age of the politician
The new way of their deception
No reputation
No consideration
All about their affiliation
The new age, The new way
Of all corporation's
All about their accumulation (of money)
Their conglomeration
Jobs of elimination
Exportation
The new age, The new way
Still so much discrimination
No equalization
Young life's - unjust- evaporation
with no justification
The new age, The new way
The world without conservation
Global warming no talks of stabilization
Over populating
The new age , The new way
to our own
Proliferation
!!
Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 10:15 PM UTC
The crowds always
looked the same
on every street corner there,
people with disheveled hair,
the look of desperation
hanging out
near the local burger joints.
I found it very strange
to see Western
corporate business operations
so out of place.
Like who really wants to eat
a burger and fries
in a war zone?
Maybe it wasn't desperation
& when I look back
and think about it,
it seemed more like anger,
not hunger.
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 3:50 PM UTC
And with hot branding, I name the end, it is unknown Obadiah, it is uncompromising Demosthenes, it is ambuscaded Agamemnon,
it is crafty Cain, it is able to pull lightning down from clouds to electrify a world beset upon by forces of great magnitude, vibrations ricochet off of each other, quaking knee's knock as earthquakes rock tectonic plates.
In this final hour what was once to edify is now to petrify and once let free the fire is an esurient monster after being kept so long locked behind the now yawning earthen gates, witness even the most pluvial flourishing plain blister and boil, witness unyieldingly the flesh bubbling in flux as if from extreme cell proliferation, another soul abdicates its husk.
Mayhap this life will lead to another, as If there will be a choice project an air-less voice on the matter, will this If, insist on this If,
hold your breath in front of polyonymous Death, let without a moan a trembling icy finger trace lips of now great pallor and make the word-less decision known, no more cyclical reaping of our worn souls says humanity and beg on the now naked ruth for our sanity.
Sep 17, 2010
Sep 17, 2010 at 8:46 AM UTC
I observe, without seeing it the discourse of history in my blood
Hear it, feel its silent speech, its frantic rush, and its inner dialogue
Like a hidden undercurrent coursing through all my veins
The inner space of speech, the redundance of images
A sympathetic attunement to the dimensions of words
That is the medium of my new translation
A new complete language, now, for the first time accompanies my thoughts.
My body is already loaded with the nuclear impulse of an outcast
Demanding a proliferation of attentions, seeking the androgynous coupling of opposites
A fascination showers me I become bewildered by my own questioning
Study my nakedness in the mirror seeking to replace it with something else
I am about to reverse the process of viewing the world, confuse my sensory responses
Challenge all with a double, I wish to distort and destabilize
To divide between mental image and physical reality
This gives me immense pleasure
Apr 11, 2012
Apr 11, 2012 at 5:59 PM UTC
i cant keep up with what i should have done yesterday.
there is no gold at the end of the rainbow.
just the tomorrow youve been waiting for.
im lazy and tired and broke and sad.
i should have fixed that yesterday
but tomorrow. i promise
i will eat better, excersise more
i will get to sleep before 11
i will save my money and stop buying things i dont need
i will quit smoking
i will give back to everybody who has given to me
i will let go of things i cant hold on to
i will be patient and kind
i will be happy with what i have
i will do everything i need to do
everything i should do, want to do, hope to do
tomorrow
tomorrow i will live like nothing is holding me down
i will forget old hurts and forgive the new ones
i will show the people i love that i really do love them
i will quit making the same mistakes
tomorrow
its too tough to do today
im too lazy and broke and tired and sad to do it
i should have fixed it yesterday
but ill wait till tomorrow
Dec 20, 2011
Dec 20, 2011 at 5:55 AM UTC
Marriage is
For neural wellbeing
Of the Human World.
The goal is not mere
Replication,
Reproduction and
Proliferation
Of human miseries!!
That is why it is
Defined as living together,
Dividing and sharing
The life's neural issues
For a life time . . .
Period.
It is done as a pair,
Groups of 3,4,5, . . .,
Communities,
Nations,
The entire humanity.
Still feel alone?
Find your own Guru
A Master of Yoga
And a discipline of your choice
And be married to
The entire world.
Enjoy the marital bliss!
www.kolumn.in
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 4:27 AM UTC
When you make a garlic chicken
special guests are also essential
Cross sections and interior views
forged all manner of ancient
The name may evoke evening
Experiment with cucumber, watermelon
Do not imply the expression of any opinion
increase in normal and immunosuppressed
Make an irony-free living
but never in such proliferation
Prepare to be bowled over by porridge
or other library materials
covered with a blanket of clouds
The dead began to speak.
Feb 24, 2017
Feb 24, 2017 at 4:02 PM UTC
The Christian imagination is captured
by the idea of the rapture
where Jesus comes to save us
like he shouldn’t just shame us
because no one is blameless
for this great mess.
It’s a dangerous mentality
to say our vitality
is based on morality
the rapture is that emphatically
where Jesus is battling
the forces of the ****** darkness
who are those I deem heartless.
The rapture can be Christian revenge ****
or their way of explaining this death storm
either way it prevents our best form
which is what Jesus was sent for
but now the student is the mentor
twisting words that meant more.
War is pushed to the side
it’s viewed as a sign
we’re living in the end times
like we’re in a hopeless ******
and tentacles just went by.
Nuclear proliferation
and global warming
bring them elation
for the rapture’s forming
so if the wars get gory
and match their prophetic story
they’ll practice diminished mourning.
God loves everyone individually
so it seems silly to me
what billions before us have seen
isn’t the same fate we’re deemed
why would we be
treated differently?
We must all walk through death’s door alone
I wish I could take everyone in my home
but that mentality is murder-suicide prone
yet when the comfort of company
becomes too much for me
I say quite lovingly
the rapture is coming
to drown out war drums drumming
I say the rapture is coming
to drown out more guns gunning
I say the rapture is coming
humanity’s mental growth is stunting
I say the rapture is coming.
May 28, 2020
May 28, 2020 at 2:33 PM UTC
I'm writing a poem of alliteration,
Promising perfunctory proliferation,
Rendering ragged rambling randomness,
Scribbling stupid spasmodic silliness.
Finding words requires a Thesaurus,
Collecting curses chirography causes,
Needs necessitate natural nuances,
Instead incredible imaginary influences.
This task is beginning to wreck my head,
Beating boredom before bed,
Wretched wistfully wandering words,
Agreeable arrangements absolutely absurd.
Keeping it logical is becoming a bind,
Maelstroms merging, mashing my mind,
Deranged, despairing, definitely diminished,
Fortunately, fudging finally finished.
Cinco Espiritus Creation
26/09/17
Sep 26, 2017
Sep 26, 2017 at 3:46 AM UTC
I was just sitting and drinking a mug of coffee
And looking at the proliferation of colours round the lawn
In one small corner of the garden one almost bare brown patch
Small green shoots there are starting to show through
Those tiny specs of green are pricelesss to me
More priceless than even my most expensive rose
You see those small green shoots have sprung from
a handful of seed I spread about a month ago
They were........Wild flowers seeds.
No pruning will I do to keep them in check
No fertiliser will they get nor water when its hot
They can get on and do their own thing
They will feed the butterflies and bees
I love them
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 6:21 AM UTC
The bright yellow-orange flame flairs in the air
as the people scream for help that never reaches them
they run for water and throw it into the flame
but the flame does not vanish
it increases as the wind blows increasing
oxygen to the flame.
The fire extinguisher on the wall is not working
the carbon dioxide inside has expired
the cries increase as people burn to the ground
and some have died due to poor tissue perfusion and fluid loss
I hear the cries of starved children in the third world country
but no one is helping them with food or clothes.
I hear the cries of those with AIDS in the hospital beds
begging for more medicine but no one is listening
it is as if they are talking to walls.
I hear the screams of prisoners being tortured
but no one is running to free them.
I hear angry shouts of those who protest against
nuclear proliferation and destruction of the planet’s ecological balance.
I hear endless pleas for justice and peace all over the world
it is a wild flame burning the whole country
and there is no consolation, light or hope.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 1:08 PM UTC
steadily, all grows, like the tower of Babel,
numbers and figures,
measurements and monotony,
all come falling down
and syntax is sequestered down
to simplified ideals,
and yet you overcomplicate it all.
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 1:47 PM UTC
Coming into this world with nothing, save for the benefactors who receive us
Slowly multiplying in an amalgamation of felt experience and ancient conditioning
Do we know the proliferation of thought?
A gradual awakening unfolds, with no beginning or end
Oct 23, 2018
Oct 23, 2018 at 6:12 AM UTC
*Most women prefer roses.
What is dear to me
is the hilltop on a windy
spring morning.
The proliferation of the
wildflowers like
a patchwork quilt
covering the hillside.
The waves of random colors
following the pure gust
of cool fresh air.
People call them weeds
but to me they are flowers
with wild free hearts.
That are as dependable
as the seasons.
They always bring me
a smile when the endless
days of winter
finaly surrender to spring.
But I love them mostly
because they remind me
of you .
My gentle giant.
You were always
the wildflower
I loved the most.*
Aug 27, 2015
Aug 27, 2015 at 3:02 PM UTC
Tiny droplets eluding from the sky,
Making a rhythmic proliferation ,
Drooping in perfect harmony,
Mesmerized by her ravishing beauty,
Always succumbed to her charm,
Nurturing life on the earth,
Embracing the whole of nature.
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 8:37 AM UTC
From a single molecule,
One microscopic molecule,
ONE TINY PEACE OF REPLICATING MATTER,
Life as we know it has emerged with all its beauty.
Humans - You, Me and every single living being on this earth,
Has risen from one molecule
Can you imagine?
Your life, Your particular traits
The way you get slightly embarrassed after taking a compliment
The way you feel after an argument
Your fingers, your muscles, your eyes, and your brain -
Everything has been generated from one single molecule
It determines your looks, it determines all of your abilities
(we must not forget the environment,
which shapes the molecule into what it becomes,
but it's not the theme for this poem.
So let us move on)
It determines the feelings you are capable of having.
It controls your body and the actions you generate.
Think about it! No SERIOUSLY think about it!
How is that possible???
Your whole life is governed by that single molecule.
You are nothing but It's host, Its robot
Whose sole purpose is to get It into the next generation
The molecule doesn't even care about you that much.
It makes you die so that you don't compromise Its further proliferation
After a while, you are just an outdated machine, a liability to newer copies
You have to die so that new combinations can see what works.
****
I didn't see it as deeply before
I should call myself Mr. Molecule
a biological robot living to further my genes existence.
It feels so empty, though
But this is the truth
I feel used.
Used by the very thing that gave me life
The very thing that is me
That gave me the ability to have consciousness,
To think and to observe
To look and to see
To write these words
To understand and to manipulate
That gave me the potential for everything I can do
It is the origin for everything that we have ever experienced.
It’s about time that everyone finally came to realize.
Nov 19, 2018
Nov 19, 2018 at 2:33 PM UTC
Circa Holy Roman Empire
between ninth
and thirteenth century
after common era
(approximately 800 AD and 1200 AD)
benchmark year 780 bracketed
Benedictine monks
of Corbie Abbey
devised cheeky guttural lingual rapartee
vis a vis European
calligraphic standard script inked lined
writ via extant Irish and English monastic
members nsync
strong influence of Irish literati
eased communication
popular Latin cognoscenti
common lingua franca
spawned Carolingian Renaissance
Codices, pagan and Christian text
plus educational material
written viz Carolingian minuscule
Emperor Charlemagne issued prescription
(hence named Carolingian)
boosted unified modus operandi
he advocated learning,
though somewhat illiterate
recognized value of education
predicated on singular
codified regional alphabet,
the then webbed wide world
linkedin, sans uniform symbolic shapes
uncontested salient advantage
offered up ease to master
clear distinct explicit letter formation
simple logic boosted
rapidly transmitted standardization,
especially with exceptional legible
readable characteristic
adequate spaces between words
Merovingian "chancery hand"
still reserved to draft traditional charters
Gothic and Anglo Saxon
favored traditional local script
as opposed to Latin
learning latter involved less tricked out
embellished flourishes
or interconnected strokes
drawn by a scribe
allowing, enabling, and providing
greater popularity to teach masses,
latent etymological nuances apparent
centuries following implementation
quasi initial Carolingian letters
steadfast, where Carolingian
influence moats strong
adopted local stylistic signature flavor
divergence woke since proliferation
stoking diffuse prospects
decreeing entrenched footing,
where auspices boded prescient
until groundswell didst surcease
sub limb mated into modern patois.
May 14, 2018
May 14, 2018 at 7:39 PM UTC
Abater, wherein art thou?
Hung in hopeless romantic gallow's?
Stuck in a cloud?
Abdicate this volition repudiate
The time is now;
For the pearlied gate's.
Proliferation's hit mine glut
None staying behind;
No if's, and's, or what's.
Grandiose word's from other's, to much saidst
Guile liar's;
Of unholiness.
Fidelity gone unseen
Lost in the finesse of foment dream's;
Daunting foresight, dearth belief
Snakes with teeth, to slither thine audacity!!!
Abstinent, they locketh their beak's
Their two people by nature, masked freaks;
Giveth thee evidence, of non-concrete
They shuffleth their feet, for defaming fun.
Biographer's, of their own self
Don't careth, for noone else;
Trap us in a wanting hell, wherein croon's art pain, pain is swell..
We fall
We fell
In their devour....... .
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
Aug 2, 2015
Aug 2, 2015 at 1:19 PM UTC
I was one to stare at the restless waves,
Hour after hour on the lonely beach
They filled my despair with the promise
Of forgetfulness and permanence.
I listened with soothing anticipation
For the soft crashing on the shore.
An uncluttered world split three ways-
A fine line between the sky and ocean grey
And the jagged graph the retreating waves
Leave in amber on the moist sands.
I sat detached among empty shells
Content that the sea spray filled the air
Pungent with the rotting seaweeds.
I was the only living thing around-
Contemplating the basic elements
To seasons defined by my clothing.
But lately I return to this wooded meadow
Where seasons rule and force their will.
Where summer is cloaked in shades of green
Which transform to the earthy tones of autumn;
Here the crystalline of the ice storms glare;
And now, before me, trees and shrubs awake,
The sky disappears to the spreading leaves
And I am one small life beneath the canopy,
As spring flowers with birdsong and buzzing;
Yet the fox and snake scatter through the ivies,
The spider webs stretch from branch to bough;
Such magnificence among the hidden terror
As all around the unseen butchers of survival
Carry out their missions of life and death-
As I play my part in the proliferation
Renewed with a simple joy to be alive.
May 7, 2018
May 7, 2018 at 12:53 AM UTC