"reformation" poems
**
A fast-track court in the capital city;
A Judiciary of a democratic Country;
Hearing the a gang-rape case,
reserved its order
on the quantum of
Punishment for the
four convicted in the
Gang-rape and ******
of a 23-year-old
innocent girl
A 237- page judgment,
Noting that that the
Crime was committed
in an extremely brutal manner.
“The major part of her intestine
was pulled out from the body,”
the Doctor said.
The prosecution has sought
the death penalty for the
four convicts, while the
Defense lawyers for the
Convicted are pleading
for a lenient verdict.
The arguments in the
gruesome gang-rape case
are over and sentencing
will be announced
at 2.30 pm on Friday,
13th September, 2013
"The sentence which is
very appropriate is nothing
short of death,"
special public prosecutor
told the court.
“The common man
will lose faith in the judiciary
if the harshest punishment
is not given “
the Judge remarked;
Guilty of ******
Gang ****
Unnatural ***
Criminal conspiracy,
destruction of evidence,
Kidnapping and attempting to ****
the eyewitness said
The fifth convict
Committed suicide
in Tihar Jail
in March this year
The sixth convict
was a juvenile at the time
of the incident and has been
given a three- year term
in a reformation home.
A fast-track court,
A Judiciary of a democratic
Country will order
Stop Crime against women !
“Hang them,
Not let them go free”
**
______________________________________________
BY
WILLIAMSJI MAVELI
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 7:32 AM UTC
Plundering corruption
A boy an apple from a tree
Son you know that is wicked
Come on, and follow me.
You saw that strange fruit growing
The poor a hanging from a tree
Let's sing another song boys
Call it US democracy
I free all kinds of good boys
In my old boy kinda way
From tyranical oppression
To the kinder Gentler me
And I say you must reform now
To our ever wanking little whim
Chairman Bush is on a roll now
Thinks he's facking Chairman Mao.
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 2:12 PM UTC
Now deadline entrapped!
Deadline to safe life
Deadline to take food
Deadline to drink water
Deadline to breathe air!
Now dead line entrapped!
Deadline to recharge vitality
Deadline to recharge vanity
Deadline to recharge - cover-up felony!
Now deadline entrapped!
Deadline to makeover
Deadline to sprawl
Deadline to crawl
Deadline to growl
Deadline to haul!
Now deadline entrapped!
Deadline to behold toxicity
Deadline to amuse atrocity
Deadline to submit buoyancy
Deadline to ****** and welcome grief I
It is the deadline for post modern reformation!
Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 5:29 PM UTC
I have done time in the prison of the mind
sewed a blue chip on my shoulder
left the valley to roam and wander
nurtured a black, tormented seed
gave myself over to a blind man's need
I have done time in the sanctity of the moment
stripped down, undone, naked, free
felt the healing waters wash me clean
nurtured a bright, unfettered soul
gave myself over, finally whole
Mar 18, 2016
Mar 18, 2016 at 11:54 AM UTC
Communication technology recognition
Reformation in monopoly contortions
Feel the attuned tunes from satellites
Setting light like an antenna televised
Usher prolific hologram vised in vision
Bid manipulation bye to new world neon’s
Motivation from free thought movement
Commendations cemented in another time-zone
Complement to comment for extra terrestrials
Electrical vibrations moving from wired modems
Floating up above the skies, a heaven end
All life become a past tense lie, come lie
A dead fantasy for the oars ain’t tacky
The most surreal reality, the stability, an ability
Congeniality, this is an alien evasion, adaptability
Figure a boxer on the ring, trenching victory
An agility the accessibility to the victorious flag
Tracing admissible tunes, planking in a cool challenge
The heroic and not hectic hologram check the angiogram
Its not a diagram, but a radiant heart an earthy soul
Am a do anything, buffing myself to do anything
Ain’t a deal rocking the crowd in crazy clouds
Breaking the underground like a Fujita F Scale tornado
Ronaldo tormenting the ball in a field with F clef societal
Social control and orders, tormenting the ****** to extraordinaire, an extradite
Streaming live make you believe like you can live for real
Stratifications, ****** classes and sewn mobility
Chasing dreams in the winds deeply wheeled in a well
Be well as we sink so deep to seek and hold the dense
The essence of the whirlwind, it’s a seep through static
This rollercoaster an aspiration to inspire then perspire
Ever higher, from the root to crown charkra, a tantra
Annata,the ascending holographic magnetic hero
Tuning visions to dreamers and travellers
Hold my hand as we sink underneath the stratums
No sputum, just headphones.... a culture, it’s the new age soul
Jan 10, 2016
Jan 10, 2016 at 4:47 PM UTC
Some days I feel it's better to remain alone
Because I can grow more in my imagination
Than I can in this world.
All of reality stripped to the bone
Creating my own metaphysical reformation
Where my illusions become uncurled.
Finally grasping at the unknown
As I create the perfect salvation
My cosmos becomes impearled.
Feb 26, 2013
Feb 26, 2013 at 5:05 AM UTC
I want to erase the figment of my imagination that I’ve allowed you to becomeYou are so opportunistic having used every moment we ever had as a time of spawningYou left traces of yourself that would grow beyond what my mind could containand with your absencethose pieces of you have enlargedThey’ve progressed into long thick arms having my thoughts in choke holds that the top wrestlers have yet to discoverThanks for showing me who you really areYour name is Monsterand I want to remove your electromagnetic tentacles from the nerves of my brainsever your suction cups coat them in a batter flavored with lemon pepper seasoningand deep fry them turn your manipulative tactics into a fine cuisine for the hungered palettes of innocent bystanders that will chew you upswallow youand digest you as the waste of time this aspect of youhas been to meToo bad I’m not bulimicAfter the binge of these false memories I’d gladly shove my finger down my throat and ***** you into filthy toilet bowlsflushing you ‘til you reach your destinationwelcomed by a sea of sewageWhen it comes to the likes of youamnesia has never been so desired.
Feb 26, 2010
Feb 26, 2010 at 9:56 PM UTC
Reformation
Concentration
Discrimination
Segregation
Just a human rat race
Denied, denied
My passion gone
I cried, I cried
My whole life long
Mine
They trample on our men
And leave us in turmoil
There is no wind
The smoke lingers
Oh eagle fly high
Get away
Away from your once proud home
Neo played the violin
When they burned Rome
Not I
I can lead
Bold ideas
I know what I must do
Mine
My hatred
My blame
Put upon the stain
The stain on the beautiful white canvas
Take away
Dignity
Hope
Rip their homes apart
From the ghetto to the train
From the train to the gates
From the gates to annihilation
Yes
No
Fall back
Push forward
We shall not fall
My land
My world
This is the attempt that will end my reign
They won’t get the best of me
They lived in fear of me
And she’s coming with me
It is mine
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 5:44 PM UTC
The hatred towards the government,
Implemented by the opposition,
Practiced by the citizen,
And now, it is like a tradition,
From generation to generation,
From provocation to demonstration,
Taking it to the street is the habitation,
Screaming and shouting for no reason,
A battalion of protestors controlled by politician,
A never ending fight between transformation and reformation,
To rule the country and win the election,
To make it to Putrajaya, that's the mission,
To make confusion is the only conclusion,
And making politics a priority than religion,
These corrupted people ruined our nation,
With their twisted tongue and telling facts that are fiction,
Telling lies to the people has become an addiction,
Spreading ideology with their sweet persuasion,
And influence a generation that's lacking in patience,
Dec 26, 2014
Dec 26, 2014 at 6:23 AM UTC
As time goes on
humans adapt in many different ways
as all living things do.
We grow intellectually, emotionally, spiritually
but more often than not
fears, doubts, insecurities, envies run rampant in our expanding minds.
Toxicity, too, develops
rippling out, engulfing anyone near in a flame of hate
charring them beyond recognition.
Adapting, hand in hand with survival, dictates we raise walls
barriers to protect ourselves
if only to withstand even more punishment, then repeat the cycle.
But the thirst for animosity
has to be quenched, leading to rampant searches for more and more
ways to hurt each other.
A propensity for cruelness overrides any potential
at reformation, reconciliation
or any sort of repairing all the tethers that have eroded away with vigor.
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 10:48 PM UTC
Born to be inscrutable
although maybe, it's disputable
somethings are not so mutable
when boy and girl, unsuitable
Clothes will go out first
you won't know, you're coerced
no more to quench your thirst
as in her now, immersed
A bad boy reputation
the girl with expectation
attempting reformation
you're into, transformation
Down the path to bliss
you must remember this
a kiss is just a kiss
it's yourself, you'll miss
Sep 14, 2017
Sep 14, 2017 at 8:46 AM UTC
Monotony surrounds us
We're stuck within a vault
There will be no more success
After this assault
Such a troubled state of mind
That takes us to this place
Our thoughts have been redesigned
For no one to replace
Reformation takes its toll
With no regard for identity
As one by one, we lose control
Of what used to be serenity
Dec 8, 2012
Dec 8, 2012 at 6:08 PM UTC
In sullen stride of affirmation,
I felt no dream of destination;
But in drowning deceit of sick starvation,
I sighed in hopes of constellations.
In worlds between of deprivation,
I surrendered my frame to degradation.
Out of full eyed, absent minded generations
Came my continuous reformation.
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 2:13 PM UTC
I am your pendulum
Swaying from the gallows
The world tips beneath me
I am your keeper
What I am
You are destined to become
Momentum and
Gravity
Carry you
To your fate
Every step a gilded weight
I am your redemption
I am your reformation
Your final exclamation
To fair weathered life
Apr 23, 2012
Apr 23, 2012 at 12:16 AM UTC
Directing the populace to march through cities and suburbs
Rifles held in militant fashion, all are one
Dictate the reformation and find solace in those who are still here
Leverage made by battles won, solitude to those who are all gone
Eaten by the moths in sand, my clothing is stripped into bands
Crazy not to walk away when my friends disintegrate in my hands
When your leg flies through the air and hits me knocking me away
Looking into the sunset and pondering if it's real or the fray
Sober is not acceptable here, crack the bottle into the lake
Swim under the radar and love in flying bullet parades
My gathering for a new world, will wait patiently out in the rain
While the ruler converts all their wives and drowns away your sorrows in its veins
Genius, pure and swift. Powers are unconfirmed regrets
Should I have let you win when you begged for the apex, the crest
Stupid and young all are, escaping from the facility's sweet arms
Simple and refined we will accept you into our swarm
Remember the cars are gone, the money gone, religion gone
Remember all is mine, all is yours, all is ours
Remember ownership and government is dead
Remember all of your worries are in your head
Aug 27, 2013
Aug 27, 2013 at 2:08 PM UTC
Jack jumped last night.
We might have expected it
had we not been so unsuspecting.
Those blue periods of his,
I'm sure you've witnessed one,
were walled in somewhat by the
swelling tides of years
and years
and years.
When they came, they were
quelled by the very occasional red mark.
These punctuations
when they mercifully visited
would open doors for him, in
which our brother, neighbor,
father discovered strange liquid
tendencies to ailing strength.
Too many blank-out nights
could find him and his new
battery bickering the old childhood
verses. Too many four-of-the-clocks
would cue the choragos his
specter-critic's eye to deign a
Plan on our friend's blue
stationary.
A smile might have
mailed it straight ahead.
Perhaps it was last week when the
boat met the shore, some heinous
delivery of packaged, patent-business
sealed reformation, salvation.
In the midst of his violet smile
the cogent steam engine had a chute
into which it might heartily crash.
However it came remains to be seen.
What we have all seen this morning
remains our family's chief export.
Jack jumped last night.
He ascended the hill with his red hands
full of ****** punctuation marks, and
he spouted full-rehearsed
all those lines he'd learned in
grade school. Like a prolix
Gertrude complaining of her thirst.
And with the singularity of purpose
that haunts even the sharpest eyes,
he completes the trek to his three-foot tall Kusinagara
with his asthma wrapped around his neck.
Victory is a queer bird. Its song is never heard
the whole way through.
He breathes in weightlessness,
regains his bearing and waits for the
lines to quiet down. No one should leave
in the middle of a recitation, regardless
of the quality. At last, "Richard Cory"
reaches his terminal syllable and
our dearest man searches for his place in the music.
And it's just a minute,
just a minute,
just a minute,
jumps.
Jack jumped last night
Just as he said he would,
And had we heard him say it
We'd have thought "He could. He could."
Feb 24, 2010
Feb 24, 2010 at 6:49 PM UTC
Golden bells,—bedight o'er towers—
Amidst the betrothing melody,
The touch of stained glass—
Beams the rosary beads
Binding me with a man held high;
Now to be crowned his wife.
"My lord, lend me thy right hand,
As thy loyal servant,—
I vow to pledge our country."
The Moonlight Song,— let our haunches be mere pitches—
Of forests rocked by branches
Ah, my fatal reverie—
Savor this antique scenery,
With classic gothic frames,
And worn laces,—Peaking the figures'desires
Cradle me,—
And thou shalt drink my glass,—
To offer a sip;-- so to paint moist on windows.
Sunrise, leap me to this town!—
How gracious men and children,
I shalt dress all thee;-—Make a stronghold that prospers the needy;
Lest the void of promised land—
Wither the faith of mankind.
With the King's side,
Reformation sets the nation to affluence;
The bonfire relives the glorious centuries—
Never scorn, swords unfold!
May 6, 2020
May 6, 2020 at 3:17 AM UTC
10/11/12
the sun has died, and yet the planets still orbit.
the fish swim in a char black ocean, dead current.
the bull charges blindly into the ruins of the arena.
if god looks down,
then he's tired of my being cared for.
he sent a truck and a tumor to get me to care more.
and having failed at that,
he saw fit to pull my heart out.
the flaw in god is that,
he pulls too hard on the puppet strings.
you can bring a camel to water,
but you can never make it drink.
he can send two plagues to reform me,
and in the end I still think.
this is clear punishment for living life without god.
this is the reformation of nothing, and nobody.
this is the admission that I'll happily keep rotting.
Mar 2, 2013
Mar 2, 2013 at 1:22 AM UTC
I’m going to each of my suitemates' rooms. One at a time, methodically. I pause, for dramatic purpose, until I have their full attention. Once I have it, I rushingly, excitedly, breathlessly say, “I’M getting pizza later, for the GAME!” Like a seven year old child.
Now, my roommates KNOW we're ordering pizzas later. They’re all “on board,” everyone’s submitted their order and venmo’d their money to Sunny who will actually place the order for delivery at 5:30 pm. But I’m excited. I LOVE pizza (and American, NFL football) and I love being childish.
My roommates, like my brother, sister and parents before them, know this and love my manic, overactive way of excising tedium. Besides, I won’t do this more than once or twice - ok, maybe three times today before the pizza comes.
Since you’ve read this far - allow me to opine, for a moment, about “self restraint.”
Have you read about how they’re using familial DNA to solve old cold-case murders? I think they should use familial DNA to track down whomever it was that invented self restraint.
It was probably some old Protestant. I mean, Catholics only have sin - it’s yes or no - binary. So without researching it (at all), I think we’re dealing with someone born after the protestant reformation of 1555 - but I’m flexible.
Anyway, they should track that person down, dig them up, beat them with a stick, and then rebury them, in unhallowed ground.
I hate self restraint. It’s so.. restraining.
#restraintsux
Jan 23, 2022
Jan 23, 2022 at 9:06 AM UTC
.
Waves of psychic nausea
make the teeth shiver,
as the mind grates on lava
and the cloak pulls tight.
An echo from an illusion
permeates the imagination.
glistening with rancid dew
resplendent in its own reflection.
The image mirrored
is not the genuine original.
The genuine original
is not the image mirrored.
Born of the same picture
yet entities of separate strokes,
Romulus and Remus consort
to blur the edges and paint the story.
The host, confused and special,
supplicates to the paths,
waiting for the reformation,
release, relief, and re-definition.
© Pagan Paul (19/06/17)
Jun 20, 2017
Jun 20, 2017 at 4:43 AM UTC
Outside cars line up ticketed
Rickety in a rusty mist of San Francisco fog
High heel and blonde echoing up to my window.
The traffic is light
The stars are distant and bright
A night in present to be remembered falsely
We take many things for granted
A laugh bounds against the high wall of this city's illusion
Many smiles, many grins, along with many ruins
I thought we were being bombed today
Work between my fingers the lights flickered above me
And I thought, "This is the day I die, and I die alone."
Around these corner alleyways the meter maids purr
Transcending human emotion ordered by rules & safety
The wind feels no guilt when it destroys
The Earth, ocean, and fire neither
These elementals, they play with us like pawn pieces
We can only bow and obey
At noon the abstract grip their baskets
Made of pencil lead, plastic, and porcelain
Hours pass and the power they wished for
Slips through their shaking, cracked fingers
At least the weather is good here
All good things appear near
An abundance of ripe fortitude
Makes solitude precious & everlasting
Hold fast to true strength and virtue
The darkest hour produces the greatest light
Hold fast to your skills and talents
Challenges shape the ones who will not be fallen
"TIghter," ordered the tailor, a drop of sweat dangling from his nose,
"Attention to the detail, this will not be a failure."
Concentrating, the apprentice's hands shaking, squinted his one good eye
Into the thin hole of the needle, the other side infinities void
The bare fire was outrageous with how little heat it was giving
His hands shaking from the cold, the wind hoarse
Outstretching pale fingers, the thread through the needle
Apr 3, 2013
Apr 3, 2013 at 1:24 PM UTC
On a throne in Rome is where satan is seated; eating the flesh of man; like a pagan Caesar being fed grapes. He sits, awaiting man, to kneel before him: kissing the ring.
Drinking the blood of man, by his royal cup; that which he never touches with his own fingers. King of all kings, lord of all lords; pope, pontiff patriarch and arch-bishop of all Christendom -- rejects you Rome.
From the schism to the Reformation, yet the prey are tempted as you ****** a bogus return. To/from an institution steeped in crises; openly admitting its satanic infiltration. Men adorn you with biblical claims of negative revelation. As if your satanic throne was of divine establishment. Claiming a unity that never was. Your foes thinking 'denominations' are a division of Christ's Church. While you knowing that 'a house divided cannot stand'.
Awaken your souls hiding among the farther Eastern 'Church', or those farther West. Separated brethren --or-- imitation Christian may your throne be carried on your shoulders by those observing your divine monarchy. Hail Popery! As you in self-pity's pedestal sight Peter. While the post-Protestant ecclesial coward prey sight Judas.
© S. Wesley Mcgranor
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 11:49 AM UTC
I go to a party.
You ask to come along.
You join us, you make a mess, we leave and then return...
I try to help.
I always try to help.
I have to take you home, in the end.
You apologise profusely, but I deny your apologies.
I am happy to help.
I feel useful, for once.
Comforting friends is one of the few ways in which I manage to feel useful.
You get home safe.
I'm relieved.
But then she saddens...
She tries to laugh it off, as she says that she's not okay.
As soon as I let her know that it's okay to not be okay, she loses it.
I hold her.
I hold her so tightly.
I rub her arm and pull her body closer to mine.
She feels warm, but I can only imagine how cold she is on the inside.
I make an attempt, but I have no clue how to cheer her up.
If I'm honest, I don't think that she needs to be cheered up at all.
She needs to feel this pain.
She is so incredibly strong and I know that she should let herself feel it.
She needs to accept that it's over.
He's gone.
It's terrible, but he's ******* gone.
"It's sore, it's so sore," she tells me, through her sobs...
I pull her closer still.
I won't ever let her feel this hurt again.
I love her.
More and more friends gather around us and they all love her as much as I do.
As much as he should.
*That ******* ****
We cheer her up, temporarily, and she moves back onto the dancefloor.
They all dance and I go for some air.
They tell me that I am a man in their eyes.
I thank them, and I mean it, yet I can't help but feel sort of off...
I cherish their words, of course, but it shouldn't have to be like this.
I need a distraction.
Whether it be blood trickling down my arm, or smoke filling up my lungs, I want to **** it.
I want to **** this dysphoria.
This feeling of being wrong.
I'd love to feel right, for a change.
Why am I such an outcast?
I don't stand out, because no one sees me, but I definitely don't fit in...
I just want to be myself, inside and out, but I don't have the consent to do so.
They should've realised by now that this is what I need.
I need help.
I need more than just beautiful friends and family and alcohol and pain...
I need reassignment, not just reformation.
I need medical help, not just therapeutical.
I need love, not just care.
Love...
True love.
Sure, the thought counts, but I am in need of one ******* gesture.
One in particular.
I need it to be consensual.
You give me consent to kiss you.
I argue.
YOU DON'T WANT ME.
But you swear that you do.
"I don't want you to feel things," you admit, with tears flooding down your face.
Well, neither do I!
But I can't ******* help it.
I should really sleep, but now I need to feel things.
Something.
Anything.
Even if it is just the tears that I'm crying.
At least it's something.
But sometimes nothing is better than something.
I think we both need to remember that.
So forget your apologies.
I apologise.
I can't feel anything anymore...
I just want to feel euphoria.
Aug 26, 2015
Aug 26, 2015 at 8:07 PM UTC
Can you taste the disappointment
When you linger on my lips
Cold scents long languished
Sparking dead neuronic wisps
A frantic reformation
For an addict to the bliss
In the dust realms of a blanket life
Where fiction can exist
I’m the broken bones you found alone
And kissed into a whole
I know
That everybody dreams of the soul they had, the soul they let go
But I’ll find a way, hold high this ache
Breathe life into every mistake
And grow
Into the man you never had, but mourn to this day
I’m grateful
For everything
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 3:48 PM UTC
♛ ♛ ♛
Martin Luther, righteous King,
made the Reformation sing.
Popes and peasants, out of key
turned it into misery.
German beer and Roman crimes
made for most uncivil times
much like our own. We must confess
rights and wrongs we yet possess...
Half a millennium later on
a Baptist pastor and his son
took this noble Saxon name
and furthered the Reformer's fame.
Some revisionists deny
St. Martin Luther's role, and try
to minimize theology
in civil rights chronology.
The second Luther of my song
inspired—but did not last as long.
Social Justice notwithstanding,
King's successors need re-branding.
Politicians steal his mantle,
cloak their lies in his example;
agitators claim his glory
pushing God out of the story;
educators sing his praises
but some people's conduct raises
doubts about that dream of King—
and hope... and change... and everything.
Jan 13, 2017
Jan 13, 2017 at 9:05 PM UTC