"touting" poems
Liberalizing democracy
To the extent of
Embracing **********
Going out of one's way
To promote ****** orientation--
Is no less transgression
Than strangulating it
With iron censorship--
Simply touting
The government
Is immaculate!
Dec 7, 2015
Dec 7, 2015 at 8:42 AM UTC
"I will beat this," I swear.
No one else has,
as there is no end,
but there must be an end.
I'll find it.
Watching everyone spin
on their axis,
touting their progress,
there must be a someone
or some thing!
Watch me spin.
Spin and fidget.
Watch me spin,
spin and fidget.
Spin the blades
to your right.
Now you're loading. Now
you're spinning.
"I will beat this," rings obsolete.
Now, "I will secede,"
seems pragmatic.
Is it romantic to
be at one with nothing?
Cross legged on the floor,
I whisper,
to myself,
"Oh,
you
bet."
Oct 8, 2018
Oct 8, 2018 at 1:42 AM UTC
The poleax of Paroket
a pietersite soul sheath
the head which is not,
keening like a red horse
between two lions
slaying men and peace
with the hymns of ascent,
swatting humanities darkness
thrilling the sword of Michael;
First Cause , sweeping the graveyard
dust garden of Magna Mater touting
predicant trappings of the etheric
revenant a self compassing
mandala who is all right side invoked
By laudible Yahwistic nutation.
ELEETE J MUIR.
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 2:13 PM UTC
pollen rots,
faintly wafts increasing death
in an otherwise vacant Spring breeze.
the memories of bees buzz.
melodramatically,
i add a spoon of honey to my coffee.
it isn't fair trade.
neither is the milk..fair trade milk?
40 multicultural minds
hexagonal attuned:
the IPI begins to gather
in consilience
some further future data,
worked together for a whole new picture-
target for debunkers touting
benefits of pesticides,
ultra-gene manipulation patenting,
cross-pollinating property.
i am a bland dismissal too,
not just touchy-feely rage at rampant death
upon death, on death, death after death..
for 'death has always been common' right...
as i sit here, sipping sweet and sour coffee
not quite awake
.
May 3, 2013
May 3, 2013 at 12:59 PM UTC
Finding something on the road
And serving it for dinner
Buying dresses far too small
And thinking you look thinner
Solar powered submarines
Broken ribs or ruptured spleens
Driving cars and drinking beers
Lightbulb licking, bad ideas
Knowing where you shouldn't be
And being there despite
Going out in thunderstorms
To fly your iron kite
Sharing needles with a shark
Going to Mansfield after dark
Setting fire to someone's ears
Telemarketing, bad ideas
Not deploying gaffer-tape
When doing D.I.Y.
Believing the implausible
While branding truth a lie
Replying to Nigerian Princes
**** bleach and ******* rinses
Tabloid papers touting fears
Voting UKIP, bad ideas
Impersonating ******
Before nineteen forty-five
Catching a train on Sunday
And assuming you'll arrive
Turning lights on with your nose
Eating food that moves or glows
Listening to Britney Spears
Marmite Pringles, bad ideas
**
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 7:20 AM UTC
Hi . . . This is about the kinds of people who work in corporate big money office buildings . . . Imagine them at lunchtime, how they interact and picture the scene in any . . .
Busy little bistro
Sharp - sharks - circle - the - pack
Pinstripe finned and eager
Snapping their snacks back with ease
Points to prove with nothing to lose
No cracks in their creases
They're keen to return to the fray.
These boys play with girls
Aren't yet uncles with nieces
Just unproven throwaway pieces . . .
In shiny . eat ***** . suited up . Chelsea boots
Bidding for ***** with cute looks and loot
Touting with confident ***** . . .
As mobile as their smart devices
Loose
Next . . . ?
And fresh from a mornings abuse
And fifteen years of fear . .
Beleaguered older shirts sit . .
Flogged dogs with weak barks
Parked packed into packs.
Tongue tied ties tied together
Safety is numbers
Get each others backs
These partially satisfied cats
Know today is NOT their day . .
That was yesterday . . .
Obliging lives and mortgages
The reasons why they stay
Passing Cabs cruise . . .
Seen it all before.
Sat in the back a high class *****
Glazed eyes glancing away
From her play-away payday
Nibbles in the boardroom . .
Napkins . . for the dribbles
A working lunch for this Girl
Her money-shot a wrap without applause
Was just a . . . pause . . . between paws . .
Then Dora on reception
John, who minds the door
Evie in the IT room
Or dave . . who buffs the Marble
Sparkles glinting in the floor . .
And the guards . . who guard . . what exactly . . ?
All of this . . ? Networking . . !!!
Everybody's selling something
It doesn't quite stink
But it definitely smells
A little high
As time whiles by
Seems this
Is the state of our nation
And in this state
Defines our aspirations
And yes . . this state's a splinter
Taunting my imagination . . .
Do I stake my place within this game
Or sit in observation
Commentating on a race
Where human nature fakes it's place
Where people sit as players
Yet no one wears their own face
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 12:20 PM UTC
That grin
enviably free of worry
should be an advertisement
for the way things ought to be.
Effusive innocence
casts itself from a
twenty year old snapshot
like juice from a fatted orange
pierced by a thumb
spitting jealous longing
on people who wear pants
giving anything in trade to
erase what they know
about growing up
to sit next to a
gleamy eyed kid
making **** prints in the earth
proudly touting a ***** nose and
Sedona sand on his Underoos.
Must we ever leave there
the paradise of naivete'
devoid of threat
absent of concern
universe of
daddy-can-whip-anyone?
Enemies do not exist
because we have not yet
learned hate.
Joy is first instinct
until we grow into fear.
The world is fig leafs and beauty
before a cynical serpent
has his way with us.
A father begs his son
"STAY THERE! STAY THERE!"
Protection is lost
outside the frame.
There's no recourse
for growing up.
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 12:10 AM UTC
due to me reaching
that post menopausal age
there's a hirsute carpet
growing on my chin's stage
a goatee beard adorns
in such distinguishing tone
it's envy of my neighbour
Russell John Stone
over the years he's tried
to cultivate an abundant hair tress
but alas his bare cranium
has borne less and less
since my whiskers
are so prolific in sprouting
I could shave them off
for his wig's touting
Nov 30, 2016
Nov 30, 2016 at 9:45 PM UTC
polish those internment touting charms
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 9:35 PM UTC
I've never liked hospital room flowers
Their plastic, chemical smell mixed with the scent of disinfectant
Fake yellow, greens, pinks and whites
All the colors of pastel
No reds or blues, why's there never blue?
Sometimes they come with squeaky foil balloons
Brightly touting phrases like, "get well soon!"
And "we miss you!"
Cheerfully shouting the words to eternity
To everyone, but no one listens
But what's the purpose of flowers?
All they've ever done to me is cause depression
They stare you down as they slowly droop and decay
Wilting, they seem as if to say, "look, look at us"
"Like us, you are dying, slouching, falling into mortality"
Then when their rank water is cast aside
Soggy limp flowers and leaves tossed in trash
You're sickened by the task, rub your hands in disgust
Feeling as slimy as the cold ooze on the stems
What's the purpose of hospital flowers?
I've never liked them
All they've ever done to me is cause depression
Mar 7, 2013
Mar 7, 2013 at 5:33 PM UTC
“give me your linguistic promiscuity”^ Cyrano to Roxane
trifle me not with sugar and spice,
give me salt, and everything not nice,
Campari, with a spritz of lime bitters, doubling,
the bitter sexiness of your taste buds
on the private parts of mine mind
the body’s parts held a conference,
who is the most important of us all,
all spoke, touting their unique servicing functionality,
at last, lastly, the tongue spoke
“none so powerful as this itty bitty muscle-me,
for with a chosen-few, well claimed, words whispered,
can put all of us in a prison cell to rot collectively,
utilizing my linguistic promiscuity, enticements seductive
so beware the disastrous dissatisfied tongue,
needy for 24/7 accoladed attention,
fail to worship can result in bee stinging poetry,
and jealousy
my love is bitter, my taste buds glory in this wondrous horror”
except for my Roxane
<>
Oct 23, 2019
Oct 23, 2019 at 10:48 AM UTC
Opened eyes but she cannot see
Daydreaming about what will be
Her vision tinted with her inner darkness
Night beckons touting her wit sharpness
Tears are rolling from her eyes
Ears full of Shadows and nasty lies
I want to hug her
Tell Her, it's just lies
A treacherous demon in disguise
But I just can't
I can only see her with my mind and can't share her burden in real life
Maybe... When time will come... I will stumble upon her in my travels
And, with a couple of thrown pebbles, I'll make her open a window to her mind
And together, we'll leave our storms behind
Dec 11, 2021
Dec 11, 2021 at 6:14 PM UTC
*is that even a word?
literaturely?
who cares really?
It is now, to me*
I have oft complained
the seductive heat
of tar and ink
that has literaturely
clogged my veins
and in turn
gummed my brain
often touting screams
that proclaim
NOT SANE
is here to remain
but I was wrong?
When last I cut my wrists
the pain ran Red
and inside my head
I literaturely turned Blue
Who knew?
that all things unsaid
are put to bed
on a razors edge
cutting my soul in half
that never once
turned on you
I literaturely turned gray
I paled beneath dying embers
of forgotten burning fires
dulling as ash coated remnants
of long ago desires
I now step back
from the fray
I've had my weak
my day
and upon the hour
where the clock strikes
the 780th minute
*13 leaves a sour
taste in my mouth*
turning all good things South
swimming in blackness
in my new ruby red
bathing suit
that literaturely
turned white
I literaturely died
tonight
Now a mute
blood red in vane
I sit and stare
at the bones
of my soul
that remain
A ghastly caricature
of a misspent life
that can't negotiate
the road at the bend
*I literaturely can
no longer
comprehend*
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 2:36 AM UTC
Voluptuous virtues he swore he would share
Fraternizing with folklore for the sake of a faith based cure
Reading the words of a quill scribble scare,
Touting the tales of those who have already seen where this go’s,
Flirting with prescribed predictions despite doc being six feet below
Unable to hear this
Those of a breathless conviction
Of a possible conscience
Personally pathetic, the absence of your acceptance,
Mortality is not insignificance
So keep this between us if eternal darkness sparks your interest,
I’ve grown intolerable of,
In horror of,
The Extorting,
Marketing,
******* of,
Prophesized certainties
The lives they took the souls they shook,
From shillings to dimes,
For centuries you’ve tried
Labeling me at infancy,
Condemning me as if it took a martyr to open my eyes
You’ve been attempting to defy the possibility that,
Good can be,
Physically derived,
Scared of the potentiality
A human worthy of being primed,
To senate your anxieties.
Feb 26, 2012
Feb 26, 2012 at 9:18 PM UTC
Something tells me I'm not cut out for this.
So, I'm not listening to 'it'.
Who says what I'm cut out for?
Who says what I'm built for?
People above me seem to believe what they say goes.
but they are only above me in their own mind.
because they put themselves on the pedestal,
they climb on their high-horse and then build the pedestal
ON THE HORSE.
They play king of the mountain.
"You there," they decree from their heights,
"you can't do that." "you aren't good enough."
"That's not the plan we have for you."
But I don't listen to them.
I can' barely hear them from down here.
Down in this hole I've dug for myself.
It's kind of nice but I can still hear them, I know they're still up there.
Yelling. Commanding. Touting.
"No, no! Do it like this."
And the masses follow.
The rest of us are as yet undecided.
Or too decided.
Either clawing and scratching our way out of the hole,
or digging ourselves deeper,
trying to drown out the noise.
My hole is almost finished,
not much further now.
I just want the silence. the peace. the comfort.
Everyone else can have the spots at the top.
I'll stay down here in my hole.
Soon, though, I can stop digging.
just as soon as I reach the bottom of this 6 feet.
Mar 28, 2010
Mar 28, 2010 at 8:50 AM UTC
Timothy Tolliver Tines
Taught tax topics twenty times
Touting tax tips he tried
Till terribly tongue-tied
Twisted tongue tending to twine
Nov 28, 2019
Nov 28, 2019 at 10:49 AM UTC
89 degrees and humid, sunset at 8:30.
Eastern barbeque smokin out in the backyard
the grass is getting lo-o-o-ong, but
it can wait until next Sunday.
iced tea, sweet, sinful tea
and no cowboys in sight.
just Low Drawled Camouflage Men
and Freedom to Own a Gun,
black n milds, porch swings and
mosquitoes turn up in your ear holes
like politicians touting their pro-life campaigns.
Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 3:22 PM UTC
Slavishly touting laudatory
Remarks that
Run counter to his belief
Could not let a journalist
A moment's relief!
"The incumbent
Has flickered
Darkness piercing light
Now as things are bright
None stop
We have to condemn the past
To catapult the present
On the infallible mast!"
Conveying messages
Without beef,
Also forced to turn
Eyes, to reality, deaf,
He is smote by
Excruciating grief
Freedom of expression
Turned brief!
To spare himself
A stomach pang
He has to allow
Political thugs,
In the guise of
Media bosses
That form a
Government's favour
Ingratiating gang,
His mouth to gag!
Intimidated by them
Into self censorship
The facility of his pen
He could not keep!
Ironically,
A mainstream press,
With a toothless face,
Rather conveys
An autocrat or,
To be precise,
A clinically dead
Government in place!//
Jul 19, 2016
Jul 19, 2016 at 2:46 AM UTC
tattered memories
of flattery
splash against the backdrop
of pastel coated youthful visions
soft blended colors fade and blend
swirl and collide
embrace and recoil
forever interpreting
the dreams of my childhood –
faces take shape
staring blankly into space
I shake my fist
and race to place
the case at the law bringers feet
bowing at the stone alter
sacrificing time
desperate and forlorn
I say, I say, I say,
boy,
feeling like foghorn leghorn –
cartoon falling down the hallway tunnel
funneling idealism
into tiny glass cups
roughly stumping speeches
at penniless preaches
beseeching those reaching
for free handouts and doubting
the ones touting freedom of thought….
sometimes I get caught up,
lose my train of conscious ideas
this is what that looks like –
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 3:37 PM UTC
be still, be still, be still;
palpable and touting
: you won't say
what's on your mind,
(your body will.)
so quiet, quiet, quiet
: you continue to deny it
while the valves supporting life,
the silence, fill.
beating, beating, beating
: so continually fleeting,
lends some meaning
to the furrow of your brow.
so tell me, tell me, tell me,
please—
your silence overwhelms me,
and your heart was never readier
than now.
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 5:07 PM UTC
Bee line in the beach lane
on to a resourceful resort
Of styles, shorts and sorts
in search of freedom
from enforced routine
Bales of barren clouds
Mushroomed the sky line
Set a merry mood in motion
of the touting tots n' lots
The band of souls pitched
hand in hand on sand
Gay was the day at bay
All and sundry fielded the day
Bask and bath
Rock and roll
Fun and frolic
Wind and weather
Hoot and beat
Hip hip hurray
soaked in the sea of ecstasy
Slim shut swim suit
hemming here and there
Bikini blonde bouncing
Spicy curves and colors
pushed up passions
Of the passers by
Sand sipping sea
Sea slipping sand
Land and sea lip to lip
A great fun to run around
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 11:13 PM UTC
sagebrush and juniper
with the occasional tiny yellow blossom
sprout without fear
in the drought stricken desert
touting new growth despite
the Sun’s best efforts
and the total lack of precipitation –
granules of wind-blown granite mountains
give way underfoot
leaving misshapen footprints
near faded remnants
of an old rattlesnake shed
strewn delicately over
last year’s deer tracks
preserved in a landscape
that exists outside of mankind’s time –
Did Louis Lamoure ride though here?
Was this a secret cowboy stomping ground?
Off in the distance comes a noise though the underbrush
slow and methodical
meandering
one lone cow steps into the sunlight
as we lock eyes
the buzzing of insects fades
I lose track of the surrounding foliage
and consider,
“What a cud he must chew!”
Jul 17, 2015
Jul 17, 2015 at 2:06 PM UTC
Adulterous besieging capstone damnation
exploitation foists groping, heaving
insidiously jerking
knowingly lunges
machinations notoriously nymphomaniacal
officiating ****** quests
rapaciously, sadistically
tenaciously, unstoppably
vasocongested wickedness
Xerses yawped zeolously.
***************************
All throughout history of man/woman kind
ascendent civilizations extensively gouged,
impailed, kindled, murderous outrages
quashing sacred urges, women yearned.
***************************
Versatile thematic refrain punctuating nubiles
maximized looting, pillaging, ******
visited upon females via decimating fountainhead
guarding brestworks of vestal virgins,
innocent youths (little boys and girls).
***************************
Twenty first century **** Sapiens male population continue to applaud, covet, extol, gloat, invoke, kickstart, ****** outrages, quest savagely thee unbridled wedded yoke appropriating coquettishly enshrined gals imposing killing mandates okaying queasy sordid ugly wretchedness yanking aborhent behavior denigrating, fulminating, harrassing, jawdropping lewdness, nabbing prized rearends, twerking, violently whiplashing, yelling zingers.
***************************
Now not a day elapses with instances women claim untoward advances, and/or forced coercion to satiate and temporarily slate the ****** thirst informing prononced picadilloes (philandering if married pompous head honcho demands appeasement of coitus, ******** indecent lowball outrageous ribald uncouth ****** animalistic, carnal, feral, gonadal, immoral, kleptomaniacally misogynistic, narcissistic, opportunistic, pathetically reprehensible, torturously undervaluing, validating virility within Yankee Doodle, haply lambasting, proudly touting, vaunted wayfair zest.
***************************
The above meandering stream of consciousness attempted to amplify, a recent spate of accusations figuratively slapped against a male *** mongers, who specifically rule roost, and blithely, demandingly, forcefully, hideously, impishly, killingly, malignantly, opprobriously, powerfully, repeatedly, terminally, vindictively, wantonly, yearningly acrimoniously belittle, demean flagrantly, harshly insinuate keeping mindful, not publicize rabid ****** unwanted villainous withering zeal!
Nov 21, 2017
Nov 21, 2017 at 7:51 PM UTC
Everyday I wake up
the world is a little different
something has changed
My lover
of yesteryears
is too boring to look at
my house feels larger
and the echoes are touting
Something's changed
so I take a bottle of beer
and Bury myself somewhere familiar
But the questions
and the exclamations
are still there
I would have travelled
across galaxies for you
buy now
your like a beautiful painting
amazing when looked at
but no idea what you mean
Jul 17, 2015
Jul 17, 2015 at 4:41 PM UTC
besmirching the Presbyterians
all dolled up
pretending they don’t drink
and fornicate
for dollars
down at the stop’n’save,
a low chuckle rises
the pits of hell never heard such a guttural and robust howl
my face distorts at the hypocrisy of their lives
small narrow-minded hate-mongers
doing everything they can conceive
to impose their will on others
to force their beliefs
down the hearts and minds and, yes
the throats
of any culture they come in contact with
invoking “god’s work”
while spreading disease and poverty –
blame the Baptists!
it was they who confined the natural people of America
to starve on barely habitable plots of desert
until uranium was discovered
then pushed them to the very edge of extinction
for a few more corporate dollars
in the collection plate…..
heathens rarely tip –
Smash the seculars!!
they continue to punish their sons and daughters
over genetically predisposed lifestyles
while touting grace and faith
in the most high authority
which basically means
they are above man’s law
having forgotten, it was men
who wrote god’s law –
oh hypocritical little lamb
your head and *** do not really belong together
in a perfect union
they should be separate
you know, like the founders intended
with the state and your ***** ***** churches
the same churches
where young boys are *****
for Jesus –
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 2:27 PM UTC