"solicit" poems
Corruption! Corruption! Corruption!
Where is corruption?
Seems tone up statesmen notion
Co-ordinate with gallantry pride exploration,
Somewhere scholar's voice explosion
Solicit grant for idle generation.
Corruption! Corruption! Corruption!
What is corruption?
Working against the soul corruption,
Earning money overdose corruption;
Kissing beloved on road corruption
Homosexuality in India corruption.
Corruption! Corruption! Corruption!
How to eliminate corruption?
Agitation, law, dialect and compulsion.
Could not minimize absolute tension.
To eradicate this sensitive passion,
Must regulate spiritual diversion.
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 2:56 AM UTC
Trying to find solace in the suburbs
when everything seemed superb
like that cookie-cutter,
picket fence,
faux fur mentality
they instill at the start
Just an infant with scars
He reached for her baby bump,
Then slammed it hard
onto the stairwell
She fell, wept, and held
That lil princess
and prayed she'd never have the same hell
All grown up. Alive and well
shes got different demons
different intricate cells
It's been said
she is special she is awake
But, in many ways
She is the same
As that ANGEL who carried her 23 years ago
That's debt I'll always owe
A gift I'll never own
Carefully Constructed
and Creatively Sewn
shoved a soul into that shell
That'll one day guide her back home
Shes got her mamas tough, yet gentle heart
her smile, brevity and love for art..
she can write her *** off
like her
the wrote and the writ
Yet she's plagued by guilt
every ******* minute
GUILT for the life that she'd been given
GUILT for each exhale emitted
She prays that God will have the sense
to go back in time and hit OMIT
(on all chapters even close to the word 'human'
there's GUILT for feeling guilty even more for despising your own )
"I must've slipped through the gate, admit it!
Or recruit another for your mission
regretfully, I must solicit
that I'm not fit for this position
I'm no hero
I'm the villain
If ya look close you'll see
I spit venom"
Mama walks in
smiles and says
"WE.
ARE.
WOMEN!"
"Betta recognize and
quit your bitchin'
as of today, you are living..
You are loved
You are safe
You are ************* winning
WARRIOR,
CREATOR,
QUEEN,
GODDESS,
INCARNATE..
We are strength & We are the faith
never to be broken
but we still stay brave
The Legend wont start
or end with you
Its a fight stretched out
through time
You will understand soon
No matter how much you ask
"WHY"
It wont stop circumstance
wont stop lies
wont stop suffering
and will NEVER compromise
Your in the way of the wave, child
This..... the secret to life
When in the way of the wave...
its only a matter of time
S0 if youre searching for solace
Will you promise
To memorize this line
Mar 9, 2018
Mar 9, 2018 at 3:54 AM UTC
<>
"And then one day you came back home
You were a creature all in rapture
You had the key to your soul
And you did open that day you came back to the garden
The olden summer breeze was blowin' on your face
The light of God was shinin' on your countenance divine
And you were a violet colour as you
Sat beside your father and your mother in the garden
The summer breeze was blowin' on your face
Within your violet you treasure your summery words
And as the shiver from my neck down to my spine
Ignited me in daylight and nature in the garden"
In the Garden,
song by by Van Morrison
<>
***This touches me deep in the chest cavity,
the palpitations of its internalizing echoing cavitations,
a warning, go slow, choose your words wise and
accrue, the mood,
for the ache of creating, hurts, fevers me
for I am but steps away from the garden,
and its violet hues infused with fresh sunrising golden hazes,
with kindly warmth, with warming kindnesses,
touches,
caresses my shoulders, begs me to stop crying,
overcome, for I am overcome, eyes dropping wetting droplets,
for find myself at the intersection,
interlocking crossroads
where perfect perfection
begins and must
meet its natural endings
thoughts of capture, retentions, preservations,
all impossibilities, challenges,
see me, begging itinerant
muses
in the neighborhood
to guide my hand, teach me newsome words,
mine feel so old, so unworthy of this moment,
hearing me solicit their
Treasure of Summery
Words
but they won't,
excusing themselves,
that this in particular human has exercised, exorcised,
all the tools in his ever diminishing capacity,
time insufficient to learn a new calculus of
addition
and bid me calm my heaving chest,
seize my tears, just add them to the brackish salted waters steps
awaiting away
live in this moment
live within this poem,
revisit it frequent,
weep no more,
your stilling heart weakened,
take fast what is given now,
and be contented,
your treasury chest is full,
overflowing with this summary of
summery***
but I am not, cannot…
7:48:am
jul 22
Jul 22, 2025
Jul 22, 2025 at 8:03 AM UTC
I have a confession to make, I said. I drink to forget all
That my failings and foibles beget. Sobriety
Sends me to most fitful sleep. No rest for he who in his unwaking hours
Mulls over the wine of his life, which he sours
With his own cork of guilt and self-conscience. All mine self-confidence
Derives from Contradictions repressing. Catatonic sleep of great notoriety
Is my limbo, my heaven, perchance my sick death. The
Removal of a blot on the face of this land should solicit, I fear, cornet
Mouthed angels to sound clarion of victory. If I was religious
I should become a flagellant invigilate most excellent
Flayed as the poacher would the pheasant.
And the landowner would the poacher.
Silence from both. I take a drought from my drink, she a small sip.
She looks at me and I look a way.
Do you want me to pay for this? She asks. Just the tip
Quoth I. Another drought and a sip.
Another.
I break down. I have nothing to believe in,
To believe in foul dogma to wash my soul of sin
I find repugnant. Belief in Progress and people and
The wonder of Nature is akin to praying to the inconstant sand
Castle made by the hand of a passing child.
Belief in my girlfriend! More my love’s greatest failure
To grant her the care and affection she deserves
Due to my sand castle of pride in which I do serve.
And thus do I say, to purge all my lust
There’s only one way, in Self-disgust I trust.
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 4:42 PM UTC
My golden heart beats and beats for you
A thousand palpitations at any given moment
I can feel my chest caving in within every pulse
Filling my head with such evocative dialogue
The salacious sound of your slithering voice
Snakes into my head spreading like an aphrodisiac
You solicit lecherously illicit questions that unnerve my judgment
In our dreams we dreamt of double eclipses
Upon our lips while we slept and slumbered
Our bodies coiled like serpents tangled in tantric passion
With the waking of giants and mythical expeditions
Our hearts would burn the fieriest of red
Ensnared between these silken sheets
Springs tied around every exposed limb
As if we haven’t known the sweetness of sleep for days
Oct 19, 2011
Oct 19, 2011 at 8:28 PM UTC
Are you that Stone-Edged as to penetrate
Which even Donkey's Ears refuse to sound?
And on that Bed, that White Sheet's Cry debate
Useless Tears as your Ring boasts your Account
Which of these Ways, Sir, must you Stark-Rebel
And addle yourself carelessly to Sin?
Your Canaan - burnt - to Red District's Level
Selling yourself in Circles for a Fin
Unthinkable, your Role upturned thereof
Though many Blinded Eyes considered Cool
All to solicit Pink Ducklings whereof
Plucking Wily Snails their Poison to Fool.
No-One has asked you for this Flipped Request
Save to drink this Tonic and do your Best.
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 2:35 AM UTC
what if there was no war,
no uncanny screaming of the aghast,
no blasphemy of the past ,
nobody had to breathe their last,
No ******* ten years old,
with a vestbomb as their told,
to wear it
As 'their allah sees it,
how young and bold they are.
No shedding of the tears,
from the eyes that waits ,
for their father and brothers,
and fears that last ,
No blood that shall gear from their mass.
What if there was no soldier to die ,
only You and I,
Together end this solemn execution of the nicer soul,
and be bold enough to give them hope,
draping them in brightest colors of life
and solicit the world to be in it.
What if...............nevermind
These are hoax with no light,
They probably are somewhere in the dark,
For there they would always bark
Dec 27, 2017
Dec 27, 2017 at 10:27 AM UTC
Last night an estranged man came to my door.
Upon its opening we stared, unsure
of why the other one stood opposite.
"Excuse me, but what do you solicit?
Do you know anyone home at present?"
Besotted by ale, "Yes, for I live here."
Rash in my response, he could not rebut,
I should have helped, yet I slammed the door shut...
Apr 16, 2012
Apr 16, 2012 at 11:22 PM UTC
A is for atom
Rotten to the core
Melting down
below the ground
just outside the door
Where presidents and statesman
continue to play
with hot core rods
in a box of sand
forgetting where they've buried them
From Kazakhstan to New York
they walk away and wipe their hands
Now all young boys like hot apple pie
but uranium cake is hotter
and those who've tasted such elation
will tell you that it's nearly sinful
the way the warmth slowly infil-
-trates you to the bone
Hear! Hear! A noble cheer
for the best warm dish
served in years...
Soviet meltdown in hot sause
There's a piece for brother and sister and you
There's a piece for mom and dad
who chatter in the parlour
like a geiger counter going mad
Now the nuclear family
eats plutonium pie
and triple scoop reactor splits
melt and drip
from every bodies spoon
Cheer noble! Good men! Cheer noble!
Please stand tall solicit applause
Cheer noble!!
You'll get your rewards
and your just deserts
with a noble cheer
CANDU!!!
Roosty
Feb 2, 2017
Feb 2, 2017 at 10:07 AM UTC
If you found it Buggersome that I Cry
Yet keep the Tears which solicit the Rain
Those were really yours; Apart which I lie
Would cower the Deed which summons the Pain
And Pain - this un-needed - turns the Ego sour
Then from Wise Mouths state Abandon precise
Normal for Commoners in Easy Hour
To shut the Door by Frustration concise
Then, do forget the Elder's Timeless Thought
Of Partners nurture from Time's Honour brew
That, you see, Instant Pimps' Deception caught
And turn Gold Devotion to Sin a-new.
Perhaps if She subscribes to your Profile
Would you Consider; That your Truest Smile.
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 1:14 AM UTC
Humble beginnings
To the bitter ends
Frantic boot heels
Optical illusions
The **** of a joke
Last but not least
Whatsoever
Then again
Telegram a trigger word
Dangle from an umbilical chord
Eat the placenta
As the deadlines fluctuate
And the ambivalence
Is sealed in a canopic jar
It's experimental
Mental experiences
It's elemental
exemplary mentality
It's explicit
To solicit
The illicit
And go ballistic
-Tommy Johnson
They're so generous
To call me and my work sui generis
I'm just inter-being
To learn from ignorance
By my own volition
To achieve total consciousness
"Of all the nerve you sure got a lot of some of it"
Coming from oblivion
Ideas composing
The appreciation
Imagination turn into materialization
Expand and contract
The sensation of feeling
We crave and we cling
Becoming, we're born
A phase, we age
Sickness and death
Cessation, ratify or deny
Die gratified
These are the type of things we discussed in the Agora, all those times ago
-Tommy Johnson
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 6:55 PM UTC
On darkening red sky languish low clouds as if, smeared into existence by artists knife,
golden edged against clear red sky that transitions, upward to darker cover, void of light.
Horizon formed by railway bank black, sprout twig and bough silhouettes of bush and tree
still in winters mode, bud form begins, reach, mingling with power lines gentle bow
in the the distance assemble birds seemingly in motion slow, fly seeking places known,
their favorite safest roosts, whilst crying silently, seagulls solicit the close estuarys call.
Serenely and unusually silently a train glides into view, slowing, prepares to halt
at the nearby serving station, clouds, now red edged emanate in windows of carriages long,
through moving frames the scene so pictured then - with the last carriage, gone.
The backdrops reds darken as the unseen sun sinks lower to adorn skies new
and so draws in the waiting night, escorting pinpoint stars, finally kissing the day adieu,
Laughably today, so called ‘happiness day,’ today, where tiny annoyances
grew into frustrated rage, conversation nettlesome, tension nerves to stressful result,
Mentally I accept the guilt for letting me, yes me - down, yes - it is my fault.
Still, a scene like this.... calms my reality within, even so, the self incriminating roundabout
slowly, restarts again the anger of - my - self created weaknesses and futility.
Thankfully this darkening sky creates a serene oneness in which retire I,
the placid evening, now early night, calmness returns connecting me with this aspect .
regardless of this view a day indifferent, tomorrow maybe be a better prospect.
Spring Equinox Evening Michael C Crowder 21st March 2019
Mar 22, 2019
Mar 22, 2019 at 5:58 PM UTC
Dear...
This haphazard poem was written solely for you
Matterless, what you came garbed in
Fever elicited, passion anew
You’ve graced me, the repetition of ‘could-have-been’
I loved the way you speak
Of knowledge and triumph
And I, bumbling and meek
Tirelessly I sought and now still seek
Your council, your court
For my amusement, for my sport
Conversing over a poisoned well
I listen in genuine
Raise my voice
Sing with my friends amongst the din
Higher on the pillar, you I hoist
Pure skin my well intentioned hands mar
Clumsily, I lean into a similar heart
To discuss life and literature, fantasies these hands take too far
How eloquent the silk you weave, which you impart
Which inveigles and entices, cajole us into the city
On pale page, the street lamps and dim moon, art
Palpitations and liquor test the pity
Of light and fire
I cannot help but explore your shapely form
And yet, without bar
Across miasma, my guide is a cute little hand
Solitude, the pulsations do doggedly solicit
I just want to be close, you grant this
Bewitched by the creamy satin of pale skin
Distantly, warmly, I gaze in those God-given sculptures
Of the richest green and azure hues, bespeak feminine
Engaged in the other’s stare, two drunken apers
The night, black as sin,
The mould of outcome of we are the shapers
And I shape regret that rises with the sun
You come back vividly and lucidly
Distant and opposite, worlds across, you from me
A nondescript ghost in the corner
Who speaks so placidly
I remember with regret
I remember with exultation
I’ve ruined our relationship
Our relationship topical felicitation
I haven’t had time to apologize
I haven’t had enough time with you
If I ever see you again
I’d mend everything
I’d discover the girl behind the name
And cleanse the projection askew.
Love, Me
Dear... .
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 10, 2013 at 12:10 PM UTC
**Intolerant feet of clay
shout out “Not Him!“
echoing, ignored
Life’s cathartic poetry
now mediates extrovert ideas
and introvert intuitions
Past’s flicker of persona masks
solicit with anima driven darker roles
remote and mysterious - not nice
Real now, not reflecting her animus
all becomes stilled and naked, to seek
that physical and spiritual soul mate
Jung’s bucket plumbs the black well
awash from hidden depths of creativity
and kindred ghost’s of spirituality
Change is loss then change - feeds
thy growth’s capacity for understanding
socket of creativity and enlightenment
Life’s tutored process of intelligence
responds elegantly to image and symbol
as a morality conducts the minds music
Babbling on to sip from the well
gains tested may then help others
Ghost glimpsed not genius or mad
spirituality and love held close**
.
May 11, 2010
May 11, 2010 at 10:04 AM UTC
A plume should be a thing lovely and light
dancing violet as it's fanned
at the flanks of the blue
bird-of-paradise
who hangs limberly
to solicit a mate
It should curl
blinding white at the back
of the puffy Samoyed
prancing fancy to please a master
who also preens on the oval
of a sawdust track
It should flop
red at the top of gold-painted tin
helmet awry on the head
of an aspiring actor
who plays centurion for tips
outside a mobbed Colosseum
It should spray
as clear and cooling drops out
the copper mouth of a grass-snake
green hose uncoiled by
the sneaky dad who tickles
giggles from sweaty kids
It should flutter
gray at the tail end of a quill
bouncing to the frenzied
jottings of an anachronistic
frump who takes the pain to outfit
himself far too seriously
A plume should not be a thing of plague
riding currents kissed by taint-
sweet crude blasted from a wound
gouged in the crust
of a frigid deep to feed
our shallow lust for eases
It shouldn't choke
It shouldn't muck
It shouldn't tar
It can't help
poisoning that last pretense
we cared about anything,
be it plumed or not, but
the finality of
a bottom line
May 31, 2010
May 31, 2010 at 6:54 AM UTC
One pill, two pill
Orange pill, blue pill
White beads, pressed ecstasy and some ****
Gluttony, greed,
My real sin is debauchery.
Gram of this, gram of that
marred my memories, myelin mortuary.
Skin, bones, but no fat
I'll eat gelatin capsules that can only subtract.
Artificial enthusiasm in Walgreens jars.
Decadence lost opulence to tolerance of bars.
Still I solicit any alter:
self-indulgence for Bacchanalian revival.
Hedonism's propensity,
mankind's perpetual denial-
but not for I,
the lotus eater
with the omniscient third-eye.
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 2:18 PM UTC
Passion is excessive effort
when you gotta leave you bed
All my thoughts were once on fire
then I strangled them to death
I see this world through a thick lens
of blinding apathy
Not because I couldn't care less
just because it helps me sleep
It's a clinical indifference, baby, bask in your dispassion
Clinical Indifference, let your lethargy become your guide
Action is a senseless venture
When you can't perceive an end
All my words are now required
to solicit emptiness
I see a stranger in your eyes
who I have known for years
Not cause I couldn't care less
it's just companionship breeds fear
It's a clinical indifference, baby, bask in your dispassion
Clinical Indifference, let your lethargy become your guide
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 3:19 PM UTC
solicit the galling thoughts
those obscenities rigged gorily within
victim concepts taught distortion forbidden carcass
in the persisting sully of night
padded dreams pace ******* at a fed distance
it's all in sight and held racing back and forth out of reach
some sloven mystery
under a cower of skin
one day free of your agent cover
and you'll stand vacantly able under eye of the morgue creator
mating together life habits gracious goodness gratefully seeded
you could maintain a patient pattern
with practice you could go mainstream
-with practice
Nov 20, 2022
Nov 20, 2022 at 1:50 PM UTC
I know love not as an arm around a waist,
nor fingers teasing hair and running down a neck--
but as a temporary tattoo,
and the fleeting taste of Zebra Fruit Stripe Gum.
And just like Da Vinci never slept,
but took several naps a day--
So do I fall in love daily,
but tenfold!
The deep yearning that wells within my soul
and sits as the lump lodged within my aching throat,
I stumble through the day tripping over my enamoredness
towards any kind soul who dares to look my way,
or speak my name,
or touch my hand--
and I want to set up a kissing booth
in the middle of a shopping center
or my college campus,
and solicit others to grant me a taste of their humanity
in the holiest of ways,
man or woman,
young or old,
to but press their lips against mine for a second
and I would become illuminated,
rejuvenated,
and I would leap from my weary mental confines
like a grasshopper springing out of tall grass,
and love would well up within me--
Not as a transient fix,
but an anchor in these uncharted waters,
a cool glass of milk to a parched throat in a late night hour,
outlasting any cheap ****** or content stomach,
and shying away the facade of complacency.
I would burst forth like a battering ram
through the prison cell doors I weep and wallow behind,
and I'd have a skip in my step
that would ferry me across every pond and great lake.
For these hands do not pray,
but they tremble, and they ache.
And these lips do as hands do,
as they rest upon a placid face
that looks in the mirror and reads
of the anguish seeping out of inflamed pores
and burrowing between the creases
alluding a furrowed brow,
and if but a kiss could render one free
from such odious palpations,
then I'll gladly set mine to the liberator,
whomever it may be--
And how many lips does it take
to get to the center of my frozen aching heart?
The world may never know.
Sep 13, 2016
Sep 13, 2016 at 11:12 PM UTC
God wasn't in the crusades
He isn't in the killing of weapons men made
He didn't solicit the death of millions
He doesn't reside in the tyranny of man
He doesn't just steal loved ones away
He isn't in the evil committed in his name
We have twisted his message of love to fit our needs
For control and bringing others to their knees
His message wasn't meant to enslave but to free
To serve and bring revival to the powers that be
So before we preach of Gods indecency
We have to look within
God didn't fail mankind
We failed him
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 2:43 PM UTC
In a moment we puncture the spirit of another
with a look, a gesture, and the turn of a lover
In a moment hearts are broken
By the very words we speak
By the expression of our faces
And the tears we use to speak
In a moment we make decisions
That decide the paths of our lives
Taking roads that deny who we really are
And hiding from the spies in our lives
In a moment we solicit an exchange
A piece of paper, a documented waiver
To change the course of our lives again
In a moment our world can end
Spinning, our own lives no longer our friend
In a moment the world can seen a dark place
A place unknown, no longer our own space
A world twisted, furled up and tight
No longer open to you, a world with no light
In a moment we decide if its worth the risk to try and smile
To make a connection to a world now new, for you recognize
That there are moments that still hold you.
In a moment you realise you are not lost
In a moment it beckons you to enter again
A place that’s safe, a place your recognize
Good, pleasurable emotions from whom there is
No need to hide.
In a moment the world can change
Colours, rainbows and a loving exchange
Beauty appears in unseen places
And faces smile and offer to take you places
In a moment you decide its worth the risk
to love, to flirt, to kiss
To give yourself once again to another
In a moment to let you both discover
That roads taken were meant to be
A learning experience, a glimpse of a live that can be
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 7:30 AM UTC
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Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 8:47 AM UTC
do fires kiss my skin's senses not when I should be kept back at a spines distance
not when I solicit crimson splashes
from transients that gaze longingly
from a screens distance
but for the aftertaste of tenderness
I often wonder if the inferno that burns in a particular shade of loneliness
could be extinguished with nothing more
than what you call a "hug"
Mar 24, 2021
Mar 24, 2021 at 3:00 AM UTC
I am not the girl that you settle yourself for.
I am the woman that you solicit ***** words to but never touch.
The woman that you kiss but never wed.
That you dance with but never share home.
I am not "welcome mats"
Or "family dinners"
Nothing about me will ever settle you.
I am full lips,
And soft hands,
Dangerous mind,
And beautiful goodbyes"
I am pleasant "good mornings"
But only because I leave it there.
I am not see you later.
I am the after thought of beautiful,
Something elegant but,
not sensual enough to give into,
smart but, not notable enough to settle for,
I am heaven sent but not suited for marriage,
And I am wet dreams, not yet solid enough to build on.
I am too long, heart on sleeve
But not steady enough to keep you there.
I am kisses too far overdue,
But not striking enough to linger after in your morning.
I am sorry that I cannot be your sun
And I love myself too much to be your moon.
I am sorry,
I have to leave you here,
I am sorry,
I took up so much space in the aftermath,
The in between,
Of you and the one girl who will settle you.
-Indigo Morrison
Dec 14, 2014
Dec 14, 2014 at 2:04 AM UTC