"sanctimoniously" poems
Everyone dismisses me as insane,
But I am a prophet,
Profiting,
On the inane.
When I get lost in stargazing
My cup of cardamom chai
Configuring constellations of cream,
I pocket piping hot horoscopes
Right out of the tea kettle.
Remember --
I drink in the universe,
Sanctimoniously symbiotic.
So the next time I offer,
To read your tea leaves,
Left dried at the bottom of the cup,
Don't scoff me off,
Because what I do,
Is translate the universe's art.
Aug 8, 2013
Aug 8, 2013 at 10:22 PM UTC
I lose something in this home
I smile, you know? I smile with humans
No, that’s not it
I’m true when I’m hating my creations
And what is becoming of me
Oh, pity me bubbly
I’ll weep all the same
But it’s lousy
My concerns are lousy
Just a boy, a tinkerer
A boy
I’m lousy, man
Not pretty
Pretty lousy
Just hate myself. Purely. Sanctimoniously
Doctors were onto something
A grin introduces myopia
Lousy
Lousy concerns
I’m blessed; better by a margin, right?
I ought to hate meself with more pep in the step
And better teeth
God, I wish I didn’t look like this
How could you build me like this?
It’s funny, you know. I write about the cerebral complexities, those magnified things. I notice the film grains in my eye, but hey, I’m still a ***** to loneliness.
Man, you ought to be lonely!
The only difference between now and then is, that now I blame a God that I don’t believe in. I blame it and that for my misfortunes, the fact that luck is merely a word to me.
God, I want to die
Can you hear me? I seek it, I reek of it
I want to die
I’ve mulled over it with great wit and dexterity
I want to die
Stoicism
I want to die
It’s healthy; symbiotic
I want to die
So lonely
Wanna die
I just want to reach the zenith of the mind’s pataphysical eye, before
Before I die
Haven’t you heard?
I want to die
Cries for help are immature
I am not a child
I want to die
Oi, someone help, with this pulley!
I want to die
John’s my only friend
At one point, he was quite alright with dying
He’s been gone for a while
And I want to die
Oct 19, 2018
Oct 19, 2018 at 4:40 AM UTC
I watch the day gently bleed-out to night,
Its intangible essence descending deeper now history,
From the sun we run in darken cowered gloom,
Then gone, sanctimoniously conjuring forgotten mystery,
If only I could paint the sky green with agony,
Then regress and re-address its call to dark,
Or blue like the back of a postage stamp?
To arms we fly, to bed to death to disembark,
But it’s forgotten torment before we lie,
Ahead another morning again to wake alone,
Now spent fruit of a wasted liberal cleansing,
Walk the carpet, denounce fate; atone,
Welcome back the glow of life this day,
Beauty will bloom and bask in splendour beneath,
Disregard this treacherous luminescence,
For this right now, I lay one final wreath.
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 1:37 PM UTC
Forever O' Lord, Thy Word is established...
Never wavering like leaf tossed about in the wind;
But is steadfast to fulfill as accomplished,
That very purpose from the start it was designed.
But amidst the soul of the dead of the night,
Wolves in sheep clothing secretly crept into the fold;
Tares they sowed amongst the seeds of light,
Then nurtured their darkness until they became bold.
With words most sublime many they deceived,
Dressing the Word of God in coats of many colours;
Leading those who heeded and gladly received,
Astray from the Cross into the pathway of grandeur.
A den and refuge of thieves they recreated,
From sanctuaries once known as places of prayer...
Covetousness sanctimoniously consecrated,
From God's altars their incense engulfed every layer.
Their deeds ridiculed the righteousness of God,
That the holiness of this upright God is ill spoken of.
Yet at every street corner they cry "Lord, Lord!"
But these open display like the Pharisees aren't enough.
Quickly they forgot God can never be mocked,
But all will someday reap whatsoever evil they sowed...
Like weeds from Garden of Eden were plucked,
Surely shall they be cut and burned like ***** of old.
May 20, 2016
May 20, 2016 at 7:27 AM UTC
ain't it easy to do?
I know I do it too
the man with the contained smile
laughs
trapped bubbles surface the air as he
mocks the women on stage for calling themselves wildfires
as he sanctimoniously recites Dead Poets Society
seize the day, grab it by the throat and swallow it
drink the Latin into oblivion
hand reaching, stumbling, stalling, stop
I can’t go further
I weep eggshells for you to step on
The truth leaves residue like the
masochistic taste ******* leaves in your brain for days
trampled flowers left in a cackle
they’re right,
I don’t want to be a candlestick
the match is not needed because I’m not a ******* flame
There’s no use in burning
when will you understand?
just because the road is paved with knives
will not make your pain more tolerable
there could be a forest inferno in that chest of yours
for years, you could let it wallow and simmer
just to feel warm
but nothing will continue to grow
your angry resilience will be just that
angry
there’s a blaze of fury that you can start
a healing for those third degree burns
you so desperately cling to
because it’s better to be damaged goods than
fragile, vulnerable, a sensitive nerve
and I understand
but bathe in your own tears for a while
listen to the trickling of water from a bathtub call your name
kiss the rivers you know are capable of growing in you
flirt with the oceans that have missed your company
revel in the fact that you can be
delicate and equally dangerous
drink your water and know
that the poison will drain
and that the calm was meant to
hold you not rob you
Jun 14, 2017
Jun 14, 2017 at 6:49 PM UTC
Apparently I have no voice of my own
merely crowing sick imitations into the wee morning
moonlight as waves crash upon the beach
and I find myself in this ****** den of a room
again swallowing poison to drown my anxieties.
Is this really happening all around me
as colors start to blend and the one and
only Velvet Underground is pounding away
somewhere inside my seemingly mismatched head.
Run run run and type type type
cry cry cry and drink drink drink
**** **** **** and smoke smoke smoke
keep on keepin on and fake it till you make
it and eventually I'll wake up and realize
that all of this is just some childish acting out.
All this crap I call poetry, all this festering wound
of a single minded attempt at self validation
really and truly and unnecessarily is an attempt
for me to try and feel like a human being while slowly
inexorably slogging my way into a one armed knife
fight and all I've got is something that couldn't even
get it's **** hard enough to shoot that miserable
IED makin ******* in the face as he sanctimoniously deserved.
You wanna talk about real so then let's talk about real
lets dare some wannabe ********** to talk to my
pasty white *** about hard decisions and true to the
***** maxie pad core of human experience.
Call me a hipster and a beat while burning the pretty
marijuana fire that some use just as pervasively as others
drink while calling it medicine since it comes from a plant
but it's still a crutch unless you actually have cancer.
Maybe I am indeed just an angry kid fighting to find
a place in this metal shod ******* of a country
that we pray to like some slumbering god but
if that's the case than that is really what we all are
who live here and dare not take up the honest
trade of making molotov cocktails.
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 2:47 AM UTC
Willoughby is mad as hell... in 1940... Ooops...
WAR ... AND MORE...
Ever seen the letters W... A and R together before?
Oh yes... Anew not only those are making WAR.
Will that frequent horror ever pass?
That inexcusable "Thing" on Humanity’s ***
An everlasting incurable boil ghastly sore,
Oozing the worst of Humanity and more?
Constantly coming and going like the tide,
But when and where just a few decide.
People are masters of hate and grisly deed,
Never taught what is wanted might not be of need.
Power and ambition never ask permission,
Whilst irrational hate use provocation,
And millions of lives face elimination.
Eloquence and Hypocrisy firmly hand in hand,
We call Diplomacy... politicians understand.
Greed for power mortal weapons do invent,
And again from brave men in the skies,
More death and hellish horrors are sent,
As angels with devastating metal wings,
Abolish infinitely more than things…
Am I still asking is a God truly up there?
Guaranteed He is near and with many side,
Billions in His glory sanctimoniously hide.
Believed defended by forgiveness and love,
Many are blessed by a man Holier than Thou.
Wars good business throughout history,
Merciless souls hardly thought that a mystery.
Nothing was ever nailed unshakably tight,
Even souls are bought if the price is right.
Most never find meaning in being too meek,
For hardly anyone will turn the other cheek.
As for Humanity’s desperate, everlasting quest,
The God called Power was always the best.
There was never a War ending all that is War,
And just as the forgotten ones in times of yore,
Will you later give a **** what this one was for?
Yet dispensable battalions will always fight,
For pay, honor and what insisted is right.
Brave soldiers always proud not to complain,
Are heroes dying well in seas, mud and rain,
As one more profitable War must be won,
Still wonder… Why the hell all of it begun?
Willoughby
Christmas Eve 1940
Copyright©2013 by Kari M. Knutsen
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 11:50 PM UTC
Explain to me, dearest Muses, about dualism.
Yes, dualism, the light and dark, yin and yang,
contradictory nature of all us mere humans.
How is it, verily, that a man (or boy)
such as I, may keep a copy of Rumi
which I read from almost sanctimoniously,
yet also drink like a ***** Irish fiend,
spouting profanity thirty seconds
after writing a hymn?
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 11:18 PM UTC
she saw sea shell standalone,
shimering
sandy shore,
standing sentry,
solemn,
singing
sweet songs
sanctimoniously,
sharing soul,
spirits,
soothing silver skies,
stark sands,
silhouetted silence,
spanning sea swells,
sea stars,
sheltering
salted scenery,
seeing,
seeing self
Logan Robertson
12/1/17
Dec 1, 2017
Dec 1, 2017 at 8:25 PM UTC