"slur" poems
There once was a hero who was mute,
A musical hero, to boot!
His fingers did not strum
A guitar or tap a drum;
He saved the kingdom with a flute!
-------------------------------------------------
A soldier clouded by strife,
To have love lost like a life.
Finds beauty in flowers,
Destroys evil powers,
While wielding an oversized knife!
-------------------------------------------------
An army of soldiers well-trained,
Though, in action they seem dead-brained;
Hit with his own bomb,
That one knows your mom,
It’s a battlefield of the deranged.
-SLuR
Jan 2, 2018
Jan 2, 2018 at 4:19 PM UTC
I want to write a poem about you,
but all the words sound good in my head until they get out on paper.
I can't make anything out of the slur of words I wish I could say to you.
There's a sentence for all the years I want you to have back,
and words for all the days you spent waiting for probation in a cell.
You are still just as much of a man as you were before they stripped away your sanity.
They say that people make mistakes,
But you had to give up most of your life for just one of yours.
I like to think you spend so much time in the company of a bottle
because somehow, in your mind, you'll find the years that you lost at the bottom of every one.
I want you to know that Alcoholism is not a choice,
Nor is it a death sentence.
I want you to know that I do not bow my head in shame at you;
You are not a monster.
You are a child,
One that never got to experience innocence before it was taken from you.
You are not a trophy to be on display,
You are not a spectacle to be snickered at,
You are not a John Doe to be left lying in the cold,
You are not next week's breaking news,
You are not stupid,
You are not broken.
You are not a statistic,
You are not a stereotype.
You are sick.
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 11:25 PM UTC
I pulled down vicious KKK flyers,
listened to members amplify hate.
Their harmful words only frustrate,
hoping to cease their cruel desires.
Harassment at work occurred
hablas ingles? a lady replied.
I let the racist remark subside,
when I realized I was not heard.
Being bullied at school would soon follow.
A boy shout the Spanish slur at me,
write vile notes for all to see.
Slashed my tires with archery arrows.
I never thought that they would presume,
I was an illegal immigrant.
Their logic absent,
only based on looks they assume.
May 30, 2012
May 30, 2012 at 3:59 PM UTC
Girly.
You call me girly.
When I wore pink,
You called me girly,
And said I was trying to be "the stereotype of femininity".
I just wanted to wear pink.
When I wore a skirt,
You called me girly.
Said I was just trying to impress boys and be slutty.
When I went out with a boy,
You called it "the death of feminism"
And when I cried,
You laughed and said "Cry, then, girly."
I- wait.
I am a girl.
If I am a girl, I must be girly.
And so you must be girly too.
Since when has being a woman been a slur?
All these angry ****** women,
Trying to make their taunts noble,
By hiding behind a noble title that they don't hold- Feminist.
They simply like to taunt, shame, bully
Other women, who don't fit into their archetype of ****** insecurity and violent jealousy.
They don't care about the sexism, that goes on daily,
Internationally, globally, yet never seems to end.
Oh no, they do not see the bigger picture.
You do not see the big picture.
It's just you against another girl,
And you trying to justify your actions
By misusing that word,
That word you just love to misuse,
Feminism.
So go ahead.
Call me girly.
I'll be glad, I'll be proud.
You just called me a woman.
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 9:23 AM UTC
I’m Biracial.
Which did you notice first?
The me that looks like you or the me that looks like other?
There is no denying what I am—
from my last name to the shape of eyes,
you’ll know I’m not white.
But you’ll also immediately notice
I’m not quite not white.
I’m not quite not white enough.
White-passing.
“extremely” white passing until:
someone sees my last name
takes longer than five seconds to look at me
notices something “other” about me.
Other...
not one box to check on your
“optional” choose one diversity survey
Can’t check White. Can’t check Asian.
other...“Decline to Answer”
I’m Biracial. White-passing—
but not enough to stop ignorance
ignorance in the form of
questions and comments
meant to be “harmless” or “curious”
but ones that strip me of defining my own identity
“So are you a math Asian or a **** Asian?”
“You don’t look Asian enough for your last name.”
“Why are you trying to whitewash yourself for them?”
“Diversity quota”
And in comparison, those aren’t the worst things to hear.
By age ten I knew which words were meant to hurt
and which were meant out of ignorance.
Which racial slur applied to me.
I’m Biracial.
The same system that builds up half of me tears down the other half.
But— The model minority myth means something to you.
So you’ll build my other half up at the expense of someone else.
You’ll make me feel uncomfortable in my own identity
to fit what you need in the circumstances
Statistics to fit your workplace diversity quota
But still white passing so you can use micro aggressions as a joke
because I’m “white enough” that they should be funny.
I’m Biracial. Not other.
Not part you and part not you.
Not “missing” something.
I am wholly biracial.
Feb 4, 2019
Feb 4, 2019 at 4:50 AM UTC
Decrepit creature, in the cellar you dwell,
to be at the side of the "angel" that fell.
The door was cast open, my words - yours to slur,
the glimpse of your face, forever a blur.
Consumed in smoke, to linger at demand,
you were given to me, you're mine to command.
A desolate figure, with the number of six,
you are all combinations insanity could mix.
As a nothingness to live, to be as a whole,
to exist like a human, but to feed from a soul.
You are every hate but love I can acquire,
the sadistics of fantasy, the perversions of desire.
The purity of innocence, all knowledge to contain,
The hatred to breed, the ****** to refrain.
The being to devour, the being to let be,
to know, to dare, to will, to remain silent is to see.
Fear not he is there, fear so that he is,
to feed from the source you've convinced him is his.
He knows not what you are, but he knows it too well,
to exist in your life, he knows not where you dwell.
You know who you are, but he feels of himself not,
you are all that he craves, he is all that you sought.
He is the sanity to forever keep you mundane,
he is the power to forever keep you insane.
He is the understanding, the logic to be told,
the agony to breathe, the death you hold.
He is yours for the taking, but so are you,
The connection to what you can't have,
but the connection to what you do.
Nov 14, 2012
Nov 14, 2012 at 6:08 PM UTC
You were supposed to love me til death do us apart.
But Then you let go and decided to trample my heart.
You've turned love into a lie and made heartbreak a work of art.
It was something I should have seen coming from the very start.
I was so foolish. Choosing someone like you wasn't at all very smart.
I fell in love with you because I knew your heart and knew who you were.
Now everything good about you has been wiped away, now a blur.
When I told you I loved you I meant it. I didn't stutter nor slur.
Now, after all is said and done I wish this charade had never occurred.
My heart, soul, time and tears were all taken advantage of.
Oh, how you lied to me because what you offered was never love.
In spite of the suffering I went through by you, I still considered you sent from above.
You disregard the times I treated you like a queen, when you were my white dove.
When my heart utterly melted for you. When your beauty was my treasure trove.
Now that its all over, you've given love a bad name.
Now that its over, I'll never look at it the same.
Love is no longer beautiful. Its a disgrace, a pity, a game.
Because of you Ill probably never find true love and that's a real shame.
However, I do hope someday I can find another that'll light my heart aflame.
But for now its a darkness a void. Because of you that's what love has became.
Oct 21, 2020
Oct 21, 2020 at 9:02 AM UTC
My work day woke to Monk,
the click of typing keys,
clock watched, Spotify playing,
random thoughts rose like bees
to freeze in these jagged lines,
then swarm in threatening flight.
Hours of data entry later,
on a stool, in a bar, a clock's
hands tock, I flick a wrist,
and slur my words concluding
an anguished monologue,
“They call it work, you know.”
Awash at home, in the strobe of
pixelated panel light,
visions surge and dissipate
with the pulse of the night. Osip,
were you tempered to embrace
attention’s fugitive caress?
You etched memory’s texture
with candle soot for ink,
and the gulag’s blackened gaze -
I type lines by hunt and peck
humming Monk’s WELL YOU NEEDN’T,
hoping for an adequate phrase.
Copyright © 2004 Gary Brocks
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 10:38 PM UTC
mackelmore got it focused, and eminem did too,
if hip hop can have a tolerance, then why can't you?
you say you're against abortion, but what if your child turned out gay?
would you change your story? or would you try to drug the love away?
pro-life's is what you preach but against gay marriage from a book's depiction?
no wonder we are lost, when we think in contradiction...
this isn't only a hit to Christianity, it's aimed towards religion, insanity comes to definition when a book make your decisions.
we try to preach peace, but peace still hides, when every hateful slur comes with a demon surprise.
so many wars over **** like this,
when we should all stand up and fight against it.
some say it's on oil, but see the bigger picture,
internal wars fueled by hatred written in scripture.
the essence of the soul is trapped within a cast,
maybe we are already in hell but our soul stands center mass,
trying to escape with reason by which you just ignore,
when you speak without though or a pulse within your core.
why does it matter if someone has a lover of the same ***
just because you were raised that way, you have to continue this hex?
ink written on paper, by the hands of man,
over thousands of years, translated again and again.
but you're so set in stone on what you believe,
that if Jesus himself appeared and proved you wrong, he would get the third degree.
set you human thoughts aside for the sake of humanity,
and fill your heart will love, respect, and a sense of humility.
I'm not anti-Christian, pro-life, or pro-choice.
but I am pro-Humanity, Pro-change, and pro-voice.
Oct 3, 2015
Oct 3, 2015 at 9:36 PM UTC
you can hear the echo via Zizek the Slovak,
well, attire me in slavic myths and
i'll be mumbling purrs in mud too
for a helium bubble to become a comedian,
i know a jittery ******* addiction
when i see one...
if one thing the catholic schooling system
taught me was how to avoid
sniffing glue and how to recognise
a Freudian apostle - still, with all
the hippy **** you'd think
sniffing glue was what Ukrainian existentialism
prescribed with paracetamol,
catholic education just said: no no.
**** me it's the late 90s and we're talking
post-Chernobyl antics...
but that's how i see the left, leftist politics,
the right
utilises prefixes and suffixes in the
old stance of simple pre- pro-
anti-
qua-
-so so...
the left? oh they're right in there...
their prefixes are
Marxist-
liberal-
Hegelian-
whatnot...
they don't
use abstract prefixes,
their prefixes
are concrete,
they want the porridge in their mouth
to ensure a slur that never comes,
among a range of onomatopoeias they argue
from the perspective of the hushed and ushered crowd,
via one observation: Stalin clapped after a speech
to enjoin with the crowd, a real big brother,
****** never clapped, a sitting-duck method;
i'm not advocating, but by a proxy placebo dynamo
experimenting, it's called experimenting with
thought rather than practising with will,
former no chance of footstep evaluation for
cult status imitable -
the left intellectual
has no rubric of thought concerning to and fro -
it has to be concrete layered and a shut off
perfect architecture without fault -
it can't be what it is -
con-
has to be conservative
pro-
has to be socialist
you once said legitimate
transparency - but you didn't say legislation -
well, the left understood it as legislation,
the right too wanted legitimate transparency -
the green party said we could have neither
but could have the replanting of a thousand
oak trees with a Robin Hood placard on the first
oak tree replanted in Sherwood Forest...
b. ~ d. ~... shot ~100 bent arrows into a bullseye -
hurrah! hurrah! maid marian lost her virginity
too! to a broomstick rather than maradona's
fingernail toothpick!
at an essex market the cockney shouts (out of
place): *** yer courgettes! *** yer courgettes!
ta fa a pudding! ta fa a pudding!
*** yer cucumbers! tooth firth 'un!
Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 9:50 PM UTC
You’re drunk
And I don’t need this
Right now.
You can’t see it
Can you?
My hands
Trembling,
My voice
Cracking,
When I
Try to
Tell you
Not to
Touch me.
On the verge
Of tears,
You are
Deluded.
I can smell
The toxicity
Of the alcohol
In your breath
And I
Don’t recognise
Your eyes.
There’s something
Different,
About the way
You slur
Your words
And,
Loll your head
Against
My back
As I try
To push you
Away.
You don’t ******* get it,
That it kills me inside,
That a lot of nights I cannot sleep
Trauma
Paranoia
I worry till my bones ache
And I can’t feel my legs.
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 3:21 AM UTC
Perch on their water perch hung in the clear Bann River
Near the clay bank in alder dapple and waver,
Perch they called ‘grunts’, little flood-slubs, runty and ready,
I saw and I see in the river’s glorified body
That is passable through, but they’re bluntly holding the
pass,
Under the water-roof, over the bottom, adoze
On the current, against it, all muscle and slur
In the finland of perch, the fenland of alder, on air
That is water, on carpets of Bann stream, on hold
In the everything flows and steady go of the world.
4.4k
I want to kiss you.
I want to feel your downy lips
Pressed gently against my own.
I crave to feel them part like the
Earth's mantle
Revealing your core
That is wet, hot, and squirming.
I desire to taste your sweet
Honeyed saliva,
To satiate
The sweet tooth
Of my lust.
I want to grip you
As if I were holding onto my own soul
As it tried escaping from my body.
Like it was the end of the world
And we only had each other
To look to for affection
In our final moments of existence.
I thirst to look into your dewy eyes,
That reflect my own feelings
A mixture of desire and fear.
I want to drink in your wanton stare
And get intoxicated by it.
And we'll fall, drunkenly.
Inebriated from life for the first time.
We'd roll around together
Laughing.
The sound
Muffled and obscured,
By the pressing of our lips
And the movement
Of our tongues.
Our bodies would contort,
As we grasped at clothes
Out of instinct.
We'd feel hot
And constricted,
Taking deeper and deeper breaths
As we kissed.
Still waiting,
For the world to end.
-SLuR
Apr 21, 2016
Apr 21, 2016 at 4:34 AM UTC
You are so much more than photoshopped bodies.
You are a spine that gets you up off the ground when you’re ready to fight back
you are the legs that walk away when enough is enough.
You are the arms that reach out when you need someone else.
You are the heart that loves them, and forgets to keep a little love for yourself sometimes.
You are so much more than your scars,
you are the blood that runs beneath them
you are every single cell in your body
fighting to keep you alive.
You are so much more than the branches on your stomach and your thighs.
You are your voice, your dreams and your fiery heart.
You are so much more than a strangers scoff
you are the strength that ignores it.
You are so much more than a slur,
you are the courage that fights it.
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 12:53 AM UTC
You’re frightened but, there is no need for fear.
Your eyes are barely open.
Your vision is blurred beneath your thickened lashes.
Blinded, you are.
Hazed, you are.
Sick, you are.
Lying on the minted tile floor,
back arched and your cheek pressed to a faded rug,
you roll on your side.
Tilting your head up, you moan.
The vicious pulse begins pounding your wounded head.
You roll again on your shrunken stomach,
bubbling over with an ocean of alcohol.
You drag your eyes up to the piercing light above you.
Adjusting yourself slowly,
your hands fumble for the floor beneath you.
The muscles in your arm strain as you push yourself to sit.
No strength.
The stained bathtub provides something stable to grasp.
Smeared makeup.
Hair stuck to your hollow face.
Memories scattering in the wind outside.
More pounding, but this time it isn’t in your head.
It’s booming outside the door.
Screaming and movement is caving in on you,
suffocating you.
Who’s outside?
What’s outside?
"It's okay”, he says “You’re fine now.”
You turn and stare.
How long has he been here?
He’s been watching you the entire time.
He knows something.
He’s done something to you.
That’s why your in this frightening room below the ground.
He stands and walks towards you.
You must stay strong.
Don’t flinch.
No weakness.
A gentle arm glides just under your leg
and the other behind your waist.
He lifts you up and a small whimper escapes your lips.
There’s pain.
He carries you into a familiar room through another door.
The pounding from outside grows softer.
Shoulders relax.
Forehead cools.
Sleepiness comes.
He sits on the bed with you in his lap.
Suddenly your alertness fades and you feel comforted.
“How much did you drink?” He asks timidly.
You lean your head back.
Funny.
“Just a little”,
your words slur from your swollen tongue.
You start to giggle.
Arms begin to sweat.
Stomach tightens.
Puke.
Tears.
Hushed.
“Shh now. You’re fine. It’s alright. Breathe. Breathe.”, He coo's
and slowly strokes your spine.
Tensions released.
He stands and walks to the door.
“No! Come back!”, You cry.
He’s leaving.
Why?
You reach your hand out,
like a child,
but draw it back quickly.
“Haven’t I always come back? This time is no different.”
Only a second passes and you’re out.
Not all the way.
Eyes closed.
A window opens.
The fan goes on.
A blanket covers you.
He’s there.
Jun 4, 2012
Jun 4, 2012 at 9:15 PM UTC
The core of our earth gets up to 10,800 degrees fahrenheit. This is the type of heat I know I will never experience. A force so unlike anything I have ever felt. Love does not feel like the core of the earth. It is weightless.
Lifting me off my toes. Putting gravity to disgrace. The earth gave up on holding us down. We moved through the clouds together in a slur of elation.
God let us pass by with a turned eye. Knowing that power has nothing to do with love, but giving up. Letting go. Releasing every burden held between those hinged shoulders.
The universe accepted our love. Letting us glide into an ever open space of everything we will know nothing about. Our love will be translated in space as a constellation. A phenomenon we all drop our jaws to watch and will never touch.
Our love is something like that. Unstoppable, but further away than either one of us can reach. Only for the fact that if we could define this love it would not be so special. Our telescope will tell myths about us one day. This love will stand the test of time.
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 11:34 AM UTC
Hush my baby don’t you cry, for this is not a lullaby
For I am your knight of shining armor, glistening steel no peel ore
Massive fortitude for in which gratitude is always accepted
For my speech you will need to be calm and collected
My beautiful Ambitious Girl, why you are so perfect?
From your skin, to your feet no flaws can be detected
Talk to me; tell me everything you ever wanted
For I am the one to give it to you, only if don’t flaunt it
You ass-mazing, to the degree in which I slur up my speech
No I am no Martin Luther King Jr, so I will not preach
Hold up; Hold up baby, please, I won’t take up your time
I just want to get to know you, just let me unwind
See I am a man of grace and commitment
With that saying, I want you to be the only one I commit with.
My Beautiful Ambitious Girl, is it too early to tell you “I Love You?”
That you’ll be my only one, no other woman above you
Heavens above will smile with just the sight of you
For I picked a women so elegant as you
Star crossed lovers no Romeo and Juliet
If I tell you well get married how much would you bet,
My love, my heart, my enormous riches?
For you are my most prized possession
You are my Beautiful Ambitious Girl.
Jan 20, 2013
Jan 20, 2013 at 6:16 PM UTC
Years later
Bathsheba's psychiatrist
Was analysing the tryst
Between King David
And her.
It was no tryst
Said she.
What a slur.
He was a ******
And an opportunist.
An amoeba would concur
Said the psychiatrist
That a shower screen
And being more demure
Would have been
Quite spiritually enterprising.
You cannot expect
Kind David to desist
From objectifying your femurs
And a cracking pair of amethysts.
Don't treat me
Like some calculating
Hormone Exchange Unit
You sexist misogynist.
You are not fit
To analyse me.
You say your name's Freud
But you're wholly devoid
Of any insight
Of what is amiss
Or my troubles might be.
Not one piece of grit
Have you put in my oyster.
You obsequious churl
I'm a girl you don't mess with.
I could have you hung.
But instead she dismissed him
and booked an appointment
With a certain professor
Who went by the name of
Carl Gustav Jung.
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 11:27 AM UTC
"But why don't we have straight pride?"
"I don't mind them really, I'd just rather they didn't shove it down my throat".
"Did you see those lesbians holding hands?"
"Do you have a boyfriend?"
These moments are usually filled with silence. The room is suddenly so quiet, that I can almost hear my fear in the key holes, tucked away inside draws, behind laws, In the space between us.
I sit there and I swallow my pride. I swallow the thoughts of years of coming to terms with who I was and kissing boys to try and feel the way I was supposed to. I swallow walking down streets and staring at strangers, trying to figure out who I found the most attractive. I swallow every time I used to think to myself "It's not real. I'm making it all up. I'm not gay". I swallow the first time I said it out loud. I swallow the first time I was proud. I swallow the way I traced her freckles softly in the sunlight. I swallow the fights with my father and the tears behind closed doors. I swallow the stares in public and the glares and hushed whispers that stayed with me for days. I swallow every time someone would say "but you don't look gay". I swallow being told I can't take a joke. I swallow teachers talking about "homosexuals" as if there were none sitting in the room before them. I swallow being myself. I swallow the very essence of who I am. I swallow loving who I am. I swallow reclaiming the word lesbian, the word that used to sound like a slur. Like a ***** piece of language that only lived in **** videos and his wastepaper bin. I swallow falling in love with women. I swallow each time I stared at my body, and didn't recognise myself. I swallow all the shame in the world. I swallow my pride.
But then fifty voices are swallowed. One hundred loving hands. Two thousand threckles. 20 different countries. 1 million breaths. Fifty hearts whose beats echoed in pride.
And suddenly, I stop swallowing, and start living. For they can take our lives, but they will not take our pride.
Jul 17, 2017
Jul 17, 2017 at 11:25 AM UTC
I walk this hall; it is full but no attention goes to me.
I am a ghost among mortals.
My size would make you assume that I am seen, but inside, I make myself microscopic.
I don't want to be noticed, because the last time I was noticed, the most attention was a slap in the stomach, and a slur of slander creeping through my ears.
The thought never leaves.
It invades and cannot be driven out.
So yes I choose to go unnoticed.
My fears help me do that.
"He should be talking to others."
"He should play with the other kids."
Look at them.
They feel they know how to make it better.
They think they can fix me.
What do they know the closest to bullying they know is limited to Hollywood bullying.
But what do they know.
This new breed of bullying, this evolution of condemnation is unreal to them.
I want to believe them,
I want help.
But the more they try the more I want to do this by myself because silence is where I find peace, Silence does not call me fat.
Silence does not laugh at the way I dress or the way I walk.
So this is why I choose silence. This is why I'm invisible
I dedicate this poem to the people who made me not want to live. your efforts to destroy me simply made me stronger; thank you
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 2:41 PM UTC
I make my own soup and I kiss my own boo-boos,
I tell tall tales about love, hell, and voodoos.
I cover up my sadness with jokes, smoke, and malice
Who knew living a tragic life could feel so lavish?
God and I have a pretty tight relationship
I talk to him every night when my fingers touch my lips.
I throw my bones at dogs and contort my soul for fun,
Chewed up, spat out. I’m just like everyone.
-SLuR
Apr 21, 2021
Apr 21, 2021 at 10:30 PM UTC
I am Hephaestus,
Festering,
Alone in my home
Of infidelity. Pestering,
My goddess, my queen,
With pleas, that I may reach
And touch her beauty,
That my ears may hear her sing.
Hoping I could snake my way
Around her olive tree,
With the courage of Athene.
She's the amor in the air,
Armored by her disgusted stare.
And I'm ensnared. Tangled,
In her hair. Amongst dead roses,
And broken mirrors, I repair.
Mending what was never there.
Convincing myself I'm not impaired.
I am Hephaestus,
Festering,
In this forge.
I'm scorched,
By my heart's
Endless scourge.
-SLuR
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 12:33 AM UTC
On
The counters of poetry
I dock and lock myself
Then
I scope on the bottles of liquors seductively
And spellblind by their syllables
I took the shakers and hybrid
The Similes
The Onomatopeia's
The Nemesis'
The Near-Rhymes
And The Triadic-Lines
Then I gulp fourteen shots of Sonnets
From my paper-glass
And glug a paradox
Or a foil-sigh
Trice,
The knots
Bundling my eloquence
Will exonerated itself
And torpidity will cuff my consciousness
And the droplets remains in my paper- glass
Will impel me
To quest for myriad of them
I'm not drunk!
I'm not drunk!
I'm not drunk!
I
Will slur
With half an eye open
As if the other is broken
Stock on a comedy chair
Then
When the
Limbs of time tread
Will I rush to the counter
Like the athletes at Olympia
And hybrid
The Blank-verses
The Alliterations
The Limericks
The Litotes
The Aporia's
And The Dysphemism's
And
Gulp countless
Yet measured shoots
Of Ballad,with my paper-glass
And unravel the oratories
Of sacred secrets,eclectic enchantment and regrettable reflexes
Aside,or injects the world
With my rugged pins of eruditions
Bestowed in me by the liquors of poetry
I'm not drunk!
I'm not drunk!
I'm not drunk!
I
Will slur
With half an eye open
As if the other is broken
Stocked on a comedy-chair
Again
I will rush
To the counter,and hybrid
The Exaggerations
The Personifications
The Imageries
And The Caesura's
And
Gulp uncounted shoots
Of Epic's from my paper-glass
And
Eulogise my steam and wit
Yet,I'm drunk
And deeply drunk wholly
By a might that mortify me so much
That I've become a slave
In the awe of my servitude
Now and then
Will I weep and wail terribly
Each morning,each noon,and each night
For the great demise of myself
And for an emancipation
From the perpetual counter-cells poetry
I'm drunk,and deeply drunk by poetry.
Deeply Drunk
©Historian E.Lexano
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 4:38 PM UTC
Your room is so warm
but the place where you
rest your head is so cold.
It's so cold
but I wanna learn how to control
and unfold
the layers of my one soul.
And what if I let go?
What if I told you every secret that you deserved to know?
Complexity from simplicity.
Oh, this could be so simple.
But instead
I'm contrived and trying to survive
while my mind is in the middle
While my mind strives to take pride in the greatness
of what feels so little.
So non-committal.
That was like your favourite word.
Like how your name went from my
favourite noun to my favourite verb
spewing from my throat like an intoxicated slur,
waiting impatiently for the day that we
return to the way we once were.
Yes.
We were great for one another.
Staying out late and sharing stories of our fate with each other.
Now we're building walls of hate
while throwing red ***** of paint as our cover
So I sit and I wonder
and I wait, wrenching hunger
until my silence pulls me completely under
Sep 18, 2010
Sep 18, 2010 at 5:39 PM UTC
lovers forgo their faces
defacing in the act
mammering their information to unreadable smudges
they slur in kinetic fluctuation
experimenting material forms fray
each the others face is vented away
betray being human
no separated being
and then...
to return in the tender moments following
a bumbling landfall
then they are athletes
enamoured and praising of the other
flushed and radiating
having rushed the life from their breath
they heave in its return
Later in a **** trip down to the night kitchen
they forgo they faces in a foxes forage
hers ; over-lit by the fridge light
face thrown into a mask by extreme shaddows
his ; beyond this light in the dark
they are bodies
sneak children
the raider and the lookout
after many years make the familiar relation
her face disappears into a hand mirror
and his is pulled out
into a middle distance beyond the dresser
durred in thought and waiting for 'go'
to the restaurant tonite
or that career social that neither wishes to attend
- fell shy of Eden
Sep 11, 2022
Sep 11, 2022 at 8:48 PM UTC