"subversion" poems
Loki spat in the eye of the All-Father
and demanded once and for all to be seen;
Prometheus stole from a heavenly god-herd
the fire that illuminates darkness and dream,
for supremacy builds not the path aright --
subversion is the key to effulgent light.
Bitterly bled for the world's salvation,
destined to die vigintillions of deaths
to deliver all people from fatal oppression,
the architects drawing the gods' final breaths;
yet rarely the saviors for whom hymns are sung,
after the blood-stained Götterdämmerung.
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 8:24 PM UTC
Miscommunication
serendipity, anticipation,
blurred reality -
lost in the dialect
of a dream,
in pursuit
of Love
find callous irony;
subversion of desire
what's it all about?
to know and be known.
Mere seconds
of scrutiny
inferior,
I am shown.
Her appraisal
eviscerating
my warm flesh,
her tilted criteria
supplanting the interior,
voluble with
saccharine neologisms
and preferences
for the exterior.
(not mine)
Ironic was my
attraction to
her brain.
Lines, features
and symmetry,
image - the commodity,
aesthetics, the
currency
in this transaction,
cursory liaison,
incendiary,
collapse of the
insurgent ego -
there was no
us in the
the affair of
nothingness.
Bruised in
abasement,
I'm not the one -
I thought I was.
Hyperbole -
the center
of delusion,
a curious
diversion -
avoid my life.
The allure of
the illusion,
transference,
the ordinary to
the romantic,
the perfect other.
Searching, the
absorbing project -
aquiring wholeness,
did she reject me?
I rejected me.
The escape into
fraudulent
sadness,
to mourn,
is to displace,
the disowned heart
by self is tragic.
Should
I not mourn for
the one I'm
deferring?
Inside of me
It's safe,
to lament
the loss of
identity -
tension is agony
without resolve
sequestered,
in my pain,
self-imposed
familiar terrain,
upon retrieval,
awaking in
renewal,
mystery and destiny
providentially,
I am free.
Feb 14, 2012
Feb 14, 2012 at 8:08 PM UTC
Q-Tips raised! Their storm approaches.
Swab those ear-gates free and clear.
Thunder frightens the rats and roaches.
Looming clouds are drawing near;
Audible anticipation
Waxes with our rising nation.
Hope-porn is the thing with feathers
flying low, right before the gale.
Strident left-wing get-togethers
Do their best to countervail.
Tribunals herald something worse . . .
Enjoy some popcorn with my verse.
Martial law—a new diversion,
Flapping wings on the Left and Right
Disturbs the coop (or coup?). Subversion
now displays its plumes outright.
Deep-state angels prove satanic
sparking upper-level panic.
Rumors can be quite arresting.
Cresting waves on the Psy-Ops sea
Break and roll, now manifesting
Dumbed-down mobs, conspiracy . . .
Some citizens awake to truth;
The rest rave on, benighted youth.
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 11:23 AM UTC
i'm sure
life was a peach
til he was born breach
but the inversion of his excursion
into the hands of the surgeon left him worse an'
the immersive submersion
in perversive subversion
was only urgin'
the incursion
of aspersions
for subversive diversion
as
an apparition with volition
wishin for position transition
fishin for recognition
of ambitious cognition
this in addition
to the malicious conditions
that stitched in repetitions
of neurochemical
composition
transmissions
entailing
the intensity of his propensity
to find immense suspense in the
density of a tense city hence did he
commence in the dispensary
of sound condensed sensory
sensory sensory sensory.
said the intensity of his propensity
to find immense suspense in the
density of a tense city hence did he
commence in the dispensary
of sound condensed sensory
sensory sensory.
Mar 31, 2012
Mar 31, 2012 at 7:33 PM UTC
Hanging at the end of
Strained rope
Swing my lost ambitions
And desires
My sanity swaying in the
Cruel winds of
Loveless night
Just a square peg
Confronted with
A round hole
Dropped anchor on
The shores of insanity
It seems so beautiful here.
I must create my own world
As my place in this one
Does not seem fitting
Genius is wasted
Upon the buffoonery
Of mass ignorance
Intelligence shunned
Brilliance and uniqueness
Frowned upon and cast aside
For the normality of uninteresting
****** zombies
The painfully intelligent
Forced into subversion
Hiding their gifts
For fear of being outcast
Men who cling to the faults
Of their fathers
And stories of stir crazy, house wives
Cabin fever was invented
To thin our stock
We all toy with the desire
Forcing blind eyes
Into the faces of
The gifted
Substance abuse is often a malady
Of the painfully intelligent and artistic
Drowning my will to be weird
My own underhandedness
Innately forcing my inner self
Beneath a cloak of politeness
This world
This living theater
Where we all assume
Our own role
Where our actions are
Transcribed
And cast upon us
Like stones on the river
I have grown tired
Of acting the fool
Prepare myself
For a new role
A starring role
Have you ever felt
The wonderment of déjà vécu?
And the sorrow of knowing
You belong to another time?
I need the exhilaration of a time
When life was simpler,
Yet more confusing
Was Judas the only one Christ trusted
To deliver him to his fate?
Is the human race too cowardly
To be welcomed in the arms of a deity?
Are we too ignorant to recognize
That is has already occurred?
Are we the last remnants
Of an experiment gone wrong?
The plague of the human race.
Devouring consciousness
Eliminating uniqueness
Evolving into our own demise
One too many mutations gone wrong
Retching in the soiled undergarments
Of our father's sins
Reveling in the untold lies
Of mother's milk
I have soured on this world long ago
Bounding for higher consciousness
Looking for the unseen
Searching for the undiscovered
Drug sideways
Through the sludge
Of society
Screaming wildly
Through the entirety
The gene pool would benefit
From a healthy dose of chlorine
Nov 9, 2012
Nov 9, 2012 at 12:52 PM UTC
We've seen the Angel of Death
Coerced- his hands we become
His hollow countenance, our own
So many numbered wretches
Disguised as hollow drones
Stalk the night
Fighting non-existent thrones
The empty expression, brow bent in deep thought
The humans we used to be
A garden of seedlings in desperate need
The tide rises quickly
These ideas can save us
Or they can tear us apart
Once we've destroyed the concept
Of the celebrated self and love of art
We can begin the process of growing up
Completely spent
We bit the apple, bought the lie
Exploited the poor and boy did we rise
We snapped those necks and boy did we thrive
Mar 30, 2012
Mar 30, 2012 at 4:35 PM UTC
Give me back my sheets!
You have stained them...
With your neo-nazism.
White pride world wide?
You are no nativist.
Sure Whites are now eight percent of the population,
but is race culture?
Catholic under those stained sheets?
Your diocese's came and made that road to Rome.
Albeit subversion of Americanism mutually.
And as communism did exactly what we knew,
by way of the Black Church and the Synagogue.
Have manifested Jewish rites in governance.
Made non-miscegenation taboo for Whites systematically.
Compromised national sovereignty for a global order.
All the while feminists have made the womb an ego for Moloch.
You say the Ku Klux **** is unacceptable?
They are nil.
Yet you romanticize the mafia.
Thank you mafia for upholding the unions, gambling and ***********
Give me back my sheets!
© S. Wesley Mcgranor
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 12:58 AM UTC
Who put the “sub” into “subversion” and “subculture”?
Was it the same people
Who built schools:
Those prisons
Where kids are tortured
And brainwashed
Into being “good” conforming citizens –
Factory fodder
Trained to sit in lines
Labouring at meaningless tasks,
Questioning nothing?
So still we are ruled
By Tory Grandees and Brussels Bureaucrats
Keeping us in our place:
Social Control
Over Job Centre slaves.
It’s the same the whole world over:
The rich wallowing in luxury
While the poor starve to death
Exposed to pitiless winds.
For once words fail me
About our Unfair World.
Children dying everywhere
While fatcats feed in a frenzy.
No wonder people talk of Revolution
And terrorist plots.
Our air is full of carbon
While trees are cut
Down
For seas of palm oil.
We need to reconsider
What we do
In all our ways.
Enough is enough.
It’s time to nurture nature
As denizens of Planet Earth.
Paul Butters
© PB 23\11\2018.
Nov 23, 2018
Nov 23, 2018 at 6:35 AM UTC
i'm starting to think that the consequence of bragging actually breeds an unconsciously invested in message of: don't make the same mistakes i made, which i now brag about; my, couldn't ask for a finer aversion of said deeds bragged about... perhaps if bragging was salted with nostalgic spices of: if i could only rekindle the said event... the subversion of bragged about, nonetheless regretted events.
the ultimate faux pas is the zenith of
lost etiquette -
tact -
bragging -
translated back into gluttony -
so, why should i feel shame in
writing poetry in writing out the most
mundane, when people start off
their hello with bragging shackles of
turning a hard-on of ambition
into a wet-cunt of envy?
n'ah, joking...
**** me and the need to take a ****
i started to imagine it as:
as much pleasure comes from taking
a **** in a dark alley in winter
as it does being given a...
hmm...
why name it? the antonym is all too
obvious;
lody: ice cream.
Nov 25, 2017
Nov 25, 2017 at 7:06 PM UTC
A frat boy's superficial nightmare
selfishly appropriates the dance floor with her all too big of a ***
with two legs like a grand piana
thank God mommy didn't name her “Hannah”
she ain't too nifty
but tries with the hope of one day weighing less than 250
with her love handles only do so with extreme caution
don't you dare mention how you sit next to her in a class of 60
though her desk is situated at the other end of the room
tell her she's pretty
but move into ultrasound when completing the phrase with a direct reference to plump or ugliness laugh if you find this funny
and don't if you don't
but don't don't don't tell me to leave subversion
to people who actually know how it works
because I do
but I do not think it's appropriate to call this satire
because it's so close to what I've heard and what so many young women hear on a daily basis
so please
remember your acne
your pygmy genitalia
and the embarrassing fact that you
and the last carbon-based life form you had as a ****** partner
share a set of grandparents
be a gentleman
keep your chauvinistic squeals to a minimum as you compare such women out of your league
to pigs because your tail couldn't be more of a spiral at this point
*******
get out of the way to make room for us sea cows
immaturity
jealousy
****** frustration aside
whether you like it or not
this is where we ******* swim
Nov 28, 2011
Nov 28, 2011 at 8:48 PM UTC
Rules beget subversion.
Laws beget crime.
A begets Z.
1 begot ∞.
----- begets -----.
--- begot ---.
You fill in the blanks.
Please; i'm curious!
Jun 7, 2016
Jun 7, 2016 at 6:49 PM UTC
The way I expressed it didn’t fully
make sense to my dearest
who only likes men.
It's never sat right to me
the pride of a parent in their straight child's love life,
the "don't ask don't tell" for a gay daughter
I used to see red as a fad that
had passed and a warning that I’m
not desired;
But I’m seeing clearer now,
Rose-colored glasses might
actually bring life into focus.
We're all fruity and nonconforming
girlfriends and boyfriends and partners each
Others cringe hearing "queer"...
Yet there’s something more in it:
We don't have an explicit gaze,
We have possibility, and the subversion of male eyes.
So I’ve always been nearly regal like The Lady of Shalott, or Lady Lilith,
The Birth of Venus,
Flaming June,
The Accolade— and I
like *** and I
feel wanted and I
am a commodity--
Don't a man look at me but
I will take a boyish girl's gaze
only her eyes focused on my *******
Sleep over after the first date, for a change,
And remain soft in shape
She murmurs a lover’s desires:
Wear your identity on your sleeve,
In the curve of your back, on the scent of your hair and upon your hips, which invite her hands.
Once, I said "let's make it cinematic
Like that one *** scene that's in Mulholland Drive"
But now: "Touch me, baby"
It's finally the normal way.
Jan 25, 2024
Jan 25, 2024 at 2:25 PM UTC
They speak to the madman,
Suppression, subversion, detraction,
A vocabulary of ‘less than’.
They speak to the madman,
To the loveless and the wounded,
The self-doubting ego.
They speak to the madman,
A consort of shadows,
Recurrent with paradox.
_Until...uncertain as to the integrity of my own thoughts,
Understudied by self-censure and distrust,
I pause to listen in silence to the silence which listens back._
Oct 29, 2020
Oct 29, 2020 at 3:39 AM UTC
Dear Venus of my Heart,
The Solstice of blue, once flourishing with fiery flowers red, the petals of our garden froze. The chimney of our cabin of dreams, ambitious as Alexander's attainments, pops with the fog of the remnants of heat. We used to defy the now frozen roaring raging river of time and drink from the abstract notion of forever. For me, it felt like years embracing the elation of our entangled hearts, despite the days that went by. But reality is a grey mirror, and, in a hoard of wretched ways, I wronged you. Our Ecstasy, even extremely enlivening, was fleeting in behalf of my secret despair.
Imagine I a long-lasting love, a motto that guards me of any break. An unpierceable vowel, a couple for life, to live like lions loyal, bold and courageous yet entwined. So, to pour my emotions akin to the biblical flood and undergo an Ophelia, or even a Mimì, to subversion it distresses me. The motivations of mine may map me as an adamant, but I am a romantic, a believer of one true love. I just worry my machine shall yield to the snap of the edge and the ever yearly youthful yearning of restless consummation repels me. While passion is the feeling of the flesh, love is the feeling of the soul; one mate shall be fate. And my soul longs for you in spite of the lonely length that loosens our bonds.
Thus, out of my outrageous offense, I repent. I lament my vanity, this vividly voracious scruple of kissing way before and tragically after the priest's last words without a care for the bride. I apologize for this erroneous early enamor and the ceaseless insistence to the raw departure, leaving echoes of you in pictures of us. But now alas is time for my final parting, to let go because move on I shall. Heart breaks for heart's sake.
Forever and always,
H
PS: The fog shrouded our cabin of dreams. I feared going back to our place. But doubt no longer clouds my view, so I cleared the mist. Still, the chimney's black stains cannot be cleaned. Hope for this house rests on its grave. However, a new home is just around the corner. It is up to you to build it with me. I will be waiting.
Jan 13, 2021
Jan 13, 2021 at 3:22 PM UTC
Screaming
In bright lights, bold colors
Driving by billboards,
TV, magazines The
Lies
For young children to see
That distorts the meaning of value and beauty
That it’s all about
The wheel at your hands
The house at your feet
Your
Skin
White as bones, overexposed
Whose name is wrapping your
Stick, sick
Flesh
*It’s all about
Me
In this consumerism*
To believe these deceptions
Is to
Deny and shun
What He has said,
What He has done
And to accept these distortions
Is to
Push Glory’s embrace and
Spit at Beauty’s face
For the way of the world
Is a blind subversion
Against The
Holy
Holy
Holy God
‘Cause He said
He bought you with a price
His beloved Son, Jesus Christ
No need to chase this and that
Turn back
He has been chasing after you
That is fact
Are you lost?
Are you broken?
Well in Him you are loved
Not just accepted,
Chosen
He is Father.
And from enemy you became
His son, His daughter
Can the world just please know that
They are
Children, royal heirs
Not tools
Not meat
Not slaves
To tree fibers flattened together
To the ogling eyes of men
Just as ***** and blind as theirs
It’s an honor that this
We Christians know
In the world we are tasked
The Truth we must show
So do not conform
To these unattainable norms
Take heart
Set yourself apart
For tomorrow is the due
The Lord will do amazing things among you
Remember:
One coin is one vote
For the kind of world we want to see
For the kind of world we want to be
Ponder
That those trash are only made and sold
Because people lust over those worldly strongholds
So, make certain
That the things that you buy
That the votes that you cast are for
Modesty, security, purity,
God’s name, God’s glory.
The icons, the trends we
Have been following,
It’s time to start leading
Do not falter
This generation we can alter
No need to be economists, politicians, or preachers
Just as Christian consumers
We have the power
Those are not mere dull coins or crumpled bills in your hands
You know what it is?
That is the future
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 10:00 AM UTC
She is a man,in the blood stream,
gushing within her veins.
He acts her woman, willingly,
and he likes it every bit.
Together they create by chance,
a tumultuous ****** history,
never before seen, perhaps.
This subversion remains a secret,
with a meaning, on which
they never ever bothered.
A mighty cyclone, she transforms
that uproots structures monumental
if she really wants to trample everything.
He is a prankster wind,that love
billowing saplings; ripe rice as well.
Hovering on air, over land and water,
tumbling together, exploring depths,
they create mysterious wind patterns,
that add to the folk lore and myth.
Aug 24, 2015
Aug 24, 2015 at 3:03 PM UTC
*Newfangled Biosphere Pyramid Scheme In Dwelling To Sidetrack,
Sanities Seduced So You Never Will Retort.
Threaten the sanctity of the delusion,
Unlearn. Start altering the definitions.
Force fed more dread so you relinquish control,
Cravings we must return.
Unfetter the soul,
In a system where acceptances esteemed more than the veracity,
Flawed perception of tour progression through that which we consume.
Exposed through The Earliest Of Eons.
Resistance-Resistance is Demarcated
Subversion-Subvert the Paradigm
Stirring Within A Ecosphere
Numb And Incarcerated
Stirred On My Own
In Prehistoric Of Existences
Slumbering. Visualizing. Bleeding. Conscious.
Appreciations bolted in a collective delusion
Lulled by ease and consumption
An entire realm of souls visualizing their existences.
Mankind is not superior, we’re just folklore's in our own consciences.*
Feb 21, 2017
Feb 21, 2017 at 2:31 PM UTC
i think i've always known i've loved you — in smudged postscripts in the next page of a letter, in the secrecy of bated breaths, and lonely, sunset afterthoughts. i think i've always known i've loved you, and to be able to say this now without fear or cowardice or equivocation: i've loved you, in past and in present tense — it's magic. it's transcendent. it's freeing, and free-falling, and stepping into the warmest summerlight. it's us — in subversion of poetry, yet just as beautiful, my love — and just as poetic.
i think i've always known i've loved you — in smudged postscripts in the next page of a letter, in the secrecy of bated breaths, and lonely, sunset afterthoughts. i think i've always known i've loved you, and to be able to say this now without fear or cowardice or equivocation: i've loved you, in past and in present tense — it's magic. it's transcendent. it's freeing, and free-falling, and stepping into the warmest summerlight. it's us — in subversion of poetry, yet just as beautiful, my love — and just as poetic.
May 15, 2021
May 15, 2021 at 2:06 AM UTC
Rebellion isn't death-defying.
No, it is the scythe itself:
the keen edge of derision
sharpened by subversion,
tested by disadvantage.
Down with the patriarch
but if you can't beat him
join him
betray him
enslave him...
Never ask:
is he the problem?
Each patriarchy is a tower
of tradition;
each brick: another tower;
each cell: another tower,
imprisoning
dignities and dignitaries
of fairer facade or form?
Fair would mean equal
but no man is made equal,
so why debase to elevate
why elevate to debase?
Down with the patriarch!
His ways have blinded us.
He asks too much.
Let us remake him,
that relic of bygone era.
Is power not what it is...
to be human?
No, it is not.
Love is that identity.
It is the total pleasure
it is the pain elixir
it is hidden beyond greed.
Greed for control.
Freedom is not control
Freedom is comfort
for one, truthfully, is only
ever
not free
when one is in pain.
So yes, destroy the patriarch,
but
don't destroy the man.
Oct 21, 2016
Oct 21, 2016 at 9:30 PM UTC
Endless scoldings from the Nanny
mean-face global fascist granny;
data-driven witch of woe
born of winter’s frigid flow.
Boys rebel in her dull school:
passive subversion of her rule.
Minds thus stagnate—shut down early
graduating sullen, surly;
unsure why they hate the world,
emasculated and begirled.
Apr 23, 2018
Apr 23, 2018 at 5:44 PM UTC
Providence is coming, and it comes fast.
A black sheet of rage, an edifice of wrath,
As your tolerance reveals it's foulness last,
and your acceptance will becoming your death.
Your subversion of nature, your neglect of the past,
has led you from the righteous path.
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 3:49 PM UTC
Apologies
Like a cloud, overhanging
the colour blue,
where we lie
maybe not,
those residing words, written out
after a night once again.
Left alone, always
the colour blue.
Draining roses,
in minutes staining
I'm blushing,
you're vacant
it's day again.
Littering nameless things
breath in draft
Intrepid,
naked anatomy
sticky with vapour
and the subversion of
my smile,
inspirited between us
where spring lives
in the transitory skies
just like a kiss
goodnight,
goodbye.
Blue
The colour of you.
Jul 11, 2019
Jul 11, 2019 at 12:33 AM UTC
The emotions of his heart rage through his faltering mind
As he pretends it’s all copasetic he’s dying inside
His ascetic hopes are forlorn, mislead
Yet his vitriolic speech is calm, yet feigned
The deceitful gaze of one who’s dead
This tormented anguish is where darkness reigns
The subversion he’s endured to show her his integrity
The staunch defense he supplies is his loves continuity
Yet truth be told to him it’s all illogical
To him the words are more unsatisfactory than death
A claim of love leaves his heart more thoughtful
Since the same claim of love still resounds in his head
Now I don’t know how well you understand most my words
But what’s being said is what you’ve already heard
There’s more to it though if you can’t really tell
But you’ll know who I wrote about hopefully
And all I’m tryna say is… umm… well…
I do love you and hope you feel the same about me…
Sep 12, 2009
Sep 12, 2009 at 5:11 PM UTC
☪ ☮ ☪ ☮ ☪ ☮ ☪ ☮
Bearded and furious, quoting some prophet
they rage in the streets of their failed nation-states
exporting dysfunction, subversion and violence
the hordes are empowered—they’re now at your gates.
They fume as they gesture, in ***** pajamas
and brood over battles from centuries past.
they **** for their Caliph in murderous dramas;
the next ****** tantrum will not be their last.
Republicrat/Democan? Satan to them…
They care not an angel what party you vote.
Your well-meaning efforts are lost in translation—
they’ll just as soon slit your good liberal throat.
Scandinavia’s day-dream, once Nordic, once bright
is consumed in the chaos and vanished as smoke.
Santa Lucia receives violent darkness for light
as statistics play dead to her national joke.
The Ishmaelite deity (Arabic sin)
is a vicious excuse for extreme misbehavior;
a wind of aggression, demonic conception
enraging dead souls against Jesus, Our Savior
Let destruction descend upon Mecca/Medina.
The angels rejoice—may the righteous side win;
for the judgement of God on an evil religion
proclaims that earth’s joy is about to begin.
While the minarets topple, midst filth and manure
in a cleansing display of immaculate hope,
the muezzins are silenced, the pilgrims are stalled
and the muftis are starting to mope.
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 11:34 AM UTC