"quixotic" poems
You lived alone in the solititude
Of pure hundred years in Colombia
Roaming in Amacondo with a Spanish tongue
Carrying the bones of your grandmother in a sisal sag
On your poverty written Colombian back,
Gadabouting to make love in times of cholera,
On none other than your bitter-sweet memories
Of your melancholic ***** the daughter of Castro,
Your cowardice made you to fear your momentous life
In this glorious and poetic time of April 2014,
Only to succumb to untimely black death
That similarly dimunitized your cultural ancestor;
Miguel de Cervantes, a quixotic Spaniard,
You were to write to the colonel for your life,
Before eating the cockerel you had ear-marked
For Olympic cockfight, the hope of the oppressed,
Come back from death, you dear Marquez
To tell me more stories fanaticism to surrealism,
From Tarzanic Africa the fabulous land
An avatar of evil gods that are impish propre
Only Vitian Naipaul and Salman Rushdie are not enough,
For both of them are so naïve to tell the African stories,
I will miss you a lot the rest of my life, my dear Garbo,
But I will ever carry your living soul, my dear Garcia,
Soul of your literature and poetry in a Maasai kioondo
On my broad African shoulders during my journey of art,
When coming to America to look for your culture
That gave you versatile tongue and quill of a pen,
Both I will take as your memento and crystallize them
Into my future thespic umbrella of orature and literature.
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 4:57 AM UTC
Corpses proliferate in soaring violence; heirloom of franchise and eminence— perish in erosion.
Timid denizens of derision, cynicism in roaring silence — optimism’s paling vapor—commodity of Indecision, our halcyon days forgotten.
Chosen token of audacity; the onyx maladroit feigns, prevaricating beneath the Sacred canopy.
Etudes of apathy; attrition unlamented; streams of guile— quixotic squall conversely merge — veiled conceit, eloquent arrow of equivocation.
The policy of attenuation.
Treason’s vine obscured beneath the blind surf of consent.
© 2014 & 2016 W. S. Warner
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 3:12 PM UTC
two women
a single
Gemini
of desire
the yin
the yang
betwixt
the known
and unreachable
swinging
on wide
arcs of
extremis
inhabiting
opposite
polar worlds
and all
the spaces
in between
intrepid
sailors
dare hope
to explore
T
the outer
R
the inner
T’s
tiny
name
betrays
a big
robusto
femininity
bombastically
womanly
big *****
jazz *****
perfumed musky
hips and ****
that rock
and those
lips
oh,
those ruby red
Norma Jean lips
I’m puckered
up
begging her
to paste a big
rouge smooch
on my eager lips
press those
bustling bosoms
onto my face
wrap those
arms round me
with a rasperous
hug
shake me
with gyrations
of your gracious
shimmy thang
you wow
the bow
out of this
dog
taking lovers
prisoner
with the
coy blink
of wide
eyes
flashing
lashes
batting
brow
boldly
being
a force
of a
mothers
nature
bearing
and
belting
Bessie’s
*****
blues
to a
howling
crowd
wanting
more
fully
enthralled
bedazzled
enraptured
with quixotic
hypnotics
I'm frozen
solid
hoping to
melt
into the
heat
of your
inviting
fire
R
bespeaks
whispers
from an
inner place
she lines the
lost desires
of a yearning heart
she offers the
softest curves
the delicious touch
the wet presence
of a delicate tongue
limpid fingers
hide shy sly
*******
offering
invitations
to hidden nests
humming the incarnate
dark forest secrets
of bloomed lilacs
and sweet carnations
the voice of poems
dance and flutter
from her mouth
as the lightest
butterfly
wings wayward
onto soft hearts
yearning
seducement
her
kimono
gently parts
at the slightest
suggestion
of a rising
breeze
her songs
invite lovers
to pillowed
chambers
daring
intrepid
men to
risk the
death of
desirous
tempests
I melt
into the
delicate
complexity
of your
fleshy heat
my dear
celestial
twins
the lovely
Gemini
each different
reduce me
in differing ways
to a puddle
of rippling water
reflecting
the glorious
elegance of
wondrous
ambrosial
femininity
Dedicated to
T& R
Music Selection:
Barbra Streisand
Pretty Women
Oakland
4/26/12
jbm
Apr 29, 2012
Apr 29, 2012 at 10:56 PM UTC
Ornery odious ordinate ostensive opulence ornate optimal
Motivity meatus meticulous morsel moribund mendacity monstrance
Lucidity lingam loquacity longevous licentious lurid languishing
Votary volition verve venery vector vauntness vast
Talismanically telepathy tantamount terrestrial tellurian transition tractive
Idolatry -ics incus ictus ichor icon icky
Yogi yowl yore yoni yerk yenta yantra
Gimpy gesticulation genre gestational glitch genuflection grandiose
Dastardly douceur denouement denigrational deplorable despicable desperate
Paltry potentate portentous plagiaristic pandemic plenipotentiary plenary
Jouncy jocular jeopardy jettison jurisprudence jaunt juxtaposition
Ramify repartee radix recital rectitude rendition repertoire
Beastly bartizan bodacious belligerent brusque blatant blasphemously
Enmity exigency exacerbation extemporaneous edifice eulogy exoneration
Zoolatry zoomorphic zilch Zephyr zoic zygosity zealotry
Sultry solace subtlety substantiation suborn subliminal sensorium
Unity ultimatum usurping unfathomable uncanny unbridled unary
***** hornswoggle horizon huckster homogeny holistic heuristic
Nugatory notch nostrum notorious nihilism nimiety nimbus
Wrathy wreak wroth wrought wrest wrangle warranty
Artistry autonomy articulation agility acuity asperity acerbity
Keeky kangaroo court kowtow kobold kleptomania kinetics kinesiology
Xylography xenophile xerophilous xylophagous xylem xanadu xenobiotic
Critically credibility critique coercion conjugational conjunctive corporeal
Queasy quasi quantum quintessence quagmire quixotic quantify
Flighty flippant flamboyance faux pas fornicatious fictitious finite
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 5:31 AM UTC
Finite fictitious fornicatious faux pas flamboyance flippant flighty
Quantify quixotic quagmire quintessence quantum quasi queasy
Corporeal conjunctive conjugational coercion critique credibility critically
Xenobiotic xanadu xylem xylophagous xerophilous xenophile xylography
Kinesiology kinetics kleptomania kobold kowtow kangaroo court keeky
Acerbity asperity acuity agility articulation autonomy artistry
Warranty wrangle wrest wrought wroth wreak wrathy
Nimbus nimiety nihilism notorious nostrum notch nugatory
Heuristic holistic homogeny huckster horizon hornswoggle *****
Unary unbridled uncanny unfathomable usurping ultimatum unity
Sensorium subliminal suborn substantiation subtlety solace sultry
Zealotry zygosity zoic Zephyr zilch zoomorphic zoolatry
Exoneration eulogy edifice extemporaneous exaserbational exigency enmity
Blasphemously blatant brusque belligerent bodacious bartizan beastly
Repertoire rendition rectitude recital radix repartee ramify
Juxtaposition jaunt jurisprudence jettison jeopardy jocular jouncy
Plenary plenipotentiary pandemic plagiaristic portentous potentate paltry
Desperate despicable deplorable denigrational denouement douceur dastardly
Grandiose genuflection glitch gestational genre gesticulation gimpy
Yantra yenta yerk yoni yore yowl yogi
Icky icon ichor ictus incus -ics idolatry
Tractive transition tellurian terrestrial tantamount telepathy talismanically
Vast vauntness vector venery verve volition votary
Languishing lurid licentious longevous loquacity lingam lucidity
Monstrance mendacity moribund morsel meticulous meatus motivity
Optimal ornate opulence ostensive ordinate odious ornery
Jan 23, 2013
Jan 23, 2013 at 5:48 AM UTC
idiosyncrasy is synonymous with idiotic
while dc is now despotic and chaotic.
personality is peculiar, exotic.
sinful to be ****** or
slip yourself a narcotic.
the world is robotic,
i am astronautic,
i am quixotic,
the smoke is hypnotic,
and i find all of this quite strange.
Oct 5, 2013
Oct 5, 2013 at 10:15 PM UTC
My auspicious and audacious assault augments the annoyance of aged accomplices.
My bodacious broadside of boffolas berates and buffaloes bros beneficently.
A classy crusade Clownishly chiseling and criticizing childishness.
A devilish ********** of dillydallying dullards; devoutly denying dimwits the dulcet dream of defiance.
Excessive, exuberant edification, ebulliently eliminating education-evictees.
A fair-weather frolic in flippancy with furious fools floundering in flawed foppishness.
Gregariously grating glum guys gleefully, growing grander garnishes of gripping gallantry gaily.
Heckling hooligans highlights my heavenly humor.
Irreverently irking irritable, iniquitous idiots in inestimably infuriating and incredible instances.
A jolly, jocular **** joking with jerks.
A kreiger kicking kleptomaniacs in the karyotype. (Cut me some slack, this is 'k', after all.)
A ludicrous, laughing lambaste of lollygagging lunatics, loftily loosing luscious lunacy on lucky losers.
A magnificent masterpiece of malfeasance, a monstrous, malevolent mission of massive misfortune for the minor minors missing no malicious missive.
A noxious, narcissistic niggling of nitwits, niftily nixing the noisome naivete of niggardly nobs.
An offhand, off-color outburst of outlandish observations to outclass the obnoxious overtures of obsequious offal.
A pragmatic prediction of possible platitudes or platypi, a placid parley of pyrotechnic pleasantries provoking Pyrrhic protections by prurient prats.
A quixotic quibble quarreling with a queer quarry.
Ribald ribbing, ruining the robust reality of the repreachful, repugnant, and rapacious with risque ridiculousness.
A silly, slighting slander of sluglike slavishness, succinctly sinking sloppy simpletons sourly.
Tracing the titillating talent of towing tyranny to towering terrors to tactless, togless, terrapins of the times.
Jan 7, 2012
Jan 7, 2012 at 11:25 PM UTC
Today’s slow cooked ragu
has a lot of familiar ingredients
but spun a little different
The devil in the pork grease
gave me such a wink
I lost my place in the recipe
Liberal with salt, chili flakes,
zest and anything,
this quixotic cook’s hand
throws much freer than weekdays
I only lack the fat slack
of pappardelle for this,
as they were out at the supermarket
Penne will have to do
Dec 18, 2021
Dec 18, 2021 at 8:31 AM UTC
A pebble drops in the inky surface,
The weather driven water as if a
Brown varnish.
I am the ripples in the water,
You are the pebble that made me change.
Hold my hand,
Make me spin around once more.
Give me what I lack,
Things like
Trust,
Love,
Friendship.
Just like the ripples I am,
I am gone too soon.
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 4:55 PM UTC
I
You said all you could see in my eyes was passion,
But you were staring down the barrel of a gun, Russian roulette,
Go look at your journals, you always knew love was quixotic,
But you continued to fall deeper into a terrain uncharted,
Leaving me to plan everything, all the adventures, “spontaneous,”
We were never “we,” it was all faux, like my smile, maleficent.
II
Tattooed in a place you never saw is “maleficent,”
I had to remind myself who I was, you were so full of passion,
Waiting for the trigger after every outburst, each as spontaneous
As the last, you always carried a deck of cards but you preferred roulette,
You’d lost so much anyway, but this game sent you somewhere uncharted,
All you did was watch the stars, you needed a compass, this love was quixotic.
III
My love was there for the taking, it was I who was quixotic,
How did you miss it, I am Miss Maleficent,
My name is on broken hearts everywhere, in places uncharted,
But only to you, I’ve been everywhere, recognized your passion,
Loaded my gun, tried to fire, ended up blinking, **** this roulette,
I had to end it faster, I blinked till I cried, that was truly spontaneous.
IV
I am Miss Maleficent, you fell to roulette;
Curse your passion, and feelings uncharted;
Our love was both spontaneous and quixotic.
Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 12:48 PM UTC
My quixotic escape to dreamland is
Always a whimsical amusement park
I'm an angel resting on a blade
Of humorous impracticality
A blade that hurts reality
I'm the dreamer torn between
Smooth masculine angels with the wildest dreams
Reality can slit my wings,
Scorch my blackened feathers,
And manipulate my epicurean senses
But these lucid dreams
Cleanse my slate
A dreamer's fortitude is a gentle sigh
On the eyelids
Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 11:01 PM UTC
Come, Autumn, on September wings
Come, the quixotic aura this season brings
Welcome, the golden harvest, and its plentiful reap
Welcome, turning of the foliage, falling to paint
golden streets
Transpire, crisp air, with your sway in timber tops
Befall us, pumpkin skies, where the sun drops
Betide to me, the lull and composure from you,
calmest breeze
Make yourself known, won't you please?
Recieve gladly, the crackling of fire beneath a silver
moon
Embrace the little things, for they will go away
soon
Welcome, fall, the enigmatic emotion as the season
starts
Welcome fall, with open hands and blithe hearts
Come, Autumn, with the romantic feelings you stir
Come Autumn, I hope to be lost in the ambience
that is her
Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 9:31 AM UTC
Child's summer crusades,
How the wind loves the daises,
. . . Sun chasing windmills.
Jul 11, 2013
Jul 11, 2013 at 9:22 PM UTC
Pickled on quixotic tonics
he strives for a polyglot's poise,
balancing plaster peas
at the end of his tippler's tongue.
But the rough-surfaced pearls prickle
his too-ticklish bed of pink,
and gulped down, he administers
only a lessoned indigestion.
Flipping the flop, he prevaricates
himself into the tight-fit corners
of a parallelogram traced
by unsolemn processionals
bedecked in platitudinous finery.
Their porous smirks drip sticky
reminders of a plethora
of previously pernicious exercises
and dampen his fluffy ambition,
prodding procrastinations until
his drunken promise dries out
to become a posthumous wish.
Apr 7, 2010
Apr 7, 2010 at 5:03 PM UTC
As a teenage boy I used to fall asleep at night
listening to the graveled voice of Ernie Harwell
fashion for me word-images of the exploits
by a band of superheroes called the Detroit Tigers.
In those semi-lucid moments before slumber,
I could see the shimmering outline of my destiny:
you see all American boys are meant to be Tigers.
So imagine my confusion, when I fractured
the right talus bone my Junior year of high school,
even putting on weight around the middle,
where no athlete worth his pin stripes would gain.
My karma had begun to take on mass.
I began to acquire knowledge, as the only perceived defense
against some parallel universe impinging upon reality.
Oh, I had everyone convinced, even my keenest teachers
believed I was destined to make my mark in scholarly pursuits.
But no one saw the crying ego of one meant to be a Tiger,
nor how that bottled up the emergence of the Man.
Never reconciled, the Man curled up in fetal dormancy.
Lifespan became synonymous with interstellar drift.
And every encountered star of knowlege was dwarfed,
having long ago collapsed of its own gravity.
Still the heavens of knowledge are auspicious,
so I looked outward, when all the answers lay concealed within.
Only as my life left the outskirts of occluded reality
did I then begin to inherit from my instinctual id,
begin to listen to disconsolate internal voices,
who had known me all along, perhaps better than myself.
The thing is ... the stage has long been set on middle-age,
what props lie about are encrusted with patina,
laden with a dust impossible to gauge or preempt,
made worse by the lack of cast, save one.
Neither Beckett, nor Pinter, could have absurded this.
So, when my acts strike you as quixotic,
when I cut with a penknife through propriety,
it's because I finally remember what it meant to be a Tiger.
Dec 1, 2012
Dec 1, 2012 at 7:15 PM UTC
OOO!
He is worried!
Again!
the Mr. Perfectionist.
It’s almost Carnival but
He hasn't yet got a mask
with specifics
outlining
his ballads
and jests
he
surly lists his bests
in two principle steps
of CAPS :
1)
* Feeds the Bats and
* Tempts the Charms
2)
* Cheap N Handy
* Quixotic but Scary
* Not too Trendy
and he cries
Yuck!
EW!
Husky!
What's worse than
a self-adoring pathetic bat
in my whereabouts!
I can't get the stink and shrill so I help him fast
'Yo what's the worry!'
-I say friendly -
'you need not hurry
cause I think you already are ready!'
-I continue enthusiastically-
'Here! Try this one
My top design
Custom fit chemistry
A truly NO Risk Recipe
and of course
Specially designed for you! '
'for you for youuu
to echolocate
such is an eye-gaze
for the half-blind
such is sound
a vibration that propagates
in ears and brains of pretty gulls
and of course
only for youuu'
- I sing loud a common bat ad just to stimulate
my client and continue- merrily explaining my serviceable recipe
*for 2)
Wear your white shirt just
...as always
the one I know
you know?
the webbed one
weaving grace
and don't forget to
iron it well this time.
*
*for 1)
Put on your true face!
I reckon then
and can guarantee
...as always
no one will ever recognize you .
*
In a flight he disappears glad and I hope he won't show up till next year
What can you do I say to myself and quote a encyclopedic fact about my client.
All things have a place, you don't really need to like them but these ones pollinate flowers and disperse fruit seeds and they are economically important as they consume insect pests reducing need for pesticides.
I say while I ventilate my head with an OM mantra and an incense stick
Bah what a stink what a stink...
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 5:34 PM UTC
Let us Rise and Rejoice for the Wise Controllers of the Streets
Please give praise for the Keepers of Asinine Righteousness
Who have the power to read our minds easy as giving sweets
Esteemed Professors who are World Experts with Greatness
In Neuro-linguistic programming and know all the upbeats
For example anybody with working eyes can see with no cheats
The woman's complexions is not Black even without clearness
Alas I make a joke and lightheartedly say its Black in mirths
Nobel NLP Programmers jump in glee and frenzied eagerness
That is Trigger to void progressive actions with that lady petite
So Professors et vacuous masses devoid of brains go on heats
Sprinkling Blacks all over in project as useless as their dumbness
Tell not dorks I do not see her as black in any way but a tease
Another deluded wasted efforts from the addicted mindlesses
The poor lass graced with honey-gold skin tone is not for meets
Crass semi-illiterates play mind games on levels of bog peats
Psychotic obsessed nonentities with deluded tendentiousness
As if there's a meeting of minds with piffling anodyne greats
Dumbos declaring we are playing with your mind in earness
Show me how a genius compares with Quixotic foolishness
Aug 13, 2018
Aug 13, 2018 at 2:27 PM UTC
The man in the mirror
envelops his fractal fingers
over my scathing sight,
seeking quixotic symmetry,
the apogean gift of harmony,
with his enigmatic allure,
disillusions me off vanity;
off a falsifying dream.
The liar traps me in his liar,
to aid in his endless search for perfection
while shaming me for the sins I repent.
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 4:58 AM UTC
It was ancient ago we were fond & foe
Once little rascals together we grew
Far apart 'till bounds forebear
Each world soared & flapped
An impending monstrous frosty gap
One fine love-is-in-the-air day in a twist of fate
As this nymph unaimed by cupid's arrow
When all my friends & beau in fun they wallow
Your sudden hailed revere embraced in haste
Then in my own prinky whimsy plot
Both unexpectedly got trapped
In such long winding tracks we hustled
Through the hurdled altar together sprinted
Both oblivious as pledge of affection consecrated
While ocean's torrent & tide waded
A solemn for-us-then-quixotic promise to keep sacred.
At some point the on-off blissful lock flutters
As life isn't all sunshines & buttercups we struggle
Yet notwithstanding the trials & tribulations
Such troth acknowledge without question
And now has the moon stone or opal
As our anniversary gemstone
Will our gemstone lose its lustre
Or will it continue to shine like a flash of lightning from heaven
Are we fiercely resolute to bid for the silver
Or stay solid firm to wish for the golden
And vow to persevere for the truly eternal diamond.
One thing we know for sure...LOVE CONQUERS ALL!
Jan 10, 2011
Jan 10, 2011 at 3:37 PM UTC
Southern Icarus
by Michael R. Burch
Windborne, lover of heights,
unspooled from the truck’s wildly lurching embrace
you climb, skittish kite ...
What do you know of the world’s despair,
gliding in vast solitariness there
so that all that remains is to
fall?
Only a little longer the wind invests its sighs;
you stall
spread-eagled as the canvas snaps
and ***** its white rebellious wings,
and all
the houses watch with baffled eyes.
Originally published by Poetry Porch. Keywords/Tags: Icarus, flight, flying, hang-gliding, kite, glider, wind, canvas, South, southern, truck, unspooled
Note: The following poem unites Icarus with Tom O'Bedlam in a final, magical quest ...
Finally to Burn
(the Fall and Resurrection of Icarus)
by Michael R. Burch
I.
Athena takes me
sometimes by the hand
and we go levitating
through strange Dreamlands
where Apollo sleeps
in his dark forgetting
and Passion seems
like a wise bloodletting
and all I remember
—upon awaking—
is: to Love sometimes
is like forsaking
one’s Being—to glide
heroically beyond thought,
forsaking the here
for the There and the Not.
II.
O, finally to Burn,
gravity beyond escaping!
To plummet is Bliss
when the blisters breaking
rain down red scabs
on the earth’s mudpuddle...
Feathers and wax
and the watchers huddle...
Flocculent sheep,
O, and innocent lambs!
I will rock me to sleep
on the waves’ iambs.
III.
To Sleep, that is Bliss
in Love’s recursive Dream,
for the Night has Wings
pallid as moonbeams—
they will flit me to Life,
like a huge-eyed Phoenix
fluttering off
to quarry the Sphinx.
IV.
Riddlemethis,
riddlemethat,
Rynosseross,
throw out the Welcome Mat.
Quixotic, I seek Love
amid the tarnished
rusted-out steel
when to live is varnish.
To Dream—that’s the thing!
Aye, that Genie I’ll rub,
soak by the candle,
aflame in the tub.
V.
Riddlemethis,
riddlemethat,
Rynosseross,
throw out the Welcome Mat.
Somewhither, somewhither
aglitter and strange,
we must moult off all knowledge
or perish caged.
VI.
I am reconciled to Life
somewhere beyond thought—
I’ll Live in the There,
I’ll Dream of the Naught.
Methinks it no journey;
to tarry’s a waste,
so fatten the oxen;
make a nice baste.
I’m coming, Fool Tom,
we have Somewhere to Go,
though we injure noone,
ourselves wildaglow.
Apr 14, 2020
Apr 14, 2020 at 3:57 AM UTC
Your idealism burned your path
and led you there.
Your desire a burning scythe,
Scorching and hacking
anything you deemed pre-determined.
Only a few tried to stop you.
Only a few told you it was a foolish endeavour,
But you wouldn't hear of it.
Your ears filtered out contrary voices.
Your mind bias to your thoughts of absolute free-will
and its oxymoronic pursuit of a destiny.
And so you left.
Took off under your own power
Leaving a contrail in your wake
Stretching from an eternal West
to an eternal East.
A monochrome rainbow
Befittingly lacking in palette
as your tunnel vision
allowed for only one colour,
Not a mixture of hues and shades
That colour a normal youthful existence.
Although short and unfulfilled,
Your brief sojourn on this world
will be remembered.
Your life's contrail will hang in the sky:
A solitary mark on your life's canvas,
A testimony, not to your Quixotic mission,
But to the good that would have surely followed
the eventual demise of your romantic notions
of solving the world's problems.
Jan 6, 2019
Jan 6, 2019 at 6:23 PM UTC
The following statements of truth were brought to you
Not through, but circumnavigating fated parameters
Of insane, yet normative, largely uninformative
Mechanisms that formally give birth to ********
And instead, strategically splicing said bounds with
Ideal variables derived from the courageously quixotic,
Unrobotic, and outraged agents of, and for, capital Real:
The train of corporate reasoning derails so fast
To follow is to snap the head backward,
Far past angles within measures of pleasurable fit
And open gates to deluging tangled circular
Failures of logic that trick and co-opt the proletariat.
We are Present-Ambassadors with broken flux-capacitors
Demonstrating a consistent tendency toward error
In efforts to obtain diplomatic access to a future where
The same reemerging deficits do not manifest unfixed.
One of said deficits may include all positive freedoms.
For the record, it shall be noted that civil society
Currently arrives implicitly to find it compliantly fine
To promote systems of labor designed to illicit behaviors
That will eventually undermine the actors of exhaustive work
And make benefactors of those complicit in crime.
As case studies of this paradoxical paradigm, we observe
Nations signing trade agreements aligned with
Selling more of the goods whose extractions have
Cataclysmic exactions upon locals contracted not to resist.
Those who take issue with this are directed to appellate institutions.
The projected scarcity of over-consumed poisons causes fear
Which leads to faster hoarding and more ex(t/p)ensive death.
Thus, most human behaviors presently inflate pricing, popularity,
And rapidity associated with committing system-wide suicide.
As shackle-some power consolidation bends toward a transnational peak
I hereby slide-tackle these forwarded trends, seeking goals of the rational.
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 4:16 PM UTC
Such sweet songs
Fall from faces full
Of open
Hearts holding hands.
Generally great groups gather
Quixotic questions,
Ponder personal perceptions,
Emulating ever entranced emotions.
Love loses leaps, leaves
Broad bruises bypassing
Catastrophically closed creations.
What wonder, what wildly whimsical
Rejoice remains?
In individualistic idioms.
As all allowed anatomical
Differences deal dictations,
Juxtaposed jesters join
Monstrous masterminds
Trivially tinkering, tryingly,
Near non-subjective nothingness
Under unusual
Vectors. Vivisecting voracious,
Zeppelin-esque, zygotes,
Xenophobic
Yodels yell,
**** **** kindheartedness!"
Mar 24, 2012
Mar 24, 2012 at 12:20 AM UTC
The gap is widening
the look of a bottomless abyss grows
as she craves the admiration, abiding
an attention of a raging life that arose
that flows like a raging waterfall,
with every sunset of the heart
a magnified life that will not call
it's what she lived for in her art
but to no surprise,
with feelings that were so complex abreast,
that dreams that advise
was welcomed to her quixotic quest ...
Her caring hands hold her heart
as she cries,
from her man she is apart
stroking her child's hair with little lies
she is about hope and dealing
when life lets her rest is rare she tries
she's brave and stands strong and she might
but still has unfathomed wounds
she fractures easily with the words of smite
of the profound that looms ....
Debbie Brooks 2014
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 7:40 PM UTC
He took the stage for a one-man show
A character of a hundred roles
Too many a script but he sure knows
To take a bow when the curtain falls.
A storyteller extraordinaire
In his endless soliloquy
Over a thousand and one affairs
Of all his quixotic reverie.
Two hands he proudly speaks at best
Which work like that of twenty men
From different realms of Sciences
Philosophy and Arts he studied them.
But what wound could cut so deep
That he can fool everyone but himself?
Before he drowns his sorrow to sleep
He hides his monsters behind the shelf.
He took his mask and off a smile
That he wore to get himself a crowd
And asked the mirror for quite a while
Did all the theatrics make him proud?
He was the Jack of all trades
Certainly not an expert in one
And his own game of charades
Made him a master of none.
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 3:38 AM UTC