"refute" poems
This trumpeter of nothingness, employed
To keep our reason dull and null and void.
This man of wind and froth and flux will sell
The wares of any who reward him well.
Praising whatever he is paid to praise,
He hunts for ever-newer, smarter ways
To make the gilt seen gold; the shoddy, silk;
To cheat us legally; to bluff and bilk
By methods which no jury can prevent
Because the law's not broken, only bent.
This mind for hire, this mental **********
Can tell the half-lie hardest to refute;
Knows how to hide an inconvenient fact
And when to leave a doubtful claim unbacked;
Manipulates the truth but not too much,
And if his patter needs the Human Touch,
Skillfully artless, artlessly naive,
Wears his convenient heart upon his sleeve.
He uses words that once were strong and fine,
Primal as sun and moon and bread and wine,
True, honourable, honoured, clear and keen,
And leaves them shabby, worn, diminished, mean.
He takes ideas and trains them to engage
In the long little wars big combines wage...
He keeps his logic loose, his feelings flimsy;
Turns eloquence to cant and wit to whimsy;
Trims language till it fits his clients, pattern
And style's a glossy **** or limping slattern.
He studies our defences, finds the cracks
And where the wall is weak or worn, attacks.
lie finds the fear that's deep, the wound that's tender,
And mastered, outmanouevered, we surrender.
We who have tried to choose accept his choice
And tired succumb to his untiring voice.
The dripping tap makes even granite soften
We trust the brand-name we have heard so often
And join the queue of sheep that flock to buy;
We fools who know our folly, you and I.
11.1k
The blood comes dilute, as if to refute
What is, or was ever at all
To challenge the must,
The is and the thus
The ever, the will, and the Fall
The Winter, the Spring, the Summer that brings
A freedom, an illusion anew
A time to recline--in dreams and unwind
The idea that you can, that you will
The will, O the will, O the untempered can
Of worms which one opens and finds
Full to the brim, before and again
"Reality"" which tries to unbid
The self from the mind
The meaning from line
The reason from rhyme
And the is from all time
Separates Us: from passion
From Trust.
From belief in ourselves
From love
From true wealth
From magic. From tragic
At least in true measure
Dulling the pain,
But denying the pleasure
The Roar and the Ring
A Hell of a Thing
To make the time pass or
To fill up Your Glass.
~D.B. Guy
August 15, 2011 12:11AM PDT
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 2:39 AM UTC
Hypnotized by you,
I am drowning,
Day by day.
In the emotion,
Of your love,
Gleefully.
I'm drowning wilfully,
Really not to be save,
Listen when I say.
Effortlessly I let my body sink,
Not struggling at all to escape,
I only fear distance from you.
Not the physical distance,
But the distance of hearts,
A distance of heartbreaks.
You say similar things,
Claiming I stole your heart,
An eternal truth this we share.
Dreaming on & on,
We even struggle often,
Our struggle goes on & on.
Looking into these calm dark eyes,
On your face full of beauty & truth,
I gain an escape from worldly lies.
You claim I jinxed you the first time,
So true- weren't we bound to meet,
It's just Time choreographed this.
I can't easily refute the blame,
After all I am an equal partner,
In this lyrical life & this game.
So I bear morally equal liability,
As we observe our love garner,
After all I am older than you.
We can't give into these tough times,
Not now, today, tomorrow nor ever,
For our relationship is a challenge.
A challenge for changing our world it is,
A bright change for a brighter future,
A betterment of your & my lives.
I know you're with me in life,
I know you're surely lighter,
I know you're much young.
Younger than my experience,
Younger than my sad lifespan,
Younger than my reborn avatar.
Happier than my own best happy,
Happier than my ever-so-pale face,
Happier than my knowledge can be.
Aug 23, 2013
Aug 23, 2013 at 1:50 AM UTC
sound of waves crashing against shore
she says it’s the tone in your voice
sound of waves crashing against shore
he asks what tone are you referring to what are you hearing
sound of waves crashing against shore
she says i’m an artist too you don’t have to tell me
sound of waves crashing against shore
he explains i was simply affirming my vocation in order to elucidate why i perceive another way
sound of waves crashing against shore
she says you don’t need to pose or differentiate for me you are so ******* self-absorbed
sound of waves crashing against shore
he answers self-conscious possibly not self-absorbed i think it is intelligent to question everything to suspect all we see think we know maybe a greater mystery than any of us realize exists beyond all our beliefs
sound of waves crashing against shore
she says i think it’s time for us to stop talking
sound of waves crashing against shore
he says why can’t you make it easy why must everything be a fight
sound of waves crashing against shore
her ****** becomes a deep dark narrowing tunnel he is trapped in thinning air smells like ocean
sound of waves crashing against shore
her voice detached distant disaffected says fine
sound of waves crashing against shore
he questions fine? find? line? sign? can you hear me? anyone hear me?
sound of waves crashing against shore
she purposely ignores his panting gasping shrieking
sound of waves crashing against shore
later she tells the surgeon who performs the extraction then the police detectives who conduct the investigation she had no idea he was lost in there
sound of waves crashing against shore
unanimous jury finds her guilty she screams out at courtroom he was a self-absorbed dreamer this is all wrong
sound of waves crashing against shore
the judge declares mistrial dismisses case based on prosecution’s inability to refute so-called artist’s willingness to enter of his own volition
sound of waves crashing against shore
late at night she feels his voice whisper circulating through her body haunting her
sound of waves crashing against shore
Oct 17, 2010
Oct 17, 2010 at 8:47 AM UTC
I have left, pig-mudding drunk,
having sipped from stock to stock on fraying cheer, stages.
I have stood in foreign basements; sweaty cellars of youth;
begot by attitude breeding spaces of the hip;
drawn circles searching for love in recreating nonsense:
a silly pupil, moon-eyed, out of breathe.
I have heard them quack, reveal their cords;
heard them whisper a thousand and one secrets,
heard them deconstruct their circumstances as pilgrims, penniless and sick.
I have their memories now, an image of a depressed,
ass-imprinted pillow soaked in liquor and a feeling of nausea
where ribs sleep on this couch tonight, every night.
I have heard one refute the weight of living, ******
on the banks of his best friends hospitality, and thought
How much is it worth?
And I have envied every **** greasy pored hipster,
the ones fixing on makingitnew now kind of clan; stared blankly at fashion,
a culture back door where pink fish scales sparkle high from runway halters
to the tops of grown men, bearded and chesty.
And your mothers pearls sit, not your mother’s pearls but your mother’s, mother’s pearls,
that old world clout ornamented around those hairy *******
Oh yes, I have seen men become peacocks, charmed animals of **********
seen them teeth at discourse in the noise they create, wide-mouthed and pointed;
I have seen them masked like frantic felines: wooly bully cats trying-to-roll their own meter,
their tobacco stained black charcoal over soft bricked lips quiver to their beats:
those painted lemmingings, without a parachute: kamikaze felons.
I have desired absolute sterility: white china,
in the egg of a toilet bowl I spewed out, shut-up my exuberance for the night;
sorry-pleaded my resolutions to gag out the naughty nouns in my life.
I have quit; turned in my lust for performing the lioness, paw-licking,
snarly creature: the predator of my youth, and now,
I am pretty-headed, tamed in bath oils and schedules;
a spotted fox, in plain view, one medium-sized mammal getting by.
Feb 3, 2013
Feb 3, 2013 at 5:05 PM UTC
Worlds physical? Or worlds mental?
It makes all the difference.
Without the sciences it wouldn't matter either way
The last time I was taken from earth without moving?
Excepting when reading, with math.
Tesselations and fractals and numbers
Numbers have a flow all their own
Without numbers, meter and rhyme couldn't be
Even now, without numbers this discussion could not be held
Even now this typing is numbers
It may not look it, but its all ones and zeroes
The angle and curvature of every letter defines language
I say nay my friend, nay
I never spoke the words declaring math and science the crown of humanity
And the words stating english its clothes
They are important, both in their own way,
But think of this: you cannot do math
Nor calculate the distance from venus to the
Andromodean galaxy without math
But think also of this: communication may exist without english
Numerical codes and codexes and letters written entirely in numbers or symbols
Do exist
I dare not refute the value of english, but do you argue the language or the study?
The study can be done away with and easily
Put to rest, as it had to be created
The language too was created and came from
Some mother language
But we always had math.
Does not even an ape know that an even split
To a banana is half?
Apes have no words as we think of them
But still, they do not have english
They don't have a grammar and spelling system nor manner of speaking,
They communicate perfectly well, even without words
But how are they to place value on objects without math?
Even some crude understanding of value
Is math
A banana must be worth less than two, no?
English resides on emotion and feeling, whereas math and numbers rest upon fact
How does one win an arguement without numbers?
Even now you use them.
Nov 21, 2012
Nov 21, 2012 at 12:26 PM UTC
Two faced
Many minds
Shifter of shapes
Dr. Jekyll
Mr. Hyde
Past lives
Intertwined
Most mean
Few kind
All vie for equal time
All determine to shine
The writer
The fighter
Drama king
*** machine
The revolution ignite-r
The brave slave
One with
Passion and fire
The singer
Dead ringer
One who points the finger
Conspiracy theorist
Lyricist
Soulful swagger
Hip Hop demeanor
The teacher and student
The dude with attitude
And no one can refute it
A brother and a son
The one that has been shunned
One who leaves them stunned
With the selfish things
I’ve done
The secret me
The enemy
The one whose heart is numb
There are a lot of us
No stopping us
And yes there’s more to come
I’ll never alter
My alter selves
Incarcerate them
In individual cells
Even when they scream and yell
All are a part of me
And they refuse to be veiled
You ask me
Is there a pill?
A remedy…?
Because this has to
be
Insanity
Did you disrespect
My dissociative identities?
Do you really want
to make all of us
your #1 enemy?
We’re laughing
Its killing me
We flip the script easily
Me- and all of my
inner entities
Chillingly
You’re triggering
A very sad memory
Oh, what a tragedy
You’re just another casualty
Unfortunate fatality
Of my Multiple Personalities…
Oct 1, 2012
Oct 1, 2012 at 12:49 AM UTC
Some people have faith…
In a God that they can’t see.
They pray and beckon to this being.
That doesn’t make sense to me.
Some people seek out love…
They say it’s all they need.
A notion that can’t be defined.
That doesn’t make sense to me.
Some people seek the truth.
They claim it will set them free.
All too often it brings only pain.
That doesn’t make sense to me.
Some people claim to care.
And they do so unconditionally.
Expecting absolutely nothing in return.
That doesn’t make sense to me.
Some people refute predestination.
Yet believe in destiny.
Fate and free will intertwined.
That doesn’t make sense to me.
Some people outstretch their hands.
When the world leaves them to bleed.
Giving to a world that doesn’t care.
That doesn’t make sense to me.
Some people follow only logic.
Decisions made to a tolerable degree.
Yet logic turns our hearts so cold.
That doesn’t make sense to me.
Some people look for life’s purpose.
Proposing doctrines and various decrees.
That purpose varies from one to the next.
That doesn’t make sense to me.
The world is full of confounds and query.
And in that, I rarely find the answers I seek.
But still, I wonder every day.
That doesn’t make sense to me.
Perhaps we need not find an answer.
Perhaps, by nature, we are curious beings.
We need faith, wisdom, truth, and love.
At least, that much, I can see.
But I invite you to justify this world.
Elaborate on the answers I need.
Or maybe life just doesn’t make sense.
I invite you to enlighten me.
Mar 31, 2012
Mar 31, 2012 at 1:12 AM UTC
I am the Lorax, who once spoke for the trees
In the hope of bringing progress to its knees
But now I have grown somewhat older and tired,
My outlook and thought process being rewired
(Sometimes to see forest, you must clear the trees.)
Examine the case of the Brown Bar-ba-loots
Whose interests for so long I worked in cahoots.
Could such timid beasts truly thrive in the wild
So innocent, trusting, submissive, and mild?
(My former assertions I strongly refute.)
Why, see how they frolic and scamper in zoos;
How can one watch them and steadfastly refuse
To see how much better their lot is today
As joy for our children as opposed to prey
(A happy condition where no one can lose.)
Ah, scoff the nihilists, *but Truffula Trees,
Those havens for birds and those homes for the bees.
Why, what do you say now that they are all gone,
Removed to make way for some suburban lawn?*
(These angry young men—O Lord, take them all please!)
I gently remind them it’s just nature’s way,
That some species go while other ones stay,
The carrier pigeon’s no longer alive
Yet somehow we manage to live—indeed, thrive!
(In the face of brute logic, they’ve little to say.)
So don’t be dismayed or frightened or leery
Of doomsday projections outlined by theory
Suggesting that our time on this earth may be done;
Consider the caged Bar-ba-loot having fun
(And we hear fish do quite well in Lake Erie.)
Jan 3, 2017
Jan 3, 2017 at 2:33 PM UTC
*A kiss from the night
Drunk from all that pain
Struggles to breath
Can't remember her name
Lost his eyes
Love made him blind
Hate made him see
Scars remind
A story that'll fade away
Pages eaten by time
Memories don't go away
Weather is not kind
Storms bash the home
Walls ripped of from the bones
All his secrets in the open
Strangers are gone
Who will love him now
Caress and hold him now
Wipe away all the blood stained tears
Who will bring him down
From the skies he wanders at nights
Searching for a lost cause
A moon that glows in anger
A sun that's faux
A wolf howls at a distance
A dog barks nearby
Night shows resistance
Ghosts never pass-by
A bleak view from a window
And a madness from outside
A letter of hatred
Enough to hurt his pride
He cannot see but whisper
There's a tale hidden in the stones
He warns once again
About the rage hidden in his bones
No one listens
World won't skip a beat
It Dosent matter
Even if with blood he repeats
They'll only see red
Not what's in his head
They look right through him
Like staring at something dead
He's afraid of the demons
That guide him to scars
Gently takes his hand
Makes him draw on his arms
Death , he mused
Life had refused
Where to walk now
He is so confused
And lies that destroyed lust
Ashened black lies in dirt
Forgiven but not forgotten
In dark prisons they lurk
Prisoners of darkness
They weep solitude
Embracing their fate
Another sunrise they refute
And to feed them love
A mistake of the holy
Wise seeks hurt
Impervious of the story
But a mother does worry
If her child lives or not
Thirteen cents
For which he was bought
She loved him and fed him hate
Watched silently and smiled
While he ate
His mouth blood stained
From the flesh of the saints
Imploding the verses he preached
Every rule he ever bleached
Hands of god from heaven
All hell broke loose when they reached
And strangled his very neck
Coldness in his eyes
Staring at the mirrors that don't reflect*
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 1:08 PM UTC
something twas awry with the piper's flute
a most inconsistent rhyme it did oft play
twas very much like an out of tune lute
he thought his flute twas cleverly cute
but a listener did detect its disarray
something was awry with the piper's flute
of the tune's sound the listener did mute
as it bought to the ear such dismay
he thought his flute twas cleverly cute
those discordant notes you can refute
they've a rather off putting sort of splay
something twas awry with the piper's flute
at all times hearing must be acute
for the bearer of the instrument may stray
he thought his flute twas cleverly cute
whence tones don't uniformly salute
there's a cacophony in the aural bay
something twas awry with the piper's flute
twas very much like an out of tune lute
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 8:23 PM UTC
I promise to satiate each longing, each plea,
With a cascade of pleasures applied delicately.
In ways so profound, you cannot refute,
The deep-seated yearning that stirs, resolute,
In the hushed spaces between your sighs.
Aug 5, 2024
Aug 5, 2024 at 11:38 PM UTC
A short poem for all of you Special People that don't want to belong. I am a true radical. I am different. No one really knows who I am. Perhaps, this is the way I want it. Perhaps, this is "the real me."
While growing up, I too didn't "belong" and still don't. Freedom is the right to choose. Often others want to impose their will on you. Too often, it seems that external pressures force us to do things which are not always necessarily in our better interests. Peer pressure, social pressures entrap us, and we end up "going with the flow."
I went through my early education with very few friends. They were what I would define as friends of the moment. Sound advice, have many "friends," but find yourself one "true friend." This is the one to call friend for your entire life. With this true friend, you are going to grow in this world. Growing in confidence, in wisdom, in knowledge, in security and in realizing who you really are. They will be the "Real Mirror" whose reflection, in time, you will honestly be able to call your own.
**For all you radicals, there is a time to stand up and shout
refuse to belong to those that choose the easy way out
For what purpose would he decree, when G-D granted us life
if not to stand firm and avoid all forms of strife
I'm a radical, to this I must admit
always looked upon differently, as if I'm unfit
But why follow others who think they suffice
to control everyone else with the roll of their dice
Having gone through a lot, one begins to discern
there's a time for discipline, and a time for concern
Stand up and be counted, you alone have begun
to realize you can be different, and still be as one
All you radicals, to you alone do I salute
your ways may be different, but none could refute
Imagine our world, without you, what it would be
a place where individuality could never ever be Free....**
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 1:34 AM UTC
We haven’t spoken like we did,
Words feel like discarded currency;
Useless now, and inconsequential in hindsight.
Query into the why,
I respond with what,
Like a dam of unspokeness has burst,
And words flow past;
Powerful, but inevitably more destructive than I hoped,
Pushing away the life preserver I am offered,
I can do it alone, because that’s what it will come down to,
Dismissive of pessimism, you make claims of happy endings, so I refute:
“Babe, we’re fighting a cold war,
No one can win when there’s everything to lose.
Lines are drawn, allegiance implicit.
Unspoken resentment.
Vocal frustration.
A couple’s quarrel that never was,
Like Frankenstein’s monster,
The rearranged parts of our whole,
Pieces of fiction,
Light folly with cruel consequences,
Denial sets in,
My road to hell will always be paved with your best intentions.”
I will not hear, I will not see.
Willful disability,
Crippled with envy.
I am a monster with emeralds in her eyes,
Seeing the universe through glass tinted green instead of rose,
I am the monster who is thin and jagged,
Unable to produce my own warmth,
Cutting everyone near.
I am the monster who plays house,
The monster who wants it to be home,
The vicious beast with a place to rest its head,
It’s easy to be alone, but somehow less satisfying.
"My road to hell will always be paved with your best intentions.”
Our destruction is mutually assured,
No move is left unanalysed,
Hyperawareness.
Things we side aside before are the objects of argument;
Proxy wars.
I am a giraffe racing a gazelle,
Long strides mean nothing;
Beauty is the crowd favourite,
Tripping over my own limbs,
Tendons severed by chasing wildcats,
Falling, devoured, as beauty reaches the finish line.
Détente.
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 7:42 PM UTC
Foster, what family? Lower class, dream of vacation
******** what trickles down, affecting a life situation
White to Blue Collar; a rebuild or invasion?
Millions inside the boxes of convention
Justified superficial, backhanded salutations
Refute Love, proposed as mankind’s invention
Pulled by a string of instant gratification
Finding freedom’s temporary
If ever, long term locations
Constricted, system of classifications
The socially admissible connections,
Not to mention gangs of corrections
Flowing through the previous, my own generation
For the infinite hours
One after the other
Trade integrity for the illusion of power
Not all those with a gun should be considered a coward
Face the souls sold on Wall Street,
Remember those from Twin Towers
Ground zero, abandoned. Now bare, desolate
The idea of terrorism denied, while some wrestle it
Rationales dislocate, post hairline fracture
Frontal lobe imposter, posing in rapture
As if talent, love, or hate could ever be captured
Held at gun point, then forgotten years after
My children will one day look to me for the answer
What’s society, this twisted maze we live in?
I will gaze in their eyes with the same exact question
And don’t ever allow me again not to mention
Real criminals can’t learn from minute or life-long detentions
Some incapable of that level of retention
As our battered soldiers forever sleep at attention
Politically correct, tongues in consistent hesitation
Kiss police *** only to go to the station
Before the thought of who signed the citation
Treated as if it were a felony violation
Our basic rights according to our nation
Arizona & Co for minority elimination
Die fighting the statute of poverty’s limitations
vi.i.xi
Aug 3, 2012
Aug 3, 2012 at 6:22 AM UTC
Banality reins supreme
In our children’s dreams.
What do you expect
When principles defect
And brand names
Mark the scene,
When rock stars sell their souls
To executives in suits,
Make perfumes
From their dance room sweat
And wear expensive boots,
Then slap their name
On random ****
And sell how nice and cute
Their clothes look on baby girls
They know we can’t refute.
As if they write their music,
Or pen their awful hits,
******* souls for millions;
Tear integrity to bits.
When art is lost for money,
And the formula is the norm,
When thousands gyrate madly
To aural chloroform,
When children posture wildly
In photos with no shame
And send them to their idols
Who don’t care to carry blame,
When all we know is taken,
Corrupted and perverse,
And all our keen philanthropy
Is squeezed into a hearse,
When there’s nothing left
But adverts on our doors,
And mindless dancing robots
Falling to the floor,
Then we might just notice
How much we had to lose
When we turned our children loose
To tie up their own noose.
No matter how steep the cost,
There’s always room to climb
As soul-less music moguls
Wrangle for a dime.
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 2:51 PM UTC
There’s this tree over there
Blowing leaves in the air
And it’s roots go far underground.
Those apples so ripe,
Hold the answer to life,
They just need to bite if they dare.
So monkey one said to monkey two
Do as I say and watch as I do,
And climbed high up the tree,
Where the sky was so bright
Before God’s endless night,
And brought down an apple or two.
With a wink and a grin
He bit down in sin,
Then sat down and thought for a bit.
Monkey two did the same
And in a moment she came
As his knowledge washed down her chin.
They danced under the tree,
Unfettered and free,
And played until day turned to night.
As the sun went down low
Monkey one went to sow
His oats in the beautiful eve.
Nine months flew on by
And the monkeys did try
To build a home under the tree.
The first was born able
And they dressed him in sable
But the other used a cane to get by.
Now night came on fast,
And the monkeys at last
Left from under the care of the tree.
They walked far and wide
With nothing to hide,
No fear of a terrible past.
But then God knew their route
And remembered His fruit
That He grew from a seed on the branch.
So He sent them a curse,
With some words in verse,
That he knew that they could not refute.
Now the monkeys grew tall
And swung from trees not at all,
As they played in the ever-tall grass.
But wherever they went
God’s curse that He sent
Would follow them all to their fall.
The knowledge they gained
Was cursed to be blamed
On the wonder of God up above.
So all that they did
Was always outbid
By God and all He proclaimed.
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 5:10 PM UTC
Relegate your thoughts
into the vault.
The mind isn't ready
to deal in absolute.
Banish into oblivion,
untimely discrepancies and faults.
When infractions are unclear
for you to refute.
Consign the arrogance,
into the darkest dark.
Let them fester,
never to see light of day.
Cradle the fear,
nurse it till ripe, engorged and stark.
For everything now lies...
Indefinite and in the grey.
Jun 26, 2016
Jun 26, 2016 at 1:44 PM UTC
I wanted to be right. An accusation I didn't want to own. Denying I could be wrong as the cigarette was burning slow. You asked and I refute. An unknowing dance with misguided steps. A tango of denial, with the thorn from a rose buried within my sides. I never lied... more of twist of an evasion. An omission of truth, disappearing with the grey ribbons of smoke. You asked the question; did I not answer to the best of my knowledge? Of course, I speak more in a statement than with a query... I never lied, only gave you partial false-truths. An innuendo laced with a common courtesy. Was it such a crime? A honest seduction with the intent of never telling the whole story.
I wanted to be right, with an accusation I would never own. "that I would love you" but how could that be true?
I can see now my excuses are fading faster then your red tipped ember. So I'll just go now, goodbye my half told story. Fair thee well...The time we spent is in the past, and I am now, left with that hole in my head.
I wanted to be right but fibbers never get to be the winners.
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 4:05 PM UTC
Two-tongued and long,
Slander and smooth,
Naked and wicked.
Moves hissing,
Delivers kisses of death,
With tongue flicking.
A revered reptile.
Lives in dead piles of woods
In trees, and deserts,
The cold earth's hugger
Crawls like nature's gymnast.
Never has he ever laughed
Never made any friends
Never trusted by anybody.
Sadly he has a king,
Black like me
But has no soul
he lives in Africa
And in parts of Asia
He bites and hisses
But I don't bite
only on my food
He doesn't chew.
I do, and I swallow.
Him, his preys whole
I despise him.
I have many reasons
He social-engineered his ways
Around Adam"s woman
One day, he ****** eve up
With smooth lies
What this even implies,
Empirically, logically,
I really don't know,
All I know, I was told!
Hold on, I know not
From whence it came,
Maybe from the good book,
That's a Long and twisted story.
It says he used his tongue
Not on her as a woman,
But to break her home.
Adam was a **** fool,
To leave that girl home alone.
Unannounced, he came in kool
Using his double tongues.
Was she kinda blind?
He isn't even cute.
This story I can't refute
Yet millions have concurred
I'm not a friend.
Not of the story.
Of him, the notorious,
The venomous
The infamous heel biter
Once again, I hate him
Never was a friend
Never will be,
Because of that poor woman.
He's the First home breaker,
Frickin' liar
Cursed by God
His head to be severed
Using a sword,
A stone or stick,
Day or night,
Right or wrong,
Because of poor little eve
Adam's kids will strike
At his tiny little head.
Death to the serpent!
Eternal condemnation
Even if he repents,
Strike his elongated body
With a double-edged cutlass.
Don't you ever feel sorry
For this sorry ***
Chinese add him cooked
segments by segments to curry.
He has no class
He Kills at will.
I hate him very much
And I do have my reasons.
He's the infamous snake
The symbol of evil
Father of confusion
With evil intention
Perpetual guide
To eternal hell
From the garden of Eden
Who gave Eve a heartbreak.
He's toxic and venomous.
©IvanBrooksPoetry
29/8/2018
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 3:25 AM UTC
O my star, that shines so bright
Why are you so dim tonight?
Have your dreams gone bad?
Is the sky too high?
Have other stars fallen from the sky?
Is the sea too low
To scoop down below
The dreams of mountains you have wanted so?
O my star, I can’t refute
The gloom and dark that grasps your foot
Even more so, I cannot shake
The pain and agony that it makes
To rid of stuff that breaks your bones,
- The twisted lies, the painful moans
And all I can do is wait.
Reflecting on my sins and testing faith.
O my dear star, I am in despair
For things went out of hand, and I am aware.
The sorrow that you have been feeling out in space
Is showering down on my cold, damp face
And every tear that trickles from your eyes
- It breaks my heart and a part of me dies.
Surely, I am always trying to be strong
But the question is, for how long?
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 7:38 AM UTC
His smirk was the stuff of legends.
When taunted with loud rude remarks
And thoughtless offensive assumptions.
His expression a quick stark reminder.
He did not need to raise his voice
Or wage war with fists or words
For the source of his power
Was in the curve of his brow
His refute neatly imbued
In his wry handsome semi-smile.
That made them shrink back
To feel small and absurd.
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 3:33 PM UTC