"togas" poems
What are we waiting for, assembled in the forum?
The barbarians are due here today.
Why isn't anything happening in the senate?
Why do the senators sit there without legislating?
Because the barbarians are coming today.
What laws can the senators make now?
Once the barbarians are here, they'll do the legislating.
Why did our emperor get up so early,
and why is he sitting at the city's main gate
on his throne, in state, wearing the crown?
Because the barbarians are coming today
and the emperor is waiting to receive their leader.
He has even prepared a scroll to give him,
replete with titles, with imposing names.
Why have our two consuls and praetors come out today
wearing their embroidered, their scarlet togas?
Why have they put on bracelets with so many amethysts,
and rings sparkling with magnificent emeralds?
Why are they carrying elegant canes
beautifully worked in silver and gold?
Because the barbarians are coming today
and things like that dazzle the barbarians.
Why don't our distinguished orators come forward as usual
to make their speeches, say what they have to say?
Because the barbarians are coming today
and they're bored by rhetoric and public speaking.
Why this sudden restlessness, this confusion?
(How serious people's faces have become.)
Why are the streets and squares emptying so rapidly,
everyone going home so lost in thought?
Because night has fallen and the barbarians have not come.
And some who have just returned from the border say
there are no barbarians any longer.
And now, what's going to happen to us without barbarians?
They were, those people, a kind of solution.
2.4k
There's a party around the block,
Where flamingos run and eggs fall from upstairs.
The roof is tumbling and the pool is overfilled with humans and animals,
There's a zebra and ten monkeys running through the house.
****** *********** is rising everywhere,
To the kitchen and the bathroom, to the backyard and the deck.
Balloons are scattered on the floor,
There's food fights in every room.
There's a car crashed into the wall,
People are running around in togas.
The music is blasting through the glass windows,
Everyone is jugging boos and sniffing toxins.
The bonfire is sparking with Barbie doll heads,
The smell of burning rubber spreads throughout the sky.
People are wild with horse masks on their heads,
They're fist pumping and thumping to the repeated beat.
Males and females are racing around **** in the halls,
Paint ***** and BB Guns are being fired on every window.
Glasses of broken bottles are lost in couches and beds,
People are swinging on chandeliers.
The walls start to buckle and shake,
Cops arrive but are being tazered with their own tazers.
The house is being tee-peed,
No one knows why the tub is on fire.
The music starts to get louder every second,
Tables and chairs are being thrown across the rooms.
There are piggy back rides on the front lawn,
Drug addicts are polluting the air with taboo smoke.
People are sliding down the stairway with helmets and pillows,
Many of the people are hung upside down unexpectedly.
Girls get dragged into the bedrooms,
Fights are happening here and there.
Some people are passed out anywhere,
Others are bungee jumping off the roof.
Furniture is left outside,
Lips are locking in the closet.
Fireworks are going off while people are dunking their heads in water,
Twerking is being done almost everywhere.
The house is a total wreck,
And the sun starts to rise over the horizon.
I don't know about you,
But this party was something new.
Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 7:10 PM UTC
Continuous ebbs and flows,
Ongoing transits on the way home,
Nights of burned candles shine,
Gaining new insights all so fine.
Rainy days and espresso on the nose.
Afterglow outlines turned backs.
Trudging through piles of books,
Untangling webs of teachings-
Laughing through triumph,
Answering through ones and twos,
Thundering through the syllabi,
Information would gradually fly!
On nights you sleep distraught,
Nigh morning comes not for naught!
Stand proud in togas and caps!
Pressed flowers make for good bookmarks.
Riddled with nostalgic scents of days gone by.
Intrepid you stand as you close this chapter.
Marching onto the next page of your life,
Onto the edges of this pen shall leave a mark.
Jun 30, 2022
Jun 30, 2022 at 10:25 AM UTC
garlands on the beach,
togas like walk way gables,
gaze back expectantly
for our return.
Celestial anglers catch loaves from the shore
and the limelight wash delinates
the patience of man the fallen shadow.
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 8:02 AM UTC
my gift to you are these few little things
that i have managed to save
like moths who fell asleep in my
care
and
who probably will never wake
preserved in a yellow clothe, folded and placed
in a box beneath my tongue
carefully so as not to disturb the dust on their wings
in case they should
fly again...
(the rustic child’s toy)
morning as blue as the eyes
of god
upon the roof
entrapped in it’s
crisp clutches
love and other
shining, stupid things
teeming below our crunched
bodies
something like euphoria
(or much to much wine)
and
silence finally
watching planes
leave their billowing
impressions on
the flesh
of the sky.
2.(the newspaper clipping)
we sank into the ground
bellow the bridge
and pretended we were
trolls
scaring the
goatlings
that trampled
by
you smelt of oranges
and wood-chips
we
grumbled and smiled
into one another’s
available
skin
to keep
laughter from
penetrating
the web of
fantasy
we were spinning
3.(the photograph)
naked beneath
the togas of wool that
our mothers gave
to us
tears trembling on their
eyelashes
(before
we walked away)
there is now fire dividing the
space between
our salty smiles
neil young-
a tiny voice
tickling the smoky
air
like little fingers
of sound
4.(the letter to yourself)
no contact
aside from
the mingling of
breath
and other
invisible
body things
like the mutual
recognition
of comfort
when was this
but
most
moments
mornings
in
cold that
froze
words
between ear
and mouth, slowing them
like insects,
caterpillars
slugging along
a frosted
branch
imbedding them
in the space
between our cherry
faces.
Feb 1, 2010
Feb 1, 2010 at 9:24 PM UTC
dashboard jesus was telling me how plastic togas make sociopaths feel something
and he knew that i was saving the ****** for later
but only subconsciously. so...
my terrible driving was the mysterious way
his father reminds him
to take his
medication
i'm staring at the sun
yelling at texas
going sixty to destination zero
and the air
is gasping for air
even
with the top down
and dashboard jesus
has to scream
to make
small
talk
and that's funny
to me.
then i miss you.
but then there's some beautiful cloud
and an epileptic messiah
with a bad habit.
on backroads
that were actually
front seats.
this is how my exit was returning
so i never looked back
and besides...
who really needs that much
salt ?
Apr 6, 2013
Apr 6, 2013 at 1:30 PM UTC
impressed by blessings expressed
my guess is the cesspool confessed
undigested fresh shoots shoot forth
at stressed guests with repressed ******
sweet caresses in the rest area
treat processionals with hysteria
fleeting pedestrians thin with dysentery
imagined thespians acting accordingly
elder accordionist shakes liver spotted fists
at lists written in jest
by **** drunk sisters with wrist rockets
and bobby sock pocket protectors
knobby kneed sarcasm injectors
deflect suggestions relating to indigestion
and pander to the discretion of their own reflections
in conclusion the union mission’s position remains
to refrain from insisting on persistent revolutionaries
wearing terry cloth togas
in the merry moth of May --
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 5:25 PM UTC
To tufted ground he fell but he was smiling on the way down
he must have seen it coming and cashed in his chips,Maxed out his cards, used up his frequent flyers.
The landing was in slow motion and he seemed to like it.
I saw the Last Mohican pull down his Wiki yup. He had a knowing smirk. All in a days work pay me later or pay me now.A casino or two for genocide in lieu. But what can a guy do when his number plays ?
I saw Robin Williams Throw up his hands. God I loved that man but it was no surprise. Too many voices in that chock filled head.He and Johnny winters cut from the same cloth.
I saw The Man In the Moon wink last night.The orb burned bright and the loons craned their necks to catch a glimpse. The tide battered the shore meanwhile and the Raven croaked "Nevermore" in the silvery light of the shadow painted night. "Nevermore"
I heard the gusting wind last night as it wiped the face of Kilimanjaro and dusted the Sahara in shimmering specs of glassy sand. A solitary Date palm surrendered tasty fruit to the grateful earth.
Joe Camel had a flying fig as he puffed an unfiltered and blew smoke rings thing of beauty and skill.
I heard the Howling wolf far up in the pines last night to no one in particular,just doing what nature dictated. He looked around slowly for approval, got none then sang his song again after clearing his throat.
I smelled the tangy scent of burning Rome on the hill as politicians fiddled for the lobbyists and corporate constrictors. The Senators donned fresh togas and drank heady wine from golden goblets.
"Let them eat cake"
Same arrogance, different century.
I ran down to the river to wash the blood from my wounds and seek shelter. A pack of sprinting zombies in hot pursuit. Good thing they can't swim. A pound of flesh each was more than I could pay and live.
I. incessant
R. ravenous
S.Sharks
I pulled my coat tight around me and leaned into a stiff ill wind as
Down the road I go.
By the way what does an ill wind blow ?
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 12:53 AM UTC
Trust, ties, tears, tears;
With setting rising sun,
just Truth remains.
Trinity's traits transcending to transcript,
The temple trusting the tryst to tall togas;
Truces, tangs, tangles, tags, teams,
with tricks or trills are tackled, tamed by
Those trained to taste the towering truth.
Taints, taboos, tattoos;
With cycling of seasons,
only Truth stays there.
Transgressing traps, talons, treasons,
Thorns, thongs, tides translucent;
These tapes, talks, tales transient,
Are trifles, tickles, trivial, trite;
To tribes treading the track of truth.
Talents, tacts, top techs;
Against infinite labyrinth,
Truth alone can pass.
Taut troops trotting the toiling trek;
Taunting, tapering the tonnage of trash;
Transversing tough tests of tempts,
Are trails of tiring trials, For
Those who treble the tone of truth.
Thrashing traumas to transfixing trance;
With beast or with beauty,
Truth belongs to soul.
Through love and death,
the true timeless tapestries;
Life translates to truth,
and becomes a happy moment;
The moment which is forever.
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 9:57 AM UTC
Boadicea came into my quarters from the cold,
Took off her battle robes and her brooch of soiled gold,
Rinsed off the crimson stains from the blade of her knife
Then flung herself into my arms as she cried all through the night.
Her teardrops couldn't **** the fire in her eyes.
Each drip crawled down her skin, so blemished and so dry.
She scratched at every wound and buried battle scar
Until we were silent, staring up unto the stars.
But as I wet my lips to blow out the flame
She sealed my mouth and whispered my name.
She went on to tell me how the empire will fall.
How the togas will soon crumble within her kingdom walls,
How every man will no longer call the heavens their home
And stop begging for their names to be engraved in stone.
She said, "Come, be my magic and the power in my hands -
Tell me there's life left in this promised land!"
And just as the moon went out of our sight,
She fell onto the floor and howled with all her might:
"To all the Gods of things good and right
Don't you dare turn out my lights!"
But some sunsets later she stumbled back in
Looking ragged, holding unknown medicines.
She'd lost her strength, seen her comrades die
But my arms and magic were sharply denied:
"I won't live to watch my men suffer as they bleed
A short and sweet release is my final plead -
So let me free now.”
And she turned out her lights
As we cried.
Dec 8, 2016
Dec 8, 2016 at 2:39 PM UTC
En el precio, el favor; y la ventura,
venal; el oro, pálido tirano;
el erario, sacrílego y profano;
con togas, la codicia y la locura;
en delitos, patíbulo la altura;
más suficiente el más soberbio y vano;
en opresión, el sufrimiento humano;
en desprecio, la sciencia y la cordura,
promesas son, ¡oh Roma!, dolorosas
del precipicio y ruina que previenes
a tu imperio y sus fuerzas poderosas.
El laurel que te abraza las dos sienes
llama al rayo que evita, y peligrosas
y coronadas por igual las tienes.
369
in Ali Ahkbars chariot rode
Iscariot to the ruins of
Rome
had ten gold pieces
in his hand
or twenty forget the rhymes
it's more important we change the
elegy the caricatures to fit modern modality
he met Julius who had not been born, still the story is better if,
and the Editors of the Bible know this , will edit it
lets say a real young Julius
with Cleopatra sultry and suave dressed in the best
designers of the time Togas
his power ascending
had no idea
the thumpers would thump
the Nazis would come he had Cleopatra's ***
on his mind
and say
history has been remembered ,
or not,
let's make haste of frugality
and really get down to the
gist of it,
brutality, fear of the unknown,
worship of gods we dont know exist.
If I were around then, who is to say I was not,
I'd slap Cleopatra on the *** pour wine down her throat
and watch Julius make an orange smoothie
out of Icarus or **** I forget , who he was.
Started with an I.
May 28, 2017
May 28, 2017 at 4:47 AM UTC