"solicitudes" poems
Your reader quakes like a ready reactor
Steady burn an incalculable factor
On your mark, we approach the next chapter
A quiet pen, without ambition
Keeps each plan from happy fruition
And pressure mounts, some new type of fission
Carve yourself out a space in time
Mark it well so it’s easy to find
History don’t repeat, but rhymes:
Solicitudes concede to style
Somebody just filed suit for libel
One more murmur to add to the pile
To be a made man is to be man-made
And so you dull your colors down a shade
The arsonists took over the fire brigade
Step outside of your burning home
Pavement stand, dial your phone
Ask whomever if We are Rome
The receiver will no doubt laugh a little
That is, if she caught the preceding riddle
Somewhere Nero bows the fiddle
Tell me something, if you please
About the world pregnant virgins see
Oblivious to a state emergency
A noble fourth, our D’Artangan
Has the sharpened instinct of a jealous man
Oh, you know him? And you’re a fan?
He’s wants a girl who drinks whisky and gin
Musket holstered, what a sin
Somebody asks, “What shape’s he in?”
One assumes he’s kind of tame
A lion, yes, but with a shampooed mane
He don’t play ***** but he plays the game
Shoes on, button up, wipe your glasses
Time to shake up contented masses
Donde hay educación, no hay distinción de clases
Mar 23, 2010
Mar 23, 2010 at 4:34 PM UTC
The solicitous Self,
with and in each exchange
of conversation's
volley of commiserating
commissary verbages
words of curbs and gutters,
owns not its guilt
knows not good will
nor for those whom shatter
in our drowning hours, unstill...
The Self is begging
for your idolatry's bastions,
wants you to find it beautiful
and superior
above any other
attention and ingestion
gorging and hoarding
the tid-bit compliments
the cloud nine glances
succulent smiles / flirtatious lick of lips
the audience pumping up
its hot air ego-balloon
to beach ball widths
a deadly kind of perdition
for you, character fool
careless and distracted
blase' as a toad on a stoop...
It is a ****
the amorous Self is
harmless, the beginning seeds
and whimsy / at flowering
in your hands:
fluff and puff intimations
child-like glee / pleasing / blowing
nonpluss dandelions
nonthreatening
in ruminations
N' stuff...
but like any ****
when it spreads and takes hold
the real estate of your time and soul
it chokes and feeds
off your serene prosperity
of peace of mind
of identity
a thief of your ideas
makes your dreams its own
It suffocates all others
behaves with dismissive airs
like you it becomes
you, who has watered
this pest and catered to its musings
like a sudden sunrise it appears
out of the blue appealing
a dandelion, quaint & demure
yet alluring
The ********** that is the selfish
solicitous thorn
knows its own nature
far too well
hides its hideous
kink so none can warn
it is a war
with Self
the attention *****
Self being compelled
as all else
a parasite to its growth
a virus and its host
what she now only has to give
in return:
assuage
her malingered spell
she breeds in you
a ghost of once you were
wastrel grime
wasted time
an empty shell
Abhorred.
Careful what the Self
is selling
the solicitudes
of obsessions
Possession
Suffocation
not much else...
No succor for the Self.
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 11:49 AM UTC
We water it daily when we discriminate,
The permeating foliage of hate.
And It continued to grow,
Always feeding off the dying lovers’ sorrow
We cultivated the land beneath its roots,
With a dichotomy of false hue,
We made way for the dark shoots
Ignorantly and blindly with not an ounce of a clue
The foliage destroyed the shrubbery of love
And It razed the home of the peaceful dove
It began to reach out of sight,
High up above, and the hatred took flight
And day insidiously became night
It blotted out the once blue sky
The light struggled to shine through,
And the hope of a new garden had already begun to die
With ill intentions, we tried to trim it
With a dogmatic shear,
We said, “Join us, not them, lest the foliage consume you and all you hold dear”
Still, higher it climbed -
Heavenward near.
Snatching away everything that we hold dear,
And still we fed it with a callous fear
Until it became too late
And upon the dying land, lay our fate.
In darkness we did grieve,
Blaming each other
For that hopeful day,
We blindly threw asunder,
And now all bereave
We belatedly now see our blunder,
The love we forgot, the united we did plunder,
And the compassion that we pushed deep under.
If once together we had came,
Armed with a singular burning loving flame,
And Burnt away the Hate.
We shalt have woven in time -
The foliage’s deserved fate.
And If United we had tended -
The garden of compassion,
We shalt have the foliage its fate rendered.
Love would then be a reality and not something to be remembered.
But we sharpened our shears with Hatred,
And not Compassion, Tolerance and Love
And nowhere in sight,
Could we still see the remnants of the peaceful Dove.
And in darkness our hearts grow colder
And compassion was no longer to be found
He hath aeons back retreated over the yonder
And forevermore we shall look back in darkness,
And see, that with shears laced in love – the foliage would be a carcass
A winter shrub in all its starkness,
A **** that was easily plucked,
But it is too late, the land is dry and from it all loving humanity was ******
The desolate, deep foliage encumbered forest
Bereft of care, not a shimmer of hope left amongst it
The last root of the rose is gone,
Hatred has taken over,
And it has finally won
And the last seed of solicitudes days are finally done.
Aug 26, 2017
Aug 26, 2017 at 9:33 AM UTC