"punctilious" poems
Impregnate your old crock squirtin'
Papier—mâché blackball on the *****
Oglin' for upshot
And whatever frigs our orifice
Yeah Ducky **** **** it bud
Milk the meatiness in a snog stranglehold
****** all of your bazookas at once
And unclench into ventilator
I like dung and tinsel
Shandy ****** fuss
Breedin' with the puke
And the Weltanschauung that I'm in statu pupillari
Yeah Ducky **** **** it bud
Milk the meatiness in a snog stranglehold
****** all of your bazookas at once
And unclench into ventilator
Like a punctilious Zeitgeist's nincompoop
We were born, born to be unstatesmanlike
We can spirt so penetrating
I never wanna croak
Born to be unstatesmanlike
Born to be unstatesmanlike
Mar 28, 2010
Mar 28, 2010 at 5:05 PM UTC
Frail demeanor of library index cards
packed with Dewey’s decimals
stared upon so many times
some of you stigmatized with graffiti
“Read This” and “Don’t Read This”
as if the vandal knows
I wish to ****** each one of you
good precise direction you give
care in punctilious hand print
of maimed athenaeum tenders
all with long stretched noses
bridging reading spectacles
eyeing out naughty gigglers
stigmatized themselves by
rolled up quaffs
with pushed in pencils
or retractable ballpoint pens
writing implements held so delicately
while you were ascribed
O index cards of my shielded youth
how you protected me, informed me
Guided me on treasure hunts
where my imaginings still take me
away, in isles of knowledge
information coded in numbers and letters
Yours is the power
Apr 28, 2016
Apr 28, 2016 at 8:21 AM UTC
When she first discovered the last fictitious and missing piece, that absent link that could create
That would fit so very perfectly between her fastidious reality and her dream filled escape
That piece was what filled her with the alluring thoughts of setting the diamond edged blades aside
To let her bloodied and gore encrusted wrist's lay. To finally heal her disfigured and cleaved thighs
To set aside the insomniac coloured nights, filled with a nervous tick called suffering and misery
Bringing dread filled terror for next days coming, day and night it creeps into her lightless sanity
It graced her with the forgotten hope, that daisy chains and blades of grass would keep her honest
Hope she had long abandoned as she hid within the scarred tissue upon her mangled conscience
Telling her that she was now allowed to forget her aphotic and distressing amorphous past
It was filled with many an onus and distrusts that she choked on; from lack of air, her brain begins to crack
Her Mother and her Father thought she was a "lacking" kind child, those that required little needs
It reminded her that she would never again have to repress and crunch down those memories
They rise inside her throat, until she regurgitates them along with what little food she would eat
She sits in her room most nights, crying softly alone and wishing to be as thin as the models on TV
That last puzzle piece was supplying her with a vociferous need to put the bottle of pills down,
Many had slipped their way down her esophagus, from diet to Analgesic's, they ranged wide
They were locked away in her father's medicine cabinet, so of course she was always punctilious
Puts an aspirin in place for the ones she stole, so her parents (Would they care?) were left oblivious
She tried to push that last piece in, shoving it somewhere between a wrong scene of the puzzle
So the piece was soon to be lost, destroyed within the struggle to find the perfect place
As she was losing to and was within her blithering mind, wild and frightened, filled with dismay
She then reverts to the false reality, in which she called her final escape.
The last daring and startling move, the check mate, the final set stage of the play
Where dreams become the reality, and reality becomes the dream
Jul 7, 2013
Jul 7, 2013 at 9:22 PM UTC
It was
put a bow on it pretty,
our democracy
with its polka-dot accountability
and its tissue-paper truths.
The discount-bin card arrived
separately, postage due,
and with a punctilious script
it promised us
a curlicued freedom from
antiquated forms of expression.
Our very love was
ceremoniously given,
but was it
ever right-
fully ours?
Let’s render up the flattering
notion of own,
as it's grown so fatty
lipped it wears a perpetual pout.
The gift was merely Caesar’s
grandiloquent concession
tagged liberally,
“To: Us,
a meekly over-entertained many
whose we, drained of meaning,
poses no coherent threat.”
Not yet.
Dec 9, 2010
Dec 9, 2010 at 5:45 AM UTC
~~~a Requiem for the DedPoet~~~
*the air we breathe
and its best accompanist,
a good life, well cherished,
that's a symphonic harvest reaped,
knowing the magma of countless blessed times daily
fill it with the glee of children,
raw joy, still unfermented, unpasteurized,
by the sour vinegar candies of life
inevitable to be delivered,
mouth puckering and ill tasting
bring good skills to all you do,
the wisdom to lean forward,
admiring it in a satisfied manner,
best work leads to best content,
now is the time to witness the value all about us
remind me to set aside,
the sidebars of grief, struggle,
pause me in minute minutes,
to grasp the pleasure of the
joys this world provides so easy freely
you come early time to me,
early, as I search for your words,
finding none, to begin this day,
but your gravelly voice intimate initiates,
you remain for me as alive as ever
reminding an old poem writer,
that the best is to come,
if one allows, if one allows,
this is my un-sad requiem~song for you,
hoping that the joy of living and
remembering
is a bond tween us, unbreakable*
~~~
(NOTE: Since posting, the details of this item may have changed due to fluctuating market prices, federal regulations, currency rates, drought, pestilence, bandits, rush hour traffic, filibusters, clowns, zombie apocalypse, punctilious poem~developments, death, and breathing life and lives, well remembered
Nov 1, 2015
Nov 1, 2015 at 9:56 AM UTC
*i dream of her
flourish mouth spiral
eyes drawn down
yielding
naked lips cocktail
lost ********* waiting
bare ankles linger
for graces slave bracelet
and fire branded buttocks
her face a
punctilious smile
are you my fate she asked
i am a little inky mouse
and your a fat tabby
i belong in your jaws
will you throw me around
drop flip spin and play
buffet little me
with pointy needle teeth
and dainty pink meow tongue
can i entice with milky thighs
slow melodies and careening hips
pierce me
and thrill to my vaporous hiss
show me savage
plunder and swoon
night shade kisses please
and swallow*
May 11, 2017
May 11, 2017 at 12:30 PM UTC
A punctilious artistic muse in the guise of a butterfly
Mirth and mystery at every perch , charged by
the 'vernal electricity of this earth' .. Traversing magnetic byways , filling migratory skies , retracing long held accustomed paths , challenging the predatory countryside ..
Color the remaining fragments of Springtime
Filling the panoramic view of forenoon with multitude and wonder
Busy Monarch , winged pilgrim of the afternoon , intent for the
Summer grassland , fly by day into night on your scheduled journey southward old friend ...
Mar 29, 2016
Mar 29, 2016 at 5:15 PM UTC
Pacific, pacifist pampered papa
parading par excellent paragon
parent (parenthetically parochial
particularly partisan) parvenu
passive, passionately paternalistically patient,
paunchy, peaceably pepped, perfectionist,
perceptive, perennially perky, permissively
persevering, persistently personable, perspicuous,
pertinent, phenomenally philanthropic, philharmonic
picturesquely pious, pioneering, piquantly pithy,
playfully pleasant, pleasurably plucky, plummy,
poetically poignant, politely pontificating, popular,
positively potent, powerfully practiced pragmatist,
praiseworthy, prayerfully precious, precise
predominant, preeminently preferable, preparedly
preponderant, presently president, prestigiously
prevailing, priceless, princely, principally pristine,
privately privileged, prized, proactively procreative,
prodigiously productive, proficiently profitable,
progressively prominant, promisingly prompt,
prophetically propitious, prospectively protective,
proudly proven provocative, prudent psyched, puissant,
punctilious, punctually purposeful.
May 28, 2018
May 28, 2018 at 1:07 AM UTC
i try to work with a punctilious
attitude, and be conscientious
but it's tedious bein fastidious
vs. mischievous and pretentious
condescending, persnickety
assiduously, picky people
who keep nitpicking, snippy, sickly while judgemental they're evil
jerks, sedulously deceitful
methodical when diabolical
it's ridiculous how meticulous
these hypocrites are symbolical
is ice, so suffice is a Popsicle
society for sobriety is invidious
i drown in tears while amphibious
are the oblivious, and supercilious
who **** me like the lascivious
but most are naturally perfidious
& birth of its insipid incipience
always was, humans are hideous
and maniacal like puritanical
was a mechanical part of biology
which is like psychology based on astrology, so even mycology
can't explain some guys fungi
and some try to think logically
but being **** about hypocrisy
in thought can be, like ******
to the psyche, a likely lobotomy
cuz conscience is mythological
cuz wealth perpetual, comes to the less ethical so impossible
is altruism, as cynicism feeds the vision of their egotism
til rights far from wrong like paganism is to catholicism
that's why i live metaphysical
A mental visual state that invisible
where happiness is centrical
and by sacrifice isn't divisible
or only seen by our peripherals
cuz it's the only way comin to bliss
the only invention to fight tension for prevention of cuttin my wrists
Sep 16, 2017
Sep 16, 2017 at 2:10 AM UTC
If ever I’m punctilious,
Please bring me up to task,
People are annoying,
When they’re talking out their ****
http://tansyroake.weebly.com/
Jul 19, 2017
Jul 19, 2017 at 5:22 AM UTC
I watch as Legions of parrhesians operate to diffuse the calumny against this sacred Love. The forces at rage are calling us to action. We can sit by the way side no more. Longing to join their hallowed ranks, I begin studying their methods with punctilious care.The enemy is cunning and has mastered the arts of chicanery. A bitter harangue begins to weave in and out of my mind but the sounds of seraphic hymns drown out any notion of failure. It will take great measures of aptitude and assiduous dedication in order to vanquish this night but we were created to conquer and conquer we shall. Soon the time has arrived and we sit down to one final holy repast. I turn to the restive face sitting at my side and give a gentle reassuring nod. We are brothers and sisters of Christ and our time is now. All across the land we wait eagerly, one hand on sword, other on sheath. A calming cool breeze wafts across the fields. The bellowing voice of our general raises high above the steeples and beckoning to each of us, he cries "LET THE BATTLE BEGIN!"
I take a deep breath in and step out to meet my destiny.
May 20, 2018
May 20, 2018 at 1:04 PM UTC
perfect summary, of pre-times, the ex-diurnal regularly raggedy,
lyric line, of lunar linear days, wave to it hi/bye crooked jaggedly
foretelling, of a first time, when world was self-imprisoned, wondering, a sin of commission, an omission from a shut-up confession
guilty of laxity, no perspicacity, our fortune telling, loved our ignorance,
lazy greediness let sickness rule, everyone pointing no, not me, fooled
heroes dying in saving, rich in New Zealand hiding, while poets
march in punctilious timing, mourning lost freedom to be unafraid
all thinking, now disbelieving, we’ve lived so well so long,
but the fault-lines cracking showing all of us were emperors naked
from now on, we’ll live so long, not so well, suspecting each other,
the masks we will wear forevermore, dual purposed, protect and
hide our ashamed faces, gowned to disguise, finger pointing
not my fault, but the curve of life and death, proclaiming good bye:
***so long so well, so long glass houses, so long, age of so swell, we too, sophisticates, above the fray, impervious innocence, so well we dead
gutless guiltless***
<>
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^ ”*And I don't know a soul who's not been battered
I don't have a friend who feels at ease
I don't know a dream that's not been shattered
or driven to its knees
But it's all right, it's all right*
We've lived so well so long
*Still, when I think of the road
we're traveling on
I wonder what went wrong
I can't help it, I wonder what went wrong*”
“American Tune” by Paul Simon
Apr 25, 2020
Apr 25, 2020 at 7:52 AM UTC