"sanction" poems
~ Ode to Joy ~
White gold ambassador
canine past eight
soul seekers ascend
(from cirque to seven)
to peak
to peak
to peak
Saddlerock spearhead
ptarmigan
and flute
Christmas trees
in winter glades
over dusted crystal scape
Fissile (eiger) sanction
open shale and tusk
indiscriminate members
roll the bluffs
and ice falls
above the
north face steep
Dead silent dawn
breathless, bitter cold
the beating hearts
and brahmas
warm the spirit
of pakalolo
Dec 11, 2016
Dec 11, 2016 at 8:38 PM UTC
To taste the bittersweet nectar of thy lunar lips.
Lie me hope, sing to me the song of the helix.
Proffer me the chance to breach thy bastion,
encompass thee in my love and compassion.
Sanction me to be that one whispering love stories
in thine ear while bathing in the Aurora Borealis
dazzling and clear.
You and I, a rickety tent and a love nothing less of
heaven sent.
In mine heart thou shalt forever remain.
My panzer maid grant me...the fall of rain.
Sep 29, 2016
Sep 29, 2016 at 11:28 AM UTC
Hail, happy day, when, smiling like the morn,
Fair Freedom rose New-England to adorn:
The northern clime beneath her genial ray,
Dartmouth, congratulates thy blissful sway:
Elate with hope her race no longer mourns,
Each soul expands, each grateful ***** burns,
While in thine hand with pleasure we behold
The silken reins, and Freedom’s charms unfold.
Long lost to realms beneath the northern skies
She shines supreme, while hated faction dies:
Soon as appear’d the Goddess long desir’d,
Sick at the view, she languish’d and expir’d;
Thus from the splendors of the morning light
The owl in sadness seeks the caves of night.
No more, America, in mournful strain
Of wrongs, and grievance unredress’d complain,
No longer shalt thou dread the iron chain,
Which wanton Tyranny with lawless hand
Had made, and with it meant t’ enslave the land.
Should you, my lord, while you peruse my song,
Wonder from whence my love of Freedom sprung,
Whence flow these wishes for the common good,
By feeling hearts alone best understood,
I, young in life, by seeming cruel fate
Was snatch’d from Afric’s fancy’d happy seat:
What pangs excruciating must ******
What sorrows labour in my parent’s breast?
Steel’d was that soul and by no misery mov’d
That from a father seiz’d his babe belov’d:
Such, such my case. And can I then but pray
Others may never feel tyrannic sway?
For favours past, great Sir, our thanks are due,
And thee we ask thy favours to renew,
Since in thy pow’r, as in thy will before,
To sooth the griefs, which thou did’st once deplore.
May heav’nly grace the sacred sanction give
To all thy works, and thou for ever live
Not only on the wings of fleeting Fame,
Though praise immortal crowns the patriot’s name,
But to conduct to heav’ns refulgent fane,
May fiery coursers sweep th’ ethereal plain,
And bear thee upwards to that blest abode,
Where, like the prophet, thou shalt find thy God.
4.6k
****** empowers those who flaunt
the shape imbued by deity
by wide degree that willingness
to express beauty’s form
empowerment becomes the goal
once a choice is expressed
by displaying more or less
skin’s gamut is then blessed
divestment of draped attire
spans the spectrum from slight to all
whether the ankle only shows
or lack of raiment is complete
that span is chosen by the self
society is asked to stand mute
don't suggest what should be
except to honor certitude
the superficial or complete
exhibition is the private trek
played out in public without remorse
rejoice for those who made their choice
skin as sanction to celebrate
costumes bent to serve a will
no longer hiding the natural
****** displaying love of self.
© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180907.
Sep 8, 2018
Sep 8, 2018 at 8:52 PM UTC
Pain
Pain
Pain
Pain
Pain.
Pain,
Pain
Pain
(Pain)
Pain--
Pain
Pain
Pain
Pain
Pain pain painpainpain
Pain pain pain
Pain pain
Pain.
Pain with pain
Pine and pain
And sick
Pain-Ill death-clock
Tick tick ticks
Nothing to say
Anymore
Pain pain. Pain
Pain with feathers
How pain and why pain
And will be and never was pain
Pain in your shoes,
In a shower
On a floor
Pain
In a garden
Pain
With your tea
Pain in your eye
As you drive
Along
We must be terrible
We must be heinous
Viscous, meticulous,
We are not.
But pain pain pain
I. Can not sleep
As they sanction drone
Strikes on children
I. can not sleep
As a
Ghostly ether summons
Across lakes in dream
I. Can't think
I. can feel like a Cyprus
Upon a grave
Love love love
Love love love love
Love love love love
Death exists
Life is in brief moments
Where the dead
Drag in front of you
Bleeding, broken
Forever lost in this abyss
Grafted from a tree
In another world
Oh, my love.
Oh my love,
As I know it true
In bent knees at dawn
Whispers evermore in my ear
Beyond graves and atom bombs
Test pilots
Test tubes
Test
Pain in your chest
In your mouth
Rotted flesh
Rotted fits of aging
Agony which
Is pain, exquisite
Like a needle
Precise like
A
Nuclear accident
I. Can't sleep
As things fly above my head
My eye
Leaving me in the dark
Leaving me in a tub
Leaving me in a gas task
Mustard gas and Venus
Drowned in calm water
Out, out, out,
Number 1.
Nitrous oxide
Psalms, palms,
Save little girls
In dresses know
As I walk by a snowglobe
Oh, my love
How
I am sick of questions with an
Answer I know
But not quite
Not, quite
And death will solve
All power
Like forks
In an outlet
u r a beautiful dawn
At sunset
My eyes are tired
It needs to heal
It needs to heal
D. E. A. (D)
In a straw or dollar
O.K.
oh, Kay
Oh, Natalie
I dot the "I" in your
Name in my brain
In my bones leaving me
Aloft in dream,
I dream and weep
I dream and weep
Pain
Pain
Pai. N.
Kiev
Leaving
Pain
Pain. Pain. no. 1
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 1:48 AM UTC
You know that I am
the needed release,
the paramount sanction.
I come after
the denial of yourself.
I cause your desire for
physical, psychical, spiritual
liberation.
I alone can create you anew
by reversing the ***********
back into your core -
Forcing the nakedness and cleanliness
of holistic wedlock -
of merged bodies and souls -
of the intensity that
splits and destroys the ego.
Here in these arms and ***** -
Here in these fluids and caresses -
the holy mystery
will lovingly envelope you.
My sacred sexuality
will anoint you king.
- fr
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 7:45 AM UTC
It was a link like the one between bonds ,
Irreplaceable and impeccable.
Bestfriends , what they said they were.
When together , they gained a definite optimum.
Fancied by the crowd ,
But deep down pitied by all.
Hearts pumped with the same rhythms ,
The same hesitancy and same agitations.
Bestfriends , what they said they were .
A bit drowsy , a bit shattered
What to consider next ,
Was her only possible quest.
But sooner or later ,
She will perceive the certainty ,
That it was no more than a witless sanction ,
Bestfriends what they said they were.
Jan 20, 2018
Jan 20, 2018 at 9:13 AM UTC
The ladies men admire, I've heard,
Would shudder at a wicked word.
Their candle gives a single light;
They'd rather stay at home at night.
They do not keep awake till three,
Nor read ****** poetry.
They never sanction the impure,
Nor recognize an overture.
They shrink from powders and from paints ...
So far, I've had no complaints.
3.6k
Electra-girl gyrates desperately.
Daddy is away on business.
The house practically empty,
Desolate winds rattle windows,
Stomach twists with craving.
Electra-girl squeals,
**** Mommy! Get her out of the picture.”
Little Miss teacup wants everything just right,
When daddy gets home.
Electra-girl vomits hairball,
shaves thighs belly armpits,
Plucks neck chin nostrils,
Applies lipstick moderately,
Puckers (finger pushes hemorrhoid in).
She denies everything.
Imagines he is showering,
She enters **** giggling big grin,
Gaze scampering between his face and genitals,
Her approaching young body edging nearer.
He hesitates standing under waterspout,
Waiting to see what she will do,
Fearing his own desire,
Knowing it is wrong so wrong.
After what seems a long time,
Mom steps in,
Eyes firing rage and sanction.
She asks her daughter, “You think you’ll win?”
Electra-girl answers without hesitation,
“Why wouldn’t I.”
No question.
Your **** stains on carpet,
Your *** stains on everything,
Your breath smells,
Odor of rotting flowers.
Smile for the camera.
Electra-girl raises arms and taunts,
“I win! I win!
Who’s going to be my next daddy?”
A deep heavy silence follows.
She holds herself in mirrors of her past.
May 7, 2013
May 7, 2013 at 7:32 AM UTC
As I ****** your cheek and cup lovingly
Fervor runs through my veins; you felt the intensity
In seconds, you read and sight in my eyes
The vehemence and ride to my surprise
Down to earth you are, pinned on the wall
Clamors were cited throughout the hall
To rush in a room filled with ecstasy
We couldn’t care less, now it’s just you and me
Laid on a soft surface and have the gates wide open
Given with sanction, both parties have spoken
With passion written all over and seen through action
Just to end the night with love and satisfaction
May 15, 2021
May 15, 2021 at 4:14 AM UTC
The days passed slowly in a drunken haze
As this sleepless delusion was set ablaze
My limbs weakened with the rising sun
While the spiders in my head began to run
Spinning webs beneath my sunken skin
Piercing my veins like deadly sin
Yet through it all my bones withstood
The war taking heed within falsehood
By words of Truth I found my sanction
Even as my spirit dies in such a fraction
And like the dead become living grass
My flesh will live again like sandy glass
But as for now this life consumes me
And I will work like the honey bee
Until the bitter taste on my tongue
Becomes the flavor of the purest young
Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 9:53 PM UTC
Boots sanction the hearts of men.
The victims are wailing and smiling
Death keeps on knocking and waiting
Who will liberate us?
Denial of our voices made us cry
Downtrodden wept as their voices
Dwindle and cracks for liberation
Who are the kindhearted?
Nation begets unruly masters
As the country pretends to smile
Honest people are followers!
Why the contradiction?
Bemourning the scourges of men
Humanity strives to speak but ...
Money, power and fame supercedes
When are we going to rise?
Hatred is begging to put on a smile
Laughter covers herself with rags
The future bleeps and sorrows
Can we revolt against the status quo?© Uzo
Mar 1, 2023
Mar 1, 2023 at 6:13 AM UTC
It doesn't take much, for me to be late in the morning
A bad nights sleep, another day at work, it can be oh so boring
20 minutes, does it really matter, in the grand scheme of things
Jump in the car, radio on,
Same DJ with the X-Factor wannabes wearing their bling
Its a short trip but can still be delayed once more
Further down the road by a woman who makes my head sore....
Hitting the roundabout 2 miles from anywhere
The traffic backs up to give us all a timely scare
What on Earth could delay us on this trip to a place of ethical sanction
As without work our lives would halt without function
Bills to pay and food to buy, we need the income from some money tree
What is holding me up as already late,
Maybe set my alarm earlier but hey, what will be will be
The slow jaunt on the bumper to bumper ride
Its only 10 minutes more but time is not on my side.....
And there she is,
My delay
Luminous in stature holding the road like shes some traffic God
Chatting away to the ladies as if she's PC Plod
Holding that lollipop on her black and yellow stick
She's really starting to get on my wick
Some of us have places to be old lady like she even cares
Kids crossing the road, go play Chicken, like they'd even dare
Really, all in all, she is doing a good job
And there's me rushing and acting like a bit of a......wally!
As if I did knock a child over I'd forever be sorry
Even when it rains she puts up her brolly
Stop the parent and kids from always getting wet
I suppose in the end she is the safer bet
Maybe I will always be late but nothing I can't sort with a brew,
Instead of getting,
Lollipop Lady Blues
JJB
Jan 9, 2019
Jan 9, 2019 at 7:08 AM UTC
Life and *** are inseparable
Love without *** may be ideal
*** without love is brutal
*** beyond marriage is not ethical
*** is the source of creation
And the greatest thing for recreation
It has got the religious sanction
Marriage is the apt word to mention
*** is not a thing to be ashamed
But the greatest instinct to be shared
It relieves one’s tension
And elevates human function
It may be a biological need
But survives the human creed
It is all living beings’ need
It is nature’s greatest seed
A husband should adore his wife
She will remove all his strife
A wife should share his grief
The real harvest they will reap
Dec 28, 2010
Dec 28, 2010 at 2:55 AM UTC
Much like my dream
Poetry sanction me
To be anyone
and
everyone
I want to be
To
explore the places
In my mind’s eye
And dwell from the
Most magical place
In all the world
My
imagination
I like that!
Sep 30, 2018
Sep 30, 2018 at 4:10 PM UTC
You are the Ocean and I am the wave
moving in tandem as if I'm Your slave.
I rise and fall according to Your will
though once in a while I'm kept very still.
I have no real life without Your sanction
which now seems to be like a distraction.
There are so many others just like me
and I wonder somehow if they agree.
In this manner You just do as You please
and deploy us all with surprising ease!
Our goal seems to be on reaching the shore
then return back to You again for more!
The presence of the moon has much to say
with what goes on Your surface every day.
Its influence is more than we'd suspect
and has to be treated with some respect.
Beyond are other worlds and stars in space
along with the sun which dictates the pace.
They're orbs of living wonder in that sky
and cast their shadows if we care to pry.
How unenlightened seems this life of ours
when we consider how we pass the hours.
For our days are numbered lest we forget
but through One's realization some are set.
There isn't much else now that can be said
before a time comes and we're all but dead.
We can only hope that we've done no harm
on the Ocean's surface that's full of charm.
___________________
Nov 14, 2023
Nov 14, 2023 at 9:33 PM UTC
I recall hearing that term once in high school,
"Urban forestry", a paradox, seemingly and yet,
That is exactly what it is.
Strips of land sanction to be aesthetically pleasing.
For whom, I have not a clue.
I would have preferred a lane or so,
Over the regular 8' by 1' square of trimmed trees.
I also grimace within the grace
Of those knotted furled fists toward a sky asking WHY!?
After a much calmer gardener had pondered the same word
Underneath his humming chainsaw
(Though probably for a more debatable material world)
Amongst other cuboid amputations.
Not to mention those solid soldiers
Whose attention is really standing dead in plain sight until
Wrinkled pavement is not enough ground to hold.
Then our hero makes local news in an inhumane, absolutely atrocious,
Final act of trespassing, vandalism, homicide, and suicide.
Of course nobody saw it coming.
Undetected and decayed for half a decade.
With so so many Ys it is easier to yelp for for those Xs
Crossing against our assumed perfect grids and parallels
To those stories of stacking passed from older cries
For HELP! Though those did not settle quite so well
So I proceed passing over a particularly loud leaf
Amidst this dry pondering
And snap out of the whats and whys and wheres
To take another look around at my illustrious
Urban Forest.
Unto a more practical pensive test,
Which side of that phrase,
Burdens the winning emphasis?
Well, still warblers and sparrows to inspire a song
For how this within time shall also pass along.
Jan 17, 2013
Jan 17, 2013 at 6:48 AM UTC
Bathtubs don’t work for quantum suicide
But every time I take one,
A part of me dies
What was nice under the crescent aglow?
Drunk on stars, or the moon lit show…
Ash of night, cradled what was once mine,
The repertoire of ever-syncing- jawlines.
Puissant is the chalice, its exaltation shined so bright,
Bestowed liberation underneath the chatoyant light,
The open windows left niveous fogs-
Breathed -stained –air, against crystal *****
Alive and one, under the entire earthly tempo,
Together left her organic imprints of art nouveau.
Beneath the warmth and petrichor ground,
The Lord and Lady commence to be crowned.
...Tree roots sink as veins of gods.
The serpent whispers his mellifluous facade...
The sharp shove of love’s first arrow
Lover’s spit, a seed for cupid’s bucolic furrow.
Scripture of Solomon’s *** temple of doom
All within the nicotine-stained-blue-infrared-bedroom,
Velvet allure, bellies of vigor,
The cold point, the pulled trigger.
Dance of Thelma, ancient cults of non-lovers
Feasting north, under the Horned God’s antlers.
The concoction of the widow’s deviated lust
Skins alive, the excited wolf-mans’ husk…
The gun’s mouth ex hailed bullets of smoke
Piercing hot wounds became tender lilts in up word strokes.
Still, they brought, perforating ice knives through the chest
Catching fades perpetually, just until two came abreast.
The shadow dalliance and hair pulls leave those weary,
The anise flower seeds sanction the suffering query.
What was once so beautiful at night?
Forgotten, as I turned red-haired-heathen in morning’s sight
So I take my hot bath, inure in my offing.
Emollient paean of the porcelain,
...which is my skin
See you, my ethereal being,
In short time spring will be fleeting
May 8, 2012
May 8, 2012 at 11:43 AM UTC
Legalize the dark night
in which he grow up in,
the illuminated streets
in which we modeled our deep edges and rough cuts.
Decriminalize the chilling touch of winter
that makes our lips dry and blood red,
the icy spheres
that paints dabs of colours on our bodies.
Sanction the art of the sciences
where the only one paying is the consumer,
the cruelty of the art
where the media slices the eyes of the observers.
Legalize, decriminalize and sanction
all
that has made us many and
once at once.
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 4:07 PM UTC
I do not miss you with the emotions,
reserved for feelings of despair,
which stem from absence.
For the tearing of my heart is much more than a feeling
that can be scrawled across a universal greeting card,
or a get well soon wish that is spoken out of routine.
I can not find sanction in empty words,
that come so close to defining
the effect your absence has upon me;
yet already stretched thin,
they are used up before reaching their full potential.
Should I speak of how I miss you,
the phrases uttered would not do you justice.
And if I could ever find a way to form this emotion into words,
I would leave it unspoken,
pure and unfiltered,
so not to dilute its meaning
with the muddled language by which I am chained.
So when asked if I miss you,
I can truthfully reply no.
Jun 14, 2011
Jun 14, 2011 at 12:00 AM UTC
“She who has infused every minute of my day,
Hastens through titillating my endorphins.
Absconded hiding within myself,
As blue crystals glaring teeter in the sea,
As we sanction the reticence of ardor,
While the sea eradicates its perennial effigy,
As infinite cascades eradicate beneath us,
As the water stride procures to the sandy shore,
Where the waves shatter on unsettled rocks,
As once again the clear light bursts as sun sets,
Enmeshed in a fabric of palpable vibrant colors,
Portrayed as that of a burlesque plumeria of infinites,
The plumeria burst of aureoles immortal love,
Unyielding its pedals as the devouring sea rotates,
Will ephemeral demise procure in the deep blue sea?
Over its blue pedaled face an astringent frown,
We have embarked on a promenade of love my dear,
I now stand before you no longer with emptiness,
Only perennial affection that you are mine and I yours,
In our Aureoles of Plumeria”
By AG 03/10/2018 ©
Apr 10, 2018
Apr 10, 2018 at 6:52 PM UTC
The fact of the matter is that you
Choose to believe
There's no reprieve
From this constant, continual...
Consistent deceit
This contraceptive perception
Manifesting what you believe
'What happens once will come again'
From that there's no relief
That which you take heed from
Is imprinted on your skin
As if you can't reach within
For matters intimate
Second guessing and stressing
While vacantly sedated
Placating under false pretenses
-Keeping sated
-Faded
Like you were the product
Of this aftermath
Attacking the apt capability
Of all you lack
-Underhanded
In the most subtle approach
This perpetual cognizant apparition
Of these ghosts
Furthermore
They boast and beg recognition
Putting prescriptions to their name
Like defacing prepositions
Could well esteem their fame
I maintain that I refuse
To be a product of the masses
Drifting whimsically and making victims From my caprices
The end result of my fate
Never created hate
Only this conditioned position
From which I now must escape
I'd rather sit
Listen and contemplate
Than justify my shame
I'll take the pain
Of my twisted thoughts
Before letting them run astray
No one pray for me
Because I've done this once before
And sanction I will find
Within this mind
Before I hit the floor
May 2, 2018
May 2, 2018 at 11:46 AM UTC
I foster an incremental relation to the cosmos, enticed regularly by its indefiniteness and appeal.
Its evolutions, innate behaviors, and formidable sciences are recompense for earth’s meager discrepancies.
I often engage in the caprice to dismount much dissatisfaction by the constancy of riveting celestial events.
These beings possess no artificiality.
Its prophetic order, ornate and stupendous architectural facets have allowed a crescendo of dispositional hysteria.
Prosaic imprecations are deduced from its auxiliary wherewithal.
There is no contrition in immersing in enthrallment nor is there fickleness in trust.
Magnificent bodies orbit in finesse and probability, achieving universality and control.
Though these incitements are exponentially cheering, my origin is but connoted in despondency.
Usurpers and ill-suited vandals proliferated by the intemperance of the Ptolemaic discipline.
Rustics, miscreants and idle minds misdirected by less virtuous planetary derision.
My cognitive severity asserted by ominous consummation.
Oh how these preponderant truths confine me unfortunate.
Soliloquy is but an affliction amidst this era of anachronistic reign.
Grandiose passivity is intolerable at this time.
I plan to dichotomize my adamant fate from precepts and conditions anew.
The deposition of malfeasant kings will be sought.
Ploys I have already configured; propagation is near to instigation.
I will exhort my ascent to prime eminence.
The stars will sanction me to a rightful end.
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 8:49 AM UTC
Falling...
Down deep into downy
Finding solice, amidst the
arms of my beloved.
Into warmth, my heart opening.
Once again, stepping off a
cliff Into love.
A moment, believing I am
safe, in what was once
My emotional sanctuary.
Falling...
Down deep into reality.
Honoring the integrity
of my heart.
Protecting, my tender self
from an illusion,
a memory of sanction.
Once again, stepping
off a cliff into love.
A refuge I painfully yearn
for, yet stopping myself
before I land into unsafe
harbor once again.
Copyright © 2015 Christi Michaels.
All Rights Reserved.
Jun 14, 2015
Jun 14, 2015 at 11:33 PM UTC
we are the raging portrait of lust, tangled in a mess of sensation, kaleidoscope of color and melodies of sanction--
we hum with ancient urges and vibrations.
fingers and hard planes, bodies like constellations, lips that are stained in stardust--
flying comets, gravity is our force.
we can't deny physics, we can't change our course.
worship, cherish, release. over and over. til i hear nothing but your name emanating from my throat, enthralled.
darling, love is luminescent
and we are its very stars.
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 2:23 PM UTC