"refutes" poems
I bow down my head
straight into the pillow.
I whine a funny sound
and wonder about duty.
Life seems to be all
and all seems to be
nothing but disappointment.
Anointed to be dead
from the first time I was alive.
I strive to show hope,
to be a silent messenger,
but duty seems to hold me back.
The great deep red within
always wants to fight back.
Smack the wrong until it's right,
snack on the souls so easily broken
by a single word that refutes their madness,
while my face turns to a smile.
Walking a mile in my shoes
is being hungry for relief.
Starving for sanity shows my vanity.
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 12:23 PM UTC
Cold smiles,
Unholy lies,
Dark hearts,
Groping hands,
Perverse thoughts,
Practical words,
Invisible swords,
Heartless refutes,
Unimaginative rebukes,
Hypocritical beings,
These are the things,
That melt the snowflakes in the sun,
Trample sparrows yearning to soar,
Dampen embers smoldering within,
Poach the tiger cub learning to roar.
These are the things
That leave Little broken hearts,
Strewn on the road,
Next to twisted little minds,
Where jaded immature thoughts unload.
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 2:15 AM UTC
All will power, self-control and mental restraint I have exhausted,
For neither passion reside nor lust emerge in his humble feeble heart.
I have knelt on frail knees and with quaint hands his love I exalted
But within his soul, intimacy and romance he willingly depart.
Minutes to hours to 6 am poetry readings in remote coffee houses,
He has inspired the muses in the hellish chasms and caverns in my chest.
Desperate and loose interpretations of his intentional misleading’s he arouses
For in me he refutes debauchery with sarcasm wherein my tavern I will recess.
I am a kin folk made from a flamed dreams of love unbound by time and lust,
And whose very existence is to serve and be served without expectation.
In us a purity resides of reclaimed innocence from unadulterated trust
Where he confides in me his minds afflictions and turbulent tribulations.
But there is a blonde girl, petite personality, vivacious body and soul pure as light,
So in empty compliments and falsified flattery I forsaken myself to internal desires.
For she is an Angel engulfed in his wings of sentimentality and heroic might,
And I am but the Devils Advocate crucified in a criminal act,
Doing all that his love requires.
For I will walk through time loving him in every way,
And he will die loving her just the same.
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 2:39 AM UTC
Determinism is self-defeating
If it is true,
No one is accountable for anything.
If no one is accountable,
There are no morals.
Without morals,
There is no concept of right or wrong.
Without this concept,
We would all follow our desires.
Which according to determinism,
Are not our own choices.
If they are not our own choices,
Someone or something else made them.
But if someone or something
Determines our choices,
Who or what determines
The choices the determiner makes?
Either they make their own choices,
Which refutes determinism
Or the universe, space and time
Are infinite and cyclical.
Which they are not,
Since the universe had a beginning,
(Big bang/ creation)
And the universe will have an end.
(Heat death/ judgement day)
Whether you are religious or not,
Determinism is a fools errand.
Mar 12, 2017
Mar 12, 2017 at 12:53 AM UTC
*2002
Dearest Klara,
hope you enjoy
the poems as you dream to write
one poem
happy birthday*
There are still many books as though
parliament. A miscalculation based on coordinates
in a wry scene.
Two bookshelves creating a labyrinth, enough that you
are alike. Juxtaposed to scent are many words
and the day is almost done. Ignore fragments once,
but never overdo. I can outlast moonlight’s procession
into a dark cathedral by the window.
On this side – reason; the other, hesitance.
This is no heist. This is what belongingness refutes.
What willingness bandages. The absence of sentries
made for easy rapture. You slid your hand into the dusty
fort and in between them, the paperbacks ached.
“I will do it.” and after that, cursed at the farce.
Slid into your bag – you, surrounded by the tense air
of silence. A dilettante at being a fugitive. What is it that
you stole?
Your body, elsewhere. Flailing. Failing. There are still
many marvels in the scene, but says precision is key.
Cuts as if contravention. This was as calm as painting a child
in his early years, the hue of anomaly.
Quiet in amplitudes doles out a mystified sense of completion.
I can hear an ajar mouth unwind a soft humming.
It was time to go – tomorrow when we rise with no memory,
it will be all but one and the same fault together with many others,
as if your face that day and your image now
compels me the cold of a foreign city. Riddance.
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 9:12 PM UTC
Her Secret Womb
Spring comes clashing into Winter's taproom
Slender Sun rays leak old man cold's pivot
Carrying us all in her secret womb
Winter refutes Spring's trespass wind vacuum
Sleet slaps pedals, an angry exhibit
Don't let us slip into the darkened doom
Delusion wears reality's perfume
A juncture of Seasons, can you feel it
Carrying us all in her secret womb
Sprinkled by Spring, cold wishes to resume
New plants and minds held up by one rivet
Don't let us slip into the darkened doom
Dormant meets new energy, brought by whom
Nature's divinity knows no limit
Carrying us all in her secret womb
Dancing and skipping, we shine and we bloom
Trusting in the Universal Spirit
Carrying us in her secret womb
Don't let us slip into the darkened doom
Mar 25, 2019
Mar 25, 2019 at 11:32 AM UTC
Things in this world are too tangible
I see them all through the eyes
of a god of death; a date
writing itself on a small slip of paper
and pressing itself into my hand
love, I want to feel without consequence,
bruise the truth with my lies and let the blood
whisper "forever" beneath my skin.
I'm sick of this strain of terror
I never even knew hate until I was branded with it
you took your white-hot palm and placed it over my lips,
closed your eyes and recited the endless crimes
of a wanted criminal who wore my face
but whom I'd never known
and when the silence rotted, you turned your head
and wept as a victim.
You murderer. You examined me for scars
left me for dead without a heartbeat
named it "suicide" as an act of faith.
With indifference as a blade, you cut me
but the paper skin peeled back to nothing
and I demand no satisfaction, no pound of flesh;
in the future there will be no ghosts to mourn;
only the changed or the cruel will haunt us
And you, you are both,
demon of acclaimed justice, you rancor deity,
you who refutes any claim of vindictiveness
but feels "manipulation" as a sort of emotion
and understands "abandonment" to be a kind of justifiable punishment
for having dropped short of perfection
and come up instead as
merely human.
To forgive is divine.
We are failures of gods, you and I
Nov 9, 2011
Nov 9, 2011 at 12:02 AM UTC
The stars are above.
The earth is below.
The rain is a present.
The sun is a show.
The moon is a treasure.
The dirt is engaging.
The water is plenty.
The air is stimulating .
The wind is strong.
The living is a circus.
The dead is six deep.
And yet the gravity refutes us.
Sep 12, 2010
Sep 12, 2010 at 9:37 PM UTC
Promises .. Lies painted with hope with a layer of sick sweetness to mask the bitter deceit that drips from your soft lips.. A touch rendered of all inhibition through the naivety of an unconditional love shedding its cocoon of coy flirtation maturing into an adult passion.. When these two collide , the web spinner ties the lover up in a whirlwind fantasy, and the lover shows the silver tongue the pure honey taste of honest, trusting love ....and the guilt settles in then the panic ...what am I without my better half- what if my love finds clarity and exacts revenge...I will crush it here and now before we both are destroyed .... So the lover in her convoluted despair fumbles in this mixture of beautiful dreams crashing with nightmares to find the shards of her heart...as the pieces fall back into place ... The woeful eyes and guilty heart returns... Stay with me - Teach me love and joy... I need you... At first the fear of that reoccurring horror flashes in the lovers heart...the fresh wounds burn and sizzle ...she refutes the love she had and adverts her eyes for once spinning a web of her own building a protective layer instead of a trap for a heart..Then the child of joy and sorrow is born in the presence of his father and mother...The lover breaths in the nostalgic scent of love and joy ..she glistens with beads of peace in his arms ...she exhales her sorrow but her fears still linger but the hope and promise returns...only now his web continued on partial truth...he will love her and be faithful...but not be present to feel its warmth... The heart beat skips in joy for the marriage and in sorrow for the icy loneliness...the fear and panic creeps in but this the heart has dealt with before and shall not fail...so she hopes and promises
Mar 20, 2014
Mar 20, 2014 at 1:57 AM UTC
He refutes sobriety
like he is scared of the night
and he's scared of my eyes
and my arms
But I too am scared of my eyes and my arms
such that I cannot comprehend
how anyone on this Earth could stare into them
without burning with bile
I am so very vile
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 12:02 PM UTC
The stars are above.
The earth is below.
The rain is a present.
The sun is a show.
The moon is a treasure.
The dirt is engaging.
The water is plenty.
The air is stimulating .
The wind is strong.
The living is a circus.
The dead is six deep.
And yet the gravity refutes us.
Sep 13, 2010
Sep 13, 2010 at 2:50 PM UTC
How many times
do I have to look up begging to know why
My prayers and pleas screaming and thrashing against my fracturing hemorrhaged consciousness
As tears surge out my eyes
how many times
do I have to lay here abandoned
Your touch your warmth your comfort an undeniable desideratum
When you're ice cold right next to me refusing to acknowledge me.
I start to inwardly convulse and collapse
I want to scream
I can feel myself fracture, shatter and rupture.
I want to smear my own ****** handprints over my face and tear out my hair
Lay down on the floor bleeding, pumping direct out my heart
My love my sorrow my fears and my heartbreak, a thick miasma.
How many times
do I have to implore the moon not to take you away from me
even as I'm Told and Assured I'm Unwanted,
Leaving is an incomprehensible, inconceivable, fantastical CONCEPT
The horror and the fear and the pain at the thought overcomes and overwhelms me like dismal leaden shroud.
My fingers itch for a blade
to come do the work
To etch on my arms
Red vivid proof that I'm hurt
How many times
I don't want to die but I beg for death
I plead with the Man as he refutes me with every Un breath
I beat on his chest telling him I can't go on
Not without you, without you a moment would be too long.
Aug 31, 2014
Aug 31, 2014 at 10:33 AM UTC
Do I lack ambition?
A thread of red
Severed by one rusted knife
Do I reserve the right to hold my head up high?
A stubborn pride that festers like mold
But clutching a grip that refutes self acceptance
I force myself into an envelope
Sealed from all the ill intent of many
Am I just meant to play the part-
of the feeble victim?
Feb 4, 2017
Feb 4, 2017 at 5:58 AM UTC
Duplicity...
Its messy oh yes
and when the hound
refuses to confess
at best refutes indignant
the treachery then significant
when its plainly calculated
evidence piles up, saturated
deceit creeps in sideways
lies lay down on the page
under the guise of "oh so sage"
throwing up hands in mock rage
what to say? what to do?
stoop down there in your dirt
scoop it up to expose you?
or just let it slide slither
like your shed snake skin
to wither on dry forked tongue
ethics loose and low hung
to fade away for another day
of "oh woe"
no one around to stroke your ego!
oh yes I know how it rolls
that two faced scene
been read and it is obscene
professing elevation
but disdain is the revelation
caught in the trap
fly to Venus
or just to spew up vile bile
most heinous...
to speak of love is one thing
to act with love another
lip service cheap
served up on tap flowing
when the yeasts not risen
open the oven not knowing
and it falls flat on its face
finds you amidst a schism
not of your making
just a set-up
ripe for the taking
well, I guess,
I do digress
crux of the matter is
no time for duplicity
my roll is with loyalty
so all this messy messed up prose
just too obtuse
for those who stick up their nose.
J.C. honey-tiger 25/05/2019.
May 25, 2019
May 25, 2019 at 5:23 AM UTC
Where is the Kingdom? When is the Kingdom?
Sometimes it seem it is not here; not now and we
We just do not know and maybe never shall. This
Is the dark night of the soul when it seems God does
Not hear our prayers and we left with only our own
Will to survive or not. Resigned or not we endure to
The end. Imagine the Lord on the Cross. Is not this
Will to survive God Himself in ours Self? Or not?
Yet there are moments when we realize the Kingdom
Here and now is ever with us . We believe it is Eternal
That we are Immortal. When this knowing passes we are
Left with Faith and hope waiting to know Love again.
We do not alway see clearly but as the Apostle said: "but as
Thru a glass darkly" So much of what we learn of in our
Life : history, the daily news, and even science does seem
Antithetical to our belief. Tells us there is another truth that
Refutes and denies all that we would believe about Our's
Only the blissfully ignorant are unaffected but even our
Children soon suffer from the their parent's acculturation
To a prideful knowing. Remember it has been said: that the
Foolishness of God is better than the wisdom of man- But
We are not wholly lost to the Kingdom. We know joy. We
Know love. We are awed by the beauty of the Creation.
Still we Know what we Know. Ours spirit, our soul does not
Ever totally abandon its roots in all that's holy. There are holes
In the dark glass-moments when we see and know the truth
The other more glorious Truth, The Kingdom is here now on
Mother Earth not to come but always was is and always shall be
Revealing itself in so many ways. There is a riddle here an enigma
There is somethings prevent our constant joyful knowing; that keeps
Strangers, mere visitors to the Kingdom. Imperfect beings
. A paradox. Yes and no. One We are the children of God ever
On the way. Between zero and One there is nothing. God has
Forgotten all our misdeeds in the Kingdom. He who makes all
Things new means that the Divine must constantly be be discovered.
Perpetually wonderful requires a constant rebirth from the womb
Of darkness. The time between the darkness and the Light is no time
Thus we are given the Forever. We are Forever on the Way and
The Way is a constant Revelation there is no difference between
The way and the Destination are One. God is Love and our Father
In us. Who ever reads this message will be heavily burdened until
He passes it on. Soon, even now my burden is lite because I do
This. Christ said: "It is finished..." So be it done unto you. All of
You, my friends - Each in your own Way. It is finished.
Happy Easter
Mar 30, 2023
Mar 30, 2023 at 2:46 PM UTC
Without you, there be nothing,
Even a rabid dog has frothing,
The rainbow has its *** of gold,
That is storms, mix of hot and cold,
derelict in some of pleasure's duties,
lightning from those eyes refutes,
all, of these,
cure the disease,
riddled man
into the pan
hirsute man
dumped into
a preemptive funeral pyre.
From the sky
forked delight.
See the longboat silhouette.
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 10:38 PM UTC
A boarding pass, a taken seat:
Deny the oft-occluded street
And while the miles away on high -
Good Lord, preserve me if I die.
The cramp and bustle of the aisle
Refutes the notions "sleek" and "style",
But, packed and stacked, we came to fly -
Good Lord, preserve me if I die.
I'll miss the rails and roads, well-tracked -
And miss them more, my stomach wracked
By nerves, by swerves, by wind and sky -
Good lord, preserve me if I die.
"I loved the skyplane's daring curves
In youth, but now her fuel reserves
Do more to shore my faith," I sigh.
Good Lord, preserve me if I die.
I ache to meet the ground once more,
But not too soon. If that's the score,
I plead, spare my beloved's eye.
Good Lord, preserve me if I die.
Apr 16, 2018
Apr 16, 2018 at 8:32 AM UTC
Snip snip
Away with the old
Snip snip snip
Away with the rotten
The sorry, forsaken
The taken for granted
The very last times
And my disenchantment
Snip snip
Away it will go
Snip snip snip
To rot at my roots
The attempted refutes
The lost hopes and monsters
That sit at the foot of my bed
And just mock me
The liars, the careless
Are just dying limbs
To fuel my own growth
And make light out of dim
So I'll eat and be merry
And sing, laugh and cry
When it's really not my fault
There's no need to die
I'll grow and I'll blossom
And become something new
They'll love me for me
And they'll hate you for you
But I won't have to worry
Because now our ties
Will be fully broken
No need for your lies
No need for your libel
No need for your ****
Snip snip
Snip snip snip
Apr 21, 2019
Apr 21, 2019 at 2:11 PM UTC
I was left on a wire
Far above the earth,
Amongst tied sneakers and birds,
Far away from the world.
The fires beneath
Did viciously bleed through and race,
As an artist’s seeping oil paints,
Crimsoning the broken autumn space.
Safe as I was,
Stranded was I as well.
And although by peace my soul’s fires were quelled
The morn meant to awaken me instead burned in hell
And so the grounds once walked,
Now pits of flames to where I turn a blind eye,
Await flowing tears from the skies
Or perhaps even a gentle god's sigh
But life was equally vicious in it's droughts,
And with myself I could not make amends
Like a rat who refutes the hand to which it depends
Again and again, my own mind finds itself to condemn
And so I seek refuge
Between the land and the sky so true
In hopes to see my fears and tears be subdued.
To be among the dead and hollow, I allude,
Fleeting, to a higher ground, but still they collude
To bring me down, as bottled up, I remain overdue
Of a reckoning or healing to burn or to soothe.
Til so, I burn, though from flames so far removed.
And lay my mind further in limbo, and so, I say adieu.
Apr 17, 2019
Apr 17, 2019 at 1:46 PM UTC
Lifeblood of democracy hemorrhaging
ousting the "FAKE" president only recourse
to staunch impending grim demise,
since forefathers drafted
United States Constitution
ratified more'n two centuries ago
hoi polloi must take to the streets
denouncing severe curtailment
impinging sacred freedom of speech
linkedin with paramount bedrock provision
accessing unvarnished flint ****** "truth,"
nonetheless commander in chief
he quakingly, staunchly, vociferously...
excoriates, lacerates, repudiates...
one damning hermetically sealed,
iniquitous airtight, vacuum packed
flagrant misuse of power,
(not to mention nepotism)
invidious, insidious, injurious... infractions
incontestable, incontrovertible, contemptible...
significant melange in führer
re: hating deplorably
crooked basely barren
factual exposé after another,
deft correspondents all not quiet
along western front
(I heard Maria - mull remark)
bring "to light" execrable,
lamentable reprehensible...
gross transgressions
commander in chief
significantly overstepped
Pulitzer prize winning
prestigious storied publications
scathingly trounced, pillaried,
lambasted, insulted, denounced,
butchered, critiqued, demonized,
fricassed, gored, humiliated,...
pummeled, quartered, reviled
courageously expounding fiend
ensconced within his Taj Mahal
impregnable donjon, whereat he trumpets
laurels asper, nonpareil administration
laying groundless accusations
baring his white fangs,
twittering, naysaying, mocking.. supreme
renown gifted by "honest Abe"
recalcitrant commander in chief,
who refutes objectionable
dogged investigative journalism
every step of the way,
where dedicated news gatherers
risk life and limb
firing line reportage troopers
ferreting (foxlike) *****
doth gopher precious nuggets
uncover alarming undisputable details
impossible to refute raw bits
agent provocateur freely colluding
immediately hashtashed poppycock
smarmy, snooty, snappy
beastly capital one ogre
blatantly castigating diligent endeavors
oblivious pie in sky
delusional egotistic haughtiness
bobblehead vilified by silent majority.
Jun 3, 2019
Jun 3, 2019 at 9:29 PM UTC
because love is the summer
and its haze is the invitation
to winter
because it is what our inner sense
refutes and strips us of
our meaningless rationales
because it is what necessitates
our blurred selves to come
into a halcyon of so many laughters
weaving only what tears could
never provide - a diadem of light
because love is a string of birds
that continually searches for
a thick green home and atop
is where it perches proudly
looking down on new moon
and old stars,
because love is the pour of
something as luminous, crystalline
as a faint spark of frankness,
and that we, in believing this,
must have forgotten what it meant
to be obsequiously wounded closer
to the hortatory of roses and their
prickly salutations
and because love is the tongue
surrounded by the many words
of pain, and that it is its
refusal to wake in the day
of a language without a word
for winter and infinitude
because love is the chaos of
sound that it hears only alone -
unless unmindfully, rawly, we
hold it close to our chests
as it moves with its fledgling beat, ready to touch.
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 9:42 AM UTC