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"regiments" poems
‘I am…’ 'Or am I’? Who can say? ‘A posteriori’ leads the way For the extra and the ordinary Axiomatic sway, In the gravity of corollary, ‘A priori’ interplay Ataraxic overlay of anxious automation, As the innocence of dissonance delay. Practicing semantic contemplation, In willfully prevenient interpolation, Civilly disobedient in expediently seeming disarray, Forecasts in vague extrapolation Contrasts the millennial contagion Already underway, Filling nihilistic voids with particles in waves, To interpret dreams of Freud to free Oedipus’s slaves, A degreeless scholastic who never misbehaves, Simulated humanoid dramatic in the affect that he craves, Inflating linguistics in acrobatic raves, A thespian who plans conation with legacy engraves. The probabilistic determiner of cosmogenous debates, An apperceived inquirer of qualitative states, Inspiring proprietor of dismality abates. Challenging aporia as epistemic oscillates, Stoically, heroically, ‘one’ who amalgamates, Circling the infinite in hermeneutic calibrates. An escaped prisoner from depressive disillusion, Of an introspective extrovert who finds solace in confusion, The personable recluse fighting an illusion Breaking down the nuances of every institution. Calculating consequence as time goes to infinity Revolutionary commonsense of principal utility, An opinionated adversary, to the realist without evidence, Theorizing in futility, Stipulating every sense leading to the virility of the pretense that dominates community. Divergently converging all the efforts we’ve personified, Inadvertently submerging old traditions that unethically were codified, Hastening the urgency for purging that which cannot be modified through the merging of the certainty that will no longer coincide, Stationing the levies to finally stem the tide, Of periodic enmities disguised to be necessities so blatantly deified. Observing moral sentiments, perched upon eternity, As consequential regiments are expounded universally, To unstratify the residents indiscriminately And identify quantum elements spiritualistically, Changing collective behavior individually, Socializing constructs in joint ventured logo therapy.
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Nov 16, 2018
Nov 16, 2018 at 8:07 AM UTC
Paradoxical Tendencies
‘I am…’ 'Or am I’? Who can say? ‘A posteriori’ leads the way For the extra and the ordinary Axiomatic sway, In the gravity of corollary, ‘A priori’ interplay Ataraxic overlay of anxious automation, As the innocence of dissonance delay. Practicing semantic contemplation, In willfully prevenient interpolation, Civilly disobedient in expediently seeming disarray, Forecasts in vague extrapolation Contrasts the millennial contagion Already underway, Filling nihilistic voids with particles in waves, To interpret dreams of Freud to free Oedipus’s slaves, A degreeless scholastic who never misbehaves, Simulated humanoid dramatic in the affect that he craves, Inflating linguistics in acrobatic raves, A thespian who plans conation with legacy engraves. The probabilistic determiner of cosmogenous debates, An apperceived inquirer of qualitative states, Inspiring proprietor of dismality abates. Challenging aporia as epistemic oscillates, Stoically, heroically, ‘one’ who amalgamates, Circling the infinite in hermeneutic calibrates. An escaped prisoner from depressive disillusion, Of an introspective extrovert who finds solace in confusion, The personable recluse fighting an illusion Breaking down the nuances of every institution. Calculating consequence as time goes to infinity Revolutionary commonsense of principal utility, An opinionated adversary, to the realist without evidence, Theorizing in futility, Stipulating every sense leading to the virility of the pretense that dominates community. Divergently converging all the efforts we’ve personified, Inadvertently submerging old traditions that unethically were codified, Hastening the urgency for purging that which cannot be modified through the merging of the certainty that will no longer coincide, Stationing the levies to finally stem the tide, Of periodic enmities disguised to be necessities so blatantly deified. Observing moral sentiments, perched upon eternity, As consequential regiments are expounded universally, To unstratify the residents indiscriminately And identify quantum elements spiritualistically, Changing collective behavior individually, Socializing constructs in joint ventured logo therapy.
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47
FROM the time of the early radishes To the time of the standing corn Sleepy Henry Hackerman hoes. There are laws in the village against weeds. The law says a **** is wrong and shall be killed. The weeds say life is a white and lovely thing And the weeds come on and on in irrepressible regiments. Sleepy Henry Hackerman hoes; and the village law uttering a ban on weeds is unchangeable law.
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11.9k
Weeds
The young maricones and the ***** muchachas, The big fat widows delirious from insomnia, The young wives thirty hours' pregnant, And the hoarse tomcats that cross my garden at night, Like a collar of palpitating ****** oysters Surround my solitary home, Enemies of my soul, Conspirators in pajamas Who exchange deep kisses for passwords. Radiant summer brings out the lovers In melancholy regiments, Fat and thin and happy and sad couples; Under the elegant coconut palms, near the ocean and moon, There is a continual life of pants and ******* A hum from the fondling of silk stockings, And women's ******* that glisten like eyes. The salary man, after a while, After the week's tedium, and the novels read in bed at night, Has decisively ****** his neighbor, And now takes her to the miserable movies, Where the heroes are horses or passionate princes, And he caresses her legs covered with sweet down With his ardent and sweaty palms that smell like cigarettes. The night of the hunter and the night of the husband Come together like bed sheets and bury me, And the hours after lunch, when the students and priests are ************ And the animals mount each other openly, And the bees smell of blood, and the flies buzz cholerically, And cousins play strange games with cousins, And doctors glower at the husband of the young patient, And the early morning in which the professor, without a thought, Pays his conjugal debt and eats breakfast, And to top it all off, the adulterers, who love each other truly On beds big and tall as ships: So, eternally, This twisted and breathing forest crushes me With gigantic flowers like mouth and teeth And black roots like fingernails and shoes.
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10k
Gentleman Alone
The young maricones and the ***** muchachas, The big fat widows delirious from insomnia, The young wives thirty hours' pregnant, And the hoarse tomcats that cross my garden at night, Like a collar of palpitating ****** oysters Surround my solitary home, Enemies of my soul, Conspirators in pajamas Who exchange deep kisses for passwords. Radiant summer brings out the lovers In melancholy regiments, Fat and thin and happy and sad couples; Under the elegant coconut palms, near the ocean and moon, There is a continual life of pants and ******* A hum from the fondling of silk stockings, And women's ******* that glisten like eyes. The salary man, after a while, After the week's tedium, and the novels read in bed at night, Has decisively ****** his neighbor, And now takes her to the miserable movies, Where the heroes are horses or passionate princes, And he caresses her legs covered with sweet down With his ardent and sweaty palms that smell like cigarettes. The night of the hunter and the night of the husband Come together like bed sheets and bury me, And the hours after lunch, when the students and priests are ************ And the animals mount each other openly, And the bees smell of blood, and the flies buzz cholerically, And cousins play strange games with cousins, And doctors glower at the husband of the young patient, And the early morning in which the professor, without a thought, Pays his conjugal debt and eats breakfast, And to top it all off, the adulterers, who love each other truly On beds big and tall as ships: So, eternally, This twisted and breathing forest crushes me With gigantic flowers like mouth and teeth And black roots like fingernails and shoes.
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38
The  spotlight  is  on the  broken  coastline porous - like  archers  spilling arrows into  the vanquished hinterland. In the ancient West  Mercia wooden bridges collapse uproar, as the King's regiments long disbanded , ghosts into fading memory. Our  defenders, our  loyal subjects enmeshed into the  wider  fear our  citadels breached, and where  is  the  valour the self reliance of  our  septic isle?
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Aug 8, 2013
Aug 8, 2013 at 3:50 PM UTC
Septic isle
Kindness is not nice. ‘Nice’ is soft and inoffensive ‘Nice’ is careful and non-assertive ‘Nice’ is easy and effects no change she’s cotton wool trying to soften the pain but not stuffed tight, just resting on the surface ready to be blown away or pressed under a muddy boot of disinterest ‘Nice’ is a damp whisper a mouse cowering in the corner hoping you will blink and miss her lest she attract your notice lest she presume too much and cause a whisker of offence Kindness is not like that – Kindness pushes in, quick and nimble a hero with no mask, unasked unexpected, dodging the turmoil leaving nothing unsaid and little undone in her pursuit of creating a counter-disruption Kindness defies convention Kindness carefully aims her weapons of choice and advances relentless and regardless of any and all obstacles in her way Kindness perseveres all the love-long day Kindness doesn’t delay Kindness is gleeful for the chance of invasion ready to disarm with expert compassion with her regiments of patience armed to the teeth with gracious placing tanks of good faith on all fronts Kindness confronts Courage is her currency, boldness her language, trust and hope are her passports to lands long unexplored happily wearing all-weather clothing for any and all unexpected storms Kindness transforms Kindness weakens all defenses and challenges all camouflaged pretenses Kindness pours itself out to fill unhealed wounds and on shrapnel-seeded battlefields she - blooms Kindness is not 'nice' Kindness isn’t in this for the likes Kindness bites She’s a take-on-all-comers, undefeated delight Kindness never bails from the fight never fails, never takes flight Kindness is nothing casual, nothing incidental This Kindness is elemental She is Avengers-Assemble, End-Game-level monumental Kindness is not 'nice'. Kindness is loving awe-ful.
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Oct 12, 2020
Oct 12, 2020 at 8:45 AM UTC
Kindness bites
Kindness is not nice. ‘Nice’ is soft and inoffensive ‘Nice’ is careful and non-assertive ‘Nice’ is easy and effects no change she’s cotton wool trying to soften the pain but not stuffed tight, just resting on the surface ready to be blown away or pressed under a muddy boot of disinterest ‘Nice’ is a damp whisper a mouse cowering in the corner hoping you will blink and miss her lest she attract your notice lest she presume too much and cause a whisker of offence Kindness is not like that – Kindness pushes in, quick and nimble a hero with no mask, unasked unexpected, dodging the turmoil leaving nothing unsaid and little undone in her pursuit of creating a counter-disruption Kindness defies convention Kindness carefully aims her weapons of choice and advances relentless and regardless of any and all obstacles in her way Kindness perseveres all the love-long day Kindness doesn’t delay Kindness is gleeful for the chance of invasion ready to disarm with expert compassion with her regiments of patience armed to the teeth with gracious placing tanks of good faith on all fronts Kindness confronts Courage is her currency, boldness her language, trust and hope are her passports to lands long unexplored happily wearing all-weather clothing for any and all unexpected storms Kindness transforms Kindness weakens all defenses and challenges all camouflaged pretenses Kindness pours itself out to fill unhealed wounds and on shrapnel-seeded battlefields she - blooms Kindness is not 'nice' Kindness isn’t in this for the likes Kindness bites She’s a take-on-all-comers, undefeated delight Kindness never bails from the fight never fails, never takes flight Kindness is nothing casual, nothing incidental This Kindness is elemental She is Avengers-Assemble, End-Game-level monumental Kindness is not 'nice'. Kindness is loving awe-ful.
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56
Kindness is not nice. Nice is soft and inoffensive. Nice is easy and effects no change, it's cotton wool - not stuffed tight, but just resting on the surface ready to be blown away or trodden into a muddy disinterest. Nice is a damp whisper, a mouse cowering in the corner, taking up as little space as possible, lest it be noticed, lest it presume too much and cause a whisker of offence. Kindness isn't like that - Kindness pushes in, claws out, quick and heavy, uninvited, unexpected, taking pleasure in disturbance, in leaving nothing unsaid and little undone in its pursuit of creating a disruption of difference. Kindness counts everyone a target, anybody a likely candidate for a three act matinee and evening performance of loud Kindness. Surprise is its currency, smiles its language, common humankindness its passport to lands yet to be explored, to vast red territories with drumbeats of gratefulness for the opportunity to march in with regiments of compassion and to leave a signature devastation of brutal Kindness. Kindness is not 'nice'. Kindness is loving awe-ful.
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Dec 24, 2019
Dec 24, 2019 at 3:37 AM UTC
Kindness is not Nice
Bazooka that veruka Wage war on your warts Charge the canons against corns  And ills of other sorts Conscript regiments of Rennies Antacid to supress indigestion  Establish naval fleets   Of fisherman friends sweets  To banish nasal congestion smear your chest with Vick To ensure victory is quick And if headaches ensue Aspirin will win and subdue If your enemy is constipation Let  senna be your friend  And if your throat is sore Let strepsils make swift amends  Show viruses they're not  welcome Fight back with all your might Give germs no easy terms And soon you'll feel alright!
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Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 8:44 PM UTC
Battlefront
It is a quickened erosion of the spirit culminated in bad habits a crisscrossing  lattice over and under like a ferret Its too small and quick to fight this parrot is breaching thoughts with its well versed screech Luring the cavalry into its cancerous reach Benighted by several regiments of blight Enticed by visions of a name spelled in the constellations Do not forget you are a child of the stars The strength within you contains quasars A single mind, your mind, has the ability to illuminate a nation.
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Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 10:29 AM UTC
Virus
64 Some Rainbow—coming from the Fair! Some Vision of the World Cashmere— I confidently see! Or else a Peacock’s purple Train Feather by feather—on the plain Fritters itself away! The dreamy Butterflies bestir! Lethargic pools resume the whir Of last year’s sundered tune! From some old Fortress on the sun Baronial Bees—march—one by one— In murmuring platoon! The Robins stand as thick today As flakes of snow stood yesterday— On fence—and Roof—and Twig! The Orchis binds her feather on For her old lover—Don the Sun! Revisiting the Bog! Without Commander! Countless! Still! The Regiments of Wood and Hill In bright detachment stand! Behold! Whose Multitudes are these? The children of whose turbaned seas— Or what Circassian Land?
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2.7k
Some Rainbow—coming from the Fair!
Kindness is not nice. Nice is soft and inoffensive. Nice is easy and effects no change, it's cotton wool - not stuffed tight, but just resting on the surface ready to be blown away or trodden into a muddy disinterest. Nice is a damp whisper, a mouse cowering in the corner, taking up as little space as possible, lest it be noticed, lest it presume too much and cause a whisker of offence. Kindness isn't like that - Kindness pushes in, claws out, quick and heavy, uninvited, unexpected, taking pleasure in disturbance, in leaving nothing unsaid and little undone in its pursuit of creating a disruption of difference. Kindness counts everyone a target, anybody a likely candidate for a three act matinee and evening performance of loud Kindness. Surprise is its currency, smiles its language, common humanity its passport to lands yet explored, to vast pink territories with drumbeats of gratefulness for the opportunity to march in with regiments of compassion and to leave a signature devastation of brutal Kindness. Kindness is not 'nice'. Kindness is loving awe-ful.
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Jul 3, 2020
Jul 3, 2020 at 2:01 AM UTC
The fruit of the Spirit is Kindness
The Circus gongs excite the Throngs in nighttime Never Land – They swarm to see the destiny of Freaks at their command, While Acrobats step pitapat above the shifting sands And Lady Fat sits down to chat and oozes charm unplanned. The Dwarfs in suits, so small and cute when marching with the Band, Ask crimson Clowns with frozen frowns, to hold a mutant hand, While Tamers’ whips with withered tips, throughout the winter land, Lure Cats entranced through hoops enhanced with flames of fires fanned. White Elephants in big-top tents boast black-tusk contraband To regiments of Sycophants who overflow the stands, But No One sees anomalies, and No One understands. At night’s demise, the dither dies, the lonesome Crowd disbands, Down dead-end streets the Horde retreats, their tattered rags in strands, And Janes and Joes reweave their woes, for thoughts of change are banned. To play a part in Three-Ring Art, I thought I’d try my hand – I mastered skills, I felt the thrills, I breathed and seethed firsthand – But destiny denied to me to taste a lifetime spanned With tightrope walks and trapeze chalks ... excepting second-hand... For alcohol provoked a fall, as if a reprimand, And now, a heap, I sometimes keep the ticket office manned...
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Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 10:57 AM UTC
The Acrobat
TWO Swede families live downstairs and an Irish policeman upstairs, and an old soldier, Uncle Joe. Two Swede boys go upstairs and see Joe. His wife is dead, his only son is dead, and his two daughters in Missouri and Texas don't want him around. The boys and Uncle Joe crack walnuts with a hammer on the bottom of a flatiron while the January wind howls and the zero air weaves laces on the window glass. Joe tells the Swede boys all about Chickamauga and Chattanooga, how the Union soldiers crept in rain somewhere a dark night and ran forward and killed many Rebels, took flags, held a hill, and won a victory told about in the histories in school. Joe takes a piece of carpenter's chalk, draws lines on the floor and piles stove wood to show where six regiments were slaughtered climbing a slope. "Here they went" and "Here they went," says Joe, and the January wind howls and the zero air weaves laces on the window glass. The two Swede boys go downstairs with a big blur of guns, men, and hills in their heads. They eat herring and potatoes and tell the family war is a wonder and soldiers are a wonder. One breaks out with a cry at supper: I wish we had a war now and I could be a soldier.
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1.4k
House
Tell me what you will do with those scars of pulls and pushes from the infantry of madness who marched towards your collar bones and thighs altogether at once.
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May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 12:03 PM UTC
▪regiments and nation of flesh▪
the sign on the railway station says "Common Destination," the ties of our tracks are uniform, creosote covered, splintered, spaced uniformly as is the wont of the arm-in-arm soldiers, different regiments in the same army, though as they march, some on the high, some the low road, in defense of the values, right, right, right. no believing in forever land, dreamt of poems forever burning, real life farenheit bonfires lit by brown uniforms and such, thus, now, when a poem completed and shared,  it is instantly disfigured, by flames harnessed to lick the slate page clean, immediately,  presenting yet  another opportunity, to protest, persistently, endless be my own turnkey hands renewing, my write to right. my write to right, my pupose; my only intent, even in love poems, ogdiddy witty ditties, long dialogues with the creator, all purposed, all written while standing one on left foot, are we not all poets of the ways to increase the sum total of righteous and kindness in the world. 'tis right to write, but go further and farther, write to right. to ease, comfort, shoulder and hand extensions, be the lean-to, the shelter when there is no shelter, for there is no owning words, and no limitation on clear vision and the right to write.
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Jul 11, 2017
Jul 11, 2017 at 2:18 PM UTC
the write to right (for patty m)
At Fuller's emporium of whiskers and wine, As matches are struck on the no smoking sign. Mr Terry Fuller, of reddened face refined, Regiments and orders his elbows aligned; With stories of rumour, football, ******* Thieves, my boy and across Texas by trucking.    He loudly regales to the spirits of faces, "Me and my boy have been to some places,  we've seen some girls, he gave em' rub, As I was too busy running the pub." Howling as they're told, sighing in ease, Mr Daniels accusing "who's round is it please?" When shadowed in doorway, tip-toes, a pale boy.   Stringy, svelte and painfully coy.   Debate is lulled, as men catch scent. "Don't come in here boy, or your money'll be spent." Roaring,rumbling, the boy  unsettled in mirth. "He can't buy any beer, he's only just had his birth." Half-pint of breath, the boy stammers to say. "I just was curious, i mean, I ask, if I may-" A bellowing fanfare, "Speak up or go away!" "I just wanted to know what you do with your day?" Mr Fuller, heaving his pink smirking bulk, anchored by his drink.   "We work, we go home and we pub till we sink." Troughs raised in toast, raining down on bald heads. As the boy puzzling thinks what the bulbous man said. "Then tomorrow" yelped the youth. "What do you do after that?" "More of the same, till God's on the mat!." Throned by grey faces, blanketed in smoke, As the toothless, eggs titter at the nonsensical joke. Raising a tiny limb, "So this happens everyday?" Mr Fuller rubbed his hands, "I wouldn't have it another way." The alphas puffing , guffawing, dribbling beer down chins. And for blood-vesseled faces another story begins. As the silhouetted boy under a veil of tears, whispers "I'm so sorry" and leaves. In Fuller's emporium a silence ensued, The sound sat between them and quietly chewed. Every brow furrowed, as the beer didn't flow. A quiet conclusion. "The youth of today what do they know!" JWS
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Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 10:21 AM UTC
At Fuller's Emporium
At Fuller's emporium of whiskers and wine, As matches are struck on the no smoking sign. Mr Terry Fuller, of reddened face refined, Regiments and orders his elbows aligned; With stories of rumour, football, ******* Thieves, my boy and across Texas by trucking.    He loudly regales to the spirits of faces, "Me and my boy have been to some places,  we've seen some girls, he gave em' rub, As I was too busy running the pub." Howling as they're told, sighing in ease, Mr Daniels accusing "who's round is it please?" When shadowed in doorway, tip-toes, a pale boy.   Stringy, svelte and painfully coy.   Debate is lulled, as men catch scent. "Don't come in here boy, or your money'll be spent." Roaring,rumbling, the boy  unsettled in mirth. "He can't buy any beer, he's only just had his birth." Half-pint of breath, the boy stammers to say. "I just was curious, i mean, I ask, if I may-" A bellowing fanfare, "Speak up or go away!" "I just wanted to know what you do with your day?" Mr Fuller, heaving his pink smirking bulk, anchored by his drink.   "We work, we go home and we pub till we sink." Troughs raised in toast, raining down on bald heads. As the boy puzzling thinks what the bulbous man said. "Then tomorrow" yelped the youth. "What do you do after that?" "More of the same, till God's on the mat!." Throned by grey faces, blanketed in smoke, As the toothless, eggs titter at the nonsensical joke. Raising a tiny limb, "So this happens everyday?" Mr Fuller rubbed his hands, "I wouldn't have it another way." The alphas puffing , guffawing, dribbling beer down chins. And for blood-vesseled faces another story begins. As the silhouetted boy under a veil of tears, whispers "I'm so sorry" and leaves. In Fuller's emporium a silence ensued, The sound sat between them and quietly chewed. Every brow furrowed, as the beer didn't flow. A quiet conclusion. "The youth of today what do they know!" JWS
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40
I wish to cancel my subscription please this simply isn't working for me. Pill regiments and appointments I stand firm yet am frightened. Cancerous lesions wreak havoc. Completely unexpected. An endless myriad of questions, Vague answers in poker face expressions. Once healthy cells are disfigured. Now thick walls with spiked exterior Latching to its next cellular host to fall. Aftermath exponential... Sharp, shooting pain and exhaustion, Observe my internal destruction. I wish to cancel my subscription please This simply doesn't work for me
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Jul 23, 2015
Jul 23, 2015 at 11:43 AM UTC
I wish to cancel my subscription
Love is not nice. ‘Nice’ is soft and inoffensive ‘Nice’ is careful and non-assertive ‘Nice’ is easy and effects no change Nice is cotton wool trying to soften the pain but not stuffed tight, just resting on the surface ready to be blown away or pressed under a muddy boot of disinterest ‘Nice’ is a damp whisper a mouse cowering in the corner hoping you will blink and miss it lest it attract your notice lest it presume too much and cause a whisker of offence Love is not like that – Love pushes in, quick and nimble a hero with no mask, unasked unexpected, dodging the turmoil leaving nothing unsaid and little undone in her pursuit of creating a counter-disruption Love defies convention Love carefully aims her weapons of choice and advances relentless and regardless of any and all obstacles in her way Love perseveres all the love-long day Love doesn’t delay Love is gleeful for the chance of invasion ready to disarm with expert compassion with her regiments of patience armed to the teeth with gracious placing tanks of good faith on all fronts Love confronts Courage is her currency, kindness her language trust and hope are her passports to lands long unexplored happily wearing all-weather clothing for any and all unexpected storms Love transforms Love weakens all defenses and challenges all camouflaged pretenses Love pours itself out to fill unhealed wounds and on shrapnel-seeded battlefields she - blooms Love perfumes Love is not 'nice' Love isn’t in this for the likes Love bites She’s a take-on-all-comers, undefeated delight Love never bails from the fight never fails, never takes flight Love is nothing casual, nothing incidental Love is elemental She is Avengers-Assemble, End-Game-level monumental So, don’t be nice and I’ll say it twice nice is a vice that will never suffice And let me end by being more precise follow Christ’s advice: love one another every day and every night with all of your might and do it in a way that pushes way past ‘nice’.
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Feb 23, 2022
Feb 23, 2022 at 5:43 PM UTC
Love is not nice #3
Love is not nice. ‘Nice’ is soft and inoffensive ‘Nice’ is careful and non-assertive ‘Nice’ is easy and effects no change Nice is cotton wool trying to soften the pain but not stuffed tight, just resting on the surface ready to be blown away or pressed under a muddy boot of disinterest ‘Nice’ is a damp whisper a mouse cowering in the corner hoping you will blink and miss it lest it attract your notice lest it presume too much and cause a whisker of offence Love is not like that – Love pushes in, quick and nimble a hero with no mask, unasked unexpected, dodging the turmoil leaving nothing unsaid and little undone in her pursuit of creating a counter-disruption Love defies convention Love carefully aims her weapons of choice and advances relentless and regardless of any and all obstacles in her way Love perseveres all the love-long day Love doesn’t delay Love is gleeful for the chance of invasion ready to disarm with expert compassion with her regiments of patience armed to the teeth with gracious placing tanks of good faith on all fronts Love confronts Courage is her currency, kindness her language trust and hope are her passports to lands long unexplored happily wearing all-weather clothing for any and all unexpected storms Love transforms Love weakens all defenses and challenges all camouflaged pretenses Love pours itself out to fill unhealed wounds and on shrapnel-seeded battlefields she - blooms Love perfumes Love is not 'nice' Love isn’t in this for the likes Love bites She’s a take-on-all-comers, undefeated delight Love never bails from the fight never fails, never takes flight Love is nothing casual, nothing incidental Love is elemental She is Avengers-Assemble, End-Game-level monumental So, don’t be nice and I’ll say it twice nice is a vice that will never suffice And let me end by being more precise follow Christ’s advice: love one another every day and every night with all of your might and do it in a way that pushes way past ‘nice’.
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67
Cursing the crap cluttered coats hanging in their rigor-mortis regiments only to fall to the floor again and again. I cannot speak to insufferable sirens but suffer alone instead Crying into the soft white bread and texting tormentedly Lost is everything insignificant that I desperately require Gone is the fear of Sugared words: 'you're fired' Leaving for more clustered, flustering days that fade to an unreachable haze I sit inside time, it taunts my heart flashing past in joy and in bordem refusing to part Decisions must be decided and lessons must be learnt as I shall push myself, but this should hurt more, More shoved into my core which trembles flabbily inches from the floor. Do not question me Do not inquire Just provide me with the life i desire. Forgive my childishness and ranting scrawl. But i'm tired, and I only see days before a fall
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Dec 3, 2011
Dec 3, 2011 at 2:50 PM UTC
Clearance
None to sum/ it up in addition to/ A fraction underlying facts climatic subliminal/ additional subtracting decimals exercise as I see fit/ conditional regiments it all works out settled a calm bereavement/ A dead cause/ Conquer by divide/ So long like a good buy/ purchase blind had to a-dress the naked eye look/ Observe As I concur with these verbs/ learned/ action/ created/ moved/ elevation/ un organization to a smooth concatenation/ no exaggeration it's over well done/ the product of minus what was taken? some/ would say there's no equal equanimity equal to none/ Philosophical math a scientific conundrum/
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Aug 6, 2016
Aug 6, 2016 at 10:17 AM UTC
Math schematics
Walking through the regiments of old red,cold,dead tenements giving compliments to the planners who put spanners in the works of parliaments. The ghosts of raggy arsed kids still play football on the grass, not caring a rats *** for the 'no ball games' sign and lining up for 'nitty Nora' the bug explorer, lice ain't nice even in the afterlife.
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Jun 29, 2014
Jun 29, 2014 at 2:13 AM UTC
Dog end days.
When I came home and found you lying on the couch Eating vanilla ice cream and watching Oprah On a Thursday I knew something was wrong I always wonder if the way I taught you To tie little pink bows at the end of your wrists Cut off your circulation Causing you to slice them open Watching the blood pool beneath you in the bathtub It rippled, so smooth and gently So ladylike, as you have always been taught My girl, I know you watched me in the mirror As I synched my waist together with different diet regiments Plucked the hairs above my brow and beneath my chin As if my skin grew flowers beneath its surface Now, as I find deposits of ash and ***** Hidden in the folds of your restlessness and depression I know it is more than teenage angst But I wait until I can longer deny your illness I will tell you you are not sick Even as the blood creeps up your forearm The scabs are gasping for sunlight As they peak beyond the seams of your sleeve When you are sent home from school for being suicidal We wonder why you never told us But you did, my girl My brilliant girl Though your lips never formed the words How could we not have seen this coming? Your father will get defensive His armor raised as you become child yet again Fifteen, not girl, not yet woman It will be hard for me to ignore you during an episode But baby, I only do this because I love you There were no training wheels before we were dropped Into unfamiliar terrain This sickness is a battlefield for us, too But we still fear the untapped power of those little white pills It is not that we do not want you to get better We just don't want to lose The little girl we have always known.
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Oct 4, 2016
Oct 4, 2016 at 11:31 PM UTC
On the Day of the Psych Eval
When I came home and found you lying on the couch Eating vanilla ice cream and watching Oprah On a Thursday I knew something was wrong I always wonder if the way I taught you To tie little pink bows at the end of your wrists Cut off your circulation Causing you to slice them open Watching the blood pool beneath you in the bathtub It rippled, so smooth and gently So ladylike, as you have always been taught My girl, I know you watched me in the mirror As I synched my waist together with different diet regiments Plucked the hairs above my brow and beneath my chin As if my skin grew flowers beneath its surface Now, as I find deposits of ash and ***** Hidden in the folds of your restlessness and depression I know it is more than teenage angst But I wait until I can longer deny your illness I will tell you you are not sick Even as the blood creeps up your forearm The scabs are gasping for sunlight As they peak beyond the seams of your sleeve When you are sent home from school for being suicidal We wonder why you never told us But you did, my girl My brilliant girl Though your lips never formed the words How could we not have seen this coming? Your father will get defensive His armor raised as you become child yet again Fifteen, not girl, not yet woman It will be hard for me to ignore you during an episode But baby, I only do this because I love you There were no training wheels before we were dropped Into unfamiliar terrain This sickness is a battlefield for us, too But we still fear the untapped power of those little white pills It is not that we do not want you to get better We just don't want to lose The little girl we have always known.
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The long unending chain of toadies All but goes on knees To kiss the ground beneath The Caesar’s feet divine, And masses spineless fawn o’er him With lolling tongues canine, While Caesar smugly smiles. His laurels, rank, and destiny, His power, throne and crown, Anoint him with, then gladly They press on him their leash. Teeth glittering, widened lips, Resounding, deafening claps, At every single dropping word From Caesar’s lips divine. Then tail-like wag all tongues; Sweeter than honey spread, Cloying, unctuous, authentic, Invented compliments. They truly lie and truly please The head that wears the crown. Their words and praise rise not From heart from lips downwards they drop. Bravo! Stinging and biting, Inverted compliments, Impressive speech, well-worded, And what fine sentiments! You think you know then All you need of countless regiments. We live by knowing where to bow, And smile, fawn and kiss when, The hallowed ground beneath his feet Aand selves how prostrate then, While Caesar smugly smiles. Our happy days and nights, We smiling live our lives, at Caesar’s feet divine. By God we truly look our part With lolling tongues canine. O you tigers of wrath! Your wars for liberty, Produce dictators worst, Today you have your Julius, Tomorrow Augustus. And what indeed is truth if not calibration? Timeless, endless, meaningless ratiocination?
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Jun 30, 2017
Jun 30, 2017 at 12:20 PM UTC
The long unending chain of toadies
Sickles' corps had broken; the Rebels had them on the run. Hancock foresaw disaster; perhaps a worse one than Bull Run How could he plug the gap in the line and rally men to stand? "What Regiment is this? " he asked of Colville, in command. The First Minnesota volunteers- they were sorely undermanned. They were Lincoln's first volunteers, staunch Union men in Blue Hancock ordered them to charge; a death sentence, they knew. With bayonets fixed they made their charge outnumbered twelve to Two. The Rebel regiments were shocked, disbelieving what they saw; The company sized regiment who'd come through three years of war. Canister ripped through their lines; there was no time to weep. Five minutes Hancock needed; for that long their grief would keep. This field knows many heroes; so many fought and bled. But let us pause and honor these brave Minnesota dead. They bought time for the General; the Union held the Ridge. We might not have a country had they not done what they did.
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Apr 5, 2016
Apr 5, 2016 at 9:55 PM UTC
To The Last Man
Oh those bodies on the museum walls Tennessee Valley bodies and Los Alamos bodies shining blackly like the stripe of a credit card. The price of bread fixed at five cents and we all eat it in slices. Your name is your labour and your labour your name. I have disappeared into a country that doesn’t know me and I am tearing it up with my teeth. Oh those bodies that were once slaves. Were they pictured any other way but in idyll or whipped dry? The dusty Union regiments at Baton Rouge have made a postcard of one scourged back; they share it around and die for it. I have a few postcards, too. It is strange to see any man kneeling. Oh those bodies Cornbread bodies and bodies like a corn snake crushed among the broad leaves of tobacco; The ones in bone corsets and the ones in reed baskets, floating downstream. The ones in rosy marble and wrought bronze the ones whose striped backs are coming out in wings feathers pink and wet like a new-hatched chick or a stillbirth. Your body is a tight machine of grief packed into homespun like a fist and relaxes in sepia as it never did in life, a babe slung underarm and the food only from cans; they keep the dust out. Oh those bodies that tend the home, larder and ledger, and reach for the high cabinets and keep reaching. The old voices are back at work. I am not the one they are speaking to but I hear them all the same. They spread out a catalogue of wares on a sisal blanket in the dark and every price sounds fair, every garment lovely unless you made it. The country workman in bronze now and forever with his rolled shirtsleeves; his body raises a hammer and his bicep, mid-shiver is always striking something, always building Heaven, and Manhattan, from the foundations. Stained glass his union flag and Union Army blood he forgot or never knew. The thin white arms of Andersonville, meeting two generations hence, in his arms, the dark scarred shoulders of the South. Who brought forth upon the continent this new nation, and who brought forth the ironclad Monitor and who put into song the Maple Leaf Rag or Swanee River and who put that soil there from which the cotton still grows and who made your dress? Who owes the debt and who records it? You and I. Oh those bodies swathed in light. Oh those bodies becoming angels. Bodies bound blackly and bodies forgetting which is what bodies do with injury: they absorb, and they forget.
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Oct 5, 2017
Oct 5, 2017 at 1:36 PM UTC
Oh Those Bodies
Oh those bodies on the museum walls Tennessee Valley bodies and Los Alamos bodies shining blackly like the stripe of a credit card. The price of bread fixed at five cents and we all eat it in slices. Your name is your labour and your labour your name. I have disappeared into a country that doesn’t know me and I am tearing it up with my teeth. Oh those bodies that were once slaves. Were they pictured any other way but in idyll or whipped dry? The dusty Union regiments at Baton Rouge have made a postcard of one scourged back; they share it around and die for it. I have a few postcards, too. It is strange to see any man kneeling. Oh those bodies Cornbread bodies and bodies like a corn snake crushed among the broad leaves of tobacco; The ones in bone corsets and the ones in reed baskets, floating downstream. The ones in rosy marble and wrought bronze the ones whose striped backs are coming out in wings feathers pink and wet like a new-hatched chick or a stillbirth. Your body is a tight machine of grief packed into homespun like a fist and relaxes in sepia as it never did in life, a babe slung underarm and the food only from cans; they keep the dust out. Oh those bodies that tend the home, larder and ledger, and reach for the high cabinets and keep reaching. The old voices are back at work. I am not the one they are speaking to but I hear them all the same. They spread out a catalogue of wares on a sisal blanket in the dark and every price sounds fair, every garment lovely unless you made it. The country workman in bronze now and forever with his rolled shirtsleeves; his body raises a hammer and his bicep, mid-shiver is always striking something, always building Heaven, and Manhattan, from the foundations. Stained glass his union flag and Union Army blood he forgot or never knew. The thin white arms of Andersonville, meeting two generations hence, in his arms, the dark scarred shoulders of the South. Who brought forth upon the continent this new nation, and who brought forth the ironclad Monitor and who put into song the Maple Leaf Rag or Swanee River and who put that soil there from which the cotton still grows and who made your dress? Who owes the debt and who records it? You and I. Oh those bodies swathed in light. Oh those bodies becoming angels. Bodies bound blackly and bodies forgetting which is what bodies do with injury: they absorb, and they forget.
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Now I Have Had It Said... That I’m Pretty INTENSE... !!! Which I Guess Is Because... My Thinking Is STRONG... !!! As Is My Poetry... Because My Verse Deals... In... HARSH REALITIES... Rather Than Fallacies... And Foolish FANTASIES... !!!!!! So... My INTENSITY... Is A Thing That Runs DEEP... Just Like The Oceans' Seas... !!! And Political Scenes That Are Seen Currently... That Affect How It Is That People Now Live... Now To Me They’re INTENSE... Like Todays Regiments... of... Leaders And Heads... !!! Like Those Now In Congress... Who Are Causing Folks STRESS... Due To How They Address... Todays Global Problems... That Are INTENSE To Me... When It Comes To Disease... !!! Like This Corona Virus... That’s Intense Like Gang Violence... !!! That WAS Seen On The Streets... BEFORE Lockdowns Were Seen... !!! An INTENSITY That Runs... Like Streets That Hold Guns... When People Are STUCK... Like A Nun Who Wants Some... !!! If You Get What I Mean... ?!? When It Comes To The Needs... That Their Vows Do NOT Feed... !!! Yes I Mean SEXUALLY... !!! A Thing That’s INTENSE... When You Want But CAN'T Get... To Have... INTENSE *** That Makes Women Get Wet... !!! But Intensity Runs... WAY BEYOND ****** Stuff... !!! Like... Trying To Bluff... When You’re Really NOT Tough... And Deep Down Want To RUN... From... Confrontations... That Could See Loss of Blood... !!! Just Like Those Dark Times... When Somebody Close Dies... !!! Because Most Cannot Deal... When Intensity Feels... Like They Just Cannot Cope... When Things Hit Those Dark Zones... !!! Like... Societal Woes... That Nowadays Roll... That Feed INTENSE Times... Like Those Now Supplied... By These Corona Vibes... !!! And Modern Day Crimes... Like Those That DENY... A Way To Live Life... ABOVE Poverty Lines... !!! And INTENSE Elections... That Now Need Inspection... Like Talk of Infections... That Breed INTENSE TENSIONS... !!! About … Wearing MASKS... And Freedoms Now PARKED... And DISTANCED Like Hearts... That Are Now Kept A p a r t... !!! Because of The Need... To Be Given VACCINES... ?!? That May Breed INTENSE Scenes... !!! Because of... " Theories "... That Are Now INTENSELY... Spread On Internet Feeds... !!! It Seems INTENSITY... Is What Societies... Are Feeding To People... To Keep Many Feeble... And Dealing In EVIL... WITHOUT A KNIEVEL... !!! The Ride’s Now INTENSE... When It Comes To Defence... Against Being JOBLESS... !!! And STRESSING Out Friends... !!! Because of The PRESSURES... That Now Need To LESSEN... So ALWAYS REMEMBER... !!! That Pressures Suppress... A Way To... Reject... The Things That Cause Stress... !!! As Well As The Way... That Some People Behave... And That SERIOUSNESS... Is Just How Some DEFEND... Against Letting Pretence... And A World of NONSENSE... Lead To Causing PROBLEMS... That They CANNOT Deflect... !!! And To KEEP AWAY... Punks... Who Think They Can Pull Stunts... After Running Their Mouths... When They Act Like Sad Clowns... !!! So Make SURE You’re CORRECT... !!! BEFORE You... Suggest... That The Way Someone Acts... Is... REALLY... ..... “ INTENSE “.....
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Dec 19, 2020
Dec 19, 2020 at 10:14 PM UTC
“Intense” ... A Poem written by Big Virge 12/11/2020
Now I Have Had It Said... That I’m Pretty INTENSE... !!! Which I Guess Is Because... My Thinking Is STRONG... !!! As Is My Poetry... Because My Verse Deals... In... HARSH REALITIES... Rather Than Fallacies... And Foolish FANTASIES... !!!!!! So... My INTENSITY... Is A Thing That Runs DEEP... Just Like The Oceans' Seas... !!! And Political Scenes That Are Seen Currently... That Affect How It Is That People Now Live... Now To Me They’re INTENSE... Like Todays Regiments... of... Leaders And Heads... !!! Like Those Now In Congress... Who Are Causing Folks STRESS... Due To How They Address... Todays Global Problems... That Are INTENSE To Me... When It Comes To Disease... !!! Like This Corona Virus... That’s Intense Like Gang Violence... !!! That WAS Seen On The Streets... BEFORE Lockdowns Were Seen... !!! An INTENSITY That Runs... Like Streets That Hold Guns... When People Are STUCK... Like A Nun Who Wants Some... !!! If You Get What I Mean... ?!? When It Comes To The Needs... That Their Vows Do NOT Feed... !!! Yes I Mean SEXUALLY... !!! A Thing That’s INTENSE... When You Want But CAN'T Get... To Have... INTENSE *** That Makes Women Get Wet... !!! But Intensity Runs... WAY BEYOND ****** Stuff... !!! Like... Trying To Bluff... When You’re Really NOT Tough... And Deep Down Want To RUN... From... Confrontations... That Could See Loss of Blood... !!! Just Like Those Dark Times... When Somebody Close Dies... !!! Because Most Cannot Deal... When Intensity Feels... Like They Just Cannot Cope... When Things Hit Those Dark Zones... !!! Like... Societal Woes... That Nowadays Roll... That Feed INTENSE Times... Like Those Now Supplied... By These Corona Vibes... !!! And Modern Day Crimes... Like Those That DENY... A Way To Live Life... ABOVE Poverty Lines... !!! And INTENSE Elections... That Now Need Inspection... Like Talk of Infections... That Breed INTENSE TENSIONS... !!! About … Wearing MASKS... And Freedoms Now PARKED... And DISTANCED Like Hearts... That Are Now Kept A p a r t... !!! Because of The Need... To Be Given VACCINES... ?!? That May Breed INTENSE Scenes... !!! Because of... " Theories "... That Are Now INTENSELY... Spread On Internet Feeds... !!! It Seems INTENSITY... Is What Societies... Are Feeding To People... To Keep Many Feeble... And Dealing In EVIL... WITHOUT A KNIEVEL... !!! The Ride’s Now INTENSE... When It Comes To Defence... Against Being JOBLESS... !!! And STRESSING Out Friends... !!! Because of The PRESSURES... That Now Need To LESSEN... So ALWAYS REMEMBER... !!! That Pressures Suppress... A Way To... Reject... The Things That Cause Stress... !!! As Well As The Way... That Some People Behave... And That SERIOUSNESS... Is Just How Some DEFEND... Against Letting Pretence... And A World of NONSENSE... Lead To Causing PROBLEMS... That They CANNOT Deflect... !!! And To KEEP AWAY... Punks... Who Think They Can Pull Stunts... After Running Their Mouths... When They Act Like Sad Clowns... !!! So Make SURE You’re CORRECT... !!! BEFORE You... Suggest... That The Way Someone Acts... Is... REALLY... ..... “ INTENSE “.....
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