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"sanctimony" poems
Listen my dear daughter, to my first song of caution Earmarked for you my wonderful sire, come and listen, That tall old man with white hair all over his head Standing over there is not good; he is gnomish in the mind Be careful with him, he is not human in the heart But a mermaid of Yoruba poetry, just like Thespis of Greece Even the pecuniary psychopomp of Sweden gave him an accolade His heart is selfishly full of avarice; he wants everything for himself, Don’t recite him any of your poetry, lest he spells an abyss Against your juvenile poetic talent, he will fool you with a gift; A white sheep or a scarlet goat for your birth day anniversary Please don’t take it or anything else from him, as nothing from him is genuine But only machinations of evil spell aimed at mahyeming your talent Finally to decimate your girlhood and life, this is my caution For you dear little African girl. Listen my dear little daughter, to my second song of caution That short man in a Muslim gear loafing yonder, is suspect The Muslim beret on his head is merely a smokescreen to aghastly behaviour He is in no way an avatar of god of love and humane piety He is a terrorist working with Boko Haram and Algaeda He is an Alshabab that is bombing young girls in Mombasa and Nairobi All over Kenya he has killed the young people; his long egret-white sari is not for holiness, It is merely a nefarious sanctum of grenades, other tools of work in terrorism trade His loudly prayers, body movements and pocket bursting monies are only a stunt To have you kidnapped into death conduit, once you goof to join his courts, His sanctimony is a total picaresque film, (s)heroes of terror the centerpiece And thus, this is my caution for you dear little African girl. Listen my dear daughter, to my third song of caution Those tourists thronging our streets are deadly *** pets, they also skulk **** Their handsome outlook is not a stamp to any good conscientiousness They derive pleasure from poverty and *** tourism; they yearn to see a girl in poverty, Often rarely will they help an African girl, out of milieu of beggarly squalorism, Instead they go straight for the purse between your thighs, Regardless of the legacy they leave out of this lewdness, they are showy, They regret not in their Byronic broadcast of *** and fatherless urchins in the poor streets Foundation for their further poverty tourism, this is my caution for you dear little African girl.
0
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 4:20 AM UTC
alexander-k-opicho
VERSES OF CAUTION TO AN AFRICAN GIRL
Listen my dear daughter, to my first song of caution Earmarked for you my wonderful sire, come and listen, That tall old man with white hair all over his head Standing over there is not good; he is gnomish in the mind Be careful with him, he is not human in the heart But a mermaid of Yoruba poetry, just like Thespis of Greece Even the pecuniary psychopomp of Sweden gave him an accolade His heart is selfishly full of avarice; he wants everything for himself, Don’t recite him any of your poetry, lest he spells an abyss Against your juvenile poetic talent, he will fool you with a gift; A white sheep or a scarlet goat for your birth day anniversary Please don’t take it or anything else from him, as nothing from him is genuine But only machinations of evil spell aimed at mahyeming your talent Finally to decimate your girlhood and life, this is my caution For you dear little African girl. Listen my dear little daughter, to my second song of caution That short man in a Muslim gear loafing yonder, is suspect The Muslim beret on his head is merely a smokescreen to aghastly behaviour He is in no way an avatar of god of love and humane piety He is a terrorist working with Boko Haram and Algaeda He is an Alshabab that is bombing young girls in Mombasa and Nairobi All over Kenya he has killed the young people; his long egret-white sari is not for holiness, It is merely a nefarious sanctum of grenades, other tools of work in terrorism trade His loudly prayers, body movements and pocket bursting monies are only a stunt To have you kidnapped into death conduit, once you goof to join his courts, His sanctimony is a total picaresque film, (s)heroes of terror the centerpiece And thus, this is my caution for you dear little African girl. Listen my dear daughter, to my third song of caution Those tourists thronging our streets are deadly *** pets, they also skulk **** Their handsome outlook is not a stamp to any good conscientiousness They derive pleasure from poverty and *** tourism; they yearn to see a girl in poverty, Often rarely will they help an African girl, out of milieu of beggarly squalorism, Instead they go straight for the purse between your thighs, Regardless of the legacy they leave out of this lewdness, they are showy, They regret not in their Byronic broadcast of *** and fatherless urchins in the poor streets Foundation for their further poverty tourism, this is my caution for you dear little African girl.
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36
Alexander K Opicho (Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected]) But I remain a believer in my ancestral religion Whose God is wele but not the Germany world, it is a religion, Like most of universal ancestral ones, With appalling moral threshold, When Elijah Masinde of dini ya Misambwa Despised those who condemned man as notoriously religious He meant human religious approach to life is absolute in nature However diverse religions compete for human ears Rich ones glorified in the luring away of modal ears But all are devoid of spiritual impetus Disappointing the progenitors of religious imperialism These short-cutters in matters of sanctimony Will not come to our heaven They will get me sharing a cup of tea With my sister- in-law; Mary, the mother of Jesus And I will shun them, I will not know them I will not invite them to a heavenly cup of tea They will be suffocated by cadaverous appetite, For we honor our religion with ancestral regard; The Faith of Our Ancestors But in ridicule they call us kaffirs, pagans, christo-pagans, Animists, atheists, gentiles, non-believers, mediumists, Rebellious rebels or whatsoever they call us; The anti-muhamedan-mis-christologists, Let them delude themselves, If they disparage us with sick contumely Abreast the dumbfounding development in sciences Plus so fortuitous humanistic awareness, Humanity in Religion has to adjust optimally Religious masters have to help Interpret the religious Books, bible, gita, quran All Written or verbalistically in the glory of epical orality In tandem with the best centered Life extant, Otherwise selfish religions becomes an old wine bag With its old and stale wine, You will persuade Russian carousers to drink But to your chagrin, none will condone, your stale wine Do not seek to sell your faith Because every human community Has an ancestral faith Respect them all for that is gods in their accolade of Omonipresecence, Any man or woman without religion is dangerous But do not advantagize yourselves At the expense of people of other faiths It is good you reciprocated Planet earth is our only sure and known abode If we lived well here, and there is another world For those who will be good, we hope the conclave of Gods Would all sit in judgment for their credit And reward those who helped humble humanity Of their religions as well as those of other religions As for all the Gods love humanists.
0
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 10:17 AM UTC
alexander-k-opicho
Echoing Taban Makitiyong Reneket Lo Liyong
Alexander K Opicho (Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected]) But I remain a believer in my ancestral religion Whose God is wele but not the Germany world, it is a religion, Like most of universal ancestral ones, With appalling moral threshold, When Elijah Masinde of dini ya Misambwa Despised those who condemned man as notoriously religious He meant human religious approach to life is absolute in nature However diverse religions compete for human ears Rich ones glorified in the luring away of modal ears But all are devoid of spiritual impetus Disappointing the progenitors of religious imperialism These short-cutters in matters of sanctimony Will not come to our heaven They will get me sharing a cup of tea With my sister- in-law; Mary, the mother of Jesus And I will shun them, I will not know them I will not invite them to a heavenly cup of tea They will be suffocated by cadaverous appetite, For we honor our religion with ancestral regard; The Faith of Our Ancestors But in ridicule they call us kaffirs, pagans, christo-pagans, Animists, atheists, gentiles, non-believers, mediumists, Rebellious rebels or whatsoever they call us; The anti-muhamedan-mis-christologists, Let them delude themselves, If they disparage us with sick contumely Abreast the dumbfounding development in sciences Plus so fortuitous humanistic awareness, Humanity in Religion has to adjust optimally Religious masters have to help Interpret the religious Books, bible, gita, quran All Written or verbalistically in the glory of epical orality In tandem with the best centered Life extant, Otherwise selfish religions becomes an old wine bag With its old and stale wine, You will persuade Russian carousers to drink But to your chagrin, none will condone, your stale wine Do not seek to sell your faith Because every human community Has an ancestral faith Respect them all for that is gods in their accolade of Omonipresecence, Any man or woman without religion is dangerous But do not advantagize yourselves At the expense of people of other faiths It is good you reciprocated Planet earth is our only sure and known abode If we lived well here, and there is another world For those who will be good, we hope the conclave of Gods Would all sit in judgment for their credit And reward those who helped humble humanity Of their religions as well as those of other religions As for all the Gods love humanists.
Continue reading...
56
Blue streaks shew across the sky. Manic days and semper fi. Red dawn smashes out the sea. Honor is all I claim to be. Though I love and feel like saintly. I reek, timorous, spineless and dainty. But I have no respect for you! Till we are in court, tried and true It was the world, the world of defeat. I planted my flag on a daisy and creek. On a light dominion of my summerhouse place. There sit, the lovely Welterman case. Weltermans family gathered in boon. Farewell to a daughter, a motherly loon. I killed her. There. I said it okay? But don't blame me, she was just in my way. On a cold summer day, and a hot summer night. Cicadas bizzled but hardly struck a fright. Daisy lay sleeping, sweet next to me. Leaving behind her unfinished dreams But lo and behold, an undertaker. Ruinous desire, I decided to take her. My confession means nothing, my killing, an iota. So love would not infect Alexander of Macedonia. Down the throat and across the sea. Of loquacious gelatinous sanctimony. I'll cut deep without thinking, I'll slash without aversion. Ophelia and her love is a tainted ********** I bathed in the blood and cried myself silly. She only deserved death, that ***** old filly. No more would Welterman reek of my sin. To lower a king, to a peasantly Tim.
0
Jan 18, 2017
Jan 18, 2017 at 2:59 AM UTC
Shiyahumi
Tims confession.
Blue streaks shew across the sky. Manic days and semper fi. Red dawn smashes out the sea. Honor is all I claim to be. Though I love and feel like saintly. I reek, timorous, spineless and dainty. But I have no respect for you! Till we are in court, tried and true It was the world, the world of defeat. I planted my flag on a daisy and creek. On a light dominion of my summerhouse place. There sit, the lovely Welterman case. Weltermans family gathered in boon. Farewell to a daughter, a motherly loon. I killed her. There. I said it okay? But don't blame me, she was just in my way. On a cold summer day, and a hot summer night. Cicadas bizzled but hardly struck a fright. Daisy lay sleeping, sweet next to me. Leaving behind her unfinished dreams But lo and behold, an undertaker. Ruinous desire, I decided to take her. My confession means nothing, my killing, an iota. So love would not infect Alexander of Macedonia. Down the throat and across the sea. Of loquacious gelatinous sanctimony. I'll cut deep without thinking, I'll slash without aversion. Ophelia and her love is a tainted ********** I bathed in the blood and cried myself silly. She only deserved death, that ***** old filly. No more would Welterman reek of my sin. To lower a king, to a peasantly Tim.
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32
“When people move-when they travel-they look at where 
they come from, not where they’re going.” -Martin Amis, *Time’s Arrow

* Let us now take this chance
 to praise those dancing demons 
of ambition, whose feigned clairvoyance 
of fortune and exactitudes of fame
 burn as the smell of smokey fallow 
to the new-retired mare.

 Travel, and all its takeoffs, 
all its energies in skidding towards
 an unopposed truth, makes its mince
 by outlining all we ever look for 
but leaving the chalkdust prints 
of what we fail, at first, to find.

 Yes, spaces contrary to the familiar exist Carnivore cities of grind and result
 cascaded above the floodwalls that save
 the vagrant’s midnight search.
 Coastal clearings of pacific civs,
 best kept secrets where trees are still planted
 and further kinds of nowhere that you never expected 
to simmer with all the prospects of bored and implacable youths 
who pine to efface the status quo, which ,after all, is quite the average, 
is quite like “HOME”

 Though I suppose, we eventually find 
whatever space can be considered our own
 when everyone grows up and stops 
pretending they read Burroughs, have a lot more going on, or are a lot less busy than they make out over infrequent coffee meetings (where it is also admitted
 that they brew their own hot beverages, or tell their own jokes)
 Somewhere in the near-space continuum where Travel has 
become for us what essentially differentiates the commonplace in nature from 
that most human of neuroses,
 the acceptance of a willing to improve the conditional.

 And so to Ambition, and its fiery fops who make us refute 
steadiness, accountability, the routine of the resolute
 Who let our ships of sanctimony attack 
implied with the luxury of steering back.
0
Apr 2, 2013
Apr 2, 2013 at 5:29 PM UTC
westley-barnes
Of Exit Strategies and Their Ilk
“When people move-when they travel-they look at where 
they come from, not where they’re going.” -Martin Amis, *Time’s Arrow

* Let us now take this chance
 to praise those dancing demons 
of ambition, whose feigned clairvoyance 
of fortune and exactitudes of fame
 burn as the smell of smokey fallow 
to the new-retired mare.

 Travel, and all its takeoffs, 
all its energies in skidding towards
 an unopposed truth, makes its mince
 by outlining all we ever look for 
but leaving the chalkdust prints 
of what we fail, at first, to find.

 Yes, spaces contrary to the familiar exist Carnivore cities of grind and result
 cascaded above the floodwalls that save
 the vagrant’s midnight search.
 Coastal clearings of pacific civs,
 best kept secrets where trees are still planted
 and further kinds of nowhere that you never expected 
to simmer with all the prospects of bored and implacable youths 
who pine to efface the status quo, which ,after all, is quite the average, 
is quite like “HOME”

 Though I suppose, we eventually find 
whatever space can be considered our own
 when everyone grows up and stops 
pretending they read Burroughs, have a lot more going on, or are a lot less busy than they make out over infrequent coffee meetings (where it is also admitted
 that they brew their own hot beverages, or tell their own jokes)
 Somewhere in the near-space continuum where Travel has 
become for us what essentially differentiates the commonplace in nature from 
that most human of neuroses,
 the acceptance of a willing to improve the conditional.

 And so to Ambition, and its fiery fops who make us refute 
steadiness, accountability, the routine of the resolute
 Who let our ships of sanctimony attack 
implied with the luxury of steering back.
Continue reading...
40
***Book One (∞The Psalm of The Star Child∞) The Precursor's Psalm I-V To the Child of The Empyrean. For ye valleity stars shine. (I) ―En Fortissimo 1 Tender with sentimentality, I fathom you, 2 That you draw closer, nigh’ with every waking moment, Closer to ensconce ‘twixt my embrace, 3 That your towering arms May aegis these benighted bones. 4 The Vestibule of Our Souls shall be Assoiled by an Arcadian Eternity, 5 Shall scintillate in my every blooded tear, shed garnetiferously, ―Upon my crucifix, our crucifix: 6 A penance, pardoning our transgressions prognostically Before by romance, we touched erringly. (Se'lah) (II) Celestial Communion 1 O, Star Child, May your beckoning 2 Sow the Seeds of Somnus upon the sanctimony Festering in my faith, 3 (A besmirched hope) Tarnished by my reverenc’d doubt. 4 O Minstrel of Manumission, Will ye sing unto me ye SoulSong? 5 The Womb’d Aethers bleed, The Terraqueous Mother conceives, Gaian a dream, 6 Her Luminous Brethren yearn For the Arbiter of Fates. (Se'lah) (III) Song of Wishes 1 Velleity speaks, It whispers, 2 In the twinkling of the stars. When shall it end, 3 When It has yet to begin? 4 Be still― and become one with all things, As time fades, consciousness begins, 5 The Experiential Cascade: All that was, all that is, & all that shall be, 6 Circular & Cycling, Forevermore. 7 Know that there is a reason, Know that there is a place, 8 Know that there is a person, In this world for you. 9 Open up your heart and see, All you were meant to see. (Se'lah). (IV) Spiritus de Tempus (Zeitgeist of the Future) 1 ―Blooming in Reminiscence The Dreamscape glistens, 2 A Redolent Reverie wafts The Tenuous Air amidst 3 Her Zephry'd Lightwaves & Crystalline Pulsations. 4 Ardently I pine, For thine visage, groping for a rhyme, 5 Whence I can gaze once more upon thine Countenance sublime, 6 All desperations been defied, For thee I reverberate Love, The Spirit of the Times. (Se'lah) (V) Bastion Heart 1 The agony in existentiality Unravels undying piety 2 And Cloistered in cadence of solitude, 3 I, the Somnolent One, Am roused by The Heart’s Resonance. 4 In wanting, there is life, In desirelessness, wanting still, 5 Know thine Power, Indomitable Will: 6 The Couer & The Amour of the Spirit Are immortal. (Se'lah)***
0
May 19, 2019
May 19, 2019 at 8:05 AM UTC
sandersmauricefoulkeiii
The Precursor's Psalms, Book One, Chapters I-V: The Psalms of The Star Child (Originally Written on Saturday, May 18th, 2019)
***Book One (∞The Psalm of The Star Child∞) The Precursor's Psalm I-V To the Child of The Empyrean. For ye valleity stars shine. (I) ―En Fortissimo 1 Tender with sentimentality, I fathom you, 2 That you draw closer, nigh’ with every waking moment, Closer to ensconce ‘twixt my embrace, 3 That your towering arms May aegis these benighted bones. 4 The Vestibule of Our Souls shall be Assoiled by an Arcadian Eternity, 5 Shall scintillate in my every blooded tear, shed garnetiferously, ―Upon my crucifix, our crucifix: 6 A penance, pardoning our transgressions prognostically Before by romance, we touched erringly. (Se'lah) (II) Celestial Communion 1 O, Star Child, May your beckoning 2 Sow the Seeds of Somnus upon the sanctimony Festering in my faith, 3 (A besmirched hope) Tarnished by my reverenc’d doubt. 4 O Minstrel of Manumission, Will ye sing unto me ye SoulSong? 5 The Womb’d Aethers bleed, The Terraqueous Mother conceives, Gaian a dream, 6 Her Luminous Brethren yearn For the Arbiter of Fates. (Se'lah) (III) Song of Wishes 1 Velleity speaks, It whispers, 2 In the twinkling of the stars. When shall it end, 3 When It has yet to begin? 4 Be still― and become one with all things, As time fades, consciousness begins, 5 The Experiential Cascade: All that was, all that is, & all that shall be, 6 Circular & Cycling, Forevermore. 7 Know that there is a reason, Know that there is a place, 8 Know that there is a person, In this world for you. 9 Open up your heart and see, All you were meant to see. (Se'lah). (IV) Spiritus de Tempus (Zeitgeist of the Future) 1 ―Blooming in Reminiscence The Dreamscape glistens, 2 A Redolent Reverie wafts The Tenuous Air amidst 3 Her Zephry'd Lightwaves & Crystalline Pulsations. 4 Ardently I pine, For thine visage, groping for a rhyme, 5 Whence I can gaze once more upon thine Countenance sublime, 6 All desperations been defied, For thee I reverberate Love, The Spirit of the Times. (Se'lah) (V) Bastion Heart 1 The agony in existentiality Unravels undying piety 2 And Cloistered in cadence of solitude, 3 I, the Somnolent One, Am roused by The Heart’s Resonance. 4 In wanting, there is life, In desirelessness, wanting still, 5 Know thine Power, Indomitable Will: 6 The Couer & The Amour of the Spirit Are immortal. (Se'lah)***
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80
I've shut down so completely it's profound and I've now lost touch with reality What I want to be and what I'll never be eventually co-mingle and become one entity The blasphemy, the phony sanctimony and hypocrisy blast from me I try awkwardly to juggle all three, run 'em up the flag pole, wait and see Hear ye, hear ye...another blunder here for your amusement, come see Woe is me! An empty plea for pity ******* by a request to be put out of my misery It's plane to see, at least by me, that I'm my own worst enemy, I'm no friend to me Bad karma stacks rapidly atop the early onset of senility Losing my mind was an inevitability but that was my only company ...now it's only me... The notion that behind every smile you'll find your happy is, in it's self, a fallacy ©2023
0
Dec 13, 2023
Dec 13, 2023 at 6:23 PM UTC
bettsjc187
~•§•~ I'm No Friend to Me ~•§•~
I've shut down so completely it's profound and I've now lost touch with reality What I want to be and what I'll never be eventually co-mingle and become one entity The blasphemy, the phony sanctimony and hypocrisy blast from me I try awkwardly to juggle all three, run 'em up the flag pole, wait and see Hear ye, hear ye...another blunder here for your amusement, come see Woe is me! An empty plea for pity ******* by a request to be put out of my misery It's plane to see, at least by me, that I'm my own worst enemy, I'm no friend to me Bad karma stacks rapidly atop the early onset of senility Losing my mind was an inevitability but that was my only company ...now it's only me... The notion that behind every smile you'll find your happy is, in it's self, a fallacy ©2023
Continue reading...
12
I saved my sanity. Wandering, lost in Chiang Mai. The Child, bewildered, At all the greatest treasures. Yet a map had not revealed The back-alleys, hidden between gazes. In the weave of foreign air, There lies a curious urge To explore. Pondering. You took me around, Aimless at cause, but Genuine in eagerness. You smile speaks in stars. Taking in the blue jar, Laughter over mind. Thinking in balance, The necessity in fun: Every story, an adventure, Every sip, diving deeper, Every shot, poetic. All in days of conversation. Yet, what lies in fatal attraction, Pulling me towards you. Your state of mind; Your insecurities, your imperfections. You were lost too. Life had not yet reveal The answer to your questions, and You stand in frustration, without The sanctimony of Comfort. Let me add to yours. Would you take my hand? Share this journey with me, as I give you The chance to find your pursuit? Maybe, just maybe. We'll have the end in Chiang Mai.
0
Mar 26, 2017
Mar 26, 2017 at 8:22 PM UTC
narmonsea
Lost in Chiang Mai.
I saved my sanity. Wandering, lost in Chiang Mai. The Child, bewildered, At all the greatest treasures. Yet a map had not revealed The back-alleys, hidden between gazes. In the weave of foreign air, There lies a curious urge To explore. Pondering. You took me around, Aimless at cause, but Genuine in eagerness. You smile speaks in stars. Taking in the blue jar, Laughter over mind. Thinking in balance, The necessity in fun: Every story, an adventure, Every sip, diving deeper, Every shot, poetic. All in days of conversation. Yet, what lies in fatal attraction, Pulling me towards you. Your state of mind; Your insecurities, your imperfections. You were lost too. Life had not yet reveal The answer to your questions, and You stand in frustration, without The sanctimony of Comfort. Let me add to yours. Would you take my hand? Share this journey with me, as I give you The chance to find your pursuit? Maybe, just maybe. We'll have the end in Chiang Mai.
Continue reading...
38
Welcome to the world of the soothing mind We have achieved everything once considered impossible We love our neighbors We fight no wars We possess no weapons We will not achieve full spectrum dominance We are sane We ask for nothing We give everything You ask where is this world? I say you are standing on it But how can this be For none of the things I say could possibly be true Oh but they are Because a dreamer can take you there I just need one person And it will become not about me But instead it will be about we And in it my daughter will laugh As she did today But instead of celebrating a moment We will celebrate her life And the life of your daughter And your son And mine We have achieved these things And it is because we dare to think that way We do not accept the values of the material world Nothing is for sale Because what is priceless cannot be sold It belongs to everyone It is holy It is shared It is loved by all And possessed by none You won’t have to beg It will be giving You won’t have to cry It will be comforting You won’t have to hide It will be liberating You won’t have to wonder It will be revealing You won’t have to conform It will be accepting You won’t have to pretend It will be real There will be a day when you believe in what I say But you may think you already believe these things That you don’t need to be told of what is good But do you believe these things? Or do you believe in someone? Or something? Are you ready to live believing Or die deceiving? Are you ready to live naively? Or die cynically? Are you ready to live with a dream Or die with a scream? It may take one hundred years A century But I’m not waiting I can’t I will dead long before then So I will live where I want to live And it will be wherever I walk It will be wherever I work It will be wherever I sleep There will be no consideration of money It is about being honest There will be no spin There will be no pretend I may not be shrewd I may not be clever But that is because I do not think that way There is nothing to calculate There is nothing to manage There is no solution There is no opportunity There is no ethic related to money that exists Because being true is what this world is about And the light of this world shines on my children For they will know their father And he will NOT teach them how to take advantage of people He will NOT teach them how to lie when lying is accepted He will NOT teach them how to be comfortable with sanctimony He will NOT teach them to display their ego in their every utterance He will teach them to understand that those who only think of money Can never their friend What can you give up for honesty? What can you give up for empathy? What can you give up for sincerity? What can you give up for integrity? For what you leave at the door to paradise will disappear from your mind If you can only believe that nothing is everything If you can only believe that what is inside is the only thing If you can only believe that who you are is not what you bring If you can only believe that the world that could never exist is shining But can you see what is before you? Or can you only see what man has taught you to see? What man has taught you to believe About the failings of everyone About the lies of commerce About the desires of the flesh About the worth of destruction Yes Welcome to the world of the soothing mind Put down your sword Be who you are Let them be who they are Because only love can be everything to everyone For every color Has a heart And every color Has a heart And every color Has a heart And this is all that is to be known And when this is known Then every heart will know Of every heart And then you will know Of what I speak
0
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 4:11 PM UTC
mark-lecuona
The Soothing Mind
Welcome to the world of the soothing mind We have achieved everything once considered impossible We love our neighbors We fight no wars We possess no weapons We will not achieve full spectrum dominance We are sane We ask for nothing We give everything You ask where is this world? I say you are standing on it But how can this be For none of the things I say could possibly be true Oh but they are Because a dreamer can take you there I just need one person And it will become not about me But instead it will be about we And in it my daughter will laugh As she did today But instead of celebrating a moment We will celebrate her life And the life of your daughter And your son And mine We have achieved these things And it is because we dare to think that way We do not accept the values of the material world Nothing is for sale Because what is priceless cannot be sold It belongs to everyone It is holy It is shared It is loved by all And possessed by none You won’t have to beg It will be giving You won’t have to cry It will be comforting You won’t have to hide It will be liberating You won’t have to wonder It will be revealing You won’t have to conform It will be accepting You won’t have to pretend It will be real There will be a day when you believe in what I say But you may think you already believe these things That you don’t need to be told of what is good But do you believe these things? Or do you believe in someone? Or something? Are you ready to live believing Or die deceiving? Are you ready to live naively? Or die cynically? Are you ready to live with a dream Or die with a scream? It may take one hundred years A century But I’m not waiting I can’t I will dead long before then So I will live where I want to live And it will be wherever I walk It will be wherever I work It will be wherever I sleep There will be no consideration of money It is about being honest There will be no spin There will be no pretend I may not be shrewd I may not be clever But that is because I do not think that way There is nothing to calculate There is nothing to manage There is no solution There is no opportunity There is no ethic related to money that exists Because being true is what this world is about And the light of this world shines on my children For they will know their father And he will NOT teach them how to take advantage of people He will NOT teach them how to lie when lying is accepted He will NOT teach them how to be comfortable with sanctimony He will NOT teach them to display their ego in their every utterance He will teach them to understand that those who only think of money Can never their friend What can you give up for honesty? What can you give up for empathy? What can you give up for sincerity? What can you give up for integrity? For what you leave at the door to paradise will disappear from your mind If you can only believe that nothing is everything If you can only believe that what is inside is the only thing If you can only believe that who you are is not what you bring If you can only believe that the world that could never exist is shining But can you see what is before you? Or can you only see what man has taught you to see? What man has taught you to believe About the failings of everyone About the lies of commerce About the desires of the flesh About the worth of destruction Yes Welcome to the world of the soothing mind Put down your sword Be who you are Let them be who they are Because only love can be everything to everyone For every color Has a heart And every color Has a heart And every color Has a heart And this is all that is to be known And when this is known Then every heart will know Of every heart And then you will know Of what I speak
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123
Never let anyone tell you How ****** up a person is Pointing at Her or Him At them or here with Disdain dressed To look like despair God damns the Sanctimony of fools Black robes Far worse for the wear Let em point at me I have not a care Because just like them I am Jack the Ripper.    I am St. Paul I sifted salt with Ghandi And I slit throats with King Saul I am the ****** Mary I hear the knocking on my door   It may just be the neighbor A fiend looking to fix me Or to score.   Either way We’ve all been here Countless times maybe more Its eternity that's calling   Remember living forever? Before you were ever born? I've offered every solace I've mended every fall   I’ve turned the other cheek And the pious broke my jaw My work here is near done And trust me I had a ball     So shed not a tear Nor curse me to befall       For soon you will be me And I will be you all.
0
Feb 22, 2019
Feb 22, 2019 at 6:17 AM UTC
GeniousHChrist
You are All
Never let anyone tell you How ****** up a person is Pointing at Her or Him At them or here with Disdain dressed To look like despair God damns the Sanctimony of fools Black robes Far worse for the wear Let em point at me I have not a care Because just like them I am Jack the Ripper.    I am St. Paul I sifted salt with Ghandi And I slit throats with King Saul I am the ****** Mary I hear the knocking on my door   It may just be the neighbor A fiend looking to fix me Or to score.   Either way We’ve all been here Countless times maybe more Its eternity that's calling   Remember living forever? Before you were ever born? I've offered every solace I've mended every fall   I’ve turned the other cheek And the pious broke my jaw My work here is near done And trust me I had a ball     So shed not a tear Nor curse me to befall       For soon you will be me And I will be you all.
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37
yes, breathing filth hurts we've known it far too well for comfort ; clogged hearts / this is not opposites attract but polar sames — you scrub your hands for the sixty seventh time this week and i scrub your footprints off the bedroom floor with ritual sanctimony — the house reeks of turpentine but it's the smell of c l e a n / yes, it goes just like this the repeating loop of a washing machine ; mirror stains .
0
Sep 6, 2018
Sep 6, 2018 at 8:04 PM UTC
parledor
white spirit
yes, breathing filth hurts we've known it far too well for comfort ; clogged hearts / this is not opposites attract but polar sames — you scrub your hands for the sixty seventh time this week and i scrub your footprints off the bedroom floor with ritual sanctimony — the house reeks of turpentine but it's the smell of c l e a n / yes, it goes just like this the repeating loop of a washing machine ; mirror stains .
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19
I know you All of you You the spores The tendrils The green shoots of a mighty tree I know you The perpetually in-the-back-ground Those wallflowers Silent spectators Standing as character foils to the revolution The anti-rebels The sedentary I know you The viciously unchanging I have seen you I have felt your inert presence Your supreme lack of influence Your defining apathy Your ignominious existence And your abhorrent sanctimony Yes, I have been one of you But I have grown from you And I hope to, by my mere existence Prove That you are not permanent That something can become of you Because, as I have said I was you But now I am not.
0
Jun 9, 2011
Jun 9, 2011 at 6:46 PM UTC
rev-tiernan-orourke
I know you
I know you All of you You the spores The tendrils The green shoots of a mighty tree I know you The perpetually in-the-back-ground Those wallflowers Silent spectators Standing as character foils to the revolution The anti-rebels The sedentary I know you The viciously unchanging I have seen you I have felt your inert presence Your supreme lack of influence Your defining apathy Your ignominious existence And your abhorrent sanctimony Yes, I have been one of you But I have grown from you And I hope to, by my mere existence Prove That you are not permanent That something can become of you Because, as I have said I was you But now I am not.
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30
Construct your steel fortress To keep the sanctimony, Stones, and bottles from causing More damage than the message they carry. Chain your armoured Land Rovers Around the outlying mobs Just as the Holy Cross kids chained Daisies to hang 'round their necks. Don your plastic faces to match Your plastic shields and be sure Never to forget your baton, bias or bitterness Lest you be left vulnerable or human. Load your guns with rubber And only pull triggers when provoked To be absolutely clear just when it's Okay to open fire on a child. Hold your faith in your palm, Grip it tight every chance you get For it will guide you through the Nightmares -- ones in which you'll soon feature. "Great peace have they who love your law, and nothing can make them stumble."
0
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 2:39 PM UTC
leigh321f
Orders Come From The Top
Construct your steel fortress To keep the sanctimony, Stones, and bottles from causing More damage than the message they carry. Chain your armoured Land Rovers Around the outlying mobs Just as the Holy Cross kids chained Daisies to hang 'round their necks. Don your plastic faces to match Your plastic shields and be sure Never to forget your baton, bias or bitterness Lest you be left vulnerable or human. Load your guns with rubber And only pull triggers when provoked To be absolutely clear just when it's Okay to open fire on a child. Hold your faith in your palm, Grip it tight every chance you get For it will guide you through the Nightmares -- ones in which you'll soon feature. "Great peace have they who love your law, and nothing can make them stumble."
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22
Once, just once before, I sang the song of sorrows- the song that cracks the eyes and breaks the sanctimony of lips.
0
Sep 19, 2013
Sep 19, 2013 at 11:37 AM UTC
ObadiahGrey
"- homunculus of grief -"
Once, just once before, I sang the song of sorrows- the song that cracks the eyes and breaks the sanctimony of lips.
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6
oh **** i missed a spot on the wall, i painted my face instead: any creases or wrinkles apparent? ex hominem... that’s related to a universal person, the whole notion: wouldn’t you? that’s the paradox contra ad hominem - for it to be true you'd need to be a universal person in a universal scenario... but since you're a particular person in a particular scenario... we're meddling in untracked territory of freedom... the freedom that's not coupled to doubt but the freedom that's coupled to denial... and here come the priests saying the former is evil... and the latter good... bigots and sheep ******** the whole lot of them who mumble prayer but can't tell you directions to the library for the anti-climax of monday's sanctimony, of tuesday's operatic tabernacle, to wednesday's: the cure's friday night i'm in love, to fatty thursday not using pancakes... to one good friday where the crucifixion is not repeated using actors and the audience of shadows... to saturday the day of binge drinking... to sunday when lucifer said the words: i illuminate turning helium into hydrogen and not turning the new testament into the old testament... to the remnant first monday after: eye for an eye... i won't take your money to spare you... keep that filth with you - buy yourself a parrot... or a labrador... i won't take this "adequate compensation" not one bit... better me bitterer on the street or as a satanic sacrifice... take it with you... i'll have my eye for an eye in the realm to come; good sir... it would be counter-intuitive otherwise... it would go against newtonian physics to be recompensed with money rather than an undamaged brain.
0
Nov 13, 2015
Nov 13, 2015 at 8:51 PM UTC
removed.polaroid-scrabble
optional face-paint
oh **** i missed a spot on the wall, i painted my face instead: any creases or wrinkles apparent? ex hominem... that’s related to a universal person, the whole notion: wouldn’t you? that’s the paradox contra ad hominem - for it to be true you'd need to be a universal person in a universal scenario... but since you're a particular person in a particular scenario... we're meddling in untracked territory of freedom... the freedom that's not coupled to doubt but the freedom that's coupled to denial... and here come the priests saying the former is evil... and the latter good... bigots and sheep ******** the whole lot of them who mumble prayer but can't tell you directions to the library for the anti-climax of monday's sanctimony, of tuesday's operatic tabernacle, to wednesday's: the cure's friday night i'm in love, to fatty thursday not using pancakes... to one good friday where the crucifixion is not repeated using actors and the audience of shadows... to saturday the day of binge drinking... to sunday when lucifer said the words: i illuminate turning helium into hydrogen and not turning the new testament into the old testament... to the remnant first monday after: eye for an eye... i won't take your money to spare you... keep that filth with you - buy yourself a parrot... or a labrador... i won't take this "adequate compensation" not one bit... better me bitterer on the street or as a satanic sacrifice... take it with you... i'll have my eye for an eye in the realm to come; good sir... it would be counter-intuitive otherwise... it would go against newtonian physics to be recompensed with money rather than an undamaged brain.
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42
A time had come, where everything stood frozen like ice. And the warmth of the beating heart grew cold. A smile cut on everyone’s face Whilst sadness frozen in eyne Hypocrisy carved in minds And realization hidden in hearts. I walked around in the land of loneliness Surrounded by imitations of friends. The love I once knew, Became the reason for the hollowness inside me. The silence I once despised, Became my only hope for the truth to return. The souls with age turned shapeless. I waited...And waited. I shut my eyes as I knew deep within I was one of them, I feared the verity of life. The frozen silence was cracked by a thought of rectitude. One thought was all it took as it spread like fire, Melting all false virtues. The time had changed, as now it had the momentum of fire. A thought was all it took. To release the heart from its numbness. A thought was all it took to end all sanctimony.
0
Feb 20, 2014
Feb 20, 2014 at 1:49 PM UTC
prisha-sinha
The Land of Loneliness and Deception.
A time had come, where everything stood frozen like ice. And the warmth of the beating heart grew cold. A smile cut on everyone’s face Whilst sadness frozen in eyne Hypocrisy carved in minds And realization hidden in hearts. I walked around in the land of loneliness Surrounded by imitations of friends. The love I once knew, Became the reason for the hollowness inside me. The silence I once despised, Became my only hope for the truth to return. The souls with age turned shapeless. I waited...And waited. I shut my eyes as I knew deep within I was one of them, I feared the verity of life. The frozen silence was cracked by a thought of rectitude. One thought was all it took as it spread like fire, Melting all false virtues. The time had changed, as now it had the momentum of fire. A thought was all it took. To release the heart from its numbness. A thought was all it took to end all sanctimony.
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24
Oh beau Didst thou giveth thy queen thine hand in marriage? Or still seeketh thy holy sanctimony? Belittled her thou did, Gaveth her vinegar for water And canker for bliss What didst thou miss? Didn't get on hands and knees, Thou art no king, A frog from devils thorn!!! Thou lusted other babes Thou ****** the milk of saddened parade And gleathed at paramount illness.. Unwilling nit!!!! Thou made a beast of her, Thyself canst sleep for sure For thine eyes will be ravaged from worldly apparel... Dog of carols!!!! Her optimism thou hath made pessimistic, Thy mouth was shut, not all gifted As her yen thou hath made a clown!!! Eagerly loud... Thy papyrus is now unmanaged Thou art a glutton of ****** malice, For thou hath despised her crying sheeks!!! Thy perception is immodestly bleached!!! BOGUS CASSANOVA!!!!
0
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 10:39 PM UTC
brandon-nagley
Beau of backchurch pew...
Oh beau Didst thou giveth thy queen thine hand in marriage? Or still seeketh thy holy sanctimony? Belittled her thou did, Gaveth her vinegar for water And canker for bliss What didst thou miss? Didn't get on hands and knees, Thou art no king, A frog from devils thorn!!! Thou lusted other babes Thou ****** the milk of saddened parade And gleathed at paramount illness.. Unwilling nit!!!! Thou made a beast of her, Thyself canst sleep for sure For thine eyes will be ravaged from worldly apparel... Dog of carols!!!! Her optimism thou hath made pessimistic, Thy mouth was shut, not all gifted As her yen thou hath made a clown!!! Eagerly loud... Thy papyrus is now unmanaged Thou art a glutton of ****** malice, For thou hath despised her crying sheeks!!! Thy perception is immodestly bleached!!! BOGUS CASSANOVA!!!!
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27
They are officials of the state religion They don’t have Muhammad or Jesus in the piety, But the tentacles of their filthy sink deep Into the placental matrix of the revolving state The crudeness and repugnance of their faith Obviously and deeply funded by the state coffer From the jeopardized tax payers, Managed by their blameless adherent son Nourishing all with absolute power To put poor sons of the soil on the coffle In nemesis for their contrasted sanctimony Down to the common grave of seven men.
0
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 8:33 AM UTC
alexander-k-opicho
SEVEN MEN ON THE COFFLE FOR THE GRAVE
They are officials of the state religion They don’t have Muhammad or Jesus in the piety, But the tentacles of their filthy sink deep Into the placental matrix of the revolving state The crudeness and repugnance of their faith Obviously and deeply funded by the state coffer From the jeopardized tax payers, Managed by their blameless adherent son Nourishing all with absolute power To put poor sons of the soil on the coffle In nemesis for their contrasted sanctimony Down to the common grave of seven men.
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12
My loathy love what lour has riddled thee of sense and sanctimony? It was this dreary azure was it not, or was it that you’ve grown cognizant, finally, o finally of the vastness of this existence But so fall not lovely for to tether you back is but a task as I to lift suns Take me with you if you dare, I plead you dare...your company is to the rotundity of the pith of my being.., For how long can this sanctity hold? Held high thy highness not man nor a maid but a distant spirit...but a distant spirit
0
Dec 30, 2017
Dec 30, 2017 at 7:55 PM UTC
jeffmoneysparks
Untitled
My loathy love what lour has riddled thee of sense and sanctimony? It was this dreary azure was it not, or was it that you’ve grown cognizant, finally, o finally of the vastness of this existence But so fall not lovely for to tether you back is but a task as I to lift suns Take me with you if you dare, I plead you dare...your company is to the rotundity of the pith of my being.., For how long can this sanctity hold? Held high thy highness not man nor a maid but a distant spirit...but a distant spirit
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6
Venerate propriety Blithe society Merger of varieties (Saccharine penchant) Tis, For the queen didst I mention?
0
Jun 5, 2015
Jun 5, 2015 at 11:36 AM UTC
brandon-nagley
Merger sanctimony
Venerate propriety Blithe society Merger of varieties (Saccharine penchant) Tis, For the queen didst I mention?
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6
Gin soaked parchment paper, robbed of words wrung red from split fingernails guiding, sliding back and fro to the irrhythm of distended lobes misfiring a useless tome, of uninteresting characters and the sun that burns them crisp, their lips tiring cigarettes in the candy dish the southerners, wrenching wrists about their red clay alleys, the tinted beer glass stashing tobacco juice their words playing loose with the sanctimony of animals, raccoon paws and muskodine snaps and the rusting 1953 Crosley metal lawn chair rocking away the synapse.
0
Jul 28, 2016
Jul 28, 2016 at 3:38 PM UTC
robert-c-ellis
Bobby Pin
Gin soaked parchment paper, robbed of words wrung red from split fingernails guiding, sliding back and fro to the irrhythm of distended lobes misfiring a useless tome, of uninteresting characters and the sun that burns them crisp, their lips tiring cigarettes in the candy dish the southerners, wrenching wrists about their red clay alleys, the tinted beer glass stashing tobacco juice their words playing loose with the sanctimony of animals, raccoon paws and muskodine snaps and the rusting 1953 Crosley metal lawn chair rocking away the synapse.
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12
well, **** me, it's like being awake for about a week... minding a ******* ONION! dos' doss                 a'tt even qualify?! the fuck's the rest? a **** all peel? come 'oney, 'ome sanctimony? your crew?! 'ucking scouse: your m'ah-f'ah a bitch-schoot... your mam'aha complete **** so y'eer mam'ah a **** good to know... no i know what to **** in public! fucking wanker industry 'abric! you don't get away with slav playing out the **** blondine boy! yo, ******* rat racing ******** riddle a ******** attempt at a 'ackney pristine! piece of doit! ever e'ten raw onions in liver'poi and not at eton ******* whimp-e-mister?! m'ah nye-i-ever... maroccon delight! god to love the arab incubators! little people do such marvels! clean windows... take out of garbage... talk **** a society like a ******* mirage! and am i the one to fear death? can't see it coming, meaning: can it come much sooner?! white boy a shrimp feeding factory... sometimes the odd toiling shed, and tool... you ever manage to see a cow being towed into A SLAUGHTERHOUSE?! no? you haven't exactly been born... have you? you know what's funny... gypsy prostitutes... they're not sure whether to associate with romanians or bulgarians... can't tell the difference... but i have one clue incission: blyat' suka! pizdetz! these women are certainly not either romanian, nor bulgarian... but they know one word equivalent of using bulgar... jebać pizde! in cyrillic... becauase arabic tongue translates back into an orthodox of the fathom of body? nice to know... that a bowtie isn't tied according to such grimace of: expectancy... or anticipating a welcome drought... to later attire donning a tuxedo... but that is but a half, and hardly a future... and what truth is, history regurgitates as nought... with the nought being a tomorrow... and the subsequence of history, being a far removed yesterday... and yesterday, being a history, with a tomorrow that simply can't exist! as neither did dinosaurs... with crocodiles... but then: again... who among arab minds this to be more concerning, than the perfect eyebrows of an arab woman driving a car.... and whatever buzzfeed ushers out from its *******
0
Jun 24, 2018
Jun 24, 2018 at 10:43 PM UTC
removed.polaroid-scrabble
onions in liverpool!
well, **** me, it's like being awake for about a week... minding a ******* ONION! dos' doss                 a'tt even qualify?! the fuck's the rest? a **** all peel? come 'oney, 'ome sanctimony? your crew?! 'ucking scouse: your m'ah-f'ah a bitch-schoot... your mam'aha complete **** so y'eer mam'ah a **** good to know... no i know what to **** in public! fucking wanker industry 'abric! you don't get away with slav playing out the **** blondine boy! yo, ******* rat racing ******** riddle a ******** attempt at a 'ackney pristine! piece of doit! ever e'ten raw onions in liver'poi and not at eton ******* whimp-e-mister?! m'ah nye-i-ever... maroccon delight! god to love the arab incubators! little people do such marvels! clean windows... take out of garbage... talk **** a society like a ******* mirage! and am i the one to fear death? can't see it coming, meaning: can it come much sooner?! white boy a shrimp feeding factory... sometimes the odd toiling shed, and tool... you ever manage to see a cow being towed into A SLAUGHTERHOUSE?! no? you haven't exactly been born... have you? you know what's funny... gypsy prostitutes... they're not sure whether to associate with romanians or bulgarians... can't tell the difference... but i have one clue incission: blyat' suka! pizdetz! these women are certainly not either romanian, nor bulgarian... but they know one word equivalent of using bulgar... jebać pizde! in cyrillic... becauase arabic tongue translates back into an orthodox of the fathom of body? nice to know... that a bowtie isn't tied according to such grimace of: expectancy... or anticipating a welcome drought... to later attire donning a tuxedo... but that is but a half, and hardly a future... and what truth is, history regurgitates as nought... with the nought being a tomorrow... and the subsequence of history, being a far removed yesterday... and yesterday, being a history, with a tomorrow that simply can't exist! as neither did dinosaurs... with crocodiles... but then: again... who among arab minds this to be more concerning, than the perfect eyebrows of an arab woman driving a car.... and whatever buzzfeed ushers out from its *******
Continue reading...
105
Oh beau Didst thou giveth thy queen thine hand in marriage? Or still seeketh thy holy sanctimony? Belittled her thou did, Gaveth her vinegar for water And canker for bliss What didst thou miss? Didn't get on hands and knees, Thou art no king, A frog from devils thorn!!! Thou lusted other babes Thou ****** the milk of saddened parade And gleathed at paramount illness.. Unwilling nit!!!! Thou made a beast of her, Thyself canst sleep for sure For thine eyes will be ravaged from worldly apparel... Dog of carols!!!! Her optimism thou hath made pessimistic, Thy mouth was shut, not all gifted As her yen thou hath made a clown!!! Eagerly loud... Thy papyrus is now unmanaged Thou art a glutton of ****** malice, For thou hath despised her crying sheeks!!! Thy perception is immodestly bleached!!!                                       BOGUS CASSANOVA!!!!
0
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 8:49 PM UTC
brandon-nagley
CASSANOVA bréagach (Bogus cassanova) irish tongue
Oh beau Didst thou giveth thy queen thine hand in marriage? Or still seeketh thy holy sanctimony? Belittled her thou did, Gaveth her vinegar for water And canker for bliss What didst thou miss? Didn't get on hands and knees, Thou art no king, A frog from devils thorn!!! Thou lusted other babes Thou ****** the milk of saddened parade And gleathed at paramount illness.. Unwilling nit!!!! Thou made a beast of her, Thyself canst sleep for sure For thine eyes will be ravaged from worldly apparel... Dog of carols!!!! Her optimism thou hath made pessimistic, Thy mouth was shut, not all gifted As her yen thou hath made a clown!!! Eagerly loud... Thy papyrus is now unmanaged Thou art a glutton of ****** malice, For thou hath despised her crying sheeks!!! Thy perception is immodestly bleached!!!                                       BOGUS CASSANOVA!!!!
Continue reading...
27