"spectaculars" poems
The path i tread has many unknown particulars
The good choices appear in only perpendiculars
I find at times I get trapped in the luring circulars
I seek the butterfly but i come across confused caterpillars
The path is flooded with sad, intrusive manipulars
Some are merely spectaculars
Whilst some dare to strike your jugulars
...I wish to find spiritual teachers but I'm surrounded by lost seculars
I peer and search even using my invented binoculars
But this path i tread has very few, calm examplars
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 8:33 PM UTC
On a Sunday evening right inside Cartwheel Theatre the crowds somehow ignored the curtains as their spectaculars turned into their favorite pair of googly eyes
They set sight and aimed towards a rather refined looking gentleman with a marble pebble tie
Ah! Adonis! Then crowds were astonished!
The audience suddenly collapsed into a bore as their actor had a lead role of having a smile like open doors towards thick fields and bushels of grains and having a long right arm of direction pointing towards the lazy boys and reclining girls
Ah! Adonis! Whatever happened to the curtains?!
"this is a repetitive act!"
"I've heard of this before!"
"why are the old acts better than this week's?"
"predictable!"
Adonis noticing all eyes aimed at his cheek bones sang; "it is not I! I pity you who lost their recognition to the real show paid all your life to take a peek at a rather fragile fellow pale as I am, I beseech you; go beyond this curtains and forever stand in awe!"
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 11:19 AM UTC
just because your problems are bigger than mine,
doesn't qualify you as being
better than me;
but sure, we need apes, like we might encourage
buying stake at the butchers and
a quasi-Narcissus reflection in Darwin...
that's what happens when presupposing
someone's supposed idiocy, it happens
that way in democracy, without a autocratic godhead
of authority, many more are prone to being
prescribed madness, because being sadistic
with dementia patients and those disabled is all
that more rewarding than when a "patient" can punch
you back, bloody-nose your face...
and this is how Christianity makes sense?
might as well call the adherents of Christianity
children wetting their beds and fuelled by a desire
to maim their fellow examples of the species...
Darwinism will not do... it's a farce...
the animals involved to a categorical grouping
would not do what humans do to each other...
so we evolved from monkey to escape the tiger
and the snake? i hardly think tigers or snakes killed
with sadism involved... for pleasure...
but if the sadistic impulse was always ours...
we evolved for no good reason...
i'd rather experience the hunger of the tiger
or the snake than experience the sadism of a fellow human being...
and that's a humanism, it doesn't invoke a god
or morality that should be kept...
i'd rather a tiger **** me for sustenance than some
trivial bog-standard thief from the London estate knifing me
for a ******* bike... i'd rather end up in a tiger's digestive
system than in the "evolved" court-of-law debating
bicycle theft -
animal-cohesiveness knows no sadism,
human-overpowering of animals knows everything
but humanism, hence the need for humanism per se,
poetry and a novel... we write poetry but at the same time
perform holocausts... if we are evolutionary products,
we are by evolutionary standards a successful paradox...
we contradict the pluses with the negatives we produce
subsequently... we have evolved / transcended
the original parameters... but we did so paradoxically;
i'd still rather die from a tiger easing my death
by the vampire-bite of my neck that
the exfoliation abiding with the electric chair or
the iron maiden... the author of the Bonfire of Vanities
got it wrong... we really did use our imagination...
we used imagination for the expression of torture...
Disney can do **** all than quack like a duck
to quiet simply approve the endemic continuance
of the practice... because most people will
simply apply for t.v. and come dine with me
spectaculars.
Aug 20, 2016
Aug 20, 2016 at 9:10 PM UTC
Within The Heart Of The Rose
The blush enfolds the richest glosamor at the tip of your fingers that’s where the wonder lingers but
thats just the outward adorning go within to depths go beyound the veil you have ventured into nature’s
sacred dwelling cool night mysteries rest until the suns warmth leaves a fragrant excited exposoion that
ever so gently wafs into the consiscus vessitudes that draw a myrid reponses the creeking tree over the
vale this loving tale decribes its host ultimate tender nature so fragil a degign with pedels that there
greatest strength seems to be in the pixel colors they produce tilted forever in spectaculars arraying the
gradual play of light ever so softly engages delightful excitement would I speak of love then I must call
your name nothinng else is so fitting spill forth emotional waves they trully never languish they would
only slightly touch the water suface then from this enrichment go forth speaking all that lovers
demand and long for it trully resides in the heart of a Rose
Nov 24, 2011
Nov 24, 2011 at 2:11 PM UTC
Dark melodies, haunting,
caress lost souls
within a melancholy vacuum.
Strength and fragility combine
with minor harmony
to ease minds less troubled.
This gift of yourself,
writhing, dark longing,
as you ache for decay.
Beauty all but forgotten
by the pens that brought your demise
as they pick at your bones
re-running self destruction
in front page spectaculars.
Lone death is not your legacy,
a symptom of the silence you craved,
now unending.
Seattle's lights dimmed in your wake
it's brightest flame guttered,
reviled in tabloid taunts and tales of lonely rooms.
Still you walk in the halls of the jaded,
weaving life between scars
a saviour to the unsaved,
our hearts desires brandished
within passions voice, eternal.
*"My gift of self is ***** my privacy is raked
And yet I find, yet I find repeating in my head,
If I can't be my own, I'd feel better dead"*
Jun 29, 2014
Jun 29, 2014 at 5:58 AM UTC
I know your heart's buried
From your cavalcade of exes,
But there has to be a girl
Who will pick up your ashes.
Let's not pretend
You'll be made for each other
(Destiny is ********
But you'll be happy together.
She'll be different
(She won't cheat).
She'll be mostly what you want
A dream girl to be.
I say mostly because
You're not made for fantasy.
You're made for a girl
With equal idiosyncrasy.
You're not made for dreams,
As you're emotionally ******
You're only human and deserve
Another human to love.
And that's great because
Humans have the deepest loves.
You're no hopeless romantic
Looking for a turtledove.
You're... irregularly spectacular,
Like she will be too,
But know that she
Isn't waiting for you.
She's in your situation
(Or one worse than mine).
She could only hope for
An irregular boy in time.
But by chance or
By ******** destiny,
Your decidedly imperfect love
Will come to be.
So after you have the heart
To mend your own scratches,
Go looking for that girl
And raise each other's ashes.
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 7:46 PM UTC