"safeties" poems
Academic conversations about consent are a pure form of agony,
Listening to students and Professor toss around the word like it's a hypothetical commodity,
As if there is question that autonomy and dignity belong to every living thing in that room.
We are asked to dissect the most intimate of physical safeties as if this is a lesson in biology,
Solve 'consent' like a particularly challenging calculus problem,
Pretend as if this didn't happen in the confines of my body.
It's excruciating to have to take an equation,
We'll start with y=mx+b,
And calculate which variables determine basic human decency.
I was young, female, gay, autistic, bipolar,
Clinging to his professions of love like they could stitch the gaping emotional wounds,
And somehow that didn't make me human when he did the math.
I don't know how to argue, Professor, with which philosophical tools,
Professor, that I was a person, Professor,
When he decided to **** me.
Feb 21, 2021
Feb 21, 2021 at 9:27 PM UTC
You step out into the world and its tendrils seek to entwine.
It takes away my hopes and all the dreams I once held as mine.
You are faced with expectations and choices so not of your own.
You come to think it not so bad when life is both empty and alone.
It becomes just easier to forget about hope and any form of dream.
Responsible to self and away from expectations endless scream.
You close the world outside behind your safeties solid door.
And give up on love and dream like clothes discarded on the floor.
You accept a life of little value and so too the feel it will never end.
All for reassurance outside consequence wont reach in to offend.
I write of being sad and lonely in many of the poems that I write.
But I am conscious, it is I who cast love and hope out into the night.
Aug 10, 2020
Aug 10, 2020 at 12:29 AM UTC
why is it when?
you tell me you love me
i feel utter happiness
warmth floods me
yet an unbearable sadness
pulls and picks
like a seagull on the beach
pestering a crab
waiting for it to give up
i don't want to
but i feel like its correct
meant to happen
maybe just giving up
isn't as bad as they say
maybe its time
to give up
. . . . . . .
give up on the sadness
that i held like a blanket
as if it keeps me warm
i realize now, that it didn't
never did, never will
though i continue to clutch it
a child, frightened of letting go
loosing my strong grasp on
past feelings and fake safeties
to be completely happy
could i maybe find another
a blanket of thicker wool?
one that does hold me
tight in its embrace
keeping me warm
giving me love
maybe it's time
to take more
and let you
love me
fully
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 5:51 AM UTC
liturgies of lethargy
lull their sleepy tongues,
and run among my stumbling dreams
towards the visceral setting sun
keep the soldiers’ safeties off and order no retreat
you can’t afford to chip your teeth for the price of being numb
stay glassy eyed and leave your pride
behind the backs of bus seats
with notes, sharpie, and lies
these men are not what they seem
this world is a messed up dream
while the elite claim to delete the supposed deadbeats
as if they deplete the city’s concrete streets
i want to scream
they’re really the secret
to keeping the working class alive in the heat
to keep the coffee shops open on every street
to keeping the cheap soda purchased
at the indiscreetly laundering cover up convenience stores
you would only see when you’re walking pavement
breathing in the scent of cigarettes and pollen spores
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 5:50 AM UTC
.
Wine, enchilada and pickle sauce,
corks and safeties,
just like The Penguin In *******
in Ronnie and Kenny's shed.
The Idiot ******* Son
sits eating the deadly Yellow Snow,
whilst Joe hums Zombie Woof
at the Poodle in his Garage.
Dinah-Moe Humm finally gets off;
in the Dangerous Kitchen,
with the Muffin Man's ***** Love,
and the Illinois Enema Bandit.
The Fine Girl and the Latex Solar Beef
bathed in The Blue Light,
shout 'Pick Me, I'm Clean',
along Inca Roads, to Find Her Finer.
Cosmik Debris exclaims Zoot Allures!
From the fat, floating, maroonish Sofa
because the Bow Tie Daddy
sings Nasal Retentive Calliope Music.
Yo Mama! there's the Disco Boy
who gets in More Trouble Every Day,
so The Torture Never Stops,
with Damp Ankles, Peaches & Regalia.
Sam With The Showing Scalp Flat Top
dances with Camarillo Brillo upstairs,
catching Stink-Foot once again,
like In France from the Valley Girl.
And so the Watermelon In Easter Hay
rides off with the Duke Of Prunes
to the Carolina ******** Ecstasy,
visiting Billy The Mountain, and Montana.
© Pagan Paul (2016/2017)
Frank Zappa
(21st December 1940 - 4th December 1993).
Musician, Diplomat and Lyricist.
Dec 1, 2017
Dec 1, 2017 at 4:43 PM UTC
Riding fast through summers warm night
with heart as black as his attire
desperate to get back to safeties reach
quench his thirst, fulfil his desire.
His labour has been a profitable one
for not one but three tonight
and the ***** that he carries
will set him something right.
Whilst kicking he's heels into his steed
whispers faster boy he begs and pleads
hoofs on dry ground echo and resound
through the trees and all around.
This Highwayman homeward bound.
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 5:20 PM UTC
Crawling through the undergrowth
looking for a moist retreat
for safeties haven in rotten logs
away from keen eyes and birds beaks
Lumbering slowly
as metamorphosis is soon
to become a beetle
that is guided by the moon
To find a mate is it's first duty
in the short time of it's life made complete
to make plenty their kind
these wriggling grubs beneath your feet
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 1:25 AM UTC
Flabbergasted at my findings
Drooling slightly over luck
Hard to explain how my life has changed
Now the proud owner of a Whatchamacallit
It came with all the accessories
All the whistles plus the bells
Lucky I grabbed it when I did
You know how fast those things fly off the shelf
Double wrapped in heavy plastic
Sealed up tight for safeties sake
To keep from the hands of those not in the know
Plus less chance of escape
Though Whatchamacallit's aren't dangerous
They are mischievous all the same
Far be it for me to set mine free
And be the one to blame
So I keep it on a leash
Everytime that I go out
Even put it in my pocket
If I'm roaming a big crowd
But believe you me if it's me you see
Out someday on the street
I have my Whatchamacallit
Somewhere close to me
Jul 5, 2016
Jul 5, 2016 at 12:24 PM UTC
Back to the world
I still refuse to awaken in
Back to the world
That reminds me of a corpse
Back to the world
Which stole my warmth and praise
Back to the world
Where my safeties cease to exist
Back to the world
That hurts me so
Back to the world
And those burning eyes
Jan 9, 2019
Jan 9, 2019 at 3:53 PM UTC
Crawling through the undergrowth
looking for a moist retreat
for safeties haven in rotten logs
away from keen eyes and birds beaks
Lumbering slowly
as metamorphosis is soon
to become a beetle
that is guided by the moon
To find a mate is it's first duty
in the short time of it's life made complete
to make plenty their kind
these wriggling grubs beneath your feet
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Oct 3, 2013
Oct 3, 2013 at 6:20 AM UTC
Without realising,
You became the most at home I'd ever been.
A shelter of warmth,
Locked up safeties and tucked-in frailties
Lie in wait for the weather outside.
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 6:10 AM UTC
He started down the corridor
Daylight, so he could see
Was he a crazed lunatic
Living out his dream?
Where could they go when shots were fired
Had a life to live, now has gone expired
This whole scene has gotten old and tired
Heroes at the scene
I am kept reminded
A vigil for the people,
Lives ended way too soon
Hiding under furniture
That’s set about the room
Waiting, and frightened
The children in the school
Hunkered down in terror
while a killers’ on the loose
Violence, defiance
Held by safeties grasp
Set off the alarms
To a somber aftermath
Seventeen dead,
Seventeen lives
Taken away
Bullets did fly
The crime of all crimes
Waged war on our youth
Not a single turned head
Shielding by the truth
Must we wait and see
Will it ever end
Guns on every street
Guns in every hand
Laws are not set in stone
Changes must be made
A backpack and an apple
Are no match for hand grenades.
Feb 17, 2018
Feb 17, 2018 at 10:03 PM UTC
The world paints an impossible portrait of love;
You are to reach into their life, convince them that
their heart is yours, show them your strength by holding it
aloft, treating it gently, but here we are made
of only flesh and blood, which may as well be mud,
And this we cannot maintain, the sweat and blood flow
And erosion of our minds eats away our strength,
The strain makes us squeeze, and the tears that roll down our face
are poison to that heart aloft, so heavy borne
And before we know it, we are floating, adrift,
Arm half-cocked trying to predict the tide, floating
In filth, a poison we’ve made, lies and hope and fear,
Sitting on a powder keg, match lit and flicking
We know, if we let go the pieces fall too far,
And the toxic pool will claim this precious thing, that
We always knew was ill deserved in the first place,
And our own poisoned fallen heart remembers well,
Someone once held it aloft and failed to protect,
But our strength wavers before we know what to do,
So darkness and retreat are the only safeties,
From this shameful wrath at fuses end and tides call.
But all is not lost, perhaps there is something more,
A way to dispel this fear and greed with courage,
With an honest answer to this truth confusing,
With love we can hold our own hearts to the heavens
Whenever we trust there is another out there,
Others with mud stacked high, scented with fading lies,
Still willing to put something deep inside them first,
And share it aloud, if only with just the one.
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 9:02 AM UTC
You got to have it you do you gotta
have it the unheard voices say so loud
we are what we eat garbage in garbage
out mind food everywhere drip drip drop
wearing away rock filling up oceans
high as a mountain deep as the sea we
are shaped and be a shape drip drip drop
unique and infinite snowflakes do not
even deserve to carry our baggage
humbly you sense it you consume it
and are a new being one molecule
at a time we go somewhere lead follow
or get shoved out of the way the world is
our private playground killing field heaven
we dream we control for safeties sake we
group bodies and souls together and live
and think and breathe synchronized tighter
than fish turn now into fortunate
circumstances with skilful means learned at the
knee of god awareness none other than
that which moves us sentient beings are
what i don't know how to exclude grass and
rocks from mind light pool wavy source of all
gravity wells included
Jun 1, 2016
Jun 1, 2016 at 12:36 PM UTC
The rain falls
Washing away illusions
Old "truths" shown to be flawed
Old "safeties" hiding a threat
Gone, the hidden threats of yesterday
The rain falls
Watering the foundations
For a new truth blooms
And new safeties shown
With the false securities gone
The sun shines
Burning away the lies
For they grow brittle
When shone under light of truth
Shattering at the slightest touch
The sun shines
Feeding the truth
The tulip-blossoms grow
More real as more time passes
Whilst under the revealing sun
A helicopter seed
Seemingly lifeless
Falls to the ground
Just to lie there
Abandoned without its twin
A helicopter seed
So full of life
Falls to the fertile soil
Waiting for the rain
To grow a maple strong
The old world
Shown to be flawed
Calcifies and shatters
Dissolves and washes away
Until only the true remains
The new world
A world progressing
Sends roots into the remains
Seeking out that dissolved truth
Letting a new world flourish
May 10, 2019
May 10, 2019 at 11:02 AM UTC
Escaping trachea
death rattle on my tongue
leaves a taste of vacancy;
can barely breathe,
these black lungs wheeze,
never sleep heavenly.
Born nakedly,
basic needs
became an aching grief;
never what it seems
no sanctions nor safeties,
all i achieve
is empty pleas.
Is it heresy
if a nightmare's just
how demons dream?
Hellaciously
faces scream
awakened by the smell of kerosene;
even atheist abomination,
disgraced and faithless,
keeps belief in satan
in this place of fiends.
May 1, 2023
May 1, 2023 at 3:35 PM UTC