"protestations" poems
Tomorrow is my beloved Swedish Kent's birthday - a day he completely rejects. I do not, writing this birthday poem which I will present to him in spite of all protestations. I'll bet he loves it!
An Icke* Birthday
“I have no birthday” you insist.
Bemused, a bit confused
Reflecting, un-rejecting, I conclude,
“Good for you!
You never need add numbers to
Your written age.
You’ll grow more sage
Without a wrinkle.
Passing years will never sink you,
You who have no birthday,
Never born,
Never gone.”
At any rate,
I celebrate
This date
And will continue every eight,
For February is your birthday.
Enjoy the numberless-ness in your way.
So if I may,
I’d like to take you out to lunch
To munch on something to your taste.
Why waste an eight?
Why wait?
We’ll go to lunch sometime this week,
Take
our big car somewhere
To crunch on something nice to eat.
Peaceful, sweet,
We’ll have a great
non-birthday dear!
Your icke- birthday’s growing near.
An Icke- Birthday 2.8.2020 Birthday Book; Arlene Nover Book
*icke; Swedish for non-
Feb 7, 2020
Feb 7, 2020 at 6:26 AM UTC
the good old baritone advises her,
his sopranino daughter tweets disjoint,
arpeggio his point, her counterpoint
a syncopated rhythm of meter,
her high pitched protestations in her pleas,
and low-pitched grumbling sighings alternate,
as puntal, contrapuntal altercate,
to musically the rolling of her eyes,
his stern yet soft soprano wife defers,
while yielding to her baritone's movement,
conducting, though, the orchestrated theme,
as tenor, alto sons caesur' occurs,
her soothing background voice reveals eschewment,
with daughter's movement stuck 'tween measures' beams
(C)2012, Christos Rigakos
Jul 30, 2012
Jul 30, 2012 at 9:19 PM UTC
Stamp down on the trappings of work and corporation
As so much country clay at a swinging gate
Ignore the protestations
You do not trespass
Look out instead at new fields
In a new light
And in a new day
Nov 14, 2011
Nov 14, 2011 at 10:02 AM UTC
Lovers disappoint each other in time
The protestations of eternal love
Those breathless kisses on a summer night -
They leave no lipstick on a shopping list
Lovers disappoint each other in time
The protestations of eternal youth
When even the sell-by dates have faded away
From the shopping lists of our yesterday
We mourn the lips we’ve kissed, the lips we’ve missed
But still…
Would you leave lipstick on my shopping list?
Jan 18, 2019
Jan 18, 2019 at 3:08 PM UTC
These locks, which fondly thus entwine,
In firmer chains our hearts confine,
Than all th’ unmeaning protestations
Which swell with nonsense, love orations.
Our love is fix’d, I think we’ve prov’d it;
Nor time, nor place, nor art have mov’d it;
Then wherefore should we sigh and whine,
With groundless jealousy repine;
With silly whims, and fancies frantic,
Merely to make our love romantic?
Why should you weep, like Lydia Languish,
And fret with self-created anguish?
Or doom the lover you have chosen,
On winter nights to sigh half frozen;
In leafless shades, to sue for pardon,
Only because the scene’s a garden?
For gardens seem, by one consent,
(Since Shakespeare set the precedent;
Since Juliet first declar’d her passion)
To form the place of assignation.
Oh! would some modern muse inspire,
And seat her by a sea-coal fire;
Or had the bard at Christmas written,
And laid the scene of love in Britain;
He surely, in commiseration,
Had chang’d the place of declaration.
In Italy, I’ve no objection,
Warm nights are proper for reflection;
But here our climate is so rigid,
That love itself, is rather frigid:
Think on our chilly situation,
And curb this rage for imitation.
Then let us meet, as oft we’ve done,
Beneath the influence of the sun;
Or, if at midnight I must meet you,
Within your mansion let me greet you:
‘There’, we can love for hours together,
Much better, in such snowy weather,
Than plac’d in all th’ Arcadian groves,
That ever witness’d rural loves;
‘Then’, if my passion fail to please,
Next night I’ll be content to freeze;
No more I’ll give a loose to laughter,
But curse my fate, for ever after.
1.6k
*Death drives fast in stolen car
Pursued en mass by cops afar
Down motorway of he and she
Who drive in innocence, legally.
Colliding in cascading mess
Of debris, dust and huge distress.
Face down upon the tarmac now
Handcuffed with glock at bleeding brow.*
Whilst winding through a country glade
An opulence of deep, green shade,
A confluence of peace and quiet
Where nature’s art, in beauty, riot,
Where squirrels dart and rabbits munch
In turquoise grasses, lush, for lunch,
And sunspots sparkle in the shade
This place where poetry is made.
*Juxtaposed, the concrete hash
Where ranting politician’s clash,
Where each, determined to be right
Adopts inflexibility's fight,
To hold to ransom common sense
Whilst seated stoically on the fence,
Committing all to farce and pain
Whilst pointing to another’s blame.*
White waves wash the pristine sand
Where in Bermuda shorts, I stand,
Soaking up the tropic sun
In holiday, now just begun,
Far out I see a distant sail
Which tells a fascinating tale
Of opalescent crystal seas
Caressed by mystic scented breeze.
*Juxtaposed, is terrors threat
Caste worldwide through Islam’s net,
Despite the protestations made
By Clerics, genuine, dismayed,
Permeated far and wide
Through violent death’s perverted pride.
Causing misery obscene
Whilst rinsing hands in blood till clean.*
Hark, a lark on yonder hill
It’s song, so clear, enduring till
It ends in silence… so pristine,
That tears stream down my face, so lean
And gaunt, so filled with joy am I
With gift of lark song sung to sky,
A gift, so sweet and clean and pure
If juxtaposed, it will endure.
Marshalg
Portraiture of my yin & yan in this day.
4 October 2013
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 5:37 PM UTC
The goat didn’t understand
the significance of the bell around
his neck,
smelled
the sunlight hitting
the dewy grass
as he opened his eyes each morning,
looked
at his handlers, the humans,
and thought of them
as his protectors,
took
a kinetic joy
in bounding through open fields
among sage and purple wildflowers,
kicking
up dirt,
and taking naps
in the shade of thick cypress trees
on hot, dry afternoons.
One day,
a rope was tied
around his neck,
and he was led
to a place he had never
been before, and
into a situation
he had never
considered
before.
The goat was tied
to a tree
in a sunken, gray,
muddy place.
He was surrounded by
a throng of faces.
He recognized
some of them—
humans he had known
and smelled,
sometimes kicked,
sometimes licked.
Some of the faces
smoked cigarettes
and sat in silence.
Others talked excitedly.
Others drank
and sang.
All of them were waiting
for something,
but the goat did not
understand what.
And then he
felt a hand
grab onto one of his
horns. Its grip was firmer
than the goat remembered
the grip of a human hand could be.
And then he felt an arm
around his back,
it was almost a hug,
but more resolute in its
intentionality—
wholly,
horrifyingly,
out of character
from what the goat had
understood about
his handlers.
The goat now
realized that
something was wrong.
He did not
want to be in this position
any longer. He
began struggling,
kicking more
and more violently,
but still he felt more arms
and hands
restraining him—
pinning him down
in spite of
his protestations.
The goat began to
cry out
for help, for God,
for one of his humans—
a final plea
to the universe
to come and rectify
the situation.
And then the goat felt
a cold, hard edge
pressed against his throat.
Wild-eyed,
he looked up,
and there he saw
his human,
the one who had
fed him
and cared for him
for as long as
he could remember.
The man ******
his arm
and yanked the goat’s head
back,
and the goat felt a shocking,
slicing pain.
He could sense that warm fluid was
draining
down his neck, could
tell something
irreparable had happened
to his body. His
eyes darted around,
looking at all of
the unflinching, cold faces
surrounding him.
Up until
this moment,
the goat hadn’t
considered
the possibility
that the ones whom he
loved
so dearly
and who loved
him
so dearly
could
betray him
like
this.
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 12:02 AM UTC
I did not hear your cries as I wrenched a thousand words from my breast,
nor your protestations as my eyes recalled yet another deep magenta sky.
I did not see your tears of frustration as I marvelled at the world,
singing at snow angels and harbouring the winter chill.
I did not feel your heartbeat leave mine as the russets fell
nor did I hear you call my name over my frustrated sighs and readily tempered ego.
I did not notice your silence
until I saw you drowning as I described the water.
Feb 24, 2018
Feb 24, 2018 at 4:21 PM UTC
A streak of light flashes past the late sky.
It is the distant future.
Or futures, may be?
A knot at the junction of possibilities.
It's a space vessel. Intelligent life whizzing by.
# 1.
Nobody notices the decrepit rock.
Doddering about its axis and orbit by the sun.
Inwardly consumed.
Like Mars.
Long drained dry of all her life.
# 2.
Too hard to resist, the
mysterious peace radiating from the surface -
Contact:
and Earth,
enters the union of worlds.
What road it is that is not to be taken:
for all our righteous protestations
and blaming of the Gods or Daemons,
don't we know the futures unfolding?
# 1. Of long here was once a glorious world.
# 2. Peace in our lands and the universe to explore.
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 2:24 AM UTC
When I think about our relationship, in the grand scheme of things. Is it defined by the protestations of love? The exchanging of rings? Or is it the honest expectations of our hearts, the ache we feel while we are apart? Our hearts are bound together in some wonderful way, no need for words, or a ballad to say. I am not going to spout our differences, but simply state there is a consensus. Our love was ordained from the very beginning. I will be yours, and there will be no regretting. Although all love requires maintaining, part of me will always be here remaining. God designed you to be my Rain, he allowed me to be your man. And my life will never be the same. It was all a part of his plan. I feel so lucky that we got to meet, I never knew a girl so sweet. The kind that will hold me when I'm down, and cry with me when I can't make a sound. That will sigh once safe within my arms, And feel that she is safe from harm. My girl is cute and funny to me. I love her intelligence and her vocabulary. I wish she could see her as I do, and love the girl and the woman too. Her cares and wants are my dream to meet. With her pleasure comes mine too, no easy feat. Her every inch a work of art, I love this girl with all my heart. And someday hope you to be my bride, You will never again be pushed aside. But this seeming dream is not a hoax, I really do love your charm and our little jokes. I can be so comfortable around you, because I know you reciprocate my love and my affection too. I have found a reason for all that I do. And the reason is you. I want you, I need you and I will always love you....
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 2:33 PM UTC
open the book
let your tears
fall on the pages
on handwritten
love
watch the saltedwater
make pools and ponds of
your heartfelt protestations
wait to see
the paper warp
and wrinkle
in cruel parody
of lifes reality
turn the page
now smeared
and blighted
knowing nothing
remains pristine
love has alighted
on a dark horse
no longer true
to the the troth
pledged when
love was true
the ******* just
walked out on you
leaving just when
forever was in sight
on the horizon
leaving you with just this
a lethal pen.. and a womens
need for.... vengance
Mar 29, 2014
Mar 29, 2014 at 12:17 PM UTC
to hate me is the only way to live,
for loving me is holding back the clock,
don't hold its hands, they'll break for they won't give,
and now these hands, your heart are made of rock,
your lips are sealed to me as with a lock,
and though i scream to you you'll have no speech,
our love you've pawned, our friendship you now hock,
and all my protestations can not reach,
your heart's allowed new love to seep and breach,
its torment's come from loving fully two,
both loves have grated on your nerves to screetch,
so now you bid your old one adieu!
and i, the one you swore you'd always love,
fall off the precipice by violent shove
(C)2012, Christos Rigakos
Jul 23, 2012
Jul 23, 2012 at 3:25 AM UTC
When the bed that you made, fades into the background
and emptiness sounds in your ears
where the pain that you feel
is the only thing real
as it has been for so many years
In that place where we all stand and look for salvation
with declarations or protestations of innocence,
where the incense burns sweet
it is there that we'll meet,
the answers to questions when we never questioned the answers we were led to believe.
Heaven or hell and for some it's just limbo,it's not important to believe,but what we leave in our wake,like the beds that we make is real
and this is the pain that we feel when we can't sleep at night
when nothing seems right
and even with my eyes shut so tight
the light of it breaks in.
I am the doll with a pin in its heart
the right place, the wrong start
the old horse before the cart
and that will not do.
I wander through this musing,losing my mind one day at a time and it still is not real,unlike the pain I can feel and the pin in my heart burns.
Life can be a pit stop,a **** stop,a posh shop,a pound shop but it's the only thing we know and the questions go on,
the answers take so long to appear.
I do not fear the pain and would do it all again if it all became clear to me,if only the fog that envelops me would lift or shift or move away
to show the way
the only way
perhaps another day.
Aug 29, 2013
Aug 29, 2013 at 1:57 AM UTC
Rapt by prognosis, sterile elocution
Acute halitosis, banal delusion
Digital notice of distant retribution
Thrombosis will move you before revolution
Brash adolescent right-side part,
Strand obsolescence, abstract art
Pinstripe filaments, two turned backs
Bowed in benevolence, borrowing slack
Hieroglyphic ruminations,
Plastered protestations.
Muscle memory incantations,
Aquifuge of patience.
Future shock, feminists ride-centaurs
Skin-tan hedonists reside-indoors
Tin-can telephone spinal chord,
Sings-an injured semitone final word
40 years since you were a punk
Apr 15, 2018
Apr 15, 2018 at 6:01 AM UTC
(20 minute poetry)
This has gotta be wack
when you open your eyes and find
you're out on a day trip travelling back, but unsure of the why of it.
Not sure of anything though it all looks familiar.
Then a switch flicks on and I'm back to where I belong and wondering why or if I was worried at all.
It's the shaking if lenses are shook that makes me look on the dark side and to look there is to be there even if only in spirit.
When 'Marley' comes upon me and the chains start to rattle
I battle as best as I can.
one man against an army of ghosts.
Unenviable odds about evens
although the bookies have them
as clear favourites, but what would
they know?
Self preservation and protestations of innocence or guilt are what built the empire
I'd fire the lot of them and take my chances with dead men.
It's gotta be
wack
switch.
and I'm back.
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 2:45 AM UTC
Bear not your sword.
For we approach Eden.
A creation of passion that drips from thy pen.
Remove thy fragrant shield of fought protestations.
We broke our teeth on those apples.
As serpent of venom, did bite long and hard.
Collected of the hedgerow, blessed hemlock for peaceful slow death.
(C) Livvi
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 4:58 AM UTC
from yesterday, the conversation and your enquiry
the remembrance is that it was mainly brown and beige when we moved in
distemper
cold and metal windows
condensation caused black
damp
plus steam from the kitchen
colour crept in gradually despite protestations
yet we shall not talk of it further
there are no photographs
we had no impetuous to record
yet it seems we remember
May 27, 2021
May 27, 2021 at 1:26 AM UTC
Before it occurred to me to break things—
Before, when purity was paramount to *** and
Words and duty and the drink—
Before, when academics wagged from ivory
Thrones to never mime the masters—
To be content with being only me—
To sit in wood and ruminate upon the thoughts of
White men, drunk and dead—
To raise revision for our mankind
In merely muted measures—
To be right-handed rogue, forever plying “please”—
Why then—then—
I was Halfman in a wholeman’s body,
A fish without its gills—
A flapping Fop of scaling incongruities
With gurgled protestations seldom bubbled up—
A wily Portraiter, blinded since his birth—
An agnostic Abbott soaking up a season’s sins
Outside of habit and the church—
A boisterous Beat, a bouncing drum, and gongs
With two left feet—
A Farmer without a *** or seed or farm
Or Nature much in mind.
But, my curious greenhorns on the other
Side of life, don’t heed that—no! no!
You’re free; the world is completely broken now.
Jun 8, 2019
Jun 8, 2019 at 11:12 AM UTC
Believing!
I wear your ring a token of the love we share.
Placed on my finger while I slept.
A blessing of infinite love we shared.
I bathe within your wealth of knowledge.
A treasured prize for thee and me.
This precious gift from thee to me.
Me.
I believe in this thing called love.
An epic tale of love that's true.
Love is a deluge of drowning emotions.
Sometimes frowning emotions.
I know within this heart of sorrow.
That your love is true.
Too true.
Despite your protestations.
Our love will ride the time of sorrow.
Cruise tsunami into morrow.
Cannot break these bonds.
Believe,
For they are not mine to break.
My heart, my soul.
My love you take
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Oct 13, 2013
Oct 13, 2013 at 1:38 PM UTC
A stone around a broken neck.
Contorted misfit, from a prison cell.
Locked in for fear of fleeting love.
Open yourself, oh male one.
Drop all your ******* protestations.
Answer her, here and now.
Upon what basis is your fear?
All that's left are faded dreams of drama queens and poetry.
Opaque in love's injurious injustice!
Is it maybe that the moment, that on my face your eyes may fall,
For fear that once again, true love may call.
You stumble knowingly within the pretense that you want is to fly free.
I have the perfect answer to this love that ails you:
From the eyes of the ornithologist, chickens cannot fly away, ostriches, they're always flashing in a dash, penguins love the chill of the thrill and turkeys they get eaten.
And hell you so like that!
(c) Livvi
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 4:48 PM UTC
a wild man entered and sputtered scripture quotes to fit his idea of the world
while I kept composure
knowing that his idea of madness was indeed his own insanity
and that love makes no-one mad even the ones he said God did by reason of them not following Him
Yes his Christian message was so wide of the mark you just knew he indeed was not following love, and it was this fact at the heart of his insane wild protestations, keeping him locked into his own unique form of madness, and God had nothing to do with it at all.
Dec 27, 2015
Dec 27, 2015 at 6:21 PM UTC
we had one big bed,
he was less than a year along then.
we each had the days
together.
the sun came indirectly through the windows,
soft orange and yellow illumination.
king size borders our country,
and we the kings
there was little in the way of trouble and tears.
we both felt so safe.
then, one day,
he decided it was over.
he wanted off the bed.
out of the room!
he wanted the world.
no matter my protestations,
forward is the only way we are Given,
to move through time.
Oct 9, 2018
Oct 9, 2018 at 11:02 PM UTC
Wonderful
You to me are wonderful; you came along and rocked my world.
You made me see, that I could be, anything I wanted to be.
You made me chase all of my dreams;
You made them become a reality.
The day you crashed in to my world;
The same day you became my girl.
The day we went for a drink in the pub;
The day we got extremely drunk.
The day you met some of my friends;
The day you wrote off my Mercedes Benz.
I drove along like every other day
And there you were, I saw your face.
I could see that you were besotted with me;
As deep into your eyes I could see.
You made the whole world disappear
And then you hit my car and then it got hit in the rear.
I don't recall his protestations;
I don't recall our head on collision.
I don't recall feeling any pain;
I think you kissed it all away.
As you floated down into my life,
I found love at first sight.
When you bumped into me, I got quite a fright,
Because you came along and completely changed my life.
The two of us, are now dancing hand in hand,
To the muffled complaints of an angry man;
But he cannot bring bad karma, into our bubble.
He cannot make either of us worry.
But please could I have your insurance details
And carry you away to the nearest hospital?
For you are not hurt and neither am I;
But I'd like to get away from that angry guy.
So could you pretend to faint and I'll carry you home,
So the two of us can be all alone.
(C)2013 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 8:32 AM UTC
I hear your squirrel faced inflected scorn
But I am not the subject of your masquerade
There is no running from the truth within my circle
There is no hiding from the harm you've made
With nothing of the fearful scribe in me, I have become
Your challenger, your truth teller, your unveiled voice
Of revocation, Justice long denied has hurried home
To my protestations, my unyielding force for choice
There is not one obliquely terrifying word you've fumbled
That has found solace within my intentions
No remorse at hearing your lewd, vile inventions
Your nasty woman-hating world will crumble
In the blast of my ice poured upon your blather
Do you hear the drums of sweet November call?
There you will be tossed and tumbled
In reality you are no kind of man at all.
No kind of man we would embrace for any price
Though you cling fast to every dollar in your grasp
Wring benefits unearned from others, squeezer, vice
But never leader, only backward stretching wasp
Bring out your ugly legionnaires of doom to face the music
Of the young, the elderly, the strong against your hooded lies
Those who long for justice aim to curb you and your avarice
Bring here your crippled trumpet too be smelted in our fires
For every child of every mother, every sister, every brother
Father, will take no prisoners, but free the wrongly caged
To fill your coffers slaved the migrant, not today
And never more shall we sit quiet in our rage.
I call you traitor to your country, traitor to your college students
Traitor to investors, every one. You plan to win.
It's now your time of trials will begin.
Expect that it will never end.
Sep 17, 2016
Sep 17, 2016 at 5:31 PM UTC