"roundly" poems
the committee
has convened
(kangaroos corralled)
the agenda
is set
(scapegoats framed)
the politicos
are preened
(perfect patriots)
hair coiffed
teeth whitened
(fangs sharpened)
correct talking
points bulleted
(minds closed)
puffed chests
perfectly postured
(bombastic bravado)
freedom fighters
stand firm
(Constitution usurpers)
American flag
lapel pins
(sparkling bright)
liberty's spirit
and tolerance
(roundly condemned)
special interests
are watching
(payola earned)
partisan lines
clearly drawn
(democracy doomed)
Music Selection
Cream: Politician
Oakland
10/1/10
jbm
Apr 12, 2013
Apr 12, 2013 at 7:46 PM UTC
A hymn to paired planethood: Venus hits Pluto
as death, in cold orbit, collides with biology
smashing to fragments: demonic astrology
(more a black hole than a love-star, it’s true though).
Cynical cure for Eve’s womanly grievance
Concupiscent consequence: lust’s bitter fruit –
ah the thought… changing Sin into mere inconvenience.
Margaret sang her seductive refrain
about weeding the garden and progress and light.
Her sisters should view her with scornful disdain
but instead have adopted her murderous rite.
With sang-froid she promoted her racist eugenics
(as if she had never herself been a fetus),
condemning her heirs to postmodern polemics
while nurturing ardent desires to defeat us.
Suppressing the lives that she flushed down the drain
she would liberate Death – and resistance was vain.
As a midwife to modern life (though on the “anti” side)
Old Matron Margie racked up quite a legacy
singing the praises of sanctioned infanticide
calling the shots for the coming sick century.
Planning, quite calmly, to “cleanse” certain races
her zeal was empowered by murderous graces.
She labored to bring us such pearls of subduction:
“dilation and curettage”, “women’s autonomy”
“viable fetus”, “procedure”, a “suction”
Hippocrates retches to hear the taxonomy;
words that turn Life into mere reproduction.
She enters the realms of the ****** and the motherless
roundly condemned by her feminine otherness.
Man’s first protection: the God-given womb
which no infant should have to regard as their tomb.
Dismembered dark cherubs, assembling, greet her
as demons (in scrubs) holding baby-parts meet her.
Long may she burn with the medical cynics
this mother of Moloch, this founder of clinics.
Convenience is king when abortion’s the Queen
and the profits swell big with each nubile teen…
yet the fruit of such carnage remains to be seen.
I send her this song as a funeral wreath
and a card inked in blood. You may read what is there:
“To the Matrix Supreme of our culture of death
from the souls of the infants you slew on the earth.
May your torment increase with the children you bear.”
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 9:09 PM UTC
Desperate, so agonisingly glutted with yearning,
Yearning to hear my voice and to know that it resounds,
So roundly that I am all at once myself, And so much myself that I remember my eyes,
My eyes that have long been forgotten in cruel glass.
Cruel, cruel glass! I have long been abandoned, and long been a veil,
But such a thin veil that always would wane,
It's falling slowly now, like a prophecy fulfilled,
Get ready to see, get ready to be seen.
Aug 24, 2022
Aug 24, 2022 at 5:45 PM UTC
Humanity has no support to duty
Both contrary in dealing and punctuality:
Non-the-less deny each claims still their validity
Former needs emotional skip where later regularity!
Humanity is a thing roundly soul concern
Fancies of many idles, despotic and obligated.
Estimate not to beautify active approach return;
Deserve aid remarkable quiet pleasing black arts.
Duty declares the deed must accomplish statutable,
Gratitude, greed and gratification are sub-judice here-of:
A crazy caution compel to foil inapplicable
Yonker's pride, old hand cultivated doctrinal of.
Certain condition humanity plays role of pre-eminence
Duty looks wanting help out of heels,
Depending on probation passion of sincerity convince,
Rejecting deep binder satisfactorily set aside exceeds.
If stands duty and humanity both together,
Glorifies the spirit immortal as His name
And also deal showing clean impersonality further,
None appeal to mercy could not dare blame.
Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 4:14 AM UTC
Veasna Ta Kvak recording
playback
over Chinatown cafe again
while recounting recent events
to journal pages
muddled from frequent
exchanges bag to bag
(Been to Taipei airport, Bali, Vancouver, most
recently)
blind fate
blind fate
shower me with Indian daisies
and photographs of Railway
New Delhi!
Hanoi Old Quarter/
Vietnam monsoon/
evening on balcony/
Darjeeling water boiled
and filtered anti-malaria
golden drink for honeylungs and
spring-soul morningtide
under moonlight canopy
of Avalokiteśvara
the fruitful
Bodhisattva!
English lessons
and future
hourless
comely chimera
in sleep phenomenon
Benares phantasmagoria YELLOW
(near Mata Anandamai Ghat)
speaking to Aghori
prophecy
Kala Bhairava
FIERCE ILLUSORY APOCALYPSE FAMILIAR
WHERE IS YOUR NOOSE?
the Ganges is full of lice and flowers
candlewax melted into holy water
sickness
equal to
harmony & jubilant
eyeclose and mouthcurl.
The future mysteries in
Mexico City poorboy
$2 mystic orb jade green
reflective underneath
dirt now in North American
bottom white four floor house
basement suite coffee table.
Visions indivisible
from the Viridian roundly haze
but surefire in their accuracy
I'm absolute
and universally formed
for the next few cacophonous
decades!
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 1:47 AM UTC
Acerbic antagonist alliterates agonizing accusations,
blasting ******* backbiter butting beautiful bombastic brainy blond bomb.
Cumulative cranial casualties cease caveman's cognitive coherence.
Doom digger derides Daddy's dangling dire dreary ****
Eclectic esoteric eccentric egotistical estranger;
Forthcoming fathoms fetch faithless fleeting father.
God given goblins gather gossamer ganglions;
Hell's hairy harlot harpies hover heeding Hyperion.
Ignatius imbibes irrevocably insisting,
"Jesus juggles justice's joy jarring jams."
Kindness kindles Kilimanjaro;
Malicious mountains melt, Mmm, morning marjoram.
Nothing negates Neanderthal ninnying.
Overt obsessions obfuscate original object of
purest passions, paltry past pinings,
quickly quieted, quelled,
resisted, relinquished, readily, ruefully, roundly
saturated, suffocated; surreptitiously silenced,
terribly torturing the thrashed tamed tormentor:
Ugly, ungrateful, unapologetic,
Vanity,
woefully wallowing, wailing, "Where's
Xanadu's
zeitgeist!?"
Jan 15, 2012
Jan 15, 2012 at 12:09 AM UTC
Maiden crowned with glossy blackness,
Lithe as panther forest-roaming,
Long-armed Naiad when she dances
On a stream of ether floating,
Bright, o bright Fedalma!
Form all curves like softness drifted,
Wave-kissed marble roundly dimpling,
Far-off music slowly wingèd,
Gently rising, gently sinking,
Bright, o bright Fedalma!
Pure as rain-tear on a rose-leaf,
Cloud high born in noonday spotless
Sudden perfect like the dew-bead,
Gem of earth and sky begotten,
Bright, o bright Fedalma!
Beauty has no mortal father,
Holy light her form engendered,
Out of tremor yearning, gladness,
Presage sweet, and joy remembered,
Child of light! Child of light!
Child of light, Fedalma!
3.1k
can anyone tell me
why East and West are fighting?
in an indisputably Round world
going West far enough
will put you in the East
and vice versa
in a round view of things
people of the east
need the same things
as people of the west
and what about the middle people?
what do they need?
roundly the same I'd say
so roundly I also say
otherness is to be avoided
otherness to be voided
replaced by roundness
roundness is to be embraced
all around the world
so I'll start
and put my arms around you
like a circle around the sun
for I am
as round as you
Aug 17, 2014
Aug 17, 2014 at 5:20 PM UTC
Seek not the Spirit, if it hide,
Inexorable to thy zeal:
Baby, do not whine and chide;
Art thou not also real?
Why should'st thou stoop to poor excuse?
Turn on the Accuser roundly; say,
"Here am I, here will I remain
Forever to myself soothfast,
Go thou, sweet Heaven, or, at thy pleasure stay."—
Already Heaven with thee its lot has cast,
For it only can absolutely deal.
2.2k
The Kristeille Bra :
And Other Pathways To - ( Disaster ! )
Polarities : so smartly empowdered
And, petitely enslaved -
Potentialities ?
- In extremis, I'm afraid.
But if thus were so, then ...
(Even thinly veilled) ;
Let us duly consider :
Are our appetites (fe\male)
In actuality and fact umm,
Needlessly Manichean;
The torments of
noisy Siblings ?
Why, after all I ask,
only two -
Don't
You ?
Alas,
To the Medici
Roundly go the
Battle and the day !
(And sublimity)
(Or so the legend
goes ...... )
For those who favour
such Palantines,
(and gravity)
a throne.
For :
Pure symetry confounds my interest -
hnn.us/articles/7202.html
James R. Morse NYC 2012.
All Rights Reserved.
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 2:32 PM UTC
Downy moss doth grow in shadow
Emerald and darkly damp,
Ancient as the runes of legend
Lost to time's priescent ramp.
Damp and downy, roundly soft
Pubescently profound,
Nestled in the vale of love
Where tarantula abound.
Nestled in the vale between
Stark pillars tall and white,
Nestled where tomorrows day
May flourish into night.
Flourish with the elderberry
Mingled with the sage,
Seeping drops of acid wine
Into the maw of age.
Marshalg
23 February 2013
Feb 22, 2013
Feb 22, 2013 at 7:52 PM UTC
leaving the theatre, he tapped, twice, the hood of a parked police car, lifted lipstick from a drunken woman’s purse and squared himself in a store window before shooting himself with his hand.
his first film, completed, by the time he was eighteen. roundly praised. from there, a many colored thing. russian women, guns under suits, and cameos of indians with indian names. at twenty three, nostalgic for twenty one, his seminal ‘my white father’ wherein a mute albino would be upstaged by mimes. further brilliance followed. mostly in quotes, such as “babies are full of grief”. women ate from his hand and their eating progressed. one woman in particular became trapped in a man’s body and he married her. a child they tried not to have soon arrived and brought with it a list of demands from the others. the woman divorced him and took with her the man. in the midst of attending to the list came the advent of black and white which added a much needed plot to his smoking. his peers double crossed each other in small houses. he himself was able to get away with punching a young girl for the right to drag a sled. his child began to accept talking toys in exchange for keeping quiet. in 1973, his doctors, grey from vietnam, convinced him to go under. his last film was silent, and many complained about the lighting. he cried, in his mansion, for the windows he did not put in. he would not often entertain tourists but when he did they asked about his mother, her ghost, and if the east wing was really haunted. he would on those late nights produce a letter his mother had sent him only yesterday.
he was in love with his sister, always had been. after she was mauled by the dogs he had set out for his father, he made walking his home. every now and then a hotel of running. last year, he caught a movie one had made of his life and though he missed the dedication he did not
the death row scene, the little saw his mother used for the cake, the mysterious basket moved from bike to bike.
Jul 7, 2012
Jul 7, 2012 at 12:14 PM UTC
Peg, roundly topped and
bottom squared, hops out seeking
holes to reconcile.
"Soon, very soon," she posits
then passes dear Fork
forlorn on pebbled road. His
tines are liquid droops.
His heart stabs for cheating Spoon.
Opposite, Puppet
sits to tend her knotted strings.
This path is puzzling.
Mar 10, 2010
Mar 10, 2010 at 8:52 AM UTC
I seek
the whole
pitch
and whine
the petty
grasping
ridiculous
insecure
******* mess
behind the
lyrical niceties
but you know that
you get me
we ride the same
pendulum
apex
of light
nadir
of night
and like me
you're still learning
to speak
sometimes
words die
in your mouth
never make it out
resting roundly sweet
on your passive
tongue
bitter truth
I would forgive
before I'd see you
swallow
Better to risk offending than let your truth die unsaid.
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 11:05 AM UTC
one late afternoon,
the dark was setting in...
the veranda was inviting,
for some moments alone
where shell chimes rang and flung
noisily
with the blowing wind...
seated my self on the rocking chair,
sipping
from my big mug of hot coffee,
nibbling on some vanilla wafers...
a lone bat swung from above the roof
and swooshed through the sweetsop tree,
leaving but a few leaves
falling down the ground.
there was this strange feeling
of not being alone...
that someone was watching me.
i searched, raised my head,
looked at both sides, then
saw two brilliant, glowing *****
i
stared back...and
swam through those blue-green eyes,
now focused on my hot, hot drink...
we were eye to eye,
like, it was telling me, begging me,
"please, just run your
soft fingers slowly through my fur
i am so cold, i need some warmth,
care to share your hot drink with
me?
I need some cuddling, too..."
her round tummy told me
all that i needed to
know...
it was hard, deciding, whether or not
to have her on my lap...
but then, i heard some ringing,
i had to
answer the phone.
upon returning,
i sat back on the rocking chair
very near the table,
nothing changed,
but wait...
a few coffee drops?
almost inconspicuous,
nothing there, no one there,
just my big, wide mug, now empty...
my vanilla wafers, all gone...
no longer hungry
no longer thirsty,
the roundly, pregnant cat,
the wise and intelligent
heavy, purring creature
was nowhere in sight...
still, i felt her presence,
near, and strong,
watching me,
watching herself...
somewhere in my garden
in a hidden corner,
slowed down by her heavy tummy,
waiting,
for her kittens to be born...
Sally
Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Mar 2, 2014
Mar 2, 2014 at 7:34 AM UTC
George came by bus everyday
From Alvinston;
A No-Daddy community.
I've heard that town
Should be fenced
And re-named a Zoo.
During a power outage
George was suspected
Of being the dumper
In the middle of the gym floor,
During class. He was present.
The evidence was piled against George,
But inconclusive.
When George brought
A bag of **** to school
I called his mother,
A worn-out, retired pole-dancer.
When she arrived I showed her
The bag. She was pleased
I didn't turn George over to the cops,
But roundly upset with George
For swiping her good stuff,
And not the skunk ****
Some kids' parents.
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 9:22 AM UTC
~~~
when between the table and the fridge,
she wishes to pass,
and I,
obstacle roundly present,
am alerted by a gentle squeeze of my ***
happily acknowledging the purposed duality of her
**cheekiest, sweetest,
signal given**
~~~
a food array presented,
paprika colored roasted chicken,
spaghetti squash salted,
salad with cranberries, candy walnuts,
even raisins hidden within and
all before me placed
she objects little,
with eyes silent uplifted
like two pie rollers in striking position,
when I commence to sup,
with my just dessert
of apple crisp,
that by coming first,
is grandly philosophized,
that today,
"the last shall be first"
~~~
she wakes me prematurely,
her only cause, the intruding concept
of her successfully doing the telling,
first one to win the everyday claiming race,
the first to say on this day,
I love you foremost and also,
"haha I win"
**** it**
~~~
miscreant me,
happy loafer,
habitual offender of other things
that the censors here,
would not permit explicitly disclosing,
for which she looks wise away,
mumbling only
"half of his
addiction to cinnamon raisin loaf,
still, far, far, better
than none"
~~~
I know she loves me cause:
1) she likes unfailingly every one of my poems
(a half truth)
2) she loves best, faithfully,
those she loves the best,
that are the ones that release,
without permission asked,
those that come with a side of tissues,
at the ready,
to be emergency issued
those tissues
I call,
the ladies-in-waiting for
the gentlest stream of tears
Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 6:00 PM UTC
Soundly
Roundly rolling
Down
Into town
The racer screamed
In his
Cardboard Lightening
Ride
Living out
His
Happy dream
Faster faster
Through the streets
Twisting
Turning
Flying free
Feet-for-wheels
And
Boyhood motor
He can Race
Cuz
He is Three!
Jun 21, 2011
Jun 21, 2011 at 6:48 PM UTC
Looking out my Mother's back door window
Green pasture shining in wet dew
Forest of the Cherokee National
Surrounding my emerald view
Mom and brother still sleeping soundly
A little quiet time to enjoy and remember
Red Tailed Hawk circling sky roundly
Dad's century old barn with leaning oak timber
Dreaming of my future small cabin
Back in the corner of the high pasture
A picture of morning's shiny green satin
The view out Mom's window I capture
r
Aug 4, 2013
Aug 4, 2013 at 8:57 AM UTC
Three children, clean and roundly fed,
**** time scraping frost from the bookie’s window.
Inside betting slips are torn in half.
Neglect isn't always obvious.
Dec 16, 2010
Dec 16, 2010 at 8:42 PM UTC
(another slight edit)
leaving the theatre, he tapped, twice, the hood of a parked police car, lifted lipstick from a drunken woman's purse and squared himself in a store window before shooting himself with his hand.
his first film, completed, by the time he was eighteen. roundly praised. from there, a many colored thing. russian women, guns under suits, and cameos of indians with indian names. at twenty three, nostalgic for twenty one, his seminal 'my white father' wherein a mute albino would be upstaged by mimes. further brilliance followed. mostly in quotes, such as “babies are full of grief”. women ate from his hand and their eating progressed. one woman in particular became trapped in a man’s body and he married her. a child they tried not to have soon arrived and brought with it a list of demands from the others. the woman divorced him and took with her the man. in the midst of attending to the list came the advent of black and white which added a much needed plot to his smoking. his peers double crossed each other in small houses. he himself was able to get away with punching a young girl for the right to drag a sled. his child began to accept talking toys in exchange for keeping quiet. in 1973, his doctors, grey from vietnam, convinced him to go under. his last film was silent, and many complained about the lighting. he cried, in his mansion, for the windows he did not put in. he would not often entertain tourists but when he did they asked about his mother, her ghost, and if the east wing was really haunted. he would on those late nights produce a letter his mother had sent him only yesterday.
he was in love with his sister, always had been. after she was mauled by the dogs set out for his father, he made walking his home. every now and then a hotel of running. last year, he caught a movie one had made of his life and though he missed the dedication
he did not miss
the death row scene, the little saw his mother used for the cake, the mysterious basket moved from bike to bike.
May 13, 2013
May 13, 2013 at 4:37 PM UTC
If a soul must have its
night, which it must...
how dark it gather, how
thick it be...what's lived
will tell--to what end?
A directionless break of sound,
as if fled
from silence with a start--
the terrible nausea of having
been, and returning to what
now is, which will be...no
more apparent than the experience of itself, roundly met.
How might a personage bear
the scorn of what means to dissolve
what no longer serves it.
What of life that may be deemed
short, or long...as if never born--
or born to die to what's never been born.
Blind stead, whose dross drapes days in wait of gold.
Jan 2, 2017
Jan 2, 2017 at 3:42 PM UTC
The Rainbow’s charm plumed out from the shelf
Our magician enchanting—we wait.
The stillness abates past displays of sterility
Confessions of illusions, heard in deaf regard
O, can’t we but wonder the aether controlled
How does he alone know the runes and ways?
To roundly take rein of the reinless?
His knowing eyes shy away, incantations mouthed
Avert and in despair, from proud throngs
Skeptical, but feigned, in awful disbelief.
Collectively, a sharp breath drawn
We anticipated the magic belief wove in us
Awe suspended: a mystery like clouds:
The cosmic-soul, no hero afflicted by the wastrel, man.
Another time, we resolve on this
The typical coldest day in summer.
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 8:32 AM UTC