"purvey" poems
Fear, Is a battle.
Fear is a Disease.
My disease.
Fear, puts me in places,
That I know I shouldn't be in.
Like I woke up in a dark attic, not knowing how I got there, or why.
See, it's not...things...I'm afraid of.
It's not people, or pain, or injury, or death.
Fear puts thoughts in you, that are totally and completely out of character, until they begin changing how you define yourself.
I am,
The fearful.
I am,
The untrusting.
Trust and fear come hand in hand, but purvey the opposite effects of one another.
Trust, puts fear to sleep. A silent, peaceful slumber. A place fear would rather be anyway. Trust allows you to see what is hopefully the truth in others.
Ah...you see. "Hopefully." There is that little seed of doubt.
Fear is the abusive sibling of the relationship. Always hanging over trust's shoulder, whispering worst-case scenarios in his ear.
In mine, it takes trust's confidence and gently, throws it into the nearest garbage can.
Trust is powerful.
But fear cuts deep.
When trust, faith, in someone is broken...
Well...we've all been there at some point.
When trust is broken, he half-heartedly stumbles to his bed, and stays there. Not asleep. Just, broken.
At this point fear doesn't have to do a thing.
Anytime you look inside yourself, since trust is gone, the only thing left is fear, just...sitting there.
Normally trust...gets up and brushes himself off to try again, especially with the help of friends.
But, in a few of us...
In a few of us, trust falls asleep, and disappears.
Hope, the half-sibling tries and tries to wake him up, to no avail.
Trust is gone.
Fear just sits there. Doing nothing, but doing everything.
Hope is a stubborn one, and pushes, and pushes, and pushes.
Sometimes it works.
Sometimes, it doesn't.
Fear. Trust.
They walk, hand in hand.
Toe, to toe.
I am,
The fearful.
I am,
The untrusting.
Hope, through valiant effort, keeps on trying.
Her energy is not limitless.
At times like these...
Hope, is not enough.
Trust has died.
The only way, to restore the balance,
Is for another's heart to come forth, and share their trust.
It's not fair, asking your trust to keep my fear in check, as well as yours, It just isn't.
At times like these,
I need the trust of someone,
Who is willing to share,
With one, who trusts no one.
Nov 3, 2018
Nov 3, 2018 at 8:44 PM UTC
Postman, postman, stay away,
Do not bring me bills this way,
Take them to the Prime Minister today,
He can afford them, let's say,
Postman, postman, bills here do not purvey,
Postman, postman, stay away!
Mar 20, 2017
Mar 20, 2017 at 1:57 AM UTC
He clears his throat,
offers a hand,
lady afloat
begging to stand...
but where is she now?
The gentleman's moon...
his strides upon Earth
whose labors to croon?
Here, gentleman, hear
her breaths are so soft.
Need this dough like skin,
a taste so aloft?
Her pulse like a symphony,
her steps on pools glistening,
her lips your night litany,
her hands light-wrought ivory.
Gentleman she swoons!
Her hips like snow dunes,
her words gentle noons
that light up your Junes.
Yet you stay away,
your respect holds sway.
Though she is nectar,
you drink not as night
does day.
Your gentle ways
lengthen the days,
though distance kept,
you oft' purvey
a sense of love,
as she turns your way.
Apr 28, 2016
Apr 28, 2016 at 10:44 PM UTC
With the piquant poignancy of lurid allusion
I create a dynamically progressive matrix of collusion
Whose apex crux axis is beyond finite solution
And the endergonicaly adhesive pragmatics imbue a cohesively coercive illusion
For the inveterate hypotaxis of livid elusions
I portray a protensive conjunction of latent confusions
Whose effervescent effluence is vagile laconic effusions
And the sardonic impending preponderance conveys sabbat consortium delusions
From the endemic puissance of eclectic synectics
I derive a dialectically semantic sorcery of syntactics
Whose apothegm aphorisms are levity terse synaptics
And the lucidly collusive illuminism educes the aesthetics of geomancy's fatidic
Through the viable salience of kithe’s intrinsics
I exude a portentous pervasion acuity of linguistics
Whose apomixis anabolics are irrefragably felicitous orotund acoustics
And the aural auspice austerities infer axioms of manumission’s eidetics
By the hypercritical mitigations of anachronistic sociology
I purvey rampart ransack oblations of epistemology
Whose azure opulence articulations are futurity ostensive ontology
And the evolutional ontogeny metamorphisms incur a homogeny epiphany deontology
Oct 20, 2016
Oct 20, 2016 at 10:30 PM UTC
**The Marginal Difference
Tween Child And Adult**
awake Sunday stuff to do...
another unit of life decapsulated,
where one will compromise
with all those lofty
make believe dreamy would-be goals
that course thru the brain,
when sleepy morphs into
the to do list at the premier of today's
wacky wakey consciousness movie
and a poem forms on lips
that have not yet been
coffee'd
into adult responsibility
the list purview'd,
and you purvey,
foresee, attending,
bend back that pointer finger
looking right at ya guiltily
one and enough,
believe getting that one done,
will be
satisfyingly crossed off that
grownup
groaning
tatooed list
of the unavoidable
one will make the
marginal difference....
tween child and adult
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 8:58 AM UTC
What is this breath of life
that cools me with every exhale?
The breath that sways in between every leaf,
and provides the earth with much avail.
What is this breath of life
that gives movement to those without vitality?
That enables the inanimate to travel,
giving means to their universality.
What is this breath of life
that brushes the hair from my face?
That gives resistance to my motion,
challenging the runner's pace.
What is this breath of life
that in the absence of such, beings would also be without?
Allowing existence to continue,
contributing to the circle of life throughout.
What is this breath of life
that is constantly taken for granted?
As mother nature's sigh
tests the trees she implanted.
What is this breath of life
that rocks the wooden chimes?
Creating an orchestra with the forest
playing a different song than those of past times.
What is this breath of life
that embraces us with whispers?
That calls to us with the rest of the land
to wake up and read the divine scriptures.
What is this breath of life
that I can count on to relinquish the past?
Providing a state I can dwell in,
knowing that now is the only thing that lasts.
What is this breath of life
that is fully indifferent to good or bad?
A spirit that knows no evils,
who cannot tell between a murderer or a lily pad.
What is this breath of life
that spreads bliss every time the spirit is blown?
Who's inspiration can help you realize peace,
once you grasp that you are never alone.
What is this breath of life
that transmutes silence into song?
Giving lightness to reality,
causing your feet to dance along.
What is this breath of life
that endows me with so many reasons to smile?
The simplicity of nature's air conditioning
that makes the sun-heated day worthwhile.
What is this breath of life
that spreads seeds to propagate plants?
Helping to sustain life upon this earth,
from the humans to the ants.
What is this breath of life
that sends a message from far away?
A prior knowledge of the situations beyond,
so one can be wary of the upcoming purvey.
What is this breath of life,
that is another link in the interconnected subsistence?
Where the presence of one leads to the actuality of another,
in which the universe is a timeless coexistence.
Dec 13, 2010
Dec 13, 2010 at 5:19 PM UTC
Women should accommodate for men
Watch life through their lens
Follow the latest a trends
But most of all accommodate for your boyfriends
On men's magazines you see a body builder
A pillar, a vacuum, ******* in space
Toned and cloned
But women must have grace
On a women's magazine you see weight loss
Clearly we cannot be the boss
Go apply your lipgloss
My advice is reclaim your thrones and space
Apply your war paint
**** restraint
Do not let them encase you
In a glossy magazine
Do not let them erase your face
Climb up this staircase
Pick up your mace
Smash the glass ceiling
Do not accommodate for their feelings
Make them beg your forgiveness kneeling
Women should accommodate for their ego
Like a snake it wounds around your body
Tightening and restricting
Constricting your opinion
To give way for their dominion
**** them
**** all who stand in your way
Make them pay
For the way they made you purvey and obey
This is a new day
Today women should accommodate for the their own ******* selves
Not placed on bookshelves
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 7:25 PM UTC
I am a shadow shifting upon the broken wall
Vast visage dwindling in an urban sprawl
I am chaos, darkness left unchecked
A vicious tyrant, call me regret
I hunt happiness by the light of day
Spawning tragedy in night's great purvey
A manic schizophrenic enthralled with misanthropia
The tapering end of a surgically severed ganglia
An anarchisticly pessimistic vision of utopia
Regret the king, paradise turned dystopia
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 4:43 AM UTC
Seems that ‘entertainment-sake’ started off with ease,
But now the pain is greater and it's hard to contain it.
Whatever need be said here's my attempt to say it,
I hope this doesn't leave me jaded,
Even more so than before, so, here’s the statement.
Like a disease, I maintain a deadly anger,
Just to appease the needs of basically strangers.
And when I can't breathe, they blame me for the strangulation,
And heave heaps of painstaking sensations
Upon me. And all I do is remain complacent, so they
Don't see the side of me I'm containing.
For now I'm safe from the day they find me hanging in the basement.
I need to save myself before it's too late to reclaim it.
I just hope these words are enough to make me complacent.
Embracing all evil things that bring me to the brink of insanity,
I’ll compose the fable, as much as I can purvey it.
Mar 31, 2019
Mar 31, 2019 at 3:44 PM UTC
I'll tell you now, girl, I've never been good at expressing my emotions. I run my mind around and around in circles, seeking solace from the lullaby of loneliness I hear every night before bed.
I'll tell you now, girl, I'm not your stereotypical tough guy. I'm not going to start squabbles for the sake of excitement, or purvey pain like the pimps and the players.
I'll tell you now, girl, I'm not the most confident man that's ever sauntered down these streets. I have a fragile ego, one that breaks like brittle little bones nearly every evening. The few things I take pride in seem insignificant in the face of my follies, fallacies, and failures.
But I'll tell you now, girl, you keep me alive through the worst life throws at me. When the world is whirling and I'm weak and wasted, I wish for a woman to withhold my wild ways. I beg for the beauty that will battle the back breakers and bum-bombs that burst in my brain. I sing for the siren of all things sweet and **** of salvation and accompanied solitude.
But I'll tell you now, girl, you don't exist. The joyous and gentle girl I describe within is mere myth. A myth, but a mystical morsel of my mind, one I shall seek till I'm sickly and saggy. A soul that sends shivers down my spine every succulent second they're in sight.
I'll never stop my search, fantasy female. When I at last locate you, love, I won't let you leave, and I won't leave you limp and lifeless, from lures and lies.
I can only desire your deliverance, dream dame, and I leave my heart on your fireplace hearth, hoping to hold you.
For an instant.
For an evening.
For eternity.
May 27, 2013
May 27, 2013 at 2:09 PM UTC
.
Tunnels of crimson, splits the vision
as passion cruises through misty time,
the journey of the mage, passing through
the portals of seconds, the doors of millennia.
To encounter the turbulence, feel the butterflies
that threaten ill and ***** up minutes.
Chronology moves in pan-dimensions,
tempered to conformity, trapped in a clock.
The guardian of day and night, corrupted.
At journeys end, a travellers rest
parades upstanding to purvey its solace,
beckoning the beacon to sally forth.
Light space, occupied with vaccuum stars.
A macrocosm of possibilities, caves of wonder,
sends the horizon to eclipse blue moons.
In contrast, green symbols of pure abandon
triumph in ancient games of catching mist.
And the bed of Truth, a complete Lie fact.
© Pagan Paul (2016/2017)
Nov 14, 2017
Nov 14, 2017 at 4:57 PM UTC
Elizabeth, the ****** Queen, left vacant the English throne.
Her Scottish Stuart cousin came and claimed it for his own.
Two nations with one monarchy joined in the Union Jack.
The Scottish lost their nationhood and now they want it back.
Saint Andrews’ Flag of Bonnie Blue will have to be unfurled
if Scotland votes to take its place among nations in the world.
Quebecois and Basques today are eagerly looking on
to see if Scots will vote to tell the English to be gone.
Hadrian’s Wall will, once more, mark where their dominion ends.
Remove your subs from Scapa Flow; your lease is at an end.
There still remains a problem which, just now, occurs to me.
If the English take their Pound with them, what is our currency?
It’s true we’re rich with North Sea oil and better off than Spain.
Yet how do we do business if the Sterling won’t remain.
We need a new “Gold” standard based upon the single malt!
Who needs pounds when we have ounces stored in barrels and in vaults?
So pour me a “MacCallan” on the day the rent comes due.
Hand me a glenfiddich and I’ll purvey food to you..
Our creditors will be well pleased with hints of bog and peat.
We won’t dilute our currency as Scots men drink it neat.
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 8:24 AM UTC
Perhaps everything that has ever existed will exist forever in the psychic clarity of God. Retrospectively retroactive's omniscient ubiquity. Objectified manifest's infinite possibilities exponentially
extemporaneous eidetic prospectus perpetrates incorporeity ideology's perfectible ontology.
Imagination's immaturities would seem to purvey that these things are irrefragably inevitable in the light of noumenal sentience's semantic regalia. Astral projection's distance traveled time spent's dynamic progressiveness to clairaudience clairvoyance existential extremity.
Spatiotemporal telemetry tactician's trajectory extant is totally tangential. Extravagantly exorbitant's flirtatious flamboyance to flippantly flighty flit-ness. Down here at the bizarre bazaar we all believe in the blasphemous farcical fugue-ness estranged ensemble orchestrations and all. Some of us are even into the various assorted forms of related stranger weirdness, similar states of analogous collusion and ancillary subordinateness. Laboriously beleaguering hypercritically meticulous tedium, excruciating exacerbations of autonomous avarice.
I'd like to think that these arguments have leverage on the reconnaissance reconnoiter. Mentality's osteopathic prescience is an empirical substance. Psychokinesis is an art. Eclectic synectics's social contiguities zoomorphic zoolatry to demagoguery could raise us all to new heights of enigmatism and leave our corporeally preternatural finiteness endowed with a fidelity that exceeds itself, foreshadowing life's mysteries. No more dour droll dreary ochlocracy of an oligarchy. Stolid stoic bailiff's rake-ness rails, vicarious recalcitrance for all!
Jan 25, 2025
Jan 25, 2025 at 12:34 PM UTC
I’m throwing my voice throughout a corridor
With no one on the other end
A space empty and dark filled with my radiance and purpose
I’m here to entertain, my friends
I’m here to guide the tour
Each doorway leads to a lecture hall, a subject to purvey
Each window out is bricked and barred
With damaged curtains, worn by air
Dusty books and creaking floors
No sign you were here
Hourglass and broken microscopes
Scattered all around
Competition from the past
Tests the finest pupil’s skill
Unclear who will succeed
May 5, 2010
May 5, 2010 at 3:47 PM UTC
With the piquant poignancy of lurid allusion
I create a dynamically progressive matrix of collusion
Whose apex crux axis is beyond finite solution
And the endergonicaly adhesive pragmatics imbue a cohesively coercive illusion
For the inveterate hypotaxis of livid elusions
I portray a protensive conjunction of latent confusions
Whose effervescent effluence is vagile laconic effusions
And the sardonic impending preponderance conveys sabbat consortium delusions
From the endemic puissance of eclectic synectics
I derive a dialectically semantic sorcery of syntactics
Whose apothegm aphorisms are levity terse synaptics
And the lucidly collusive illuminism educes the aesthetics of geomancy's fatidic
Through the viable salience of kithe’s intrinsics
I exude a portentous pervasion acuity of linguistics
Whose apomixis anabolics are irrefragably felicitous orotund acoustics
And the aural auspice austerities infer axioms of manumission’s eidetics
By the hypercritical mitigations of anachronistic sociology
I purvey rampart ransack oblations of epistemology
Whose azure opulence articulations are futurity ostensive ontology
And the evolutional ontogeny metamorphisms incur a homogeny epiphany deontology
Aug 31, 2019
Aug 31, 2019 at 11:37 PM UTC
The Black Veil - by D. B. Sullivan
I knew this day would come. I must confess,
It’s quite surreal to have this taking place.
I hold emotions tight within my dress,
Behind the veil of black that hides my face.
Arriving at the church, I’m overcome
By all the feelings that I have inside.
Until the end, I’m staying silent, mum,
But absolutely present, misty-eyed.
I’m ushered to the front and find my place
With slightly trembling hands, I breathe and wait.
Chantilly lace and crepe obscure my face,
my heart begins to race and palpitate.
The priest begins with welcoming regards.
He then proceeds to bow and raise his hands
Aloft, appealing unto Heav’nly guards
This group of hearts in silence fore him stands.
We bow our heads in rev’rent piety,
And pray that God attend these supplicants
Of mortal flesh. Dispel anxiety -
New life awaits infused with sustenance.
The rites are read to sanctify and bless
Transitioning from this life to the next.
Our faithfulness in God again profess,
That we, in times of strife need not be vexed.
The ***** and its pipes uplift the hymn,
Resounding with an echoing reply.
The colored glass of windows dark and dim
From thunder clouds and rainfall rolling by.
A single rose of red I hold in hand,
With silken gloves that all my arms conceal.
My knees are weak and faint, but here I stand.
Chiffon of black hides ev’rything I feel.
Devotions made, felicitations said,
Means soon will be the last and final bell.
When after tributes voiced and scriptures read,
I find I’m falling farther under spell.
I feel the eyes of all that gathered here,
Anticipating words from me. I start
A deep and steeling breath so all may hear
My words before they'll see me come apart.
And now, with sacramental candles lit,
All other persons did their prayers purvey,
The time has come for me - the last commit.
From ev’ry corner of my soul I say:
“I do”.
Sep 8, 2025
Sep 8, 2025 at 6:16 AM UTC
MOTECUHZOMA
It is their chief that most perplexes me.
Send him my greeting, and convey to him
The gifts I have equipped for your encounter:
A turquoise serpent mask, a pearl-decked shield
With feathered fringe as gossamer as foam,
I’ll send the rain god’s legendary headdress
Of quetzal feathers, green as sprouting grass,
Fine, snail-shell collars, dainty golden bells,
A saffron helmet chased with dazzling stars,
Sandals obsidian-black- What riches more,
I have not breath in this old chest to list.
TEUHTLILLI
By your good will, I might unfold for him
The vestments which are worn by several gods:
Tezcatlipoca’s mirror, and Tlaloc’s jades,
Huitzilopochtli’s gilded helm, and such.
If he reach straight for the regalia
Of Quetzalcoatl- Well, who need say more?
MOTECUHZOMA
A thoughtful move. And, if not gods themselves,
They yet may be our wandering ancestors.
See if their speaker is the picture of
A homeward-bound, long-absent patriarch.
Especially take note if he admits,
Or claims, he is your rightful king. What more?
TEUHTLILLI
Should I purvey a spread of birds and game,
And mark how fluently he dines or not?
If he is from our far-flung lineage,
He ought to be familiar with our fare.
MOTECUHZOMA
Do so. But if, by chance, he shuns your board,
And does not hanker for such bill of fare,
But rumbles with a yen for human flesh,
Why, then allow yourself to be consumed.
I will ensure the welfare of your wife,
And guide your children.
TEUHTLILLI As you wish, my lord. Exit.
Jul 16, 2017
Jul 16, 2017 at 1:24 PM UTC
the first day God created
all powerful, saw,
the man and woman,
planted an apple,
patriarchal vision
while powerful,
I purvey
has limits.
all novels, all movies
have Eden ruined
by some *****
An eternal theme
in fiction.
I see similarities.
Whoa, is woman.
And if the written word were not
fiction,
Noah would'a had one
of each.
Apr 18, 2015
Apr 18, 2015 at 11:38 PM UTC
Now When It Comes To Words...
I Write On My Notepads...
My Use of Verse...
Is... NEVER Abstract... !!!
But Many It Seems...
Like To Believe...
That Abstract Themes...
Are Great To Read...
When It Comes To Poetry... !!!
Which Seems Strange To Me... ?
Each To Their Own...
I KNOW... I KNOW... !!!
But Come On Folks...
I’d Kinda Like To KNOW...
What People Are Saying...
In The Verse That They’re Relating... !!!
WITHOUT Having To TWIST...
My Brain Like Shrinks...
Or... PSYCHIATRISTS... !!!
So That I Can Get Someone’s Poem... !!!
I’ve Said It Before And I’ll Say It Again... !!!
I Think Straight Speaks Best...
Rather Than... Pretence... !!!
Or... Talk That Runs...
Like It Does From Fork Tongues... !!!
That’s Right From These Whites...
Who Like To Hide Behind...
A World of LIES...
That Embraces Fake Smiles...
And What’s Known As DENIAL... !!!
Which Is Now A Profile...
That Runs FAR TOO WILD... !!!
In... EVERY Race...
Which Is TRULY A SHAME... !!!
Which Seems To Be Why...
Things Are Bent Out of Shape...
In... ABSTRACT Ways...
In Our World Today... !!!
From The Gender Blender...
To... New Age Protectors... !!!
That May NOT Be Abstract... ?!?
But Seem To Backtrack...
Because What They Lack...
Are RELIABLE Facts...
And TRANSPARENCY...
As To What They Feed...
You See Abstract Vibes...
Are Mostly CONTRIVED...
So Tend To Keep The TRUTH...
Well Hidden From View... !!!
Which Is Why Hip Hop...
Is What Now TOPS...
Global Musical Charts...
Because of It’s HEART...
And FORTHRIGHT Speech...
That Keeps Things REAL... !!!
Well It USED To Do...
But Now Abstract Crews...
Are Those Making Moves...
With All Kinds of Weird Grooves...
And... DIFFERENT Tunes...
That Are... AUTO-TUNED...
To Make Them Sound Good...
But Good For... WHO... ?!?
Young Minds Confused...
By Abstract Views...
Expressed By Youths...
Who Are USED Like TOOLS... !!!
Like Those Who USE...
Their Verse To SHOO...
AWAY What’s CLEAR...
With Wordplay Geared...
To Steer Readers Brains...
ALL OVER The Place... ?!?
When Their Verse Displays...
An Array of Wordplay...
That’s Abstract And Strange...
And A Little Deranged... !?!
When What They Say...
And Try To Relate...
Veers Off The Straight...
Just Like Chicanes... !!!
Well I’d Rather NOT Have To...
...... NAVIGATE......
What Someone’s Words...
Are Trying To Purvey... !!!
Or That’s Right SUPPLY...
To My Minds Eye...
Which Is Why My Rhymes...
Are The Type Inclined...
To Follow STRAIGHT LINES...
And Staying On Tracks...
That Stick To The Facts... !!!
Rather Than Be One...
Whose Artistry’s Loved...
Because It STUNS...
And Is Clearly Beyond...
Basic Comprehension... ?!?
So Becomes What Attracts...
These PRETENTIOUS Packs...
Who Are Then Quick To Claim...
That It’s Great And ALL THAT... !!!
Because It’s Strange...
Just Like Their Brains... !?!
That Tend To Be AFRAID...
of Straightforward Wordplay...
Which is Why They’d Rather Sway....
To Wordplay THAT Is Defined As.....
Being Seen As....
........ “ Abstract “........
Sep 27, 2021
Sep 27, 2021 at 10:11 PM UTC
The song of us is sung
on a minor scale a third degree
of a minor key
chromatic mediant
in this relationship
between two sections
to provide color
purvey
interest while
prolonging harmony
a string taut twanged
in a key between g and me
Jul 11, 2015
Jul 11, 2015 at 1:37 AM UTC