"turncoat" poems
once we were one, so close
now turncoat in lakes of
oleander, creeks run poison
we two betrayed
what stolen ideal cast
in stone against her?
my anima still wants love
from me, yet twists on proverbial
dime
coats were rejected
colors negated, unflown
prisoner of tumble town
chained like a queen
a shanty wish disregard
so no wings, air of nonesuch
grace barrio color to fly
in my mind, sleeping
mariachis playing loud,
my anima rescued me
real, such desert here
just my shivering id
skinned seal, bad memory
still hopeful still here
surely mi anima mi alma
will grant my dying
wish
I am the traitor of my anima
Aug 25, 2018
Aug 25, 2018 at 8:36 PM UTC
I glimpse through the curtains
A flickering light,
And my imagination takes hold
On this stagnant spring night.
I fancy it a signal,
A call to something great;
It’s the start of an adventure,
The beckoning of fate.
When I investigate its source,
I know my life will change,
I’m in the beginning of a book
And my quest’s on the next page.
I’ll join up with a band of outcasts
To find a missing link,
There’ll be riddles for us to solve,
And an antagonist to outthink.
We’ll encounter many obstacles
As we fight to reach our goal,
Like a turncoat within our ranks,
Or an unexpected troll.
We’ll make camp along the roads we walk,
And dine on cheese and bread,
And our enemies will dog our steps,
But we’ll remain one pace ahead.
At some point along the way
I’ll discover a hidden skill,
It’ll be something supernatural,
Like the power of my will.
I’ll use it in the ******
For the ultimate defeat,
To overcome the opposition
And force them to retreat.
And we’ll celebrate our victory
Of evil overcome,
But our optimism will soon die down
As we realize what’s to come,
Our journey has reached its end
And we’ll be ****** aside by fate,
The world no longer needs us,
Now that we’ve accomplished something great.
The only thing that’s left to do
Is go back to where we’re from,
Back to unfamiliar lives
As the people we’ve become.
But when I finally get back home,
I’ll have nothing to regret,
I did what I was meant to do,
And no one will soon forget.
I made the difference only I could make,
And all is for the better,
I answered the call of destiny
And am no longer called its debtor.
I wish this were the case
In the reality that I’m in,
But another flash of light
Reminds me where I am.
Sitting in my bedroom,
As much in debt as ever,
Imagining that I was part
Of some life-changing endeavor.
I wish that fate would show its face,
And tell me what to do,
Even just a hint
Would be enough to get me through.
As I think back on my story
I see the light again,
And I wonder, if I go outside
Will my adventure at last begin?
Maybe this is it
And destiny chose tonight.
Maybe fate is waiting
For me to investigate the light.
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 9:49 PM UTC
let me tell you how it all happened
they'll tend to tell you bullies caused it
or that everyone has the same experience
and it starts because
other people
forced it to
but what i have to tell you
is that i did it to
myself
i'm a turncoat
to my own flesh
i would look in the mirror and see
a gut
and suddenly
that was all i could see
no matter if my calves were toned
or my arms were sticks
i saw that gut
or my
curdled thighs
and that was all
so i'd say i wasn't hungry
or i'd "sleep" through a meal
and i'd work extra hard at practice
pretend i wasn't always run down
and even if i'd pass out
or struggle to stay awake
i'd pretend like it was sleep
i was depriving myself of sleep
and you know that cycle
in every anorexic girl's story
where her body bloats before it thins
because it's trying to protect her
i went harder in that stage
so i could lose the weight that made me a 2
instead of 00
and i would cry myself to sleep
because i was in pain
mental
and physical
but i couldn't stop the
taunts
i gave
myself
my dad would tell my friends
to make sure i would
eat
but i never listened
and now i look back
and see my former shell-f
a self that had no self
a self that was only
a shell
a turncoat
anorexic
Apr 16, 2018
Apr 16, 2018 at 10:24 AM UTC
Fire a blaze with a roar so loud, a fort
that keeps people away, vicious sort
with a corrupted mind, extort
the poor and needy, distort
the reality, the people retort
I am the bad heart, now they cavort
as I am no more, the fire fort
has done it's deeds, foolish people court
with imbecile intellect, contort
are their lives now accomplices are now turncoat.
Jan 29, 2020
Jan 29, 2020 at 2:45 PM UTC
Hopes wreckage lays across the land of despondency
now the dominion of lost souls and broken dreams
for on the throne of hateful menace and blight to mankind
sits in the unspoken divinity of tidal times unfinished wars
and crawling by the feet of this turncoat angelical soldier
do the poets of suicidal tendency curse the day they were born
Above this dire land of nightmares scream mechanical hate machines
trading black thoughts into fumes on crimson skies of ****** ignorance
faithless knights kneel in submission and weep bitter tears
then on command gouge out their own eyes in total submission
all now is lost scream the heroes of ever lasting light
folding space making fast their unforgiving retreat.
Now this ravaged dying orb starts to shudder and shake
as do the last of the faithful who now communion do take
to the last they die standing on their feet
on the blooded cruel plains of utter defeat.
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 3:16 PM UTC
She was a gamine,
an urchin and a recluse.
Tattered and waifish,
scrounging for some small morsel underneath a city bus.
Tarnished,
a lot like brass that's been exposed to water;
she's splotched.
Even whilst disenfranchised,
she carries some valiance hidden beneath her turncoat.
There is beauty in the loose pages she's giving to the wind.
She is,
and will forever be,
floating in the updraft of a sidewalk vent.
Jan 23, 2011
Jan 23, 2011 at 7:58 AM UTC
I was in one table with my enemies
like a laugh & a rant at the same time.
and yes it wasn't easy
to say words that never rhymed.
one bullet to stay sane
and two paddles in disdain.
there was no choice and hence
never possible, never the same.
at the back of the paper
are scribbles that told stories
like a dumb arrow,
to a wistful memoir;
acting like a tiny wit
to the hilarity of what to think,
on how to bear all that
transcendent and ostentatious fib.
a crazy quilt, a needle and a spindle.
to stitch beyond awkwardness,
and cut the insuperable difficulties;
but still you are not awake.
there's no turncoat
no fast cars, no boats
to rainbows & silver linings
for the black & white endings.
and round and round we go.
as the waves flush all the thoughts
like the room was as empty of guts.
the strings of uncertainties
I cannot speak of
or mourn for the next day
or whisper all the words I can say
just to ease the choke away.
Aug 12, 2013
Aug 12, 2013 at 3:01 AM UTC
Pumpkin faced, fang toothed witch
plump chin, fake tan, broomstick
nose with warts, chosen devils cohort
courting the goat, a shoat cutthroat
cavorting devote to the angel turncoat
tilted head back with the eerie cry 'halloween is nigh'
why she's dressed up 10 days early i'll never know why
Oct 15, 2016
Oct 15, 2016 at 6:45 PM UTC
The music roused something in me
That was asleep for so long
Every note of the song made me a traitor
A cheater, a hateful turncoat
For I thought myself impervious
To such lowly tempations of men
But in my hubris, I forgot of my flesh
That makes as falliable as any of them.
And to remember the time my heart belonged to her
She of caramel eyes and flowing brown hair
Holding my heart in so tight a grip
The beating of drums ******* that of what she held
My mind filled the void the distance between us made
As my lips craved hers to kiss
But in a frenzy, kisses turn to passions unbound
To make every inch of her mine, in her body to drown
To her undrapped form, a moment lost in time
The symphony of our ****** filled the air of night.
...
...
...
And now, temperance has taken hold
And a new love, her place
And while I love her indeed, exciment in life
It seems to have... Faded away
The love I thought my beloved has
Isn´t wholly her own
So long as the music plays I fear
My desires bubble and tumble
To give in to my lust.
Mar 5, 2019
Mar 5, 2019 at 11:59 PM UTC
The living legend is ****** into a rut of pining for his splendid playwright
She was his everything
A new breed of woman
No societal entourage could compare
No jovial jubilee could top her
Her humongous measure of perplexity
Her grace
Her charm
Her mystery
He now despises himself for this moment of nostalgic weeping
The mucus makes it hard for him to breathe with his deviated septum
He looks for something to alleviate his sniffling
And eviscerate all his emotional anguish
Nasal spray and bourbon
He can breathe but the alcohol only exacerbates the visceral issue
And dampens his already flaccid spirit
Clouted with the disheartening reminder that it wasn't all her fault
He fumbles with the bottle while retracing the event in his mind
"It was the golden age of bronze metals"
"She was asked to do as she was told"
"A white lie"
"A foul up"
"An accusation"
"An accessory to ******
"Madcap ad libbed alibis and recounts verbatim"
"She turned on them, they killed her"
The bourbon was gone, his nose was stuffed again
Wheezing, gagging, crying
What's the word for when a living legend wants to die?
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 3:53 PM UTC
Turncoat faith in work, in the old world
What value in your toils
Futile swear-words and broken shards of glass
Caught in your eye, put ‘em there yourself
But you knew no better
The world was an ugly, dismal place
But it was all okay for you
so charged to task and back
Every single day
Like any of it meant anything
But rise up the old world did
Intrepid race to innovate your
Father’s and father’s flaws
At once
All worth a ****
“It’s all worth a ****
Voices ringing in your cradles
Grandad Uncle Sam
a suit-coat conviction urging
GO
Wield for us the changing tides
Gotta believe in something anyway
Why not yourselves?
Adventist gene pool satire
Odd sciences in, only the ones
that God ordained to be
Capitalized
Identical regretful mug
You all wear it
Aug 24, 2016
Aug 24, 2016 at 2:46 AM UTC
confined to your own head, you might as well be a steam engine.
burning little holes in your turncoat.
making new friends in old dens.
masking proclivities.
barking at intruders like a dog.
what caused her, so many times,
to remove herself from the same line of thinking?
the man with the cocktails doesn't know,
but he knows the solution.
the solution to all life's problems,
to be imbibed and controlled.
the embrace for the embittered.
the fuel for the fire.
the stoke for the engine
the energy to keep chugging along at a good clip.
Nov 8, 2011
Nov 8, 2011 at 12:16 AM UTC
Anonymous is a funny name
for a writer on an Opt-Ed page.
I'd want a by line I suppose
if I were going to step on toes.
I know the President would glower
to find me speaking truth to power.
He'd say "You're fired!" on the spot
but I 'd have my verbal parting shot.
Hashtag "Not Me" is all you hear
from senior officials who quake in fear.
Yet if computers can disclose
by close analysis of prose
what Shakespeare did or didn't write
I'm sure the identity will come to light.
I think the turncoat might be named "Dan"
but I'm not willing to take the stand.
Cory Booker, who knows the law,
still thinks it must be Kavenaugh.
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 8:18 AM UTC
They Bake A Cake
They asked if they could dabble in a bit of cooking.
She gulped said her prayers and counted to ten
They asked if they could steal the eggs while the hen wasn’t looking
So without delay and morals they whipped them away from the hen.
They were in a flap so that most of his stuff landed on the floor.
They had found the good butter and thick double cream.
Which apparently smeared everywhere including the door
While she was relaxing and in a huge daydream.
She was in a good mood and was listening to Elgin
Barely keeping awake and had nodded off again.
They were searching the saucepan cupboard looking for a cake tin
When the door sprang open and in marched the old hen.
She shouted, they froze and she began to shake
They were struggling to find the right words to say.
They offered her some nice tea and a fairy cake
And they were devising a plan to get away.
They turned tables and said she wanted to bake
Thought that she could have bought the eggs instead
She said that there had been a bit of a mistake
But they went bright red and held their heads.
The hen ordered that her precious eggs be put back
And was disappointed they had taken them in the first place
They were discussing who should put them back
And the guilt began to show on each and every face
She said they were flippant and not thought it through
They were all gripping to death their handkerchieves
Now it seems they all thought the hen had gone cuckoo
But one stepped forward and said he was the thief.
Later on they both said they would go and see Mrs Hen
On arrival he dropped onto his knees.
The rest were wondering what their friend was up to again
and heard him begging forgiveness for stealing please!
“Well, you are a turncoat, what’s come over you”
They although that his situation is now rather bleak
and all gave advice what he could do
which was the topic of conversation for the rest of the week!
Aug 16, 2015
Aug 16, 2015 at 3:44 AM UTC
for Kate and Nicola and Wayne and Paul and Cameron and Skye and Kylie and Nathan and Cameron and the weird guy next door.
Here’s to you, my crazy friends
You ******** misfits too cool for my school
But you liked me anyway, you let me
read you my book of poems
You played Bone Machine while I was tripping
We walked through the suburbs looking for fairies,
We slept with each other despite my huge crush on you
You liked me anyway.
You taught me to smoke ****
To stop hating on op shop clothes while
I wore Country Road and cashmere vests.
We watched the sun come up, smelling of sweat
and drugs and DJs’ last hurrahs and dark old
warehouses, kerosene fire batons and your menthol
cigarettes.
I gave you Siddhartha and Guildenstern and Rosencrantz,
though it wasn’t the first time.
I loved it all: the guitars, the punk chords, the dodgy old houses
in run down parts of West End,
the random houses, the secret nights smoking your
Champion Ruby in my old *** pipe because we’d
run out of **** and Henry Miller wouldn’t settle for just plain *****
Bohemian Cafés and curries,
girlfriends turned turncoat then lesbians,
your secret *** parties that I never found out about ‘till years later
your Mezz Mezzrow typewriter and bright candles of novel beginnings
that never saw the light of day. Her sweet little hips showing a little too
clearly with the the shining light from inside as it lit her silhouette on
your balcony. I miss you guys, with your madness your friendships and
deep inner hipness that wasn’t in me.
So it’s years later now, we’re old and I ain’t seen you in years.
Wayne showed up in a café one day with CDs of his latest, still cool
I was studying Mandarin, and I wanted to reconnect
He gave me his number but I didn’t call him, I can’t explain why.
You showed up one day, “weren’t you going to come and say hello?”
I was but I still don’t know how.
Dec 16, 2015
Dec 16, 2015 at 6:50 AM UTC
Androgynous souls stiffen in their stews
With ambiguous thoughts they claim is news
They clash their opinions until the last breath
But all in all, they're destined for the same death
Let's see how many of them will bite
Let's see them fight!
They're scrounging for that last word to have
Dividing themselves from the true issues
A million bodies are starving to death
Spreading cancer plagues their friends
One by one, they will die
But they just want to be right
Every night
Until they're evaporated into a morsel
Of their own self-esteem
Turning into victims from their own throats
As long as they get to ****
The Turncoat
A massacre behind the sheet
Will bring defeat
To the service of a crime
When it's time to die
From accolades bought by them
A wealthy force
Against the source of progress
Tesla's tomb screams out
What a waste, it is a disgrace
Humankind throwing away
As the time draws near
Their fleeting final chance
To relinquish to their world
Entitlement is becoming
Humanity's turncoat
Race relations have gone back in time
Teaching to always expect the worst
The skeletons find their way out
From the past's catacombs
A national war is now imminent
Your youthful seed shall be armed
And you'll find there is no way out
Another kid is shot in the streets
"A gentle breeze"
It brushes onto the bodybag
Of which was once your son
Devastation ideation
Permeation into the kindred psyche
A massive turn to the fourth *****
As buildings crumble under morale
But hey, it was a good run
Until they worshipped decapitation
Becoming a worldwide ************
Another soul is blind in the streets
An eye for an eye
A shot for a shot
Now we all must die
Jul 5, 2016
Jul 5, 2016 at 4:17 PM UTC
So far away, the daylight fades.
Behind the bridges in my way,
made of old oak and the smiles
of people two thousand miles away.
So far away, no one can stay.
Here with us in our present day,
all the lost dreams we cast away
with each word we couldn't say.
So far away, so far away.
The daylight fades
like our lives and days,
no one can stay.
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 2:22 PM UTC
She was winning!
She had the poor sod
on his knees,
one more tongue lashing
and this nemesis
would be vanquished!
Only...
he really wasn't
her enemy at all,
but in truth,
her most beloved.
This raging battle
had so swiftly
mushroomed
from such an innocuous start
your head would spin
(like a top).
A passing observation
fueling outright war,
but he valiantly waved
the white flag of surrender.
Suddenly victory
was not so sweet to her,
thus with sword drawn
and poised at his throat,
she called a truce,
and confessed, "forgive me, my darling,
I was wrong."
Pardoned she was,
and peace ensued.
One lovable turncoat,
she traded in her uniform
to became a cowgirl instead
(like on top).
Dec 4, 2019
Dec 4, 2019 at 8:00 PM UTC
Standing here in the silents of days
I remember all the tears
yet so much now has changed
and you Orkian deus
I mean to destroy you where you stand
I save most of true and hard
so you will not pass by me
no no my most hated nemesis
I mean to win my fighter
on my vow I will destroy you
My brothers and sisters are the faithful
and as proud warriors we mean to fight you
locked in war again
you turncoat
who I thought was a friend
Oh yes we are outnumbered
but sweet Jesus we have trained hard
and in faith will defeat you
for what is one more battle scare
this is vengeance for the children of the stars
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 2:15 PM UTC
Entertained only by false futures
Our eyelids paint a peaceful projection.
But what is the weight of a turncoat's word
to six feet of earth's burden?
Straining tired eyes, the saints will smile
as the worms serenade us both to sleep.
Sep 11, 2019
Sep 11, 2019 at 7:13 PM UTC
a mossy
lives in
shoe where
a theater
turncoat ultra
bleeds as
Putin a
cowbell if
fingers won
Equinox and
the squatly
kneel but
this share
of their
misnomer is
Baltic leader
nigh again
Jun 27, 2019
Jun 27, 2019 at 12:23 PM UTC