"shamelessness" poems
Every year without knowing it I have passed the day
When the last fires will wave to me
And the silence will set out
Tireless traveler
Like the beam of a lightless star
Then I will no longer
Find myself in life as in a strange garment
Surprised at the earth
And the love of one woman
And the shamelessness of men
As today writing after three days of rain
Hearing the wren sing. and the falling cease
And bowing not knowing to what
2.8k
****** means "sheath".
Oh, how tiresomely sexist,
this utility.
**** is a sharp word,
but it will only ***** you
if you so insist.
And ********** means
"to stand in for the Goddess" --
both Mother and *****
Fertility cults
of Babylon hailed Ishtar,
the young Sophia.
In Sumerian times
they did call Her Inanna,
who shed Her jewels.
Solomon the Wise
did wed Her in his temple,
and wrote Her a Song.
At Her temple gates
await the harlots, smiling:
yours for but a coin.
Sacred silver thrown,
a rite of passage. Some wait.
Some wait longer still.
Wisdom works through them.
The hierodules of Heaven
beckon, honeysweet.
"Come to the temple,
let us dance the timeless dance,
my Lord Dumuzi!"
Rosy cheeks and lips,
shamelessness in Her power.
Passion at its peak.
Too **** for words.
Men feared Her and wrought cages,
misdirected blame.
Mary, the chaste one,
is an abomination.
Half, and the lesser.
A neutered Mother
with a ****** for swords,
a scabbard for men.
The Grail was stolen
from between Her holy thighs.
Paul was such a ****
A **** who feared Her,
Mystery of Death and Blood.
Much more than a sheath.
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 8:44 PM UTC
Being silent was best
Ham is strong and he threatened me
with a fatal accident
Then there was a child
Oh, my dear husband
the tireless
naturalist of the fermented juice
of sweet grapes
His old age has been tarnished
by that made-up anecdote
which hid the rapes
under a moment of shamelessness
But the punishment betrays it
anyway, the eternal curse
from the first scream
of the baby, innocent
Canaan, my youngest son
His generations to generation
subjugated and squeezed to death
in the purple lowlands
Jun 19, 2022
Jun 19, 2022 at 3:55 AM UTC
So Im alive,
But I died a little inside.
Because I am dead
And now alive and reborn
Into a thousand words never written,
I will become no one again.
Did you metaphorically cry?
Sad as thinking how well
You truly knew me?
" But we were poets!"
And so you live and die by the
Stroke of the passionate lie
That are the words that well
Up inside like a brutal indignity,
Outraged at my shamelessness
Did I ever truly puncture your heart?
I am Ded inside,
And I dont know you,
But I just love your poetry!
So we sever the ties from reality
And divorce the facts
In a hopeful serenade to the deaf,
See how I magnify the ignorance
With brazeness?
Such splendid grandoisity!
And a poem is just a word,
There is no poem without action.
I am me,
No metaphor needed,
Just who the hell do you think
You are?
Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 1:17 PM UTC
Cheers to the race that doesn’t have a heart,
No reasons, no morals, no souls, no scruples,
But piles of lies, tons of deeds, all perfectly unabashed and splendidly aghast.
Cheers to their courage to walk unhesitantly in the crowd,
To stand with a stride and to converse with a pride,
And just in case their secrets revealed, to their dignified admittance clear and loud.
Cheers to their score that keep augmenting every day,
To their pleasures, to their amusement emerging from despair,
To their delight, to their bliss, to their ability to rejoice every time one cries in pain and dismay.
Cheers to their shamelessness, cheers to their sins,
Cheers to their disrespect for fellow human beings,
Cheers to the vanished humanity in their souls,
To the way their conscience has drifted in black hole,
And cheers to their skill of turning hearts into stones,
To their abhorring thoughts and to the way they never atone,
Cheers to the way, in this world, they sustain,
Cheers to those monsters, cheers to those beasts, cheers to those incredible demons again.
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 4:49 PM UTC
I was never the period to your story.
A pause, a storm before your glory.
Our part now history,
the ifs to our theory.
You’re what a woman should be,
No shamelessness, no indecency.
But I couldn’t give up my religion.
We knew the risk, ‘twas my decision.
I’ll forever cherish our time together.
The nights, days, drives I’ll remember.
Months felt like a lifetime with you.
A life we both outgrew.
What a lucky guy he is.
Tying the knot is what you wished.
I’m happy for you.
You deserve happiness, it is due.
You’ll never get to read this,
But if you somehow see this..
I want to say that I’m glad you’re happy.
Wish you the best, a life without worry.
This is the last poem for and about you.
Best wishes! Goodbye and thank you.
Jul 13, 2022
Jul 13, 2022 at 8:08 AM UTC
we are the insects trapped inside homemade fly traps
glued on at the roof of the mouth
underbelly, I run around looking for trouble
trailer park princess, bar-fights in every space between my teeth
I'm a child of a child
I beat my paper wings against the shamelessness
Dance like the cigarette breaks are forever
Swisher blunts for the forget-me-not flowers inside backseats of cars, cabs, stolen automobiles
Revenge, locked jaw police officers like the fathers that never let you hold a gun so you become one
Taste blood, tongues, beauty in chaos
loose lips, stolen drugstore mascara and no more bruised knees
Boys like soft but you're the ******* Armageddon, knuckle-ring gods and all
so the men want to be kings and you grow up a feral cat sleeping in twin sized beds with a mouthful of curse words
Lord of the flies, lot lizards and truck-stop races
gritty bathroom graffiti is the cathedral but prayers never stop
Taverns with your name and the angels that spit
The television static never ends here, cicadas
Doors with mosquitoes held hostage, home for supper
wasted by dessert
Down in the dirt, grimy bathtub I unearth all the things I couldn't drink away; all the motel fantasies, cum-stained skirts and the neon lights waiting for the swarm
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 5:36 AM UTC
The Ummah is sweltering with the heat of sins and immodesty.
When will it transfer into an oasis of humanity?
When will there be a loving bond like one between the Ansaar and Muhajireen?
When shall shamelessness be shunned away?
Apr 13, 2021
Apr 13, 2021 at 7:07 AM UTC
You were that devastating thunderstorm
which, was the most beautiful tragedy happened to me
we are not together now, as it was never on the cards.
nothing is fine and I am worst without you
I don't want you anymore (I say)
I need you, in every step (I know)
You were that endless joy
which is now endless pain
I tried to forget all the moments spent with you
and, ended up in, remembering you all the times
those also were tears which never came out from my eyes
the pain was also that which I never told.
I remember all those dreams
which, we wove together
they were lovely.
I remember the soft touch of your lips, that naïve shamelessness
I remember everything
I remember all that happened
I remember all the things
I remember that rain in which,
we got drenched together
there was a flame inside us
while we were soaked (In the droplets of rain)
what was that carelessness,
In those moments spend together which passed, yet not passed
I remember such evenings (we spent together)
when you slept by my side
I kept looking at you,
I remember everything
I remember all that happened
I remember all the things
I am that broken glass which never binds
Feb 23, 2018
Feb 23, 2018 at 7:07 AM UTC
you are no one
darling i'm lost
you are the only one that has my back
and you are no one
I hear the echoes of all the laughter of these times i forgot to enjoy
in every half-step between breath and anxiousness.
I know you will remember that i loved you all until it hurt
and that helps to alleviate the guilt of making it my aim to miss.
I can't help felt, i crash standing up
between the spaces of my grace and shamelessness
I have left up to my haphazard luck
and you are no one
a howl in the night maybe
you are a ghost
that only whispers in my ear
when i've lost all sense of self-control
and i've become no one
you know I know you did it
darling i'm drunk
and i know you know i'll just forget it
because we are no one
Dec 4, 2013
Dec 4, 2013 at 4:45 AM UTC
Your worth is not in other people.
It is not when you look most beautiful, or in the thank yous disguised as apologies.
Your worth is in the days you pick up the pieces even as they slice your fingers.
It is tucked away in poems you'll never share because they are too painful, and smuggled past the battles you win benownst to none.
It's in the tiny victories, and the small moments that mean ever so much.
Your worth is in the size of your heart whether or not others can expand enough to contain it.
It exists in the tears you choose to give the world, for they are gifts of the care you hold within you.
Your worth is in the sparkle your eyes hold when nothing can stop you.
It shines in your shamelessness and in your effervescence.
For nothing can take away your worth when you are priceless.
Aug 18, 2020
Aug 18, 2020 at 10:38 AM UTC
Hurtled through love,
Dark, robust, romantic
Violent memories
Tearing through a moonless night
Hooting and growling through a treatise
A spiritual rebirth, heaved into heartbreak
Ever revving metaphor
Shake it Out
I am done with my graceless heart,
So tonight I'm gonna cut it out and restart
Melodrama vastly inflated
Turbulent ballads, booming drums
The wind chorales howling melodies
Hopeless romantic separating rapture from disaster
Love is a vast and violent force
Overflow of iconoclastic shamelessness
Leave my Body
Midnight-on-the-moors
Oh my love don't forget me
Oct 10, 2012
Oct 10, 2012 at 12:26 PM UTC
I always new this time would come
when we depart our lives as one
that smile you wear, is worn out by fear
and that says it all
but could it be your missing me
in all your wildest fantasys
and realize its not a dream
that i have forgotten you
I chose to refuse your memories
the residue of this love affair
lie strewn across the floor
the shamelessness and greed
collects in the corners of this room
a restless heart will never rest
as it looks for new blood for it's life
and when the heart stops
there is peace
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 8:56 PM UTC
*The curious paradox is that when I accept myself just as I am,
then I can change.*
Carl Rogers
my hands can be so prosaic
uninterrupted in the mechanism of gestures
mindless, blinded, tired
of polishing the edge of the world
your hands and their delicate shiver
are used to behaving
trying to learn how to grasp the meaning,
the contours of the void in daylight
or why haters hate
(was it your fault or theirs?)
you are an unfinished landscape
of breaking points and hopeless moans,
oases of quietness, turning points and
electrical paths, buds of mystery
I know nothing about
still, there’s something teasing
written in between
such is coherence: a paradox
-two interlocking unwittingly-
irrational at one level
imaginatively reasonable at another
-reality is framed by negotiation with a god of silence-
two singularities conversing,
filling the air with space
: it is me is you
Like when you erase me perfectly
with a blink of an eye
tired or cynical
with yourself,
or when I crush you
like a manic avalanche in
midsummer day
-there is some madness in between-
after all
shame and shamelessness
cannot be understood
in binary codes
while humility and pride
are two faces of the same coin
it’s been written since day one
this matching choreography of turmoil inside
or just the pursued birth pains of self
-switch, twist, push, turn,
run, hide, split,
break, slip, cut
repeat, repeat, repeat –
the vertigo of life
rhyming imaginary possibilities
new gestures,
new proportions of light
and darkness
in the power of my hands
in the clarity of your voice
we approximate the truth of our last breath
grow old in stories within stories within the story
we tell ourselves to survive the crack of dawn
and so it goes:
the hero decrypting sunset
deepens the story
looking for
some freedom
to be
and I cannot look at you
without
the sonorous light
bearing tenderness
within
I set you free
in my blood
without knowing
if you stay
for today
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 5:31 PM UTC
We all hide our shamelessness behind curtains,
hoping the curtains are never drawn.
Lying to passersby,
about its lack of importance,
but ultimately,
We lie to ourselves,
because it does matter,
the things we do,
the things we hide,
The lies we tell,
the truths we don't.
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 3:33 PM UTC
tinted poetry
poetic in my own utter for trying to
grasp something that is close
to reaching the sun with my shoulders
my heart touched the sun when It encountered
your reluctant fire.
Nights where I felt as if love would suffocate me
with madness that was to good to be true
and you held me with the veins of your mind
and tugged at me with the strings of your eyes
gripping onto you when we would walk
let it be that everyone knew that you belonged to my hands
and my hands ran over you body
just mine
you took my blue stones
blue stones
and set them on fire with your demonic lips
of shamelessness given to you by your manhood
a kind that was all too good to be true
skin full of color that wasn't there when you where born
a body composed of pure art and gesture
permanently scared
your neck sang
and your pelvis cracked against my hip
when the sand dunes went in too deep
the earth eroded
and our universe collapsed
between our two separate places
and after everything was gone
dead
we breathe
in and out so so
slowly
soft laughter sighs
what are you doing tomorrow like questions
float in the heavy air around us
and all I know for certain
is that
this will end
Nov 2, 2010
Nov 2, 2010 at 7:51 PM UTC
tinted poetry
poetic in my own utter for trying to
grasp something that is close
to reaching the sun with my shoulders
my heart touched the sun when It encountered
your reluctant fire.
Nights where I felt as if love would suffocate me
with madness that was to good to be true
and you held me with the veins of your mind
and tugged at me with the strings of your eyes
gripping onto you when we would walk
let it be that everyone knew that you belonged to my hands
and my fingerprints ran over you body
just mine
you took my blue stones
blue stones
and set them on fire with your demonic lips
of shamelessness given to you by your manhood
a kind that was all too good to be true
skin full of color that wasnt there when you where born
a body composed of pure art and gesture
permanently scared
your neck sang
and your pelvis cracked against my hip
when the sand dunes went in too deep
the earth eroded
and our universe collapsed
between our two sepearte places
and after everything was gone
dead
we breathe
in and out so so
slowly
soft laughter sighs
what are you doing tommorow like questions
float in the heavy air around us
and all I know for certain
is that
this will end
Nov 1, 2010
Nov 1, 2010 at 6:47 PM UTC
I want to be everybody's darling
Everybody's literary delight
I want to be America's sweetheart
Like a neon light
I want to be a lady
Who imprints you like a magnet
One in whom once you meet
You shall never forget
I don't want much, you know
But only constant applause
Forgive my bold shamelessness
For, perhaps, I am love starved
Mar 11, 2012
Mar 11, 2012 at 1:58 PM UTC
Those magnetic moments
leave me clammy with
guilt and yet
beading with the shame
of shamelessness.
Can we kiss out the heat between us?
as though passion
were a black plastic lighter
and each kiss burns
a "click" of butane, in hot
succession until just firefly sparks
remain.
No
this heat is doused with salt
water, inciting a satin catharthis.
Unrelenting
these fat tears turn the flames
to smoke.
I am strangled, gasping for a hint
of sweet relief and
begging for the air I waved off, thinking it had
grown stale.
Jan 28, 2019
Jan 28, 2019 at 11:00 PM UTC
The Non-Subliminal Criminal
High Priest of Hypocrisy
The Diplomat of Draft Dodgery
The Great Example of Paying Test-Takers
The Loudmouth of Wealthy Fakery
The Main Proof of Miseducation
The Nanocrat of Non-Payment
Potentate of ***********
Sultan of **** Patronage
The Grand Poobah of Poopoo
The Big Wheel of Blather
The Salesman of Bull-puckey
High Lama of Skullduggery
The Master Purveyor of Inaccuracies
The Pride of Misrepresentation
The Scion of Misdirection and Nepotism.
The Black Knight of Spite.
The Grand Lizard of Hate and Bigotry
The Fomenter of Torment.
The Master of Catastrophe
The Master of the Quick Disaster
The Worshipper of War by Proxy
The Lover of Lies and Liars
The Promiser of Pusillanimity
The Handmaiden of Bribery
The Worshipper of Massive Greed
The Purchaser of Fake News
The Dandy With Unseen Clothes.
The Undead Ghost of the Capitol
The Horrible Haunt of the Presidency
The Embodiment of Embarrassment.
The Shamelessness of Gross Shuckery.
Mar 15, 2018
Mar 15, 2018 at 6:11 PM UTC
Death begins the day the newborn cries
Not its choice, grew up believing
Clinging to futility on death's bed
As if another life brings the dead to life
Affirmed as gods, life stroked, seduced
Painful dissonance yet believing
Chance is king but Will supreme
Striving to the death for one more chance
Failures chastised, pride conceals, boastfully
Offering ashes, gods obliged, believing
Truly only Money matters, Chance *******
Life ransomed too, not today, surely tomorrow
Love or transactional *** legal or not
Life's answer or preachers' lies believing
Perhaps only masturbatory self love is true
Justified indulgence entirely in one's own hands
Meaninglessness, life’s honest and brave end
Else denial and delusion, make believing
This moment till death has despair to work
Alas many flail cowardly, ironic futility grasping
Will strong, flesh betrays, in hypocrisy
Peter wept, shamelessness hardens believing
Death discerns not its own stench
Life's fragrance repulsive and offends
Life imposed freely from the beginning
Conned and chose to pay for believing
A shadow of what will be but tempted to be
And the Accuser justified and God ******
Apr 12, 2021
Apr 12, 2021 at 11:31 PM UTC
and they write confessional poems,
and they're scared
when it happens to be too authentic
and they never bother
personae poetry and a shamelessness
about it - as if imitating someone
and able to distance yourself
from the adequate metaphorical word
schizoid - the personae principle
of poetry - the poet disguised
within many people - and indeed
as poetry goes, the crude oiling not
represented by stiff-collar fictive
outputs of he said, she said, "quote",
and the out-of-body experiences -
but then, that wouldn't be poetry,
would it? what it would be would
be jane austen, or anna karenina.
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 7:00 AM UTC
Oftenly a thought
Strikes my mind
Its better to be
A Pornstar
than a Poet
really by name or fame!
will excel a lot
What would I get?
Except criticisms & insults!
A l'll shamelessness
Can bring more prestige-Written on 13.07.2012,Friday
Jul 15, 2016
Jul 15, 2016 at 2:55 PM UTC
Obscure eyes of
Shameless sin
Subconscious
Evolution
Stalls again
Conjured myths
Bringing
Hopeless fears
Superstition
Fallen upon
Mindless ears
Love in a name
War in the same
Shamelessness
Cannot be
Contained
Next generation
looking for peace
Teach them well
Or feed the beast
....
Apr 6, 2017
Apr 6, 2017 at 7:08 AM UTC
Darkness,
Inflation,
Bigotry,
Nepotism;
Unemployment,
Terrorism,
Kidnapping,
Medical tourism;
Miseducation,
Ethnic cleansing,
Mediocrity,
Tribalism;
Unease of doing business,
Multiple taxation,
Weak currency,
Egotism;
The shamelessness in high places,
The sycophancy along those corridors of power,
The visible aloofness to pressing needs among the masses,
The sheer policy of deliberate regional disempowerment;
Everything points to worse times,
Only the dead need not worry,
For the living, deafening chimes,
A worrying state of statelessness.
Apr 17, 2021
Apr 17, 2021 at 6:09 AM UTC