"subsist" poems
Ambitious bastions always tout
progressive plans when they're about
while within they hide and pout
from novel things that may prove out.
And while inventing goals to follow
their ancients habits hold them hollow
as in vain wary workers wallow
force fed lies and hooks to swallow.
They hunt for those who work past five,
that trudge to work, endure the drive
who will sacrifice their personal live
until ambition can't survive.
Yet if you strive, you're constant told
do not do more, do not be bold
just fill your seat, forever hold
your tongue until you're dead and cold.
To subsist we're forced to hide,
only in others can we confide,
all success pushed to the side
as managers act bona fide.
Since those of meager measure make
hope of meeting metrics fake
interloping leaders take
their toll until hard workers break.
Oct 16, 2018
Oct 16, 2018 at 4:19 PM UTC
I will have you know that you are in the mine-ority
If you don’t look at my pic and insta-click “like” on me
I thrive in this weblight, you subsist in ambig-you-ity
Mine is the looking glass of Aphrod-I-te
The un-My-ghty look on my aesthetic perfection and despair
I am the reason there is an earth
All was designed to usher in my triumphant birth
You are just hateful ab-you-sers and mis-you-sers
YOU are YOUVENILE YOULINQUENTS!
I am the oh-so-fleeting truth
Present in a world obsessed with youth
I am only worth what others see in me
I embody the my-jority
My onscreen attention antics
Are the me-ssential components
Required to build a thriving Me-ocracy.
~
NM
10/17/14
Dec 28, 2018
Dec 28, 2018 at 3:26 PM UTC
1081
Superiority to Fate
Is difficult to gain
’Tis not conferred of Any
But possible to earn
A pittance at a time
Until to Her surprise
The Soul with strict economy
Subsist till Paradise.
5.7k
1405
Bees are Black, with Gilt Surcingles—
Buccaneers of Buzz.
Ride abroad in ostentation
And subsist on Fuzz.
Fuzz ordained—not Fuzz contingent—
Marrows of the Hill.
Jugs—a Universe’s fracture
Could not jar or spill.
5.1k
A Poem in 3 Parts by Sara L Russell, 4/6/15; 00:51am
I
There is a grey area between
this world and the next.
People can be foolish; they dabble in ouija, in
dowsing, in automatic writing;
and - wittingly or unwittingly,
they may open a portal
to the other side.
That is how they enter.
Beware of inviting them in.
Shadow people are there
where needle pierces skin; where the ******
sits, glassy-eyed, on the precipice of oblivion;
they lurk in unholy places where godless
politicians declare themselves to be
speaking for God;
they haunt the dreams of drunkards,
schizophrenics, junkies
and the paranoid.
But they are not spun out of dreams,
they are real.
Shadow people were there
when the ancient pharaohs of Egypt
were interred, with all their gold;
they took them to Hades
for also burying their wives
and servants, alive.
They were there
in **** concentration camps,
sitting on the left shoulders
of those who blindly carried out
orders of death and torture.
They subsist in underworlds of catacombs,
they lurk in the spaces between
our conscious and unconscious minds;
In blackened mirrors they seek out a vortex,
My friends, be the light that
keeps out the darkness,
Do not seek to question the dear and foregone,
No matter how much they are missed;
for there are others lurking in the shadows.
Be not the portal inviting them in.
II
Did I see you in Bohemian Grove,
smiling at the Cremation of the Care?
Were you there,
and did you have more than one shadow?
Did I see you in that Great Hall
with chequered floors,
where the Eye of Horus
watched over a pyramid of gold?
Did you lift a cup of
the good red wine,
did blood brothers drink each other's health,
gazing through a glass darkly?
Did we toast the Cremation of the Care,
and how many others were there?
III
Sometimes we visit Hell in our dreams,
though we may fervently pray before sleep.
There is no shame in sleeping with the light on.
Wear a cross, if you think that it will help.
Sometimes the citizens of Hell visit us,
in that stasis between sleep and wakefulnes;
they are only ever seen at the outer periphery of our vision.
It's never a good idea to look at them directly.
Sometimes they venture a little closer than the rules allow.
Sometimes the line between their domain and ours is blurred.
Occasionally, the breeze seems to whisper your name -
only, it's not the breeze.
Be vigilant.
Always try to see them first.
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 7:55 PM UTC
*we are witness to atrocities
committed by regime
over its peoples
over time*
1.
we are witness..
shattering glass of reality arranged into chosen shard-feeds
like omni-gov surveillance into meticulous mind-grafts
spluttering eternal-stats for public mind control
spewing mini-truths of perpetual war raids
disillusionment of history forever rewritten
control supply-and-demand
create dark-cloaked dilemma and monitor shortage and famine
make-believe elements so well played to auto-frenzied latch
thinking is degraded and actions.. well, less said
2.
diligent and loyal yet harbour secret-hatred
feed visions stilted by politrix
deception and manipulation
propaganda is the oleaginous-game by wand-over-mind
totalitarian is the kingpin-holder of cards
and yet, who is really being played!
eternal marionettes on a conveyor-belt
can't even play with yourself alone
your **** your **** your every move..
watched - surveyed - and studied
by that ubiquitous-bulge eye you cannot escape
right opposite your low hard-bed
you're broken into popping-parts
that YOU won't recognise!
thoughtcrime-police is gonna accost ya
get up, comrade.. get UUUUUUUUP!
3.
we are witness
life-tube covered in darkened vapour-swirls
we are witness
children conditioned to watch their parents.. too closely
we are witness
truth so smothered, now re-fed by repeat-metaphor
we are witness
dictata.. dictata..
we are witness
austere existence in a tacky one-room flat
we are witness
subsist on black-wheat and imitation-repast
we are witness
regurgitate the party-dialect on and on and on
(after a while, we end up half-believing.. )
*only the clock which strikes thirteen
can smell the charred-reality
as leftover-truth is shoved
into incendiary obsolescence*
tick-a-damn-tock
and that would be..
one
S T - 26 sept
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 11:53 AM UTC
I know I've been there,
I've given into death and altered the fabric of reality
Every day we waste away transfixed by flattened images
Of the limitlessness of death
Coupled with elusive, Luciferian harm which will befall us all
Who subsist on the manipulated reality of the hyperspace information field
But one day, enlivened by the festivities of Shakori Hills
And the fungal spirits who awoke beside us
I walked the irreversible pathway through oblivion
Facing cruel destruction and terror
For a horrifying passage across Styx into eternity
And emerged within a crowd of mollusks dancing to the waves of a musical sea
All time suspended in the impossibly drawn-out ****** of the
Archetypal wizardry of rhythm,
The swirling clumps of faces in
Unshakable ecstasy
And seemingly responding to the wild currents of my conscious thought;
A longing for human touch drew the others closer and closer around me
Till they began brushing against me
Bumping into me,
The flow of the crowd saw its axis at my psychic emanation
As once more the last song of all time began with thunderous energy and applause.
I escaped the arresting confines of the crowd
By willing them aside, wearing, as I suddenly became aware, the shoes of Moses
And seeing my muddy feet upon the sands of Egypt
But I yet had no understanding
Of the nature of the garden of earthly delights
Into which I had fallen,
And fear began to envelop me,
Producing law enforcement officials hawklike swooping in to limit my power.
I had but to let go of my acceptance of their power over me to transcend them
But fear tethered me to reality,
Even as I saw about me a Dharmic mandala
Of my past present and future,
Generating inexplicable archetypes around me in a manner profoundly defiant
Of rational logic.
Synchronicity compounded upon me
As the Christos within me
Brought rain down upon us
Forcing us together and leaving me in dumbfounded reverie
Of all that had transpired to bring this moment forth
What had seemed to be the end of history was in fact
The awakening of a new rebirth
The first moment of coming to be
The union of past, present and future
As the reassuring smiles of my trustworthy disciples gently allowed me passage back into a rational existence
I beamed in utter gratitude for the eternal life which Christ afforded us.
Chaos had subsided back into normalcy
But still winked at me
In telepathic coincidence.
My soul has begun to realize that it resides in all things
Soon they are to be reintegrated
Nov 22, 2012
Nov 22, 2012 at 10:16 PM UTC
I would like if I could, to venture out
into a baroque cave where the walls are translucent
and all that surrounds it are rivers of coherence
and incoherence
where I can scream, and when my echoes
radiate they bounce off on me and touch
the spaces in between my fingers
bizarre and ornate
rococo chimes lift my spirit
progressive, regressive
subliminal rising, into the sea of whispers
and final decisions
and crazed hands
and melting lips
and bruised knuckles
and fighting wrists...
I subsist to consist
of the fluid that makes me up
lavender barely breathing
flowers/continue/endure
hang tough, low by lakes of conspiracy
and hate/ block eyes/ shed those ill states
I carry this entity/essence/life gentely
in my arms like a ancestor. mother .
press its head against my skin and give it everything
in my blood filled hands, sinful/blessed/ tiered creatures
I feel beautiful in these worlds.
eyes closed in sleep, palms spread forth
oceans cleansing, I feel like an infant
stomach twists and hearts bat burnt wings
and learn to fly
I radiate.full hearted. eminence spoke to me
through her portal of solid grass and dieing trees
in the outskirts of the vagabond, slowly unraveling
like a child speaking
slowly growing like new love
stricken instantly
I am in
between Cleopatra and Mark
between Orpheus and Eurydice
between Odysseus and Penelope
between Elizabeth Bennett and Darcy
between Salim and Anarkali
I shiver in that love
that breathes in determent
and breathes out fragrance
temperate plasma hooked onto
the grind of my woman I beat like
the robins breast/ trembling in awe
like a living leaf blowing in the winter wind
resisting/giving in/ perishing/ breathing
to the sound of this beautiful life
Apr 29, 2011
Apr 29, 2011 at 5:53 AM UTC
i subsist on verbs
and postulate on chords
apostrophe
a symphony of synonomy
a chorus cacophony born
in hymns
and antonyms playing
on violins
paper pen
a concerto operatic
absurdity!
Jun 29, 2014
Jun 29, 2014 at 9:35 PM UTC
There is someone who I love
Someone who hurt this Christmas
And there are many others out there
Who are bereft of the brightest warmest sentiments the heart can experience
While the rest of us are ignorant of these happenings
All wrapped up in presents and drinking cheers
We fall short of being grateful for having somewhere to belong
For some the winter in their hearts is not nearly over when the holiday season is over
They are hurt from within and have yet to find somewhere to belong
It is sadness which confines me
The thought that my loved one goes sick
From within every Christmas
To think the winters in my love's soul
Are but shared by so many around the world
Yet the rest of us are careless, selfish and blinded by our needs
How many Christmases and winters would I spend in hurt and suffering
Just so that the one I love felt right at home for one Christmas night
How forgetful are we that a warm room and a petty meal
Might be a human necessity to subsist through the winter
But love and a sense of belonging is all that keeps us alive
We can not afford to not touch lives
And share our love and kindness with everyone
My loved one, if you ever fear you're alone
Don't worry God knows where you belong
If anything in my heart there is a place for you
If you feel alone you can belong with me
Strangers and enemies if you feel alone you can belong with me
Let us all be fearless in our efforts to share our blessings
We can not afford to not let others know they belong with us
It is a vicarious pain which I have come to assimilate as my own
The hurt which the one I love feels at times
And which many others feel all the same
The world is full of another type of hunger and yearning
Thus we shall not weaver in a journey
To help others find meaningfulness in their lives
And help them feel like they belong
If I could only accomplish to make the one I love feel a sense of belonging...
And if you feel like you can't make another feel like they belong
Because you yourself feel alone in this world
Please never give up the fight
Look within your self and know
There is someone out there like me
Yearning and waiting to let you know
Here...you are loved
Here...you are meaningful
Here...you belong
Look at a stranger's eyes and smile
Look within in their soul and find solace in their existence
There are more than six billion souls out there
And although on the outside we seem different
In the end we are all connected and we belong
Jun 14, 2011
Jun 14, 2011 at 5:38 AM UTC
i cannot continue
to empty out
an already empty water jug
curled in the frosted grass
my skin is sliced
by a tiny sword
leaving this rash
of dots
all over my hands
hot air
and extreme defiance
has been coursing through my veins
i wish i looked as sick
as i feel inside
because then i could subsist on
giggles and green tea
and perhaps
blood transfusions
and
saline
and
exhaustion
peculiar creature
digs in the rocky earth
with a twig
meant as kindling
peculiar creature
is content
dwelling alone
like Pluto
once recognized
soon dismissed
i wish this
tea was spiked
with more honey
or more hope
or more self worth
i never understood the appeal
of flowers
or why
they needed to be given
in bouquets
peculiar creature
lights a candle
and prays
to nobody
peculiar creature
feels nothing
but
peculiar
oh dear
who
will
stop
him
now?
Mar 17, 2017
Mar 17, 2017 at 2:09 AM UTC
What a web
Of clever widows.
The venom burns,
Acid lapped wounds,
Too early for the pain to subsist.
And of what I know,
She has yet to confess
And likely never remit.
Jun 26, 2023
Jun 26, 2023 at 6:44 AM UTC
castles made out or dreams
caves & spines & sky people
places of purity and rites of passage
smiles, circles, and the inner clockwork
of nature revealed- size disappears
the sky opens up and swallows us whole
the dead subsist on memory
what is death to eternity and eventuality
dust and train tracks
leaping down mountains, young and brave
fearless poetry in motion at the crossroads of the soul
the womb of our collective vision
you changed as we changed
i am what remains of the sky
a lone gatekeeper
to the window to heaven
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 2:54 AM UTC
disillusionment.
deconstruction.
liberation.
the breaking of bones.
a knife
stabbed me in the back,
and i cried, **** you!"
a boot
kicked me behind the knees,
then pushed my face
into the dirt,
and i thrashed
until i could thrash no more.
i became sullen.
hopeless.
bitter.
so i climbed into a spaceship
and shot
through the earth's atmosphere.
w e i g h t l e s s
liberated
i felt beautiful.
i could see the whole,
and it made sense.
i felt the relativity
of unfocused thoughts
the importance of calm
of simple togetherness
pleasure
the pressure of time
the shortening of days
and then i fell,
plunging to the earth
to break my bones.
movement made slow
just when the sun shone
standing uncomfortable
in fear, in pain.
loneliness,
but wanting no one
(please just leave me alone)
i'll live in my fictions
i'll grit my teeth through the pain
and keep moving
i won't allow tears
until at least one foot is out the door
i'll play songs on repeat,
and subsist on cocoa krispies if i want to
i'll draw cells
and i'll write and i'll write
liberated and disillusioned
liberated and lonely
liberated and in pain
liberated and in fear
liberated and frustrated
liberated in chocolate
liberated in red wine.
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 5:53 PM UTC
I hope you know what love really is
and if you don't, I hope you learn one day
That love isn't a possessive way
and if you let your ego lead
You are sure to feel jealousy, pain, and greed
Love takes maturity
because it doesn't always work out they way you'd like
You need to be able to understand so you won't have spite
Love goes deeper than skin
and it touches within
You want them to be happy and even if that means letting go
A smile on your face will still exist
You are genuinely happy for them and love has taught you to subsist
They are still around breathing the air you breathe
and that alone will always keep you relieved
Love teaches lessons that stick with you till the end
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 10:48 AM UTC
1183
Step lightly on this narrow spot—
The broadest Land that grows
Is not so ample as the Breast
These Emerald Seams enclose.
Step lofty, for this name be told
As far as Cannon dwell
Or Flag subsist or Fame export
Her deathless Syllable.
1.7k
in living we all walk toward the dawn,
through moonless nights,
through cold and touchless mist,
yet sunbirth come: only some shall carry on,
the rest remain,
in pain,
to on departed souls subsist.
Apr 25, 2021
Apr 25, 2021 at 6:39 PM UTC
Solar flares, deep space chambermaid stabbing her
molten mop in contempt.
There are so many squares that field her space,
sifted afire.
Tearing out rays of her hair to be, and be
beautiful...to see her strands descending lit, the
stress level of an unforgettable goddess.
She yearns head-over-heels, burns out her core
with blinding reason.
Not once was she afforded a mirror to know her
space.
Wiry stick figures subsist under her--fatalistically
emotive.
Summed up, as water broken, transparent as the
life seen through.
What pagan rite has shimmied out her soul, what
serpent slid her warmth sane?
Do not site dawn or dusk, mistake her outer life
for an inner one!
Do not presume the burden of her focal point, her
light hangs overhead swaying interrogation.
Caught perfectly for Platonic cave or other...
in utero, her light a stillborn beauty--as alive as
ever once away from her.
She's up, burning...console her, her blood is boiling--
she wants to be accounted for, to outgrow that coo.
Only to surprise once and for all a stone's underbelly.
Nov 9, 2013
Nov 9, 2013 at 10:57 AM UTC
*My heart is so tired of being in pain,
it tries to stop beating – an effort that’s in vain,
so I am left, once again, barely surviving
instead of feeling alive and truly thriving.*
May 11, 2017
May 11, 2017 at 2:42 PM UTC
Technical issues
Malfunctioning wires
The power sporadically
Comes, then expires
As quick as the rains
In cascades upon town
Serenade me to sleep
As they crash all around
And depart to the chirping
Of crickets in thickets
Of dense foliage
As the canopy glistens
Bejeweled in the dews’
Opalescent sun rays
As the colobus leap
To and fro as they play
On display is a wilderness
Otherworld bliss
And the people as natural
Components subsist
Off the land that has nourished them
Centuries old
Now a part of their story
Mine set to unfold
Sep 15, 2018
Sep 15, 2018 at 1:03 PM UTC
Kiss me
And you will see
I'll take you to a world
Where you don't want to be
And I will make you
Feel
If nothing subsist
If no one is
If we are
A taste of death
Feb 7, 2019
Feb 7, 2019 at 12:26 PM UTC
You ask me, why, tho' ill at ease,
Within this region I subsist,
Whose spirits falter in the mist,
And languish for the purple seas.
It is the land that freemen till,
That sober-suited Freedom chose,
The land, where girt with friends or foes
A man may speak the thing he will;
A land of settled government,
A land of just and old renown,
Where Freedom slowly broadens down
From precedent to precedent:
Where faction seldom gathers head,
But by degrees to fullness wrought,
The strength of some diffusive thought
Should banded unions persecute
Opinion, and induce a time
When single thought is civil crime,
And individual freedom mute;
Tho' Power should make from land to land
The name of Britain trebly great--
Tho' every channel of the State
Should fill and choke with golden sand--
Yet waft me from the harbour-mouth,
Wild wind! I seek a warmer sky,
And I will see before I die
The palms and temples of the South.
1.5k
Those words are now meaningless
compared to what you mean to me.
Where I thought that there was no way to feel deeper,
you prove me wrong.
I am ice
and you were the cool breeze
that keeps me from melting and evaporating away.
No four letter-word could ever measure against you.
I was eating cigarettes for breakfast;
now I subsist only on the health of you.
I was dreaming of the day
I was born,
strangling on an umbilical noose;
you have slid your pink life-giving cord into my navel.
I was writing my suicide note,
but you came and lit it aflame,
blew away the embers,
wrote a story with a happy ending.
I dangled, atrophied, off of an edge,
my chalk-outline superimposed over the gaping black.
Your hair, strands of raven steel,
snaked their way through my fingers,
held me long enough for you
to pull me back.
You held my hand,
guided the crayon it held.
Where I saw only a blank
page, you showed
where the lines were and created
a piece of art beyond
anything the world has ever seen.
You are my life-support system,
Holly,
and without you,
I wouldn't be writing this.
Aug 24, 2012
Aug 24, 2012 at 3:50 AM UTC
My God, my God, my mothering God!
I cry to you from along this trackless waste,
Where humanity buried itself so long ago –
Scorched earth in place of garden sweet –
No water here to cool the parchĕd lips,
No sanctuary for the troubled, lonely soul.
My God, my God, my mothering God!
What did we do to make this barren land,
Where souls are turned to shadowy shades,
Eyes are empty and hearts grown cold?
We long for your mercy, better than life,
Gentle rain of grace, light in the darkness.
My God, my God, my mothering God!
I search this desert haunt, one broken man,
Where my brother is stripped of all dignity,
My sister is sold into slavery for pleasure;
Men **** your world for vanishing profit,
And crush your children for fleeting gain.
My God, my God, my mothering God!
Here in the wasteland we make our home
With tears and curses and all our fears –
We lost the war we began in ages past –
Now here we subsist, hostīle squatters,
Breath the air of the world we poisoned.
My God, my God, my mothering God!
This scorchĕd breeze carries the wailing,
Cries of the millions of the sick and poor,
Widows and orphans and lonely souls –
We blinded ourselves; we are deaf now –
Agony and angst, anxiety and final death.
My God, my God, my mothering God!
Is there some sanctuary in this desert land?
To lay down this self-borne cross, to rest –
Water to refresh, to cool the burning brow –
Some sweet promise of the garden again,
An oasis of hope amid our suffering shame?
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 10:28 AM UTC