"servility" poems
So rough the goat will scratch, it cannot sleep.
So often goes the *** to the well that it breaks.
So long you heat iron, it will glow;
so heavily you hammer it, it shatters.
So good is the man as his praise;
so far he will go, and he's forgotten;
so bad he behaves, and he's despised.
So loud you cry Christmas, it comes.
So glib you talk, you end up in contradictions.
So good is your credit as the favors you got.
So much you promise that you will back out.
So doggedly you beg that your wish is granted;
so high climbs the price when you want a thing;
so much you want it that you pay the price;
so familiar it gets to you, you want it no more.
So loud you cry Christmas, it comes.
So, you love a dog. Then feed it!
So long a song will run that people learn it.
So long you keep the fruit, it will rot.
So hot the struggle for a spot that it is won;
so cool you keep your act that your spirit freezes;
so hurriedly you act that you run into bad luck;
so tight you embrace that your catch slips away.
So loud you cry Christmas, it comes.
So you scoff and laugh, and the fun is gone.
So you crave and spend, and lose your shirt.
So candid you are, no blow can be too low.
So good as a gift should a promise be.
So, if you love God, you obey the Church.
So, when you give much, you borrow much.
So, shifting winds turn to storm.
So loud you cry Christmas, it comes.
Prince, so long as a fool persists, he grows wiser;
so, round the world he goes, but return he will,
so humbled and beaten back into servility.
So loud you cry Christmas, it is here.
3.4k
There's a way in which I break for beauties like you. It's a performance piece, not of the egoistic sort, but rather a birthed love-child of servility and altruism. Here's my recipe, if you ever wanted to scrutinise my path to death.
First, i stare. And marvel in awe at the carved beauty of you and wonder how many cities you've inspired.
Second is initiation. A delicate dance to either be executed from a carnal desire or a romantic want. I choose one or another, seldom do I pick both; tho they end the same way.
Third is the burning period. I will saturate myself with unwarranted loyalty at this point. I morph to their warmth and this is where it gets sick.
Fourth: obsession. If you look into my eyes you will see a longing to drown and to go back to the ocean that is you. It's potent enough to drive me insane. Consuming.
Fifth, i surrender. I'd ask you to take off that fire. I want you to still exist but to go burn somewhere else. To be a forest-fire that inspires rather than to maim me insolently.
Sixth is penance dressed masochistically. I torture myself for reasons he wouldn't understand or is justified, but I somehow think it's salubrious.
Seventh concerns with the cycle of death. I die for you, over and over again. I choose to do this.
Eighth is where my pain becomes stagnant and transition into ghosts with names.
Ninth better itself to be the point of moving on and building graves on reverence for even having a taste of perfection.
Tenth, I repeat this whole process.
Aug 12, 2016
Aug 12, 2016 at 6:40 AM UTC
Mischievous wind blows
On the sun kissed field
Graceful barley bows
To indicate its servility
Under the whopping sky.
Soon it is time for a
Masterful peasant
To humbly show its
Joy and respect
And worship the harvest.
In the sun kissed field
Under that golden shield.
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 9:43 AM UTC
In these stuck between hours
I discover the noise of being
that comes from an atmosphere
not used to being heard
The warping of the wooden doors
goes on unabashedly.
Like animals in untouched climes
they scurry along unaware
of conscious eyes that stare
only for selfish reasons
The observer adulterates
a once selfless night
Nowadays the timbers under
the floor have lost their
native timbre, taken on
a softer echo of carpet covered servility
Even after mistakes are recovered,
these once savage floors can no longer reclaim
any primal creak after being tucked into
domesticity for so long with soft footsteps of children
paired with repressed stomps of soul-starved adults
left cold by countless other floors never once
imbued with the life of a home.
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 7:06 PM UTC
Deep sleep or slumber,
Function ability’s number
Have confidence with humility,
Use pride’s tool,servility.
Know when to jump and when to run,
When to sprint to beat the gun.
When to harbour, when to fight.
The time to judge indulgence right.
Courage or audacity,
Lock it in or set it free.
Options all which set the tone
Hit the balance, drive it home.
Marshalg
@theGate
Mangere Bridge
11 May 2009
Feb 20, 2010
Feb 20, 2010 at 12:15 AM UTC
Rise from two blood rivers
Rivers use to be so blue
Standing on a mountain of bodies
Bodies that used to step on you
Serpent Tongue, Vicious eyes …
You are a body of lies
Stealing happiness from others
You enjoy their cries
Calling by not existing faith
To have a license to ****
Calling by not existing faith
For higher ascensions, for sick will
Calling by not existing faith
To enslave people, and show them hell
In this amazing existence
You’re no more than a large insect
You torture people to gain their respect
Respect is earned not usurped
But fantasies could be a torment
You see with blind eyes
That if you see at all !!
No compromise, Kill’em all
Don’t you know that every nation will fall
And they shall rise?
Don’t you know, you made us suffer enough?
And we shall judge your vice
Hideous beast
You draw pain on people face
What comes around goes around
In time, you’ll hike in disgrace
A Fanatic
To no side, but his own
Genocide
Under you fragile throne
Spiteful,
A heart of cold stone
****
You made people mourn
You hold a sword of religion that doesn’t exist
You call for unheard justice with iron fist
You walk to the unknown and inevitable mist
You are no savior, no angel, and no prophet
Pitiful, Sick and twisted mentality
Dismal, fool beyond insanity
Spiteful, swollen with his servility
Parasite, scornful identity
Sun, fell behind the sea
Crown, Broke with shame obduracy
Soul, Cursed with dim agony
Mind, brought us sheer calamity
To be or not to be
It’s between you and me
I will be free
Behold my fathers’ legacy
Kneel to my ferocity
You’ll be judged guilty
Verdict without mercy
You will serve your penalty
With endless agony,
Those who believed your heresy
Fake faith and deceptive reality
Shall fall, and test your misery
I shall send your ashes to the sea
When you are unknown history
When you and your fantasy
Become pages in lethargy
Oct 29, 2011
Oct 29, 2011 at 5:00 PM UTC
The tiny red ant scampers
In a forest of greenish mold
Its bristly legs carrying
Biological modules:
A head with pincers
An imperceptible thorax
A swelling abdomen.
It has nothing but a laborious drive
A pheromone-induced servility
For the queen: the lazy, bloated tyrant!
The sole purpose being
The laying of eggs.
The noble red ant
Moves on to scavenge
Blind and dumb
Oblivious.
To the ruthless cycle
Of its existence.
Sep 25, 2020
Sep 25, 2020 at 11:32 PM UTC
"Pics or it didn't happen" and
the lemming-herd of uneducated
Google debunkers and
farming opinions from TV shows
and arguing before being willing to listen
are watch-signs of cowardice
and servility
and emotional isolation.
Through abstraction
we have distanced ourselves
from presence and experience and other people,
and now we can't even
imagine what it was like
or why we bothered.
Just win - win! - and we can
perpetuate our division!
Ignorance has become
a coping mechanism
for ignorance.
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 11:59 AM UTC
The smell of freshly cooked roti wafted through the air and enters my nostrils
As I walked by the construction site laden with debris, metal, tools and drills
For the first time in a long time my mind subdues its chatter
My eyes come to a rest on a *** of soon-to-be cooked batter
The destitute woman sat by a tiny fire with a handful of pots and pans
Cooking for those whose hands would bring to life the Architect's plans
The look in her eyes wasn't that of servility or resignation
She struck me as one who practised mindful meditation
Two little ones played with a stick within their mother’s line of sight
It was hard to believe that a piece of wood could bring them such delight
Their ages four and seven from the look in their exuberant eyes
Hardly did they know that they were born to be chastised
A stone’s throw away, under the only light bulb, sat a girl in her attire from school
A few books on her lap, a pencil in hand, she sat studying on a wooden stool
She was a dreamer this one, dreamt of making her mother proud
She gave in to nothing but knowledge, for whom humbly she bowed
In the darkest corner lay the father on a wooden cot; bottle in hand
His back to the light, drunken mind wandering through promise land
He had been broken this one; no man’s free without being the master of his own will
Freedom he had never known, for since birth another’s land has he always tilled
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 2:32 AM UTC
She’s perfect, isn’t she?
That girl in front of you.
Barely finite lines of gold and ochre
Pure as thoughts from her head
Luna-cloaked and markless
Kohl and oak descrying
The haze and high of your waking breaths
Both in substance and in pleasure.
Just what you always wanted.
Not me.
My brief and ebon-neared lines
Murked by impure hazes
Luna-pocked and touched
Kohl and oak, but too-hard trying
A breeze, gentle and cautious to remove the dream
And give truth tangibility.
Much too real for you.
Perfect.
Snow-goddess shoulders covered
Just because you possess them
Luna-soul untouched, unseen,
Just for your security
Empty breathing, nodding crown
Ensynchroned, timed, with yours
Every face, and every line
Unbroken marble replica
Of air
How dare I.
Goddess shoulders bare as when I please
You could not possess them
Luna-soul unsecreted but,
Before you and your battering, unashamed
Swimming, messy, living within my crown,
Out of step and of my mind
Every inch, an inch of mine
How dare I be unbroken art
Unbroken art of Earth
Of air.
Twisting 'round your fingers
Curved into your body and your brain
Bent whichever way you opt to bend her
Over, under, and around.
Into pain and pain-ed pleasure
But always pain in pleasure and pleasure from pain
Both and neither
Either and physical or transcendental
Always and never in your purpose
Rarely and often from your desires.
And she's so willing, the wind.
Servility incarnate
Submissive, crawling, pleasing unto you
Easy girl
But only to your touch
Lest she be a *****
Formless, unreal shadow,
But somehow air that no one else may breathe.
Of Earth.
I awoke in formless panic in a cold bare room
After heart-pounding, frozen-dreaming
Of how you left me in numberless shades
Of black and blue and gray
I had terrored and cowered
Wondering if my strength would crumble
Ever seeing you on your knees.
Not because I fix on that
Just because I felt afraid.
Because you never laid a finger on me
No, you never had to
The Luna's cloak will mark itself
When the core is hollowed cold.
Yes, so perfect
Is she?
Just the way you like her.
Insubstantial, shapeless
No rigidity or life
Submissive, satisfying
Yes, the daydream on your screen
That you try to say that you don't need
Is everything that your earth desires
For she is air and you are dirt
All that the breeze can give to ground
All that nameless women can give to you.
Feb 12, 2015
Feb 12, 2015 at 3:37 AM UTC
I break my own heart and i'm going to be yours tonight. Please come and hurt me i'm unguarded, begging to bleed, and lusting to serve. And by the end I want to be bare and bruised but able to say losing hope was freedom.
Jun 8, 2016
Jun 8, 2016 at 3:11 PM UTC
Crossed wires of me
might be the
Margaritas?
Or the servility
I bow, non-willingly,
to societal norms?
I am healthy, physically,
just a swimmy head
and lots of gas bloating
I swim floundering
at time to times,
But, not guilty
I feel
passionate dreams notedly
defy me particularly
when I accidentally rhyme.
So conflicting
this non-physical malady,
Paralyses like a Greek tragedy,
Sophocles, I need so badly,
to diagnosis me.
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 8:15 PM UTC
The debutantes unfurl their game faces
For Southern gentleman with fat wallets
Credence is given to long held family names with distinguished pedigrees
They reserve their special womanly charms
For the ones with plantations covered in Spanish moss
And men whose business interests in Savannah and Charleston
Take them away for weeks on end
The slaves toil in the fields and are tallied in ledgers like livestock
But these civilized belles only see the wealth of white men
And the servility of the servants, the burdens of back lashes of no concern
Perspiration glistens off cleavage,
Perfume strategically placed
Wafts through the air as an aphrodisiac to the affluent
The genteel manners mask a well of emotion
Rippling right beneath the surface
It only erupts as the slaves turn in and the guests say their goodbyes
The click-clack of hooves on cobblestones in the distance
Announce it’s time
Then dresses are dropped
Corsets are shed
And the night is pierced by the moans of lovers
The indentured servants take their turns giggling silently
With their ears against the door
Passion begets lust
And lust begets fornication
All manner of depravity is exposed when the manners are off
Women possessed of ****** desire
I have witnessed many things in my day
But nothing is more evil or more beautiful than a Southern belle
Dec 12, 2015
Dec 12, 2015 at 5:13 AM UTC
Custom cannot wither, nor age enslave
My infinite array of memories.
I came of age upon a wave
Of ideals that anchored
Changes and elders outraged,
Appalling them into rage.
They often responded
With violence, yet we endured.
Even when comrades were shot down,
And protesters run to ground,
The promise of a new world grew in secret,
In the impromptu families in hill towns,
Or the remnants of Haight-Ashbury
And the minds of Lost Boys and Girls unbound,
In the survivors of Kent and Jackson State;
Our dream died not but elected to wait,
And In the choices of all
Not to succumb to servility
Nor women to proscribed maternity.
Equality stayed the rule instead of resignation.
Now, age has slowed but not stopped us
And we reach out across the air,
Teaching young ones, as passionate as we,
To distrust despots, ever serve the cause of liberty.
Mar 3, 2019
Mar 3, 2019 at 9:56 AM UTC
Well worn, this path we tread;
a myriad kaleidoscope of gravel.
The darkest corner beyond the wall,
moonlit shadows concealing our travel.
Let them fall, shed ****** tears, Mary incarnate,
moist the soil, so I may sow the now growing seed;
of Envy, Wrath of Pride such,
of Lust, Hubris and of Greed.
Fine welts of nimble fingers,
reddening the newborn scratches on my chest.
If aware that intimacy is paid with blood,
I never would have touched your waist.
A reflex, a conditional response,
is what I deem it to be.
Servility shown is wasted, for
pride cannot bow further, when already on bent knees.
Disdain, distaste and disgust over
the fingerprints on your ****** skin.
Wipe away the invisible marks
with your sleeves as if they had never been.
You step away, stomach churning,
at my sight; a black mass of acid.
Dripping hurt, sadness and unjustified desire,
the less cold-hearted might call me placid.
Before inevitable departure, screaming obscenities,
at the burns I caused on your flesh,
allow me to separate your beliefs
from lies and follies caught in a mesh.
Years I have ****** the venom,
burning my own, now charred heart.
Blackened, destroyed limbs and face,
if you remember ma cherie, I was flesh at the start.
Nevermind though, how I became,
what I am forced to be.
Little lover of mine, stay away please,
before you burn in my acid intimacy.
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 12:14 AM UTC
I ain’t gonna work on Maggie’s farm
No more
She’s my loving me indeed
But she won’t hand me a part of the deed
She told me this in the stable
In the morn’ at four
I ain’t gonna work on Maggie’s farm
No more
I was serving dinner on the table
As she suddenly took my blackened arm
In servility I took her lustful kiss
And as expected she sent me away to the stable
I ain’t gonna work on Maggie’s farm
No more
She’s treating me like fertilizer
Only I’m not white
And out of her food I don’t get a bite
Out of her blood I don’t get a right
I ain’t gonna work on Maggie’s farm
No more
I gonna **** her
I don’t want live to die no more
I want to escape
From tilling her land
And her life shall
Go to Lucifer
To save me command
I’ll accept my title
As landowner
But I’ll still be a farmer
Sep 13, 2017
Sep 13, 2017 at 5:34 PM UTC
You're a trophy,
Bragging rights,
A shot of servility, yet to be drunk
A ship on some waves which I may command
Poseidon inside them,
Yet to be sunk.
I remember you, don't I?
We waltzed a little, stepped on each others' toes
But we don't sound so good now,
I'm confused to hear you speak,
At least, at least I know you
And at least I can chirp to you,
Little tree, Rock solid face, without emojis or discipline
Tell me more about yourself.
What awaits me tonight
What lurk in your mind?
Foully feminine, dusky on broke wings
And sprightly on toes of splintered wood.
Cave in, fall down, and maybe I'll find you again,
But up until now,
I've only heard you selfishly
and wikl never ztop doin so
Dec 31, 2016
Dec 31, 2016 at 10:26 AM UTC
I will not love you
Again for another five years
Unless you make a commitment
My needs, your wants,
your passionless approach said only
one thing…you are still living in a fool paradise
What does any man need after the age of 60?
His retirement plan or his servility
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 8:33 AM UTC
What a wild ride for a mild hide,
Files high filled with admired traits and itemized complaints
for every girl and guy supplied with power over places and people like
me.
Running from each moment in a state of terror, fearing error revealing
every spurious display of feeling shown,
Knowing survival depends on the Holy Bible of servility:
Secrets.
Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 10:04 PM UTC
I shiver
and
I writhe
The temperature
continues
to rise
Pain pushes
tears out
of my eyes
Fever came
to visit me
last night
And She
didn't leave
this time
And I never stopped to wonder why.
Body broken
Paralysed is
the mind
Ears tired
of the
preacher's advice
Eyes crave
a shield from
the sunshine
A hand to
caress beneath
the hairline
A pledge
of healing
from inside
Oh, you fool. You are so naive.
Vanquished by
the collective
apathy of reality
Imprisoned,
I swallow these
chemicals with servility
I shelter them
In the bloodstream
Treat the symptoms
Not the disease
I know
She will return again
someday with a surprise
And even though I am
Terrified
I will just take a pill
and tell Her I am fine.
Mar 1, 2019
Mar 1, 2019 at 1:55 AM UTC
he couldn't see how she clenched her jaw to swallow her mothers servility;
and he would certainly never
understand
why she did not want to be torn apart
by the looks of virile men
Feb 6, 2023
Feb 6, 2023 at 6:03 PM UTC
Under moon
Under stars
We are the dream
Heals and saves
•
Lonely lovely
Poet boy
Lives until he dies
•••
San Francisco nights
AGAIN!
Liberate
Yourself from the Chains that bind
You unto servility
••
(They shall **** you if they want you know)
••
ALL THE CHILDREN!
MY GOD!
WHAT ARE WE ALLOWING
TO COME DOWN!
•
The lonely lovely poet boy
Follow quickly
Soon he's gone
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 1:46 PM UTC
Peer across the Gobi desert , we are brothers with familiar stories ! A once lush reservoir drained into the bowels of Earth ! A parched bed , cracked into a thousand pieces , on permanent display ! A wealth of years in repose , banished from the scrutiny of public and family alike , trapped behind dry , brazen eyes ! Clover , side by side , swaying in the September breeze , swallows returning home ! A field that vanishes against the orange horizon ! Nourished , courtesy of blue and green impoundments , cascading rivers and creeks ! My memories are a jealous ocean , commanding return of her waters , enslaved , committed to her utter servility !
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 10:42 AM UTC
Today is a gorgeous day.
It's filled with words spoken passionately yesterday.
Boundaries laid that free my soul from the ugliness of servility.
Today is a day of light.
I shut my eyes to light when I'm in pain.
Maybe you do the same?
But when I exclaim my hurts with fervor,
Even when it means I ******
Connections that shall go no further,
Should abuses so continue.
My pupils shrink to dots like I'm focused on the sun.
Today is a day so good.
Swallowed blood from the bitten tongue cauterizes love,
A seal more like a rug than a scab,
And when I ripped it away to show the wound I harmonized with some
forgotten soul collective standing by to soothe begotten gashes.
And awoke to find divine all familiar acquaintance.
Today is now.
Some days are yesterday,
And others a distant tomorrow,
But momentous circulation is alive to perception always,
And when touch connects the true sum of all things,
And the levies lift allowing a super-fluid rush of sensation up into the perfect unknown,
Memory and foresight would classify as frivolity if the mind cared at all
to cast judgment on matters impertinent to rapture.
And today is rapturous.
Mar 27, 2015
Mar 27, 2015 at 1:26 PM UTC