"truculent" poems
@X5 BMW vehicles are truculent
Where have the real blondes gone to?
Bring back Orion Pictures
to remake Doom Watch,
resurrect Analogue tv,
ban militant cyclists from the roads
and yes the Chartists were right annual suffrage too.
Dec 23, 2012
Dec 23, 2012 at 7:07 AM UTC
"May be true what I had heard,
Earth's a howling wilderness
Truculent with fraud and force,"
Said I, strolling through the pastures,
And along the riverside.
Caught among the blackberry vines,
Feeding on the Ethiops sweet,
Pleasant fancies overtook me:
I said, "What influence me preferred
Elect to dreams thus beautiful?"
The vines replied, "And didst thou deem
No wisdom to our berries went?"
3.2k
slippery light boasts
languid limbs gestating
in mercurial puddelings
awaiting the destruction
of their tender shafts by
some pale passing
fle(she
bears its ethereal
glow on her pallor
in the second of that truculent divergence
)
May 5, 2010
May 5, 2010 at 11:45 PM UTC
in the east
a dry man stumbled through the lush panacea of a dessicated prayer
his faith moved mustard gas. gasping for clarity, he spoke a thing no god could answer.
he languished in the Eden of empirical Dodos
a succulent squab in the oasis of fables. he joined the throng. his shackles were mended.
his bonds, repaired.
in the west -
a rye bread crumbles along a path to a candy house -
to a furnace of blank stares.
it waits moonlit and rustic, alas - it's mad and verily cloaked in a thing no ' nothing ' would ask for.
it leads to a breach.
weary of " who knows ? "
a truculent husk of a drought mislabeled. an actual flood.
it rankles the vision...
it plots despair.
in the north, a gunga din fumbles through the arid Earnest of our Importance. There -
we play crude brass. Profundo. at last, we nearly...
and even though we wide spark the char of our scorched affair
we vanquish any Southland
and the warm sun
frosts a glass eye
like pyrite.
and polly wants a lacquer, dark enough to maroon...
Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 10:24 AM UTC
,,,"---"",,"",,---,,,"""
palpable piquant
pastel scream
surrounded by
portentous
dream
seafoam and symmetry
loquacious land
shuddering snow
and
sibilant sand
caustic, cocaphonous
calypso clouds
awed by the
eloquent
elongated
shrouds
burnt to mere
nothingness
negated, naught
turbulent
truculent
trickling
thought
dense and dowdy
docile and dubious
rousing and rowdy
quiet and studious
grating, gallumphing
gruesome
ground
supine and succulent
*asymmetrical
sound*
soulsurvivor
(C) 6/22/2015
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 5:54 AM UTC
To him all women are hallowed
minus those that hustle themselves.
How instantly and cunningly
they commit truculent acts
yet never bribed by mischief
except by rendezvous.
Sep 7, 2012
Sep 7, 2012 at 11:06 PM UTC
Most of all. it's the truculent desire hardly shielded,
creating whirlwind, shaking the woods of my mind,
then insistent fingers in an ****** day dream,touch
intimately to arouse my hood, those robust waves
inch forward to my shores, I shudder,again and again,
like a sea swell, in an intense want, we are engorged,
a mania for the moon, slouching behind the clouds,
your eyes had always spoken gently, yet brewed storms.
I sense a wish that yearns culmination in my invasion,
full luscious red lips, smeared with the spices of amour,
their own symbolism eloquent, as wet they are, whispering yes, yes
coal black eyes can't hide the eagerness, they peer,
your body, now so tender has a tremor,anticipating my touch,
you are ready for a journey together, to the far deeper ends
an impatient waterway, aren't you,awaiting my row boat,
for a fervorous exploration together, through the watery canals
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 7:03 AM UTC
**I nip your soft bud
ever so tenderly
during my nightly visits
to make you open your eyes,
and blush, I love the flush
spreading on your cheeks
mademoiselle,
but you bit
my probing lips lovingly hard,
it gave me new ideas
that you didn't expect me to carry out
in presence of morning mist, curious
that peeped from outside
the limits of this quaint pond.
I love the honey seeping out
without any effort from my part,
I am a blue beetle that loves
to smear yellow pollen all over.
Look! your buds aren't soft now,
***** they have become truculent,
if they want to rub me wrong
do you think, I'll back off?
I am game for a tete-e-tete,
better now, than later.
A beetle that find cozy warmth
within the purple folds of your petals tight,
every night; being a lotus
you should know what I seek,
let's get it together, single-mindedly
warm, fragrant, cuddly lover.**
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 2:05 PM UTC
Ow lover of roses,
I can't sweep through your phone
Because your phone is full of thorns
Ow lover of roses,
I can't sweep through your phone
Because your phone is full of thorns
I can't look into your screen,
Find eyes that are not mine; next to yours
Not in twine.
I can't look at texts and hearts
When hearts take us back to starts
Of what we had
And what we have
And what we will have
Is nothing but post modern art;
Little bits of writings
And rhymings that don’t rhyme because my heart cant keep a beat
And my beats cant keep up with your schedule.
Ow lover of roses
I can't see the red in your pedals
I just envision me pedaling away;
I can't see the red in your tender touches
I witness the tender touches caressing the redness off of someone else's eyes;
I can't;
See you and me in a room,
Talking about nothing
Yet infesting in void conversations about the nothingness of what we got
I can't;
See the tips of teeth when you smile
I can see the tips of teeth when you're truculent;
Trucks,
Exiting and transiting
Through my arteries
While I'm sitting
And spitting
Lame poetry
As you snap chats with shots of nonchalant lens-like tentacles,
Rapped round around the sound of dust
My heart is echoing
Following a path you've set.
Ow lover of roses
Cried the lonely man
In a so lonesome night,
As he looks at the stars and moon
Realize the missing lines
And the misinterpreted patterns
To pattern Saturn with Venus and Mars down to earth;
Proving pitiful love-like lures
Luring man since birth.
Ow lover of roses,
Roses in the shape of smarties or sandals
Or chocolate cakes with no candles
I cant handle,
The scent you send with roses that bend
To fall in my hand
And end up plucked in the end.
Aug 3, 2013
Aug 3, 2013 at 8:18 PM UTC
The down of the gown of the dawn of some gone day,
A ray day that has downed and dawned at sunset,
They have diabolically colonized our divine state,
Belligerently gang ****** our stupendous democracy at will,
The demonic bloodthirsty ********* barbarians,
Declaring a violent war which no one wants to fight,
A losing warring war of one against all.
Impetuously slaughtering our defenseless defenders at will,
Turning the blue-clad fierce hunters to the fierce hunted,
The hunted that are being haunted,
Hounded and hunted by the hunted,
Converting every corner into the hunters’ hunted ground,
The church and the charge office,
The home and the street,
The here and the there.
Who will protect our “toy gun” wielding protectors,
Protect our trigger-shy protectors from the cunning detractors,
As one by one they are won one by one,
One by one by the one that is supposed to be won,
The defenders of our slate state,
The defenders of our democratic democracy,
The defenseless defenders of the defenseless.
They have been plunged under siege,
As every one of them personifies some certain demise,
Every one of them is just some subterfuge death in waiting,
Some truculent death just waiting to happen,
Bust, rust and dust in the waiting,
Stylistically stylistic starving yawning mobile graves,
Prey of their own prey,
The ultimate fray prey.
As day in day out they live the life of a cigarette,
On one side they are smoking,
On the other, they are being smoked,
Any attempt to fight back is regarded criminal of the worst order,
Police brutality,
We forsake them, they forsake them, the law forsakes them,
Who will defend the mighty defenders?
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 6:29 AM UTC
No...more...bickerin,
your eyes flickering you're nickering
your nit pickin' lost it quick as the Dickens
My tracks a hell of a kickin'
you're just the next feckin victim,
of the flow bound Hurricane of sense and rhythm,
The Sensemilla Sensei Kempei of verbal Kempo's home,
Like Alladin and Saladin mixed with a Party Boobytrap a Paladin of Palindrome...
The Storm rider glider blasts you through the other side of the Thunderdome
My - Spitfire drips Ire as ********* ***** fire Surprise in your eyes quick blast from the past from a .50 Cal Microphone-
Fiend in me soul under control you failed your roll,
will check failed-I check wills,its a Checkmate mate you-best quill your will and will to build some soul
Its a dill of pickle you're in - you're a nickle worth of Nickleback stickleback sticklebricking best Lego
I let go last, I'm the Legolas of the fast pass in the underpass stick you fast now you're stuck fast I buck fast at your glass of Buckfast
the Truculent, ever vigilant-words are Succulent got you diggin' in
diggin' out a liddle bit of Lidl in a stolen digger,move quicker stop the friggin' in the riggin' little Pigpen Pigeons time to drop the bridge in...
Mar 17, 2018
Mar 17, 2018 at 6:08 PM UTC
This poem indicates my scatergorized pattern of thought
We are a generation of gas masks and 3D glasses
Now we are a nation of bullet proof vests and USB drives
Grotesque regurgitated shallow sympathy
Universal imagery
I’m no type of Sadducee
In medicated revelry
Mood disorders and bipolarity
Inspiration
Found at the bottom of a decanter from Macedonia
Truculent truths and the opposition of common place thought
Andy why am I so indignant prey tell?
Because
I
Am
Drunk
Ha ha ha
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 11:46 AM UTC
Unexpectedly he has been cracked
Squarely across his dainty skull
Inevitably to his knees he languishes
Supplemented by a concussion
Havoc is illicitly wreaked upon the delicacy
Of this young man's psyche
As another swift, sucker punch is executed
Stylishly into his jawbone
Followed by an unforeseen series
Of frenzied jabs to the nose
The anguish screams through the brooks
Of crimson oozing from his nostrils
While a dangerous haymaker
Shockingly arises from thin air
Sinking fiercely into his cornea
Rupturing the veins in his eyeball
A circular crown of black envelops
The entire surface of his left eye
Oh, the gruesome consequences of
Applauding the eminence of nonexistence
A truculent knockout that will truly
Abduct one into an eerie coma
And rightfully deliver them back to
The portion of reality where they belong
Aug 28, 2011
Aug 28, 2011 at 4:54 PM UTC
the leaden
wetness of an
October snowfall
cloaks branch
and bough
of woefully
laden
trees
the pressing
mass
a weighty
strain
prostrates
mighty
hardwoods
to autumns
cold ground
as a
truculent
Nor'Easter
claws its way
through
the uneasy
Mid-Atlantic
night,
the crash of
creaking
maples and
popping oaks
persistently
echo through
the black
woods of
this
trembling
evening
power flickers
perplexed grids
go down
extinguishing
the warmth of
suburban
house lights
the growing
aggregation
of crushing
pressure
on tensile
taxed
branches
snaps
the firmest
wood
an
incessant
barrage
of
thumps
and
dings
splatter
against
the
house
while the
shuddering
uncertainties
of frightened
children
rise
as each
limb
clatters
to
earth
our
cowering
bivouac
draws
the
incessant
fire
of a
harassing
fusillade
from
legions
of
invisible
snipers
as
swooping
gusts
threaten to
relieve more
arboreal
tension
praying
limbs
fail
to pierce
the safety
of thinly
tiled
roofs
our
abiding
hope
remains to
escape
the
next
random
blow
of fate
the
night of
falling trees
stirs our
sleepy
hamlet
from an
uneasy
midnight
slumber
10/29/11
Oakland
jbm
Nov 8, 2011
Nov 8, 2011 at 9:38 PM UTC
Violent and truculent you found it chaotic and frantic
There were shed emotions
Emotions that are now stitched into the earth
They melted into it under the hottest setting sun
Sticky and wet are your clammy hands
The clothing attaches to your back with water
The pressure is now released from your eyelids
Your delicate eyelashes levitate without effort
There is a sincere beauty amongst your collection of tissues and bones
Bring me to the sea I yearned
So I could connect your beauty with the beauty of the whole world
I want to see you lie in the shallow water on top of the bed of sand
I want to see the pieces of sand smeared across your fingertips underneath the deep blue light
The deep blue light is the colour of sheer delight
It is the colour that I perceive to be happiness. It is the colour of unmatched infinity.
My smile is the taste of yellow lemon rind.
Sep 5, 2016
Sep 5, 2016 at 7:06 PM UTC
A long time ago in Sleepy Eye Minnesota at Christensen Farms Feed Mill, a boisterous young pig named Ralph was waiting for his brother, Milo. Ralph hadn’t seen Milo in almost three hours, because Milo made a SLANDER against Ralph. So, Milo had went off in the big truck SAGELY with Farmer Tim, so he could avoid Ralph’s BRUTALITY. Ralph thought that was PRESUMPTUOUS and he was TRUCULENT. Ralph will soon live VICARIOUSLY through Milo’s stories once he returns. Once Milo returns Ralph corners Milo. Milo backs away from his angry brother's bared teeth, then he slips. now he’s hanging off the cliff holding on with only his front hooves,with Ralph's hooves pressing down on his. Ralph lets go, and says with great EARNESTNESS; “have a nice fall!”
May 21, 2019
May 21, 2019 at 11:03 AM UTC
Long is the road
narrow is the belief
all wonders must cease when
cessation is the culmination of the future.
Born of the luckless
truculent madmen slash their hands at the nothing
The road is long
the belief is narrow
All eyes can comprehend the ether
inner lids conceal the purity in our nightmares.
Sahasrara opens in a bloom of ten thousand petals
Long is the belief
the road is narrow
The ceiling of reality cracks
and finally it is revealed
All myths are real...
All truths are imaginary.
Jun 13, 2012
Jun 13, 2012 at 8:27 AM UTC
She had always been a dreamer
never believing 5"2 had been the issue.
A Napoleon comfort complex cultivated
Believing personal leadership was inevitable
St Helena would never be an option.
Her akimbo pose was to die for.
ADÉLIE, of sometimes higher ideal
your eyes gaze without feeling
across the Channel deemed possibly truculent.
Blinded by this scary Palladium
you should only untangle due blame.
Nov 17, 2012
Nov 17, 2012 at 6:42 PM UTC
three years I worshipped
in the red brick cathedrals
by the ugliest lake on the planet,
but I was cast out of the holy halls,
with mounds of Mellaril, and other sacred potions in pill form
to see the “outreach caseworker”, though I never knew
what she was reaching for
my husband had divorced me,
both my sons were in Dallas, dealing cards
at Wall Street casinos, holding the aces for themselves or a chosen few,
like I really knew anything about what
filled their days
my sister took me in,
fed me finger foods, had her maid bathe me
and invited the ghosts from my past into her house
they all hugged me and told me how nice my hair looked
now that I was no longer yanking it out by the fist full
and choking on it as it went down
they smelled of sycophantic scents from Macy’s
and Neiman Marcus, and I longed for the odor of my cellmate,
who had to be submerged in a steaming sea once a week, after
they had pumped enough of Morpheus’ brew in her to
mellow a mammoth
I missed her, and her truculent silence
and the way her arms writhed in her jacket,
like so many snakes squirming to be free,
or perhaps those were the last sin eating serpents
in their death throes, but I would never know
for in 1000 days and 1000 nights, her jacket
was never removed, for the white ones feared what
black storm waited inside, so they allowed it to hide
someplace in her fetid carcass
now when I look across the charcoal stillness
of my room, cluttered with dead distractions,
I imagine her there, on her cot, producing anthems
on mad marching afternoons, or singing lullabies
in evenings last gasps, all without making a sound,
then my eyes well with tears, for I know
she would miss me too, and worry
what I was doomed to hear and smell
now that her mystic music and stench
were stolen from me
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 9:13 PM UTC
my town has managed
to be hit with a snow storm
every winter
since you left
last fall
we were visited by a hurricane
that managed to demolish
every power source,
yet
my mind would not shut off
i can remember how loud
the wind was
and how i could scream
at the top of my lungs without
my family hearing me
but
it was usually like that anyway
this year,
i met you and you decided
to come into my life
and also decided to leave
so **** quickly,
i was watching the news the day you left and a tornado
was going strike down and destroy everything and disappear
and
it was funny because they named it after you
so i sat there, and
realized chivalry had died a truculent
death
but
now its almost winter
and the tornado didnt touch much
of my fallow land
and the rain poured down as the temperature changed
turning rain into hail
pungently piercing my fragile skin
and my anxiety raged because
i felt another storm coming in
but some boy came by
and stood over me with an umbrella and kissed my forehead
and it hit me
harder than any storm
that you find who you need when you need them
you cannot simply be a storm chaser without getting damaged by the storm
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 11:15 PM UTC
we talk to autumn
about his delayed decay;
the truculent end and
tousled beginnings of hibernation.
how did you term the coming
of the razored howls.
will you calm the smothered
pebbles in
chalked glass
or leave them.
what do you say
of the canopies’
demise. fallen
in a big mesh bag
to measure litterfall.
and when door-mice
bite into slumber
where can you hide
as your leafy raindrops
turn to stone.
Feb 17, 2012
Feb 17, 2012 at 9:39 AM UTC
you bring out the
truculent psyche inside
me, the darkness within, the
seven deadly sins.
i embody lust because like glass
i am grains of sand struck
by lightning, paralyzed
with fascination,
morphing into the constant craving
i never was before.
i represent envy because you
are on the other side, and the
other side doesn’t know how lucky
it is to have you; your lingering
breath and soul.
i am sloth because like all
lonely mortals, deficiency of love,
the absence of you withdraws me
from passion and fervour, for
non-fictitious emotions.
i exhibit wrath because our bones
once clinched tightly together have
shattered beneath. your
touch is now foreign, this
vexes me and i am spiralling
down an
infernal
of self-loathe.
i symbolize gluttony because i often
indulge within the taste of your
lips, your beguiling smile all
without which i feel astray,
swimming in an ocean of lost love;
i yearn for you excessively, to
be with me, only me.
i am both pride and greed
infused into one because
i am still persistently craving for
more, yet too vain to openly
admit it to the world.
you have spun me over
and pulled me apart, now
i’m a sinner with
you perpetually in my heart.
Mar 17, 2014
Mar 17, 2014 at 11:32 AM UTC
Deliciously Tempestuous
a fire burns inside her heart
sending waves of passion all aglow
impetuous intensity
when she arrives you surely will know
her eyes will melt your very soul
leaving you wanting more
but you cannot contain her love
this beauty remains forever free
her truculent tenderness
spins your heart a whirl
like the roses petals
belie her thorny *****
her untamed desires
will leave a feverish desire
for her touch
Gomer Lepoet...
Mar 27, 2013
Mar 27, 2013 at 11:15 PM UTC
Why this ant,
(just being serious or truculent,
male of female
who can tell?)
likes to run up
my left leg
biting here and there.
what is it
trying to arrive at?
Is it my accurate taste,
or some thing other than that?
what is in its mind?
Jun 11, 2012
Jun 11, 2012 at 11:58 PM UTC
My blood is not red anymore
It is not even rufous
It is achromatic
I’ve seen it go to a watery grave
with moonshine
It drowned
for a foolish fluid
one so dimwitted
it forgot the word “No”
could be spoken
to bring their negligent ears
into *******
(And not me)
My blood rushed out
In it’s gloom
I wanted to emulate it
and exit my body
just as they entered
What a theft
What a “five-finger discount”
Literally
It was a perfect portrait
A gun kissing the crown of my head
and my indifference
towards the money in the cash register
that I called my soul-case
If I’d even had any left
My lips moldered shut
They don’t like parting anymore
Two buds charred sorely
as a pen
that speaks only in black ink
I searched every crevice of that washroom
for a noose
I found my reflection
and thought that close enough
So there I hovered
hung up on my mirror image
suspended by two claws
honed with dejection
My eyes slammed taut
My pulse ******* bones in my face
and gnawing itself
with prowling fluorescents
I grazed the scuffs on my thighs
I hadn’t put there
for once
Then I remembered the nausea
snarled up in their cheeks
Their words like spiders
I don’t know where they’ve gone
and I don’t want to
“Is it that time of the month?’
said the shorter, more truculent boy
and he sniggered
I stood submerged
in hard edged a laugh
that liked to wrench my ears
and make rounds
on nights hot and heavy
with languor
and perhaps,
had I not been so small
or weak of muscle
had I worn a different dress
or forgotten to coat my lashes
had I sipped on tea
instead of *****
I could’ve flagrantly pushed them away
Darted not with my eyes,
but my legs
I could’ve screamed “Get off me you scumbags!”
until my throat shriveled up
into a dried cranberry
But I didn’t
Instead I’m screaming
on a piece of paper
Because the worst that happens here
is a paper cut.
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 6:16 AM UTC