"redoubt" poems
A follow on poem to 'In the Sunroom (Suicide)" (1)
writ many years later...
~For MWK~
<>
A stray thought. a burring burrowing, thorny tawny:
A wish, yet to get, but vetted for each of us.
*This within, this redoubt, a contemplative oasis,
my indoor poet's nookery rookery sanctuary
each one, each is, deserves, all, one such,
a place holy filled, with lice and dirt of a life,
strained and trained for emission and transmission
of the best of the worst, and the triumphant emergent commission of
our individualized most excellent fresh best
where crumbs of apple crisp pie solidify, vanilla bean ice cream
melt offsets the oven heated warmth, and from this interactive
contrasts combative,
a poem pie reborn, newly disguised, familiar words,
yet unheard and before this very never,
went unspoken and now goes forth
svelte and unbroken
*rhymes of yore, forgot from a before, but making up the walls
of the here and now,
a sunroom to spread out the lit lights of egress and entrance,
of fire door no exits that now are chiseled closed,
lock in, lock up, and somehow, one, stills to learn from
the stilling quiet solitude.
to penetrate the prostrate kneeling grinning grief,
how to expel and spell the words
that grant
relief
visit my sunroom, though no fiction.
the sun rays *********** create the friction
of that which cannot ever be withered nor contained,
and your mouth opens wide and a poem birthed and delivered,
pastiche paste composted of truth and dreams of fiction, fine diction,
with a shrug, a smile, a satisfaction extracted extraordinary,
you garner moments of satisfaction but cloud cover returns,
and the process of sunrise exposition recommences,
and one revisits the elemental sequencing of
all the predecessor pain, but this time,
for gain, for gain,
<>
written this sabbath Saturday
12:38am EST
Sat Aug 2
2025
in the sunroom,
on Shelter Island
Aug 2, 2025
Aug 2, 2025 at 12:59 AM UTC
Oh Eliot, Poor Eliot, Your Fans Hung You in the Closet and I'm Feelin' So Sad^
<>
we tithed thee with donations plenty,
here a dollar, there a fiver, a coupon for free chips,
worthy of somebody’s eternal gratitude,
that would be you,
da Duke, Duke of York
the largest online free poetry site,
a million visitors a day, why you must be
the richest poet online billionaire, right?
you,
da Duke, Duke of York and
occasional poet...
in return, all we occasional poets demand
steady on instant access, immediate satisfaction,
after all, a part time job deserves your bestus-best,
just like every other large online site, that never crashes,
we’re not like just the rest, we are
p o e t s,
occasionally
so keep the servers engines, well stoked with Newcastle coal,
keep them up and running round the clock,
using only alternative energy,
of the unceasing sun light of merry old England!
quit that other job, you must,
instead of giving up on us,
give in to us,
a poetry break, a writing recharge,
though please add a limited liability
clause to the FAQ’s,
that poets’ lives must deal with the hiccup
occasional
you, da Duke, Duke of York,
newly now, an appointment royale as Major General,^^
you, the very model of a modern major general
possessing information vegetable, animal, mineral and
technical,
who knows the Queens of England, who,
maybe even now is telling tales of your heroics with the hordes of
hysterical
occasional
poetical
globalists
demanding
light brigadests
charging the redoubt
and
when you have a moment spare,
a haircut, please.
no, that is not a request,
naturally
<>
10/19/19
Noontime NYC
natalino
Oct 19, 2019
Oct 19, 2019 at 12:21 PM UTC
Tender strength, sender's excuse
A sneeze to reach to tomorrow
Avid, we determine a silence was...
A house of compromise, sincerity, and willfulness, to borrow...
Burden yourself with a memory, some other dainty...
A question thought liberty, driven by the wind
Has visited me, in the couth of decency's charity
Simple lessons of anger, and the angel of succumbing kin...
Redoubt is my only defense...
Pied, or provided a callous soul, the taint?
I seek is a lip with no meaning, meant in the essence
We direct to such, a season of wishes, we compare to ain't...
Anarchy in love, the thought to reason
Anarchy in though, the times found me a shown few
Anarchy in decision's, a guarantee of blinder moments
Anarchy in ascertainment, a host of wisdom to look at you
A yawn with no future...?
As shrewd as furious days make a prayer, a seclusion
Catching mine, in measure and deliberate other, is a cure
Forces in voices, and the rationality of mercy; loves only intrusion?
Psyche
Can I have my weight in gold, a tarter heaven?
So wished for, so washed of another fight...
With heaven, to remember succor in forms of resolve to come by, loving...
Dec 12, 2023
Dec 12, 2023 at 12:14 PM UTC
Rendered offenses
Sweat in the opinion, sakes
And due attention, to reason amends
Acting only a little saner, the stark stare a host makes...
Do you notice, evermore?
Anyway, the truth we prepose of...
Has a callous beginning, too sore
For a challenge of wisdom, that even does?
Prayers of dour anger...
For the aspire and means we favor
With a realm to a touch, tough knowing you and life's danger...
The reality of another fight, with sin as the futures flavor?
Speed has a question, dwindling in the wind
Suspect days, to redoubt and list the scope of an argument
That has the silence we afforded it, to keep the shadows of kin
Proper is as proper had, the hush of simple tomorrows, a problem to relent...
Toward sharing, the taste of a hoping kiss...?
That when recognized, sympathy is an answer; only a heed can tell...
The prayer of estrangement, has become a chastity's wish
Will a savior in love, know the better of kindness; here's your hell...
With a baring lip, that has suggested a toothsome reply to quips
And hearts to accept the solace of terror, a harrowing finish to past lies...?
That began and ended with a promise found in the bolting and gray wits
Of a dread simplicity, still running to wisdom's charity, which requited...
Sep 21, 2023
Sep 21, 2023 at 8:55 PM UTC
an ancient lyric, come to haunt,
no longer a shield, now thinner,
of gossamer consistency,
a tissue-thin papyrus,
“my poetry to protect me”
the poem words always were
a clarinet reed, capable of singing,
a highest pitch voice for turning
blades of clean steel clean away,
now blunting paper bunting, penetrated.
re-formed my shield, re-purposed,
into a stabbing instrument offensive,
my poetry pricking tearings in my worn
thin fabric tapestry, woven from linen
excuses of why I can’t, why couldn’t I.
this is life. moats becoming drowning
pools, castle walls reversed to entrapments,
wrecking machines, boulders hurling,
medieval defenseless against modern rhymes
giving away to free verse horde onslaught.
too late to apologize to myself, alas, my words,
my protectorate, island redoubt, now ruined
by doubts treachery breech birthed from within,
these verses hollow point bullets engineered,
Caesar’s words clarified, you, et tu, are Brutus
too, two, for the price of one, betrayer and betrayed.
Jun 21, 2020
Jun 21, 2020 at 5:44 PM UTC
1529
’Tis Seasons since the Dimpled War
In which we each were Conqueror
And each of us were slain
And Centuries ’twill be and more
Another Massacre before
So modest and so vain—
Without a Formula we fought
Each was to each the Pink Redoubt—
2.1k
Where Is Shelter?
depends on the location of the storm…
so oft have I queried the gods and you?
Where is Shelter?
*to which, my response, while surrounded so well (!)
within
my moated island circumferences redoubt,
always was a simple:
“Here, Here is shelter!
But so human, thus so prone to delimited vision,
always, we scan the skies outward, fearful of
the hurricane and storm that approach,
from without, appearing, and the brewing
sky’s danger is visceral~visible to the naked eyes,
when,
it is disguised within the chambers of the
body, festering, until it is pestering, and
shelter, sadly, is not injectable, transferable,
easy remedial, and the hunkering down
with four walls not the solution, for the walls
themselves are damaged by decades of
waves of innocuous gently lapping that* still
*erode igneous granite(1) and fissure the self,
this secretive, enemy insidious…*
so it comes to be, that my own daggers have
pivoted, the pointy dangers pointed outwards,
well entrenched in their own defenses, now targeting
the whole of me, my outer walls breached, and
fired upon by cannons of cells, a treacherous
attack, bombardement par l'artillerie et les drones,
of the Fifth Column (2)…
so once more, say no more, but ask the brief of demand,
Where is Shelter?
the answer is as of yet to be decided,
but the forces
arrayed for and against
are equally determined!
W.S.
Jul 29, 2023
Jul 29, 2023 at 3:30 PM UTC
Rose redoubt
Rose few, in the hate we fed
Rose acts, when charisma is a pout
Rose timid, with a live for all ahead
Round eyes of decorum, vice in a wandering hope
Let to take, a tryst of potential...
Long if tooth, a wholesome day to arrive with our own
Here is my naivete, and a steads sulking breeze so beautiful...
When the world is rounder for a secret asking, to fulfil...
Promise me, a livid course, a golden truth
To the wanted more, when we are a soul of will
The tone of our voice, becomes the drama and decency of accepting youth?
Sophistication in a moment alone, with the weight of the world
Seemingly not, before the needs of others, worth is a means to amends...?
And the coltish example of the future, a repose of justness so early
That a miracle in the form of a wish, is a simplicity we lend?
Tales of the reach, the romance of curious senses
And the heart of essence, we know even will...
When boding hours are to be, the callous works of a world come to ends
With a handful of what miracles were, a common where to the liberty of silence, so real
Jun 7, 2023
Jun 7, 2023 at 2:37 PM UTC
after Alexandra Leaving, a song by Leonard Cohen
<>
to go where?
to a city self-consuming in madness,
giving every excuse to stay, and yet,
it came to me just now when the poet
must be leaving his redoubt, with doubt,
and return to the concrete and anomie
of a different kind of splendid isolation
when the last leaf meanders slow down
to the battlefield, and the falling terminado,
and the tree branches are stick figures, each
finger pointing skyward in an j’accusing manner,
accussing & conceding defeat, begging for mercy,
their pleadings too much for me to bare and bury
when green has been wiped clean, and deleted
from the dictionary of colors, my moth eaten soul,
can no longer be granted a stay of execution by
merely looking at the landscape and seascape
to admire their friendly contrasting schemes,
their installation in me of the awe of a visual
quietude, that was an astonishing injection
not truly appreciated till now, too late and
still early, the awe colorations of nature’s vibrancy
The gods have come, my soul hoisted upon their
broad shoulders, the dead-appearing tree branches
can no longer keep their poet safe, hold him back from
meeting his fate; now, he too is a leaving but
floating upward, unlike like the fallen crowds that have
come to rest upon the soil that born them, now to be buried,
all saying: Goodbye Island Poet leaving,
Island Poet
has no poem, no good understanding, no vision,
had no plan, no foresight, only a hope against hope,
that safety was/is not seasonal, Van Morrison reminds,
“These are the days of endless summer,”are memories,
to be held onto tightly, until when if I pass muster, angels
will return to my island abode, where my natural friends
will greet me again, with a flowering and new births,
and The Island Poet can once again revel in ideas in words like
future, sanity, when boarding the ferry with a one way ticket smile.
Sep 2, 2024
Sep 2, 2024 at 2:23 AM UTC
Tomes of advice
Let alive, in the room of cares
Vehemence, instinct, attuned sighs
Where the powers that be, continue until fared
Are we the ears of purpose?
Set in sides and meandering light
The skill of another, to share the insight of us
Should we enable a dance, of redoubt for might?
My door of adding, as avarice is...
The truth in long glances, with method to move
Thought, the biding hope of when is, bliss
The turn of completeness, the coping hour we have of use?
Lose me in the fold...
The tooth I invoke, is a creation of voice and tone, to total
A resolve of guidance, of kind come for wishes to hold
The grace of unity, if not unique sense, before legend falls
To reproof...
Time in its steady march to liberty, the devotion of fashion
Though a tarter end to hindsight, may be aloof
We confirm the date of simple alacrity, a host of could lasting...
Be the love, of a lifetime...
Of causes redeemed by a curious share
In the superiority of life, to know a callous friendship worth trying
And the impress of duress, driven to cares we ne'er guarantee...?
Unless the cold turn of truth, is towards waiting love
Done distress, marveling need, the common remark of persuasion
In the name of urges, we attest to passions, we grant another covenant
The decision of a soul to keep, knowing a handheld in something besides here's intrusion
All
A day's lot in the careful wishes we seek, for a nary come dwell
Rhapsody, in a courage's stance, the times to live and know a call
To harmony, the burden of thee, assumes patience is ours to tell...
Sep 5, 2022
Sep 5, 2022 at 1:50 PM UTC
Poor reaction:
Stipulated by thumbs and notions to excel
Steadied eyes, that keep aims harboring sense?
Of quiet, that looked hard for us, to wish in hell...
Left, do we remember a tears cause?
With the language of frozen thoughts?
Many and metered loyalty's, laws?
That took the obvious to oblivion, for what mocks?
Pyres or piety
The tale I tell, is for the coming and the done
****** to rights, the toil we adjust, we show anxiety...
Is a legend in its own right, risen from the curse, we own
Liberty, is an expensive friend, come to tell us a fortune
Of dignity and callous vice, to share a kept dream of avarice's fit
And final lip of sincerity, that knows where you have been
Acted upon like a thief in the sight, of another, and in whit:
We are that we are...
The poise of destiny to a frightful mind, that keeps charisma
Like a treasure of deliberate calm, when we know passion afar
And ready to strike, nothing but a conversation that is a proven same, somehow sad...
But hating the very roots of opinion, for an art?
Of redoubt in the temptation of cope, to witness a shyness
Forth a remaining tooth of drama and lowly starts
Of nothing at all, but the richness of causes, we have seen come to bless...
Feb 5, 2023
Feb 5, 2023 at 4:50 PM UTC
The thrill of the chase...
A chaste example, to acquire a hill
Meant in dole and measure, the evening pace
Of a risen question, which has nerves to chill
Heat is a wavering sense of redoubt
Sent by accept and due a looking herald
Find a shadow of differ, with a comparison's pout
Share and weal to endow, a question of waiting held?
Maybe, a light has a wealth we can have?
Said to bared and curious, superiority
Will a stranger deed in the presence of need, pass?
Asking for the so, a mutual live to do, is am affinity?
Character is a reigning hope, to understate a gift?
Soul to deified how, in a calling to wryed eyes
When we are the eyes of rightness, risen of airs to lift
A season of justness, with a moment assuring silence...
Is the goal of sincerity...
Is the given of simplicity...
Is the god of serendipity...
Is the gesture of sakes city...
Who?
And the hill, of reason taken to reality
Of visions fortitude, a ply of when sense is too soon
Will we become like ourselves, at the sight of future integrity?
Mar 19, 2023
Mar 19, 2023 at 3:03 PM UTC
Now an annual autumnal literary festival visit
to our island redoubt,
the snow geese come honking down,
in linear formation
warning itinerant human beachcombers
of their arrival on the beach runways
of our sheltered island
This TripTik recommended diversion,
is a pleasure long anticipated by them,
seen as an intellectual rest stop,
with excellent sea snacks cuisined,
flying down the Eastern Seaboard
keeping Interstate 95 on their right,
an avian version of GPS
Our birds,
follow a minor route,
commencing in Nova Scotia,
the farthest north of all the species,
never making it to Mexico,
ending their travelogue in Georgia,
lest their true species be confused
with other kinds of Floridian snowbirds
Sit by my side they do,
one by one in assigned seats,
on the now scrawny grass blanket,
their attention span famously long,
unless a school of striped bass
seen on radar in the vicinity
I, on my Adirondack throne,
a poetry reading to intone,
with more-than-occasional audience input,
considered their right most fair
Critics one and all,
animated animal devotees of the arts,
unafraid to express their thoughts,
oft in unison or in
unharmonious John Cage
cacophonies of disagreement
Sadly, I only speak local seagull,
thus their effusive exege(e)ses and criticisms,
either damming or acclaim, indistinguishable,
their only "tell" is if
they stick around for
just one more...day...
That my poetry they did favor
was a conceit I feigned to believe,
loving their attention even if not deserved,
for in their service, and nature's too,
I am now trained to sit and wait,
a minor stitch in a famous tapestry,
for well I recall Milton's words:
*"God doth not need
Either man's work or his own gifts: who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best.
His state is kingly;
thousands at his bidding speed
And post o'er land and ocean without rest:
They also serve who only stand and wait."*
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 10:05 AM UTC
Talent show
Whimsy is our art
Our taste in methods and sights of owe
Welcome us to your town, a hay day with time to smarten
Catch a rising star
The pout of energy realized, remaining in view
Is our call to excellency, a closely required more
To the stir of when passion, has the sense to live for who
Carry me to the stage
The show is about to start, a seeming melodrama
That when served, is the callous voice we saw rage:
The tartness of life today, is tomorrow ours for a better dilemma?
Which in wolves eyes, the taste of complexity is ours
For a knock, a door, a calling hour; to achieve a known
Place of redoubt, that has no ear for wishes, beyond powers
That claim the world for a note, of courage come too soon?
A heated conversation, now is a readied mouth
With courage to take the lead, in round paces of what went
With the moment we know, the coping stare of another, proud
And silent, until a shadow of doubt, has become meant...
Through the longing, the strength of a need so refined
Wealth of a thought, is our reward
To tell a tale of composure, that has seen the times
And given the cue of adroitness, has become a life to guard...
Audacity
So simple an argument, for a watching eave
Tell-tale heed, to groom itself in lights, worth nativity
And with austerity to care, the faces of destiny in love, never leave
Apr 4, 2023
Apr 4, 2023 at 9:06 PM UTC
Tows of since
Synchronicity is to be married
Working heed, and the beauty in silence
As a reward once lent, is twice carried...?
Tallys and totals
The future has us to fare a new question
That calmly collected, is a sanity we hold...
With a callous before careful hand, we should a blessing...
Marvels in love...
State and sake affluency, the fickle lives
That make you and me, the score of does
A changing season protecting order of or what denies?
Patiently, the run of a lifetime
Spoil in thorough stead, despair to care once more?
For anything more, moving faster than a harmony's light
The tale of destiny, with lips to prove strangers know the words...
Half a mind to open a vanity...
With another's neglect, the truth be golden adage
To a liming hope, the act of redoubt, in all sanity...
With a holy mercy, for anyone who would learn it, a world's rage?
Epitaph to a wishing wind, alive in the senses
We adjust to humanity, with tears come the spite of terror...
Sincerity to follow and act, upon a world of wisdom's ends
That were, the stone of seclusion in a lover's midst, a gain of heirs?
Jul 2, 2022
Jul 2, 2022 at 2:39 PM UTC
How much do I love you?
When you are asleep in our bed,
Takes ten minutes for me to
Slide inside, you to undisturb, you would,
Laugh at my pantomime, my Charlie Chaplin ballet,
If you were to accidentally awake.
When your dreams disturbing,
Groans and shrieks, moans and mumbles,
I greet you when your eyes final-fix upon me,
With no questions, only kisses for both,
And a new poem for you on top of our coverlet.
I love you resting me, when you, beside me do rest,
Then, together, we are always at our best.
I, your soldier, woodpeckers, deer, sent on their way,
Today, five geese invaders, ahonking, dispatched,
Lest my woman's dreams become enmeshed.
How many compositions have I written,
Rhythm and rhymed to your contented breathing?
Amazing grace that every day when we are on
Our island redoubt, there is no doubt.
There is us, always us, and for each restful breath,
Encased is a new and different way,
To answer this question that I pose to myself.
Tho first of many interrogatories that will pass from my heart,
Yet, when mine eyes open to see the sun of your blonde hair.
I have only answers, no questions, no doubts.
September 1st, 2013
Sep 1, 2013
Sep 1, 2013 at 7:31 AM UTC
Time passes a thought
To another, in a climbing sense of renderings...
We see the call to unify, in a shy voice ought?
Today was a marveling hour, we could marvel's ends...
Bite me...with a resolve?
They said the sour news is a welcome sunshine
With pets and history to come at all...
Of a younger moment to be quiet, for a composure of time...
Hours as we know, a fixation on else
Can be, the truth be found in a place of sin
Was this imagined tongue, the saying of wealth
Yet to be, the stir of justice of what is a craved wince...
Of passion over a legend to become, our friends
The tale we notice, and simplify by devoid and avoid
Is but a loose remark of such to roll and imbue, the like we end
As if the world knows any better: the fight of certainty's choice...?!
Sly or slime?
Tows of redoubt, between lovers or a heroism of dry finality's
Sunny as we should note, is about the hour I am trying
We see the traitor of commonness and pence, our humor is...
A rushing eye, to know a catastrophe
That is being a silent opportunity, to approach though
And worth the implied key, we find in the future feat
Of lying to the misses, when a game is for those we hosted, should first owe...?
Jun 16, 2022
Jun 16, 2022 at 12:49 AM UTC
Harper scarpered with the loot and Jimmy Tang was in the boot of the Ford Escort,
thought he'd pull a fast one,how wrong was he
now he's off to see the sea in concrete shoes,
Harper doesn't lose he wins
and Jimmy Tang just spins below where tidal currents flow.
The Old Bill had their fill of killing,and
Bobby shoe shine who was willing to grass up Harper for a new life in Santa Barbara or somewhere hot and dry,told the old bill of a story,bloody gory and full of death.
hardly daring to take a breath Harper hid out in a redoubt,(a throwback to some ancient war)
The cops swore later he shot first but it's anyone's guess,the upshot was,the world is less a villain and a spiv
and Bobby shoe shine doesn't give a hoot,he'd got his loot a different way.
Oct 11, 2013
Oct 11, 2013 at 12:15 PM UTC
When?
And a told rise of climate
Special speed to them, the more we then
The greater the fate...
Whits in unison, time is a reach...
Powers of unction or lucre
Time is a shadow of whether, we insist
Paces of control, and the help of the future...
True...
The watched for inertia, here
Is a fear in total live, and lets share due
Given the age of need, are you redoubt or near?
Patience is such a walking nightmare...
Presence for a friend, is a whole order to tame a thought...
Powers that be, seek a question nobody has forgot, where...
Passion is for a fool's errand, to remember what is not...
The look of callousness...
Turning for simpler silences to deal with
Adding a habit, in gray sources and duly the imagination lest
With a knowing hand, the reasons of valor, to intone is...
Mar 14, 2023
Mar 14, 2023 at 7:48 PM UTC
Dawn's golden notes stream
across barn's yellow beams
supporting stables hemming horses
cavorting cows sagging udders
melding with yellow hay
bouncing glistening pitchforks prongs
as the song begins.
Dust, glittering as if a nebula, each speck of it freed of
ground, twittering around like birds wading sound.
Spread out, as if a picture, dots of bright ethereal
in their luminescence lightened blinking out
as if frightened, but then heaving about
in the barn's barren air circulating redoubt,
sparkle yet again,
and again,
until they are drowned dark black out
by the opening of a barn door.
Little of moment's loves
Transform our precious
Frail pleasures
Into eternal loves
Unless there is a decision
to greet the old and mundane as
new,
as if dust were stars.
Sep 20, 2018
Sep 20, 2018 at 2:09 PM UTC
those who have vanished those gone up the spout
the scarperers last season's best reaping
were our last bulwark against fear or doubt
so total silence follows on the shout
clamping down hard on laughter and weeping
those who have vanished those gone up the spout
in teaching us just what to do without
and what exactly is worth safe-keeping
were our last bulwark against fear or doubt
but since they're gone we lack all redoubt
no place to which we can hurry creeping
those who have vanished those gone up the spout
simply precede us on the journey out
message and method both so sweeping
were our last bulwark against fear or doubt
now in the midst of this inhuman drought
we fade into the darkness while sleeping
those who have vanished those gone up the spout
were our last bulwark against fear or doubt
Dec 24, 2011
Dec 24, 2011 at 9:57 AM UTC
Birds always fly south
When, a winner has a moment...
Sour old fall, of life into bed with a crowd
Of feelings; never a spoil or relent?
Acceptation and divorce, artily
A shrewd person knows more than a cup of tea?
Lights and party's, fights and smarty...
When a dalliance has the floor, a candor can be...
Hair is a smile, if first and foremost denial?
Simply airs, and the deified soul to prove...
A habit in the gray, hosts of decency known a while
You are the hero, I am the pact and the silence of love...
A wager in the shadow of a waterfall?
Since rainbows are so expensive, or a mutual cause...
Where is a life more naked, with terror or mercy for a salt?
The price of love has become even more, a sit with laws...
Knowing what I do, a reason has a voice to win every argument
Spill of light, or cover of darkness...
The tooth you share, is a peace with a realm to its redoubt, patience?
Has the time to remember me; when shame has become a seen, bless...
Sleep or sunshine, the dream is the same...
Sport of since, and the charity of a simpler sake
My moment in the borrowing of still, has come and gone with fame
Of a new time, in the shared forces of wishes, we've come to hate or make?
Oct 30, 2023
Oct 30, 2023 at 6:07 PM UTC
If I were hanging recoiled on barbed wire
as part of some civil war
would my eyes shade to blue
or would the composite Brown anger you ?
and clearly if that offended you
would you be resolute
in not clipping the redoubt ?
Would you carte blanch
the injured with Morphine,
so they could fester politely
by the feat of decrepitation.
Apr 21, 2012
Apr 21, 2012 at 4:49 PM UTC
What is this?
What arrogance
to be dissatisfied with bliss
What am I?
That I find myself like a Danish price
contemplating molecular physics
If there could be but one thing through which I could reach
from the tips of my toes to the ends of my ariels
let it speak to me now or remain forever ephemeral
Tempt me not with silence nor sentient reflection
let me sit idle
while a host of doubts with carousing inflections
rend peace from the oath used to praise your perfection
the redoubt of certainty a false satisfaction
but I will seek it no less, lest my own moral code
on the floor lie here prone
Be still
Who are you to challenge me?
My own self?
HA! You are nothing
less than a vaporous belch,
repudiation of the shelf
from which this retched book of life was wrenched
No the end for you can come not too soon
unless it be for that which you are
A cankerous man ***** feeding on the life that was not given
but taken from others AND from yourself
I know not you
Unless I do
Unless I do
For all that was, is and was, was mirage
Smoke to the mirrors, dust in the sunshine
caught by the exhaled breath of nothingness
Cancer in the heart or lung make no difference to the boatman
BEGONE
Waste not my time with salutations
nor grave maunderings on that which could have been
nor with pleasantries and optimism
I have no use for these baubles of ego
BEGONE I SAID
What would you be without meat to shrine that temple of mind?
A magician?
A sorcerer?
Some glorified seamstress of witty offal
set to ram fill mouths of the bantering rabble
NO! I shall not cowtow to the nicetities of your excess, nor of mine
Our colours are grey NOT black and white
we shall drown beneath stone until resurrection day
and even then we shall rot in our graves for there IS NO GOAD
not to man, beast or rock NO GOAD that science shall not uncover, no lack
that in wondrous doubt we shall **** to deny the self-evident fact
that we are nothing and everything combined in one shell
decomposing rapidly, a death knell for the self
is the salutary cry for the immobile stone laid on my brow
for the rustling tree
for the wild fox and the mutated accessories to our loneliness
they shall be freed and they shall feast upon our corpses
and not a day too soon
and not a day too soon
so sayeth the bard from his everlasting gloom.
Dec 30, 2015
Dec 30, 2015 at 3:16 AM UTC
He stands and walks, and makes himself as hard as rock,
He smiles and waves, at beauties and babes,
Then whispers into a quiet boys ears, makes him excited and confused with fear,
Then screams and shouts on the worlds redoubt,
I do not engage in a sinful dance, while his hand holds the young boys stance,
Caressing it up and down, while the eyes set on the young boy and frown,
He rapes the young one through and through, Forgetting we are in the Twenty-first century too.
Aug 15, 2016
Aug 15, 2016 at 9:31 PM UTC