"shepherded" poems
Its a scam, its a scam, see the Crimson Gang deftly scamming them
They by sleight have befuddled gullible masses Moral Compass
Made them see wrong as right twisting their brains from the stem
With deceitful guile they shepherded them all to the fools' campus
Slander and fake News galore fed to vacant hungry masses scrum
Knowledge is power the reprobates declares, do not let it pass
We're the majority the bullies screams, knowing they're just scums
Worthless charlatans who rob successes and **** without cutlass
They take a foregone conclusion and coat it with fool's gold crumb
A victim with no intention of going after an uninterested lass
Dumb masses fed fake news fooled into harassing actions dumb
A non-event becomes a show of the controlling might of our class
Crimson gangs interpret a non-events from his deluded sad drum
Creates a warped sick drama round a hapless victim for laughs
Gives street theater actions to masses, these will oppose and numb
Whilst poor victim subjected to 'voiding' madness wonders past
The Crimson leaders laugh so much like pirates drinking ***
Look how we manipulate the masses, they are so simple and crass
With our devious twisting propaganda they eat out of our ***
We simply use them to nail and crucify our victim to the cross
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 4:50 PM UTC
Child, the current of your breath is six days long.
You lie, a small knuckle on my white bed;
lie, ****** like a snail, so small and strong
at my breast. Your lips are animals; you are fed
with love. At first hunger is not wrong.
The nurses nod their caps; you are shepherded
down starch halls with the other unnested throng
in wheeling baskets. You tip like a cup; your head
moving to my touch. You sense the way we belong.
But this is an institution bed.
You will not know me very long.
The doctors are enamel. They want to know
the facts. They guess about the man who left me,
some pendulum soul, going the way men go
and leave you full of child. But our case history
stays blank. All I did was let you grow.
Now we are here for all the ward to see.
They thought I was strange, although
I never spoke a word. I burst empty of you,
letting you see how the air is so.
The doctors chart the riddle they ask of me
and I turn my head away. I do not know.
Yours is the only face I recognize.
Bone at my bone, you drink my answers in.
Six times a day I prize
your need, the animals of your lips, your skin
growing warm and plump. I see your eyes
lifting their tents. They are blue stones, they begin
to outgrow their moss. You blink in surprise
and I wonder what you can see, my funny kin,
as you trouble my silence. I am a shelter of lies.
Should I learn to speak again, or hopeless in
such sanity will I touch some face I recognize?
Down the hall the baskets start back. My arms
fit you like a sleeve, they hold
catkins of your willows, the wild bee farms
of your nerves, each muscle and fold
of your first days. Your old man's face disarms
the nurses. But the doctors return to scold
me. I speak. It is you my silence harms.
I should have known; I should have told
them something to write down. My voice alarms
my throat. "Name of father-none." I hold
you and name you ******* in my arms.
And now that's that. There is nothing more
that I can say or lose.
Others have traded life before
and could not speak. I tighten to refuse
your owling eyes, my fragile visitor.
I touch your cheeks, like flowers. You bruise
against me. We unlearn. I am a shore
rocking off you. You break from me. I choose
your only way, my small inheritor
and hand you off, trembling the selves we lose.
Go child, who is my sin and nothing more.
4k
You can never tell when/if they’re coming
will they reach/snag your sweater
with their mossy claws
and leave your body shaking/rigid in the darkness, and you
sucking/choking your own breath.
You might/never see them,
you can(t) always feel their
breath, sticky on your sweating neck/knees
as they stalk with practice/perfection,
keeping you blind/sided.
Perhaps they are circling/behind
but they still he(a)rd your dank mind and
they can taste/fear because you taste it,
acid/tar clinging to the back/tongue
clutching the roof of your mouth
s(l)eeping in(to) your lungs.
Your sense of direction(less)
lost in attempt to hang (on) tattered flesh
to remind your self of time/reality?
to wonder where/when you left you and whether
you’ll ever walk back to your body—
But this, this is yours/your mind/mindless
being surreptitiously shepherded,
invisible to your eyes/your intuition,
which seeks/bares(t) gasps of light.
Hang on to those/sustenance,
gaps in the cloth of your (de)constructed mind
that withers/shreds/hopes again
only to find claws closing closer.
Where’s your reality?
Find it/they’ll get you/they’ll have you
You’ll have you what’s the difference?
When your mind is severed from its guy wires
just as your earthquake saunters from quiver to roar
and it all (col)lapses, you swallow you
into cavernous depths where your calamities/
Oct 26, 2012
Oct 26, 2012 at 12:05 AM UTC
Child, the current of your breath is six days long.
You lie, a small knuckle on my white bed;
lie, ****** like a snail, so small and strong
at my breast. Your lips are animals; you are fed
with love. At first hunger is not wrong.
The nurses nod their caps; you are shepherded
down starch halls with the other unnested throng
in wheeling baskets. You tip like a cup; your head
moving to my touch. You sense the way we belong.
But this is an institution bed.
You will not know me very long.
The doctors are enamel. They want to know
the facts. They guess about the man who left me,
some pendulum soul, going the way men go
and leave you full of child. But our case history
stays blank. All I did was let you grow.
Now we are here for all the ward to see.
They thought I was strange, although
I never spoke a word. I burst empty
of you, letting you learn how the air is so.
The doctors chart the riddle they ask of me
and I turn my head away. I do not know.
Yours is the only face I recognize.
Bone at my bone, you drink my answers in.
Six times a day I prize
your need, the animals of your lips, your skin
growing warm and plump. I see your eyes
lifting their tents. They are blue stones, they begin
to outgrow their moss. You blink in surprise
and I wonder what you can see, my funny kin,
as you trouble my silence. I am a shelter of lies.
Should I learn to speak again, or hopeless in
such sanity will I touch some face I recognize?
Down the hall the baskets start back. My arms
fit you like a sleeve, they hold
catkins of your willows, the wild bee farms
of your nerves, each muscle and fold
of your first days. Your old man's face disarms
the nurses. But the doctors return to scold
me. I speak. It is you my silence harms.
I should have known; I should have told
them something to write down. My voice alarms
my throat. "Name of father-none." I hold
you and name you ******* in my arms.
And now that's that. There is nothing more
that I can say or lose.
Others have traded life before
and could not speak. I tighten to refuse
your owling eyes, my fragile visitor.
I touch your cheeks, like flowers. You bruise
against me. We unlearn. I am a shore
rocking you off. You break from me. I choose
your only way, my small inheritor
and hand you off, trembling the selves we lose.
Go child, who is my sin and nothing more.
3.1k
On moonlit heath and lonesome bank
The sheep beside me graze;
And yon the gallows used to clank
Fast by the four cross ways.
A careless shepherd once would keep
The flocks by moonlight there,
And high amongst the glimmering sheep
The dead man stood on air.
They hang us now in Shrewsbury jail:
The whistles blow forlorn,
And trains all night groan on the rail
To men that die at morn.
There sleeps in Shrewsbury jail to-night,
Or wakes, as may betide,
A better lad, if things went right,
Than most that sleep outside.
And naked to the hangman's noose
The morning clocks will ring
A neck God made for other use
Than strangling in a string.
And sharp the link of life will snap,
And dead on air will stand
Heels that held up as straight a chap
As treads upon the land.
So here I'll watch the night and wait
To see the morning shine,
When he will hear the stroke of eight
And not the stroke of nine;
And wish my friend as sound a sleep
As lads' I did not know,
That shepherded the moonlit sheep
A hundred years ago.
2.6k
Palaces of ****** souls
have green neon text frames
standing sideways like arches;
divine arrows, they guide
the paternal flunks, the tar-soaked offspring,
the lonely and the business bunch.
Here in these palaces, all sin is a freeze, all
lust is a spin.
Fairy lights are often flagged in a net,
to catch mischievous mares flinging
themselves against the glass displays
of overpriced clothing shops.
One finds when wondering the perpetual
lines of restaurants and cafes, the vastness of them
having a motherly touch, for
these palaces, they stretch like the sky and
they spread like the shepherded
fire ants of Gaia herself
And when ones welcome is overbid
they need only to follow the
evenly laid out, sorrow yellow street lamps
and bite their cheeks and bare the frost
for soon the polluted lux will lead them to
an overnight joint, a limbo of sorts,
where they can breathe anew.
On those red leather sofas- fast food
or the district kind- when the night seems
to crawl on its final limbs,
they'll lay and slip into sleep.
Some say they never do wake, that they
wither with the moon and then
haunt the attics of the dance halls
where they swirled and laughed and lived
in a previous life.
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 2:34 PM UTC
Shapes, colors, sounds
Unintelligible, thoughtless expression
Thrown carelessly into my perception
Cast aside all feeling, love
As you are shepherded into policy
Trapped in a cage of conformity
We become what we're molded to be
Body and mind, desensitized
Body and mind, dehumanized
The workplace has become a temple to the mind
A monument to substance; tear it down
Our existence is blind, meaningless at best
This planet is a wasteland; tear it down
Dehumanize yourself and face to bloodshed
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 9:56 PM UTC
Jenifer Garner looked every inch the mom in control as she and estranged husband Ben Affleck picked up their daughters from karate class.
The actress, 43, strode out ahead clutching her cell phone in one hand and car keys in her other as the Argo star, also 43, followed behind with Violet, nine, and Seraphina, six, and carrying a canvas shopping bag.
Garner also had her wedding ring back on, but on the middle finger of her left hand and not the ring finger.
Affleck, though, seems to have ditched his wedding ring altogether.
He hasn't been seen with it on for a couple of weeks at least, although when they first split the pair had made it known they'd still keep the gold bands on around their kids.
Rumors had started to swirl of a possible reconciliation between the two after they were seen leaving couples counseling together in Sana Monica on September 4.
But sources close to them moved quickly to quash any suggestion they might get back together, saying they were simply seeking professional help to guide them through the changes that divorce brings.
Affleck was a doting dad on Friday as he smilingly shepherded his daughters to the car as they snacked on apples.
The Good Will Hunting actor was dressed casually in an olive green t-shirt, black jeans and sneakers.
Seraphina wore a pretty light blue pinafore dress with a matching hairband and her favorite purple and pink Nike trainers.
Violet wore an all black workout ensemble with turquoise athletic shoes.
Not with them was the girls' younger brother Samuel, who's three.
The estranged couple are back in LA after Garner spent most of the summer filming Miracles From Heaven in Atlanta, Georgia, and Affleck was reprising his role as Batman for Suicide Squad in Toronoto, Canada.
With those projects in the can, it means they can focus more time on caring for their children as their divorce moves forward.
Affleck is also prepping his next project Live By Night, a Prohibition-era drama that he's written and plans to star in and direct.
The film based on the novel by Denis Lehane and set in Boston is scheduled to start filming in November.
read more:www.marieaustralia.com/sexy-formal-dresses
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Sep 20, 2015
Sep 20, 2015 at 10:59 PM UTC
I really enjoy playing hide and seek with God.
He always finds the best hiding places.
Ready or Not here I come!!!!!!!
Where could He be? Possibly nestled in a cloud….a pine needle or the wind!
I never actually find Him but when I search I’m ecstatic to feel His blessings!!!
Blessings At Church, At Work, In my Relationships! Blessings!
But at Times I feel pain so I yell…………..TIME OUT!!!!!!
I jump into the world and ignore the game until I feel I’m ready to search again!
Don’t worry He understands. I mean He wants me to be happy! Plus God’s patient!
He will hide till I’m ready!
Till one day I heard His Voice from under the Bed:
“Be still and know that I am God"
This must be a sick joke! For I was the one hiding and He was seeking!
In anger I yelled “No You be still! Go hide and continue giving me blessings on this earth!!”
In desperation I slipped from under mattress into the most secret dark closet of my
Worldly identity!
When a Sheep strays from the flock it never searches for the Shepherd only the
Shepherded for the Lost Sheep!
Your never searching for God…..Every moment God is searching for you.
He knows exactly where you are but He won’t ever force you.
He’s not playing games. Like we do.
He Loves you!
“Be still and know that I am God”
Will you allow Him to find you?
Dec 28, 2013
Dec 28, 2013 at 2:33 PM UTC
No longer given the answer seek the truth and see, that what you have is made through opportunity. Doomed that is he, who've thought it possible to reach Moon by the sea, or even, to be, groomed by a beast. Thoughts as such zoomed by with screech and now loom by the teeth, only for the while as I tuned out this breach, since frying bigger fish is the room that I seek, I reach, into abyss, a gloom that is deep, emerging as this, a baffoon headed sheep, in a crowd of uncrowd worthy creeps... Shepherded by visions of aluminous dreams... Which seem.... Impossible to redeem...
Sep 19, 2013
Sep 19, 2013 at 12:02 AM UTC
The brume dripped down the hills in inevitable
swaths, with mist dispersing across the
town, yet with no more room left to run.
I sifted through the fog dancing across
my windshield, with vision blurred from
headlights looking me deep in the eye.
Shepherded by racing heart, I spotted a
glow through the murky negative. A flame.
The red licks to the heavens stole my arms,
swerving my car out of the lane. I threw
my eyes to the source of the embers just to
identify a street light blinking at me, the haze
softening its edges. I laughed to the beat
of the music echoing softly through my
vehicle, after I bid my goodbyes to the
tale of potential heroism that floated
away with the wisps.
Apr 8, 2019
Apr 8, 2019 at 11:10 PM UTC
Nature's transformation,
As the hills
woods,
and glens
are shepherded into
their seasonal
changing rooms,
each coming
out
entirely
unrecognisable.
Oct 26, 2016
Oct 26, 2016 at 8:29 AM UTC
I accept
only
wish
to change what cannot be
changed
delusions of
ecstatic
union
fade
smothered
under
silence
disinterest
triviality
joylessness
wouldn’t be minded
if the brief
glimpses of
affection were
less rare
but maybe
they wouldn’t be so
noticed
cherished
guarded
shepherded
into my secreted soul I
forget
on purpose
that which I cannot
swallow
learned to
eliminate
the day-
to-day
deflect
small building
damages
yellowing
psychic
bruises
or absorb
dead
(ening) shrivel
(ing)
cells of self
I wanted
to share
but now
can
not.
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 1:48 PM UTC
Do you know how hard it was to watch you on TV?
I saw it all again in a blue rush
The smoke from a cigarette blown just in from the garden door
Your broken needles and stupid little games littering the floor
A black coffee and a dusty bed
Us talking for hours while the sun falls and rises from the dead
Crowed parties of your own design
You looking at me from them
A gulf in a crowd
Making me laugh in my small crimes
We liked the way our dreams worked
Together in each other's bedrooms
Floating in your eyes I see the soul spin
Of heavenly physics clouded in fun and evil
To see all that in your face
Is not to see God
or even any abject grace
But its been a year
and you're talking to the interviewer
Shepherded and meek
Cared for another I see it all in that week
You're Talking to the TV
rather than at me
The grass is rarely greener
sights of when you see her
Alone and discarded,
I see you now on the screen
Eyes so hollow
near your bike -- you're so lean
It was painful and insufferable
the inhumanity of your stare
I'm killed by cruelty
or even maybe by my silence
You're talking to the TV
Rather than to me
But my tears are becoming moonlight
one day they'll be sunlight
then just light
A violent light of my own
And not light dredged up from you.
Dec 20, 2017
Dec 20, 2017 at 5:53 PM UTC
Her words were stolen by the wind,
But the message was easily understood.
The fence was close to collapsing.
He knew he had caused this,
And there was no time to lose.
Obviously he wasn't meant to cross back over.
He memorized her face,
Every miniscule detail,
And offered a strangled
I'm sorry
Before turning and fleeing.
He shepherded the shadows as far from the fence as he could,
Trying to give it time to stabilize.
Trying to repair the damage done.
The shadows knew what was happening,
And they fought him.
The desired nothing as much as they did to escape,
To plunder the rest of the world.
The crack became a breach,
And the shadows began to rush through.
The fence then ceased to be.
The light seemed to hide as the shadows spread,
Infesting every corner.
He watched as his children changed her world,
And he hated himself a little more.
Dec 13, 2016
Dec 13, 2016 at 6:57 PM UTC
I cannot justify a reason to breathe as I am made from nothing more than everyone else.
Why me, why must I have caught this bug that is so toxic and consuming.
I am nothing more than just a pile of bones that can move on their own self-accord
Uneducated and bleating like the rest to the marching sheep in society shepherded by the few intelligent who manipulate them into profit and statistics to cultivate capital gain from.
I want to badly to me independent yet I am so needy, in a sickening common sort of feminine way. People will never like you because you aren't chill, because not caring about anything has become the pinnacle of what it means to be "cool".
As loserish as I am I will continue to stagger stuck and bound by my own mind, because I cannot live for myself.
I wish I would just die because I am just a plague to everyone else and the whole world.
The call it depression, at least I want to **** myself less than what I used to
I give up
I wanna die
Please someone help me
I am not a sweet girl
I am evil and sad filled with demons and mold
I think I might die soon,
That would be better
Because then people could just get on with things
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 9:03 PM UTC
Listening to light as it arrives from the deepest past,
only to be stricken by the dark,
as it passed the last mile
Seeing voices bound by etchings on a tombstone,
only to be silenced by memories,
that forgot how to smile
Touching wind storms demanding audience with me now,
only to be shepherded into balloons,
that can only float and beguile
Climbing waves of torrent driven by images of sparkling sands
only to be reminded once again,
of the futility of living in exile
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 3:19 PM UTC
O Knowledge! Thou, in vestments plain and white
Art deceptively appareled, for deep
Runs the well of thy treasures; human sight
Cannot fathom the depth of such wealth. Leap
Into her pasture, poor searcher! Her sheep
Are ne’er shepherded awry; you will find
Her embrace the true fortune of the mind.
O Knowledge! Vision to a brain born blind!
O Sweet sight intellectual! I’ll praise
Thee, who alone art so gracious, so kind
As to seek out poverty so to raise
Up the poor captive from the witless maze
With gifts abounding, though unseen. I’ll sing
Thee, who in false silence makes truth to ring!
O Knowledge! Do thou my petition grant,
And come, my pauperdom to richly bless,
Break up the noisesome dark with thy fair chant!
O consoling balm to ignorant stress,
Thy seal upon our anxious minds impress;
For when the glass of our wits seems filled up,
Thy divine outpouring deepens the cup.
Nov 12, 2017
Nov 12, 2017 at 10:20 AM UTC
Spikes fix above the
Dance shop
Pink
With frills tutus and
Little girls shepherded
By disappointed mums.
North-west
A dark flock massed
Swooping at dusk
Coating the pink in white
Black-spotted
Guano.
Birds.
If they connect
Those tiny
Brains...
Mar 9, 2017
Mar 9, 2017 at 2:54 AM UTC
Don't let me be the kind of *******
Who hides behind the facade of fake morals
Blinded by the who's and what's of the society
To carefully navigate into the spectrum of likability
Murdering ideas
Shepherded by the popular beliefs that the self proclaimed "ubermensch" with values smaller than the faith of a mother consoling her dying child propagates
Don't let me be the kind of *******
Blindly seeing the disarray of colors and beliefs
Waving divisive flags of identity
While failing to identify the core of what makes us humans in the first place
Erasing the tiniest sketch of personality
To enjoy the recognition that comes with society's impeccably placed self serving values
Foolish enough to think that they're smarter than the rest
Smart enough to recognise the falacies that dont serve their interest
Don't let me be the kind of *******
Bayoneting the rights of others to exists
Carrying big guns
Compensating for the personality they lack
Their inability to break the circuit
Their brains programmed to applaud
The orange bleep on their screens that rule their lives
Their messiah
Don't let me be the kind of *******
Pretentiously answeing to a higher cause
While dismissing the cries that really need answering
Leading life one line at time
From a forged manuscript
Playing my part just right to be recognised at the pearly gates
While closing my doors to the here and now
To the damaged
To the rejects who dont see the white and gold
Or the the blue and black
But simply crave the warmth of the fabric
Of a touch, of a hug
Maybe a warm cup of humanity
Not the body or the blood of
A humanbeing just like the rest of us
We're all capable of miracles
Not a trick like walking on water
Bur changing the world one life at a time
Not as gods
But humans, in our truest forms
(Fort Worth, TX 12/02/2018)
Dec 2, 2018
Dec 2, 2018 at 5:57 PM UTC