"prostrated" poems
rain
mud and grass
common prayer
good weather
good people
art
and umbrella bags
because who wants to
get wet?
unless it’s with you
I could
I would
jump into the lake
for that rock
sew
cleanse
initials made in sharpie
and unclamp
we run
around the park
the afternoon surrounds us
the woman in the bikini
passes
and we laugh
iced tea
decaf coffee
cake without teeth
and that airstream camper
you always wanted
I could live in your
backyard
I could live somewhere
not here
in silver
prostrated
with my back to the
moon
like dead
like a mummy
like a mirror
and life would make sense
life would be beautiful
like this run
with perfect amounts of sweat
and conversation that runs
waves in the sand
and tells the squirrels
*goodnight, tractor
see you tomorrow*
and the land that billows
is dug up
and chewed
like a goodnight poem
this run with you
takes rest
on my soul
and I crack my ribs
to take the spring’s
twilight
aroma
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 10:36 PM UTC
Self worth. The sense of ones own value or worth as a person. So how much do you have? Shes thinks if I fit in and change the agenda then I'll be much happier then, than with what I already have. If they don't say I'm pretty or the crowds aren't pleased then do I have value? Like I can't be happy with myself but I need to hear it too. My life is more than what I can just make do. They have to tell my worth then it'll be true. If he doesn't tell me my value then is my self worth through. If I'm not cool today, famous tomorrow, then all my efforts right now have been in vein. I had a girl once who told me that she was happier being in a relationship, but every one ended up with no real valuing shift. She said if I just have a guy then I'll be more than just a petty thrift. If I have *** and get wasted, ill be more than a girl in her parents basement. Not realizing her logic to that situation was misled and outdated. There is no question that your uniqueness is the greatest. Don't let the world make your self esteem so prostrated. Because I'll tell you that your worth more than the world and it should bask in your greatness. It was about that time she butted back in and said but I'm wretched and filthy a guy won't love me, will he? And I said that's what's amazing about self worth. As long you keep your head up then it doesn't matter what he thinks your worth. You were intricately made, a masterpiece of work. God made you perfect and righteous so how dare you say your worthless when he says you're priceless. Women are degraded but yet they are the very essence of our being. They are the seed of the earth that holds all its meaning. So don't be demeaning of how valued you are no matter if crowd doesn't find you worth seeing. You know that saying about giving credit, where credit is due? Well if that's true then I think it's about time to give women their rightful credit too. Because your the worlds greatest and wonderful masterpiece made in you.
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 2:56 PM UTC
With every affirmation
My tongue trips over the unspoken
Unrequited acceptance of current circumstance
My submission is insulting
Unbelieving, you see my lowered eyes as an attack
Belly up
I am confused
Unsure of what movements are appropriate
Frozen, doe-eyed and exhausted from the constant dance
Do I bow
Do I speak
Merely acknowledging my emotions
Sends shockwaves through the tentative peace
I was not built for this
A goddess prostrated
Stripped of her very core
Caged and chained
But it is almost as if my very attempt to accede
Is a declaration of war
What kind of existence is this
Trapped between personage and possession
My only purpose is to please.
Allow me.
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 12:04 AM UTC
I know about lying on broken bones, beading into my back.
She was missing something.
She was lying on hands searching through the trench coat of a bathroom romance, watching butterflies melt,
She was becoming herself
At four thirty am I write her account, embroidered in a diary of lullabies,
“this is what death must feel like, being left alone in a street screaming of footsteps and blacked out whispering.”
She threw deliverance, caked over old vengeance, out of the car window with daybreak’s kisses. She writes,
“I sit in the heavy sleet of the delta drowning in resurrection, grime from age wipes over me once,
twice,
The broken blood pools out of ‘I love you’s’ and islets.”
She slept with the darkness.
“Prayers don’t come for me anymore.”
She glitters, shivers, tactless as a teacup in an earthquake,
She is awake.
”I am awake.”
She documents God- "I feel God,"
- in herself. "In myself.”
There is a silence.
A burning, left, cold to dry alone,
This is for her.
Call it, my face, swathed in the impenetrable darkness when it is no longer my own, call it an aunt’s love when a mother’s doesn’t suffice any longer. Call it,
cigarette buds and elevator rides to death’s door. Call it power bubbling up from the violation.
This is for you; call it Cuban cigars, show tunes, and Marylyn Monroe;
call it misery. Missing, call it hues and paint, my life prostrated on a disgruntled canvas. Call it fate.
This is for you.
Call it liquor stains and tarot cards in a fit of ecstasy. Epilepsy, call it the most intricate balancing act of existence.
An unseen performance, a lyric with no voice,
“a cry in the night”
”a scream of supplication”
The hunters’ march to death, the Holy Grail’s melting between your fingers, civilization pouring through veins,
“death, destruction, life, happiness, Azrael, Abbadon, blood, Rome!”
“I don’t want to feel this!”
Call it whispers of unspoken meetings and witches in the night, threatening,
“I know you!”
“No you don’t! Leave me alone.” Recognition. “I don’t want to listen…”
She writes,
“I loved you…
On purpose and…you left me,
with,
myself.”
Jul 31, 2013
Jul 31, 2013 at 8:57 PM UTC
They hailed
and prostrated on the dust
as the monstrous jeeps passed.
Chants of praises
in loud native phrases
all for one man with deep pockets.
White man would look and say,
" Africans "
Black man would look, smile
and shake his head.
We say Nigeria is distressed
We say there is no money
We say all our leaders should face the firing squad
We say alot of things.
Churches are increasing,
Spiritual leaders are prophesizing,
Intellectuals are holding conferences,
Analylists are investigating,
Ministers are budjeting
and yet nothing is changed.
Still that black man on
the presidential seat wants
a second term.
Another term of nothingness.
I know everyone deserves
a second chance,
but ruling Nigeria
isnt a dice game.
We are in a state of nature
where every man is a danger
to the next.
Even body parts can not be guaranteed
to remain in one piece,
even in death
because of these ritual get-rich quick individuals.
Just like a mathematical equation,
Nigeria's solution
is " no solution ".
But, because there is no answer
doesnt mean it can not be solved at all.
I would not be the first to write about Nigeria
nor will i be the last,
but let history record
that at least i verbally cared.
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 4:45 AM UTC
Here God,
Everything is for you:
Here are my
Testicles, looking like smashed purple grapes,
Bruised, mashed, and crushed along with what
Is left of my once proud, now exploded, tattered *****
I have laid before you my
Disemboweled, bloodied and tangled intestines;
Blown into bits and pieces, here lays my torso along with
Shattered ribs, ruptured lungs, exposed internal organs:
Erupted heart; battered, split, spleen; torn, mangled liver;
Next to them, my legs, minus a few toes;
Arms with hands missing thumbs, fingers;
My head,
Less pieces of skull, cheek bones, nose, tongue, and teeth,
Is nearby;
Those puffy messes of glutinous, jellied, deflated ****** orbs are my eyes;
Over here, piles of chunks of obliterated pieces of flesh floating
On a thick soup of congealed blood, mixed and meshed with
Splintered, fractured, cracked bones; everything
Convoluted, disfigured, impossible to identify.
All of this is for you,
I am your martyr,
Your soldier,
Your obedient servant;
I blew myself up,
Along with many infidels including
Men and women,
Unborn babies and children,
Young boys and girls,
I tore their bodies to shreds,
Mangled and mutilated, they
Suffered deaths no nightmare could imagine.
I sacrificed myself for you,
Exemplifying piety and righteousness,
I await my reward,
Wait for you to put my pieces together again;
Been here for what seems an eternity and
You have not come near;
Not made me whole.
Where are you?
Are you not great?
Where are the young, innocent, ****** girls or
The boys with silky, pearl smooth skins;
Will I ever have an ******** again?
Uncomfortable, anxious, concerned I
Lay here on this sacred, hallowed ground,
Like a fleshy puzzle, scattered in jagged pieces,
Waiting to be solved;
Praying to be completed and recomposed.
Where are you God?
A virtuous, faithful, prostrated one waits;
I have much to show you.
Oct 21, 2010
Oct 21, 2010 at 7:50 AM UTC
*I once had my mental faculties in check
And my heart’s pacemaker functioning relatively normally
Didn’t know you’d be a pain in the neck
Causing my heart to oscillate solemnly
From acute insanity to imagined bliss
Gravity’s power rendered dysfunctional
And I plunged heedlessly into love’s abyss
Evidently an amateur radical
My ego prostrated
My emotions infatuated*
Am indeed yet another statistic
Of cupid’s uncanny antics.
Aug 27, 2013
Aug 27, 2013 at 8:48 AM UTC
No one has picked up for weeks. They are home, but no one has picked up. Not an email returned, nor a text acknowledged. I ****** up. I know. But why won't anyone, anyone answer me...
I can only contemplate so long in a dark room. My sulking is repetitive. I'm guilty. I admit it, and freely so. She died at my house, my party, my birthday, my drink.
Accident's happen. Can't anyone see that? Can't anyone see I'm not a murderer? Can't anyone just UNDERSTAND? All I want is for them to understand. All I've wanted is for someone to say okay, I get it. Is it so hard? I asked god. I've asked every waking moment with every twitch of my being if anyone could understand. I guess I know his answer. I guess silence is another word for no. For you don't deserve it. For **** YOU for trying. For get off the ground. For move on.
But I can't move on. I can't see over the lip of my hole. I can't move I'm prostrated here bound and gagged… by chains. My words have all escaped me. I can't even speak. I try to splutter a word and nothing happens. I can only think now, and even that is becoming beyond my ability. The disjointedness is enclosing.
I wish i could apologize. Just answer for me to apologize.
No?
No.
Oh well.
Ignorance is bliss, knowledge is power, and insanity is safety
Insanity is my true shelter the true zenith of insight. So I'll slip and I'll fall through the hole into the disease. At least its touch is awaiting; at least I will have warmth.
good morning...?
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 9:55 PM UTC
It's been a lonely morning, but perhaps, I was in need of one.
After staring at shaded yellow walls, at every hour of the night,
and feeling anger sharpen to some light,
At 7 a.m, I finally fell fast asleep,
my walls were slowly becoming bright.
I woke up 4 hours later to the opening of a door, one that was expected for long ago.
The sides of my head were biting my brain, and my teeth on lip bites gave way for pain,
I got up and got dressed, no coffee, no rest, I went for a walk, in need of a talk,
but sat in a park sipping black alone, and watched the white on which sun softly shone,
and the air slightly breezing, this bone of mine freezing,
a dog interrupting, I headed down the lonely street,
staring at my lonely slow feet,
counting my numerous steps,
and seeing a nest?
I saw a beautiful bird in a tree, and it's true a lot of memories came back to me.
It hoarsely cawed and gave me attention, another passer-by, just one of the Menschen.
I stood and watched its desired Display, He stood on a roof and gave flight a nay.
Tucked its wings in for the very last second, he dropped beak-first
and I have to admit, I was a little afraid.
When cement was an inch away, his black wings rose, and extended from his small body
the wind pulled him back, his head prostrated backwards, his eyes met my own
and he cawed.
The three of us we belonged to each other, with wordless agreement that said She, the Mother.
"Have trust in me, you will fly and and you will fall, this time is not yours,
However, this here, this is your call. I know it moves slow, and it gives you a shudder, but have trust in me, I am your Mother."
I ignored Her words, and descended the road,
felt the earth flicker, a disrupted candle-
The wind, was to blame for its cruel games.
A door opened after many steps,
the flights were long, and the wind did not help.
I opened my window, gave breath to the tree,
and She crept in,
She humored me,
"One day your shivering bones, will be under those stones, and that bowl will be full with your fleshy Müll.
You'll feel the stillness, see the Flicker for you, this cement all ready and new, awaiting your beak, hopes for your red leak."
"It'll be me with your breath, and your longing thirst, but first,"
She gave me her hand, and I saw wrinkles of ages,
and so that I might repay, or perhaps even Replay
I gave her my hand and said,
"Lead the way."
Oct 8, 2012
Oct 8, 2012 at 2:33 AM UTC
prostrated by the
agonies of the ****** a
molar rotted through
Apr 4, 2016
Apr 4, 2016 at 8:50 PM UTC
1 Iron-bodied, you stand giant;
a thousand feet into the air, rigid
metal swaying in the wind.
2 Neck-breaking,
3 Sears Tower -- world-reflecting, glass-paned --
eclipses you, yet pales in your shadow.
4 Your ironwork: murky, camouflage brown
in the daylight, beautiful only by the twinkling dusk.
5 Prostrated, the multitudes hope to ascend,
flashes melding with the hourly light show --
6 Capture the splendor across the city!
7 L'Arc de Triomphe, Champs-Elysee, Notre Dame, ...
8 Euros squandered in trite gift shops,
9 -- Attention les pickpockets! --
10 Key chains, pens, 4 by 6 postcards...
Miss you loads. Wish you were here.
11 I climbed you. And now? 12 I watch
from Trocadero; fountains alive, illusions in place
but observed from afar, removed; 13 Apart
from the greedy, flocking masses.
14 One day, you will fall, and with you
the congregations that kneel before you
to wait in the line of impatient,
shoving, babbling, 15 Hallelujah tourists.
16 And when your feral echoes
fade to rubble on the crucified pelouse,
17 We at the grand marble square
will blink and miss it and wonder:
18 Were you ever there at all?
Nov 15, 2011
Nov 15, 2011 at 12:04 PM UTC
THREE MONKS
Morning sunbeams danced on the ripples
Sparkling on the majestic flow of Mother Ganga.
Noisy crowds of pious pilgrims from all corners,
Pestered by ash-smeared, bargaining priests,
Rushed towards the sacred waters for a holy bath ,
In a hurry to wash off their numerous sins
And save themselves from Yamadharma's* wrath.
Three solemn-looking monks in saffron robes,
Moved briskly past the motley crowds,
Looking for a less noisy, cleaner spot.
At a distance, they saw a colourful launch,
Carrying pilgrims across the vast expanse,
When, all of a sudden, the launch tumbled
And scrambling pilgrims, in panic jumped
Into the river flowing fast over hidden rocks.
Seeing their desperate struggle, the surprised monks
Took a hasty plunge and swam towards the sinking launch
And pulled some of them towards the sandy shore,
While one of the sturdy monks carried on his back,
A woman clinging to the side, breathing hard
And left her after she recovered composure.
Resuming their walk along the river bank,
Two of the monks appeared rather grim and cold.
Breaking their solemn silence, the frowning monks
Called their companion a big sinner
For he had carried a young woman on his back.
Unperturbed, the robust monk said with a smile,
Although he had carried a drowning woman on his back,
He had left her safely on the river bank
While the scolding monks carried her still in their minds
And they hardly knew what detachment meant !
Startled and rudely awakened, the two monks
Prostrated before Vivekananda, the awe-inspiring saint!
*********** M.G.Narasimha Murthy
*Name of the God of Death in Indian mythology.
Aug 13, 2016
Aug 13, 2016 at 11:26 PM UTC
I have the willpower of a torrential flood
I have a tongue like a bolt of lightning
The drive of an ardent wildfire
With the serenity and Zen of a lake’s mirroring surface,
When the sun is just shy enough to hide away from the world five minutes before dawn.
I have traversed the Atlas and soul-searched in temples and nightclubs alike
As I navigated skyscrapers and mountains of mass media with a wrought-iron compass
I meditated and prostrated and repeated my Ex Corde mantra,
“Om mani padme hum, our Father in heaven,
I pledge allegiance to the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth will set us free.”
These old words resound in the Information Age with feigned harmlessness,
Amplified with the subwoofers of today’s youth, screaming, “The only true victory is peace”,
Screaming, “Rise up, daughters and sons of Forever”,
Screaming, “Next stop, the Greater Good!”
Jul 1, 2011
Jul 1, 2011 at 10:05 PM UTC
Pick axe in hand
The ground laid out before me
There is no
”X”
Just a solid exterior that is beginning to erode
Some where below is the prize
I pick among visible lines
The obvious
Start where it is already coming undone
Grinding the dust into my hands
The smooth grain worn into a natural grip
A focused vision comes into view
Marking the ground with my sight
Lifting and straining against the weight of my tools
I have not yet begun
I feel myself dispersing into the ground below me
Patch verified axe rising like the new sun
Then quickly drawn down upon the soil
Solid even in the fissures
The vibration resonating
Pushing back at me
Swing Man! Swing!
Bring on the ultra violence
soon
Standing on a barren plane
Soft winds lapping at the gently rising dust
As small shards find new places to rest
Progress is slow & shallow
Stopping regularly
To clean and prime the site
This ritual promoting
Images and feelings of being prostrated
Before some long forgotten deity
Many hours gone progress is measured
I have not gotten far
This will be weeks
Not days or hours
I stop to consider the plan
Too late ultimately
I started here
No rhyme or reason why
Just here
This is the scar upon my psyche
That will give way
I say.
Feb 21, 2010
Feb 21, 2010 at 7:35 AM UTC
Late night at the Bar,
The neon sign said time to go,
Funny, when I got there it was all
Welcoming and overenthusiastic,
Garish, like a parade of clowns
With balloons that just got lost
Loosed, to the winds. I had a few—
Too many and wrote a broke poem,
All alone surrounded by the clank
Of wood from a pole and clicks of levers
As the glistening 'patrons' shimmied their
Tithes to the used machines of *****
Pinned and the green tables pooled
And the women, who desperately looked
At only you, after you looked at them
And the indifferent, tallish Barman,
Who kept pouring smallish dreams
In a shot glass. I stumbled, swirled out
And kissed the tar as was my want,
Every newcomer slogging in
Simply ran with not even noticing,
As I laid on the ground, they knew
That their time was soon coming.
That's called simpatico, or is it
Solidarity, maybe, whatever?
Anywho, I dusted my self off
And hightailed it back home
Before the broad, my old lady,
Jezebel, caught me on the sly.
The 'Queen of Sheba' was already
There— prostrated on our bed
Waiting to nail me. My only excuse,
The muses— she wasn't buying,
I said baby, 'I ain't tryin' to sell
You no lie. The words, they come
And they go, like a train that never stops
But you bestbe going, you best be jump in'
On that steel Goliath and ride that son to the gates
Of pearl and peace, them goldilock rays and then I said,
Hush, my little 'rock-a-bye' lady, you shush now,
My fresh night moon of lilly flower, we's gonna
Make like nubile creatures, all naked and free,
There ain't no clocks little darling, there's
Just you an' me and all the rest of herstory,'
She bought that line!
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 11:30 PM UTC
Late night at the Bar,
The neon sign said time to go,
Funny, when I got there it was all
Welcoming and overenthusiastic,
Garish, like a parade of clowns
With balloons that just got lost
Loosed, to the winds. I had a few—
Too many and wrote a broke poem,
All alone surrounded by the clank
Of wood from a pole and clicks of levers
As the glistening 'patrons' shimmied their
Tithes to the used machines of *****
Pinned and the green tables pooled
And the women, who desperately looked
At only you, after you looked at them
And the indifferent, tallish Barman,
Who kept pouring smallish dreams
In a shot glass. I stumbled, swirled out
And kissed the tar as was my want,
Every newcomer slogging in
Simply ran with not even noticing,
As I laid on the ground, they knew
That their time was soon coming.
That's called simpatico, or is it
Solidarity, maybe, whatever?
Anywho, I dusted my self off
And hightailed it back home
Before the broad, my old lady,
Jezebel, caught me on the sly.
The 'Queen of Sheba' was already
There— prostrated on our bed
Waiting to nail me. My only excuse,
The muses— she wasn't buying,
I said baby, 'I ain't tryin' to sell
You no lie. The words, they come
And they go, like a train that never stops
But you best be going, you best be jump in'
On that steel Goliath and ride that son to the gates
Of pearl and peace, them goldilock rays and then I said,
Hush, my little 'rock-a-bye' lady, you shush now,
My fresh night moon of Lilly flower, we's gonna
Make like nubile creatures, all naked and free,
There ain't no clocks little darling, there's
Just you an' me and all the rest of herstory,'
She bought that line!
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 5:26 PM UTC
*(The ******
My lord,
you trouble me
with your weighty message.
I am but a humble ******
Why me?
(The Angel)
Lady,
Mother of God,
I do as I am told,
prostrated before you.
Why me?
*(The Son)
*Father,
who knowest all,
I am your only son.
Am I to bear all the world's sins?
Why me?
Dec 24, 2016
Dec 24, 2016 at 1:33 PM UTC
I prostrated in front of her
Kissing gently
The rises and fissures
Upon the back of her hand
There I rose
Late into the night,
By her bedside
I stared into her eyes
As she inched backward gingerly
I did not blink while whispering
Etching a promise into her bones
“I will not relent in my pursuit”
As I inched backwards into the sooty sordid mist of her mind
Lost forever into the dusk of time.
Aug 13, 2011
Aug 13, 2011 at 2:36 AM UTC
She was a source of life,
The incandesence of my darkness,
A glow worm to my eyes.
Selfless, she lit me even when I never reciprocrated her
Indefatigable love.
She was irritating at times when my eyes wanted mirthless isolation.
Nevertheless, she kissed every nook and cranny of my being.
She escorted my blindness, navigating the travails of life.
She furnished words into my soaking spectacles.
She gave me solace, she gave me space to abate my prostrated
Solar cells.
An exquisite garland and a crown of thorns.
My soul will be snuffed out without her; my existence invalidated.
The fogdog of my hazy life.
Edifying light—she revealed
The beauty of the cosmos; my corporeal self, manifest.
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 11:21 AM UTC
Under velvet veils lay cords pulled taut,
Snapping, lashing at wrist and shin, prostrated on fallow ground.
Wings are clip'd and hooves are lamed, struggling leads to naught.
Within a cage, singing in rage, whilst spectators clap'd along.
Giggles, laughter, at they who chafe: the Bound.
Nov 9, 2010
Nov 9, 2010 at 3:09 PM UTC
I'm not an idiot.
I have faced your subtle rejection
as often as one's own breath;
the sting and recoil dull with each
understated devastation.
Believe me when I say
that I kick myself
dutifully.
A jaundiced bruise for
each time the familiar
feeling creeps and wells beneath
my goose-pimpled skin.
Today, you brushed my hand
a second too long.
The day before, you leaned
against the wall-- I undressed
you with my eyes.
God knows
why I read into these moments.
The butterflies
are just as soon ripped
wing from flimsy wing.
I'm not fatuous. But I'll
take tomorrow's lashings with
a smile. Call me your
masochistic romantic. Cringe in
my blushing face.
Leave it to me to find the
cliched glint in your dull eyes--
for I will always get off on
falsities before
settling for indifference.
Oct 24, 2016
Oct 24, 2016 at 9:30 PM UTC
A woman,
prostrated,
head bowed.
Her one possession?
a paper cup.
On Champs-Élysées street,
what a shame…
What else is there…?
But a shame.
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 6:11 PM UTC
I sit in a burgundy leather chair at work
Hoping that I don't get fired.
But I tried downloading an unauthorized program onto my computer
And a pop-up with the word ********
Flashed across the screen when I went to check the baseball scores.
Maybe I will forsake this whole ******** life
And run off into a hermitage
Heaping ashes on myself, prostrated before a cheap wax statue.
But on some level what I'm really doing
Is avoiding responsibility.
I'm dreading the drive home, to be honest
Because I know you will greet me with that fiery anger
That paradoxically gives me an ********
But also breaks my heart.
Maybe I can just walk in the door
***** preemptively sealed in a yellowed Mason jar,
And say,
"Just stay right where you are, Steve."
"We don't want any trouble..."
Oct 8, 2019
Oct 8, 2019 at 4:54 PM UTC
I followed footsteps and a strong voice
Through a tunnel that turned my words
into smoky, indiscriminate echoes.
I followed the sway of any icy wind
that prostrated my lashes
and froze my tears in their ducts
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 12:57 AM UTC