"razing" poems
Two fine films: The Lost City and Blood Diamond.
I joined Blood Diamond during a village massacre
and said to my wife A gun in every home.
Those devils would think twice
before razing the village and seizing the boys.
A well-regulated militia.
The local militia the most interesting moment
in a strong film with motive (economic, emotional), action (chases,
fights) and a **** sexless love story.
Use of violence by the local militia for a limited purpose: protect the
community, the young
from the janjaweed. The crop from the ****
Limited scope and defensive posture
but armed and coordinated, cooperative, the men (and the women)
side by side.
Warriors at the gate, you will not run, you will not bargain.
Just violence = limited scope, defensive posture.
Great music. Cuba, Africa.
The Lost City, when the communists tell the club owner under threat
of violence
No saxophones in the band. The saxophone!
Invented by a Belgian--Look what the Belgians are doing in the
Congo!
When the state's violence is turned against the citizenry
for non-violent acts.
This quiet neighborhood, July,
undergirded by violence, force. That's a given--
any farmer, custodian, EMT will tell you that.
Without just violence
Gandhi's scope, and King's, might be vanishingly limited,
negligible (but not non-existent)?
Regarding King
the matter is simple -- he was non-violent but dependent upon
federal force to counter the South's violence.
No doubt without the larger force, the non-violent would be
overwhelmed by southern violence.
Here, non-violence was a tactic, not an ethic.
Gandhi, however, had no violent partner to protect him from the
British. Or did he?
1. There was the potential violence of the population, which Gandhi
restrained but could release which the British feared, and
2. It was the restrained (limited scope) violence of the British that
allowed Gandhi to exist rather than be extinguished--this restraint
was a (British) cultural imperative (limited scope) as well as
emanating from Britain's view of India as a protectorate and
valued citizen of the United Kingdom (defensive posture).
What about violence or threat of violence to compel compliance with
community
as in mortgage foreclosure, driving without license, drug possession.
Perhaps it is necessary violence to maintain orderly commerce, the
common space, and preempt bad behaviors associated with
otherwise neutral, private acts.
The defensive posture is the common good; the limited scope is
forgoing deadly force.
But the citizen, too, must maintain a disciplined, armed non-violence,
in case the state (the janjaweed) engages in an unjust, autoimmune
violence.
Hence, a gun in every home.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 9:56 AM UTC
There’s a scurrying sound of something, burrowing,
Down in the depths of the dungeons, hurrying,
Skittering, pittering-pattering, scattering
When there’s a footstep, hear them chattering:
‘Here come the lords, and here comes the vassal,
Tripping their way through Cockroach Castle.’
Here come the ladies, all in their finery
Tripping and sipping the wine from the winery,
Trailing their silks, their satins and bustling,
Up in the ballroom, while the rustling
Army beneath the sounds of their razzle
Is down in the depths of Cockroach Castle.
Spilling their millions up in the glooming
Out from the flagstones, terror is looming,
Up on the awnings, hung from the ceiling
Under the swish of the skirts they’re stealing,
Dropping in hair, and burrowing faster,
Cockroach Castle is set for disaster.
Suddenly all of the room is screaming
Flapping of hands, the roaches are teeming,
Myriad hordes in the Carbonara,
Candles are tipped from the candelabra,
Choking smoke from the candles guttered,
Flames leap up from the ones that stuttered.
Clothing and flags and the awnings razing
Silks and satins flare up, and blazing,
Roaches in eyes and ears, they’re rasping
Clogging their throats, to leave them gasping,
There isn’t a lady or lord, or vassal
To come out alive from Cockroach Castle!
David Lewis Paget
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 1:08 PM UTC
¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯
perched atop a muddy graze
amongst the reefing centipede
does lady jade a’ponder days
from whence the eldest had decreed.
*"what's this a'fuss upon the breeze
that sings a song of fallen trees?"
**a burnin' Birgham urn, aburn!
a'crack—a'whack—a'wish..***
was broadening—a shiver, swift—
bespoken of her crown to rest?
what way whereby these spirits lift
that hide should (of the head) contest?
*"what, unbeknownst, should overwhelm
this silv'ry shoat, what's felling elm?"
**a burnin' Birgham urn, aburn!
a'crack—a'whack—a'wish..***
amidst a cruel cacophony,
the lady seed, she must concede
the razing of her progeny
beholden to appease a need.
*"what's this in want of dire good
that preys upon upholding wood?"
**a burnin' Birgham urn, aburn!
a'crack—a'whack—a'wish..***
on arbor brawn does ardor dine
does earthen daughter march to meet
as tireless as the vile design
divesting mother's gen'rous teat.
*"what subtleties uproot the heart
as bodies from their souls depart?"
**a burnin' Birgham urn, aburn!
a'crack—a'whack—a'wish..***
Aug 27, 2015
Aug 27, 2015 at 8:19 AM UTC
*Have anthologized every
cerebration of mine,
finding myself snared in
dogmatic mysteries of cosmos.
My cognitive contents are
razing & vitiating,
leaving a brobdingnagian lacuna.
Striving to surmount it but,
incapable of sating the one that
domiciliates within
my èlan vital.*
Jul 22, 2015
Jul 22, 2015 at 12:01 PM UTC
I'm scared, said the earth to the moon,
I think I'm going to die very soon.
There's a constant haze in my blue sky
And that's what happens before you die.
The air has become so stale
That it's difficult to inhale.
The pollution makes it heavy and thick
And I'm beginning to feel quite sick.
They're razing the forests, hundreds a day,
And the rivers and seas are full of decay.
How can they expect their children to endure
When they've sentenced me to a death so premature.
Suffocation is imminent, I'm afraid,
The oxygen supply is going to fade
Without the trees to replenish the air.
My demise is certain, does no one care?
How sad. Never again to feel the breeze,
Or watch the rain, or touch the cool seas,
Or smell a flower, or welcome a new spring,
Or see a green field, or hear a human being.
Apr 18, 2012
Apr 18, 2012 at 10:53 PM UTC
I lay and wait to sail the seas of infinity
Black fabric catching nebulous breezes
As an ancient god of mythology sneezes
The wooden ship creeks never stealthy
But noisy as hell seeing the cosmic swells
Of eternity’s well
My skin burns with the razor whips
Of solar ray that phase through
Time and space
Razing all darkness in its’ way
My vision once darkened by the void
Now explodes with spatial wonder
My skin is shredded by the fury
Of burning nebulous gasses
Particles of space dust envelope me
Incinerating every cell of me
I burn in orange, brown, purple and blue hues
Spiraling vapors consume the ship to
No howls of pain echo in the vacuum
There is no struggle
My hands hold tightly to the sword of my youth
I wear my rigamortis with pride as I slide
Up and into the gates of Valhalla
A white and fluffy faced man stares at me
Laughing half heartedly
And says
Hey you got the wrong gate
Valhalla loads down the ways at station eight
This is the Judaic station
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 2:37 PM UTC
After countless battles,
We've finally gotten married.
Ours was not a lengthy engagement
If there was even one to begin with.
A long courtship, though.
Skirmish after bloodbath after slaughter
Fighting trolls and giants and the undead
We were comrades
Brothers in arms.
And then a quick confession
A purchased home
That was it.
Now we sleep in on weekends
Slowly wake to the cool darkness of the room
Make love with sleep still frosting our eyes
I serenade you in the cold evenings with my battered lute
As you tend to the crackling hearth
Before tending to my gashes and bruises
Earned from the day's clashes.
This must be what Valhalla feels like --
Coming home to you and a hearty stew
After a long day of fighting
Covered in blood
(Some of them mine)
Loaded down with loot.
Doing this for a lifetime seems preferable
To being High King for eternity.
Dragons may be razing the northern wastes
Savage tribes holding sway in the mountains
Rebels and imperials clashing in the plains
But in here
It's just you and me.
Nothing and no one can enter our sanctuary.
Like you said,
Brief as life can be here,
We have each other.
I may be the Thane of your hold
But you are the Thane of my heart.
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 11:58 AM UTC
I would like a tall glass of chlorine,
to burn my insides clean,
for they are far from pristine,
they are sick and twisted and green,
in this state I cannot be serene,
so give me a glass of chlorine,
to burn my insides clean.
i would like a pack of c4,
to blow down my inner door,
and stomp in with guns blazing,
each devilish thought i be razing,
i should like a pack of c4,
to demolish my inner door.
I should like a bottle of hydrogen,
to open in my mind,
to leave it's burdens lighter,
to make it's thoughts burn brighter,
I should like a bottle of hydrogen,
to make my burdens lighter.
May 24, 2013
May 24, 2013 at 8:51 AM UTC
stone ground mustard Venus burns. She's not concerned that constant falling
and orbits, elliptical - are the same thing.
Her eyes are deaf. My eyes adapt to the pattern
that rattles the chain of events.
my Spartan theories dangle in dubiousness.
I find a trap, and call it Seattle... for i see cattle -
grazing a state of mind; north, north west of what God meant.
washing tons of pocket lint by hand.
chewing their cud
in the dark. meanwhile - outside the ranch...
My eyes refract. ***** and un-twink in the black lacquer that came -
with the oblique miracle. they sustain things that would sunder a doll-eyed bovine
to ever breach The Fence.
my hardened arteries jangle like numinous. I pine and snap ruinous barbs from Death's
prattle... for i see battle, razing the Grace of Time
more at war, than at our best. more -
bereft of what Reason defends.
tossing guns at bullets
by telekinesis.
[ undefined ]
i come from where i've never been. you were there. and ewe were there; fleeced and bleating
in the snow that fell as soon as shearing ceased. i recall, you were never there. but remember
passing you by... shilling an ocean roar you swore you'd plucked from a Seashell -
salvaged from the divine dry sockets of Poseidon's skull.
you were hawking your unawares. i played a flute made of question marks and glass drum skins.
i went where my stride was inclined, and never where i went to.
i never arrived by approaching the destination. only by always being somewhere else
till i got there. i came from where i'd never been and -
ain't been Nowhere since.
but i'm sure i pass
through There
ever since.
Aug 6, 2013
Aug 6, 2013 at 3:12 PM UTC
At some point
You stop
.... caring
...Stop
Tilling those thoughts in your head
Refusing to let doubts seek root
Razing the field
Making yourself equal
With reality
Coming
To accept
The inevitable truth:
It doesn’t really matter
Sep 20, 2015
Sep 20, 2015 at 4:47 AM UTC
Mountebanks and madmen
And marvelous maidens
Populate and pollute politics
Which joss sticks cannot chase
Or alleviate the electorate
In its counter clockwise swirl
Down its own bathroom drain.
Only morals don’t ameliorate
It only exacerbates, enervates
Rather than eliminates the pain.
The pain is felt by franklins,
Never the nobles or magnates;
They go on and make play dates
With other multi-billionaires
In debonair pied-a-terre lofts
And scoff at the peasantry
While exchanging pleasantries
Over gold-laced desserts
Thinking nobody gets hurt
If they pilfer and pillage
Far off village and town
Tearing down and razing,
With life grazing scorched earth.
To the rich, nobody has worth;
Voices that implore are muted
And garbage-chuted in the press.
Nothing to confess, the smile;
A mile of porcelainized teeth
Made more intense by pretense
That importance is impotence
In the face of extreme wealth
When stealth cease efficacy
And delicacy isn’t required.
The moral judge is fired.
A new wife is squired
In hopes a son is sired
To take over the empire.
Mar 20, 2016
Mar 20, 2016 at 5:39 AM UTC
YOU made men to lead the race,
Bequest him with pride and ace;
For him you made the trees and taught him to graze,
Then why O’ lord you put him to this disgrace,
To raze and blaze, the haze and the nature’s face
YOU made him sneak speak and smart,
Bequest him with amazing skills and magnanimous art;
For him you erected the forests and Oakwood’s mart,
Then why O’ lord you put him with that heart,
That preys and disobeys thy inimitable nature’s cart
Whilst razing and blazing, preying and disobeying,
He got bothered of his survival and living;
For him you then again made him to earn the dollar and the sterling,
To put it for the make-up and the filling
But O’ my lord, he, in tranquil kept himself fooling,
That he benefits thy nature with his meager darlings.
Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 7:21 AM UTC
they say home is where the heart is
well my heart sits inside this
war-torn body going through the motions
breathe in
breathe out
smile
suture together the gaping hole
that screams from the center of my mass
tugging on the ragged edges
trying to fold in on myself
my own ouroboros
subsisting off my own flesh
eating my muscles
a supernova collapsing with a crushing
blow that rattles my bones
and reverberates through my heart.
so this is home
the lodging where my
beaten soul and battered consciousness
have wiped away the dust
taken the sheets off the unused furniture
and curled up with their feet tucked up
underneath their body
paying no attention to the
leaky roof
pitter patter of water droplets
heavy with the chaos and ire
of the outside world
as they land definitively in pots and pans
littered throughout my body
lingering in my liver and
sopping up moisture that springs
traitorously into my eyes
burns straight through my retinas
and reminds me of my weakness.
how can i be my own big bad wolf?
alternating between a warm bed
and hearty meals that
bode a bountiful harvest
suddenly replaced by howling wind
and razor sharp rain drops
cutting into my skin
and i welcome it.
i let myself be cut to ribbons
until all that remains is
shredded flesh clinging precariously
to ivory bone
hanging by a thread
an elephant at the edge of a cliff
tail tied to a dandelion.
i relish the destruction
in razing my corporeal temple to the ground
reducing myself to ash
and scattering to every edge of the earth
until I burst forth from this atmosphere
this geological prison
my dermal incarceration
and fly as star stuff
to become a distant universe
for didn’t the liquid power of the stars
always run through my veins
an oil fire burning higher and higher
until the black acrid smoke
consumed the entire world
and absorbed the sun’s rays
to bring about a never-ending night.
close my eyes.
it doesn’t matter if it’s dark outside.
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 1:51 PM UTC
Anya sings words I would
rather she have not spoken
and decimates what little remained
between us all.
He looks to me and I
pointblank-sawnoffshotgun refuse
to meet sight of sapphire sky eyes
now too singing along
to her song.
My mother always said
you were two sides of the same paper
and you will both slice me the same.
But scissors always win;
laceration's chorus croons to all.
Origami smiles
so carefully cultivated as
I kindle our final swansong,
a celebration in flames -
simultaneous ignition of
friends to lovers
and that irrevocable rendering; razing
lovers to ash.
Jul 15, 2015
Jul 15, 2015 at 10:57 AM UTC
Dragon slain,
Vile creature,
Pillaging our home.
Family lying dead
Torn to ****** shreds
In the rubble of destruction.
Senseless slaughter,
Unreasoning winged monster,
Murdering and razing.
Vengeance has been mine.
Hunted down, to its bower,
Slain without mercy.
As it has shown none,
So have I.
Vengeance sought and found.
Exhaustion, grief, pain,
Now mine,
Tell me I have lived this horror.
But going on?
Inconceivable,
Grief unreliquished.
Sinking to my knees,
Praying to that God,
Begging final peace.
No answer given.
Only the quiet sound,
Of one spared.
Calling for help,
Beneath debris,
Safely sheltered.
Tis my own,
My child,
My reason.
Oct 10, 2010
Oct 10, 2010 at 8:14 PM UTC
Worlds shaking
Hearts breaking
Iniquity razing
our reality
The castle with
lonely halls
desperate calls
for holy hands
Frustration breaks
your stained glass
pieces of beauty
forever despised
As worlds shake
and hearts break
forgiveness rebuilds
the castle stands still
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 2:47 AM UTC
The Day Trump Tr-i-ump-hed
Trumpeting, he ******* and triumphed…
Did he, has he?
Thumping his way forward,
Jumping through the hoops of word and phrase,
Razing those that blocked his ways,
He dazed the lot.
Crazed, ablaze – or not. But hot,
He took a stand,
But didn’t seem to understand (and may not still)
That energy attracts a gangland:
Thinking not that crowds could form,
Become a throbbing, clobbering or bombing mob:
A swarming army.
Young we heard,
You can’t take back the caustic word
Once in the air it’s there!
So rather than lie down
Crowds gather,
Drawing to themselves an anger,
War uncivil,
Civil war
once more,
And monies that he’s vowed to earn
Will burn in costs for crowd control, police patrol.
The day that Trump was voted in
May not, in fact become a win -
For reasons manifold and sundry.
The Day Trump Tr-i-ump-hed 11.11.2016
Our Times, Our Culture II: Special People, Special Occasions,
Arlene Corwin
Nov 11, 2016
Nov 11, 2016 at 2:10 PM UTC
In the haze of
Cerebral hemispheres
Counting the seconds between
Lightning and thunder
Returning fire
With the same manic glee
As eating ice cream
Right from the carton
Two Minutes Hate
I'm bleeding out like
Notes from underground
That contain secrets
Of the wounded sky
I feel a provoked heaviness like
Manhole covers
Razing cane over
The shoddy infrastructure
Two Minutes Hate
"The horrible thing about the Two Minutes Hate was not that one was obliged to act a part, but that it was impossible to avoid joining in." - George Orwell, from the novel 'Nineteen Eighty-Four'
~
Nov 2, 2020
Nov 2, 2020 at 7:55 AM UTC
*The world alight with brilliant flames
Crackling, roaring, and all-consuming
Slowly, slowly burning sun-kissed earth
Rusted copper and scalded vermilion
Tawny ochre and golden amber
A beautiful fire twisting, twirling its deathly dance
The blazing inferno destroys the world
Razing summertime's final last breath
With the charring remains of autumn once more*
Sep 2, 2017
Sep 2, 2017 at 11:16 PM UTC
***Papier-mâché bliss,
wrapped of wafer-thin
promises midst kisses,
glued together with
yesterday's adhesive,
fallen as separate pieces
of wayward glances &
capricious charades razing
death do us part illusions
in finale's flimsy tissue shrouds***
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 6:33 PM UTC
And when mein kampf
Is placed in shelves
Art twists to fit in boxes
Of a must ache (or a mustache)
And a must have
And a must not be
Blue-eyed soldiers of fortune
Encompassing poles across every direction
Aryan infernos piercing the nightline
Razing pillars of the stars
As Abraham weeps over his children
Seeing through their eyes
The thorns he long thought
Died along with the past
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 6:34 AM UTC
gasping for air
deep in the nitrite-laden murk
grasping at what lurks
in the reeds
needing the darkness lightened
the haze brightened and
offering clarity and
the rarity of an honest phrase
the razing of a debt that weighs
that brays its neighing and nagging reminder
a tick-tock doll wanting you to wind her
a quick chalk scrawl of admonition
desperate incitement and sedition
left breathless by your rescission
by your willing dispair
I'm left
gasping for air
Mar 19, 2012
Mar 19, 2012 at 8:57 PM UTC
~ for Rob Rutledge -
@ 6:15am
~~~~~
we all are living, reading and writing,
paycheck to paycheck
even if by happenstance, our bellies full,
for the white sheets we lay our words
down and upon, our supporters of
ids and egos of egg shell thin lifes
are the bare emptied shelves
of our unending, still ongoing
pandemic pandemonium,
razing times
of eroding joys
the sheets are blank, but our souls
wearied, helmed and whelmed
by the unending of the unexpected
that demands, orders and commands,
no matter what
pour it out blasting
unleashing the rage
compelled, compiled,
completely compulsing
we
selves ordered to compose
giving form and firmament
to our vaporous innards,
releasing new oxygen from
the tides inside and without,
clashing ideas, irregular notions
that demand we poets responsible
for reconciliation and auditing for
human truths
we awake barren but weighty,
the emotions are rustling in the
now daily, common,
mighty metors of gusts of higher winds,
spreading fire and measles to spite,
not despite
our fragile failings & flailings
oh goodness and grace,
let that be the colors of
our skin, our face,
essay on, sashay with a
swinging motion,
yes, rhyme and rhythm
and deliver us with words
so soft, they shatter the
gloomy desperation of
what confronts our entirety,
when the terrors of our
sleeping dreams cannot be
differentiated from the
sad eyed waking
ones
so write, and right,
these troubled times,
when trolls, dragons
and yet unnamed monsters
seek to take away our
tiny green planet, watered,
seeded and plentiful fruited
plains enough to satisfy us all
if we are so emboldened to choose
all of us over our lonely selfish selfs
Feb 25, 2025
Feb 25, 2025 at 6:31 AM UTC
On my window sill, perched is a winged being
Unhappy to be sharing space with another form of life
Perplexed as I am, at what my next move might be -
Like it, I do not know what it is like to be bereft of being.
They say, beauty is in the eye of the beholder -
So I behold, and obscurity I see
Chaos and rivalry makes me cringe in my space
Hiding from circles – invitingly tainted.
Yet beauty I had seen amidst the chaotic life
Life – a symphony orchestrated at his free will
Though some notes were beyond my taste
I try to nod along, as if imbibing its grace.
My palms capture the monsoon after the blazing summer
Dark skies are torn open by the mighty thunders
It mellows down, pouring in as cold welcome showers
For halting hectic lives, it also makes some scream.
The earthy fragrance which follows induces in me – sleep
And paves its way smoothly within my tired frame – deep
I see myself relax, though my silence loud-ens
Embracing my soul it blocks out even seldom words that peep.
My life, a duet, maybe composed by time
But sung by me – and I hadn’t followed the rhymes
I tweaked a few tones, I’ve upset the hymn
Wrongly pitched a few notes - maybe missed a few lines!
A silent sigh somehow escapes my pursed lips
As the hurt which instilled it, eats into my will
Though I know I had tried to face it like a man -
I had never run away nor brought about any harm.
I hold no account for the countless days, bygone
Nor try to justify reckless moments, the past has now worn.
I know I have had my razing revenges – few
But I also know I have stood up for all my deeds, lewd.
I have created many bonds for my kids to take along
And broken a few too, for which into pillows I have sobbed
I may not have lived life, the way it was meant to be –
But I know I have lived it true, so now I recede!
Nov 18, 2011
Nov 18, 2011 at 10:51 AM UTC
I invest too many hours creating scenes with words bigger than my imagination. Articulating a grand scheme of vividly painted phrases sculpting the workings of a surreal scenario. Practicing pristine implementation of descriptive speech for God-like abilities to plant emotion. Patiently calculating the steps from beginning to eternity; from birth to infinity.
The deconstruction and reconstruction, razing and elevating, of rewrites cycle through an incessant reel. Connecting bits of frames with no correlation and binding their frayed edges to author an insatiable, perfectly disorganized, cinema streaming through cracks of my consciousness. Hinting at the exception; drawing my attention from the tangible existence before me.
Jul 11, 2015
Jul 11, 2015 at 3:36 AM UTC