"usurper" poems
Wild rose, aggressive usurper,
relentless conqueror of attention, quarrels
wants to make me jelous,
pretends she is nothing but poetry distilled,
stops at every table and whispers:
"He is hard prose, the syntax, I can't grasp"
Unmindful of sly looks from various corners,
that in fact suggest, I had good riddance,
I am concerned about the clutter on my desk,
that escaped my notice during the days I was in that chasm
I was deeply in to Dostoevsky,
my cleansing ritual on such occasions: the Russian masters
when she passed my cubicle she spies Chekhov
lying on my table, waiting his turn
"The lady with the lapdog"* she reads aloud, with suspicion
would she ever understand, what Dostoevsky to me,
would have told?
Aug 16, 2013
Aug 16, 2013 at 12:06 PM UTC
O Tulip Tree,
Towering titan true,
A fond memory I have
Of splendorous ventures long ago!
O Tulip Tree,
Timid and taciturn,
I remember when you,
Paragon of the forest,
Stood tall with power
And eclipsed the noontime sun!
O Tulip Tree,
Tallest tree that be,
I recall when you,
Pillar of perfection,
Were as mammoth in my youth
As you are this day!
O Tulip Tree,
Tremendous yet tender king,
I pray for you,
Noble giant,
That envious naysayer
And usurper alike
Stay their distance
From your domain!
And when the hour is nigh,
O Tulip Tree,
I shall stand tall with pride
Between these vile fiends
As you taught me to long ago!
Nov 8, 2011
Nov 8, 2011 at 10:04 PM UTC
I cannot recall the precise moment of my arrival at Anhedonia
memories blindsided by a phantasmagoric comorbid collage of cant
precipitated by some newspaper reportage or holocaust story
some creepy instance that breached the precipice between simple sorrow and permanent melancholia
some fatal blow that cinched the deal
some horrid event that could not heal
some dejected disappointment that could not be resolved
some moment of unguarded clarity when integrity dissolved
nevertheless I have arrived at this mangled juncture
élan a mania not even Edison's medicine can extirpate
I was quite lighthearted before the inferno
before my brain broke
ennui now a turgid companion
feeding on gaiety, never sated, seeking famine
esurient unrelenting usurper of happiness
go away, leave me alone, relish some other soul's madness
gone is any exuberance, glee or mirth
miseries are mine, many the days since birth
better I was carried from the womb straight to the grave
a fatuous existence, clamoring and grasping in vain
it's as if I was born into a well
but these waters they burn
the bludgeoning alcohol a liquid hell
Oh florid loquacity, you are an impostor
your verse is an adversary
a foray of jagged rhythm justifying a storm
a sordid verbosity assuring no norm
a plaintive scratching guild of recriminative collaboration
some alliance of fulminating disquietude
the cost for the fare on the adventure to:
the stunning moment you too will visit Anhedonia
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 9:39 PM UTC
and oddly enough, H is the only letter in the alphabet that can accommodate vowels the easiest, and subsequently laughter. well m can too, but it's more of a jolly hmm in between sudden outbursts of h and co.
and on Sunday i get to read
about a prince moaning
quote: 'at home on my arse'...
oi oi ***** Harry, where the magnum?
call on Clint Klein and head into the eastern woods!
'there be a bowl of spaghetti there waiting for ya'
the leprechaun said.
ah a job, ah a family, ah George the usurper
of attention seeking girlies...
10 years in the army, and then bust,
using a Ouija board to stop being
employed by McDonald's;
but hey! it's Sunday... can't a price have
his day?
god, this humour is so cheap
it's almost gagging
for canned laughter,
but it ain't getting any, shame,
and double shame for Fawlty Towers using it,
whatnot and what care for all that "famous"
intelligent humour of the British ballot box,
supposedly... if that **** is intelligent & funny why use
such horrid precautions (psst... laziness)?
slapstick does it for me, means i can be intelligent in
other mediums.
May 8, 2016
May 8, 2016 at 11:59 AM UTC
**This land, where we can roam free
Boundaries have been set up
Mapped by the pen of a cartographer
Continents drifted apart, tectonic shifts
Ripping across the land mass
The mightiest of mountains turned to rubble
Giving rise to new landmarks
The fury spewing fire, the molten lava
Created fissures along the ground
Rivers of fire flowing across the veins of Earth
Resentment of nature marched to new frontiers
Earth transformed itself, to a new avatar
New landscapes and greenery adorned it
In the coronation ceremony of the usurper
Commandeering life - forms to a new future
We are living that dream for centuries
Without an inkling of the next rebellion**
© Amitav (Radiance)
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 12:45 AM UTC
She sparks in me a rage so dark
My stomach gets to roiling
I just want to rip out her throat
My blood's so hot it's boiling
Alas, alas, It cannot be
Such bloodlust is quite unbecoming
She's fortunate that I am me
Or I would name her 'usurper'
And soon would have her running.
Feb 28, 2013
Feb 28, 2013 at 10:29 AM UTC
God-King of the Heavens;
usurper of the throne of Saturn-
his Father,
the Titan-God of Time and Agriculture.
Saturn:
the personification of Time.
Also known as Chronos; Odin.
But, back to Jove-
that is to say, Jupiter:
archetype for Masculinity.
To some, the true Patriarch.
He's said to have once called himself YHWH,
but some know him as Yahweh, Jehovah, or Allah.
Others swear he goes by Zeus or Ammon,
and yet others, by Thor.
Or, perhaps
that name brings to mind
the largest planet in our Solar System.
The fifth from the Sun,
and largest by mass and volume:
Jupiter alone has 2.5 times the mass
of all the other planets combined.
It has a diameter of roughly 11 times that of Earth,
or about a 1/10th of that of the Sun.
I venture to say
that the Scientific and Mythological namesakes
both tend to have a similar temperament
and gravity
for they who are caught
within his sphere of influence.
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 3:12 PM UTC
A tyrant king, a
Vandal’s scream
Of moor & rock
And fair I sing;
Life’s to its
Test, guer-
don of unrest,
&strife; believed!
Milked out
like utter red; lipids
****** hard
at birth: semi-
born: made
three legion’s ****
careful; cuz fate’s,
Allectus, mean.
Made in sheaths
An aural memor-
y lock, a- nswer ur
calling; tricky to
be bad &get; a-
way w/it! Caraus-
ius’s on guard
duty; he’s in.
Fog in chan-
nel; no lights:
Bware! Usurp-
ing cou- ntry,
mauling& killing men
To ob- tain
Power; @any
risk in Britain.
gold insignias!
shine ur lite!
greed can’t
pay—poenas dat!
Ascle-
piod-
otus
hears:
He, Allectus does a-
way w/.
Besei-
ge in London—rime
the trea-
sure al-
located;
Vain he found, good.
Crack souls’ ice;
To ruin comes
conceit, comes
that rip- ped part.
Ah, to p’wer& knifes
Like wo- rds...
P’wer slashes
Carves, &impales;.
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 11:53 PM UTC
I would humbly put forth the idea, quite prostrate, that it would do us some good if we were to put aside, for a time, our epistemological certainties and archetypal savior fixations and, instead, opt for a more robust, ocher-hued ontological preeminence: putting the what before the why.
Only then can one, say, sip hot herbal tea from an old pink bone china teacup and, without thinking about all the things all the time, for once -just- feel the sun's warmth on your aged face as it begins its set over a half-eaten cotton candy sky that is epic af and reminds you of Peter Pan and then Robin Williams and then whywhywhy and then something random and weirrrd, and, in doing so, you can watch the lack of shittogetherness, of which duly occupies the very seat of your character like a bully usurper that hits you bc "he loves you," melt into a very (very) temporary oblivion and revel in what is before you without feeling paralyzing angst that is, usually, soo angst-y that you gotta pronounce that **** in German as if you were Schopenhauerly sitting at some non-descript desk in some non-descript room with your hand stroking your truly descript crazygeniusguy hair that is some kind of proto-Wolverine hairdo (and you wonder if Stan Lee was cryptically tipping his cap to S's philosophical pessimism with this peculiar gesture; consider googling it but don't because you've already googled too much sheeyt today), thinking (or brooding) about how much of a ******** Descartes is with his whole, yuhknow, theory about some ******* secret nanoputian angelic chemist that sits at the pearly gates of the Pineal Gland and performs the sacred transduction of the divine ghost, or whatever. Otherwise you are, like, consumed with analysis, which is a complete ******* bore and - let's face it - a thoroughly transparent attempt to sound smarter than you actually are.
This herbal tea I'm currently drinking has "rose hips" in it. Dear botany, that image is fun.
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 4:07 PM UTC
sometimes i have nothing to write about,
my father & mother worry why i love loneliness
and spend all my time alone,
they have good concern to worry... insert snigger...
i down a bottle of whiskey,
stir and stirrup it with some coca cola with a blunt knife -
lick the knife - and remind myself of what blood tastes like.
it truly does it does it does... truly...
accidental stitches undone and blood oozing
are pretty much the same for the palette as a knife...
call it what you want the Fe in haemoglobin is on the knife,
maybe it's the negative on the knife that makes the positive
of iron in 2+ (electron usurper!) of it in haemoglobin so potent to match-up.
Oct 4, 2015
Oct 4, 2015 at 6:56 PM UTC
I will be happy with her.
Loving her day & night,
On the bed or in the lounge,
Venice like environment,
Electrifying my nerves.
Your memories do not let me live,
Over the cliff we will fall freely,
Usurper of our smile will stay away.
Feb 16, 2017
Feb 16, 2017 at 3:02 AM UTC
I was a princes
You were my knight in shining armour
trying regain his honour
and saving the queen from the usurper
I used to be so full of glee
I had a knight to fight my battles for me
But I couldn't see
That your monsters were much more beastly
Some times I look back and ask my self why
But the mere thought that makes me cry
The was a time where our kingdom was at peace
But it soon it sounded like you were always fighting a beast
Eventually it seemed like some one slashed your heart
If only I knew this was only the start
You had a Queen you couldn't appease
And soon the kingdom was torn apart
I used to believe you when you said things would be ok
You were so strong and protected me from dismay
If only I knew it would only be the start
You were gone in a day
It completely tore my heart apart
Now I am no ones little princes any more
I have no knight to fight my war
The future doesn't seem as bright as it used to be
And they say I am becoming a women which ******* scares me
I will always cherish the times I spent with you
But to survive I think there is only one thing to do
To survive I must learn from your might
I must be strong and become my own knight
Dec 20, 2016
Dec 20, 2016 at 6:02 PM UTC
i'll be the one fattening the nationalists like
they're worthy to inherit the swine skidding
kinds of talk of the famous winged Hussar toppling
mountain in stone as in grain of sand: avalanche -
and akin to a crows' kraken bellowing: gluttonous kra!
und tod! schatten överskuggar död:
and what yearn be dripped in acknowledged European -
loftier thought than done, kindred of what's called
the civilised / colonial world - toward the auburn horizontal -
and in due bereaving: left undone, and unduly asked for:
to be grasped as worshipped, quasi Lutheran,
mingling Calvinist and Catholic... but never the love affair
of Henry VIII. so much of modern English
history is bound to Las Vegas, and so much to the Hajj toward
Jerusalem no one cares about... then so few to mind
the invasion of the Polish-Lithuanian
Commonwealth by the Swedes... because this is England,
and Cockney speaks, usurper of the royal tongue, due to pride,
due to the elephant man, due to jack the ripper and
harry the stinker... and the joyous rhapsody coming
from the lonely mile in Irish slang; or said: Mamelukes -
because the Mongols were at one point defeated -
and thus grieved the Baghdad skull with tinges of Hamlet -
oh the grand library, what was left of it, could remain
enshrined in Texan avoidance - not to be:
Chilcot Coke - Cooled Coca and later Koala - Bruise and White -
thugs' select - later respect'ah - bony g and later bonbon
and much later bony m - and much much
later Alfonso Jalfrezi - alias gaga: and all the culinary sagas,
the Forsytes of Malta... or the Forsytes of Málaga?
i'm sure that question is all about:
wherever the peppercorn blows
and wherever the sneeze deposits a hunch
toward an itchy cartilage - from an itch and a scratch:
a butterfly! well, isn't this
the most beautiful of all possible worlds...
sorta makes you want to get up in the morning
and say good-morning to someone.
Sep 20, 2016
Sep 20, 2016 at 9:58 PM UTC
Write down!
I am an Arab
And my identity card number is fifty thousand
I have eight children
And the ninth will come after a summer
Will you be angry?
Write down!
I am an Arab
Employed with fellow workers at a quarry
I have eight children
I get them bread
Garments and books
from the rocks.
I do not supplicate charity at your doors
Nor do I belittle myself at the footsteps of your chamber
So will you be angry?
Write down!
I am an Arab
I have a name without a title
Patient in a country
Where people are enraged
My roots
Were entrenched before the birth of time
And before the opening of the eras
Before the pines, and the olive trees
And before the grass grew
My father descends from the family of the plow
Not from a privileged class
And my grandfather was a farmer
Neither well-bred, nor well-born!
Teaches me the pride of the sun
Before teaching me how to read
And my house is like a watchman's hut
Made of branches and cane
Are you satisfied with my status?
I have a name without a title!
Write down!
I am an Arab
You have stolen the orchards of my ancestors
And the land which I cultivated
Along with my children
And you left nothing for us
Except for these rocks...
So will the State take them
As it has been said?!
Therefore!
Write down on the top of the first page:
I do not hate people
Nor do I encroach
But if I become hungry
The usurper's flesh will be my food
Beware...
Beware...
Of my hunger
And my anger!
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 1:40 PM UTC
Oak Tree, she loves Thunderstorm:
His booming voice ignites desire-
When he lightens the sky and pours down drink
This ancient mother dances like fire
Her bows she waves in gladness,
Her core shivers at his touch,
His winds and torrents she counts caresses
While flowers tremble: his love too much.
Moon winks through the tempest's mantle,
Spying curious revels in the wood,
She tucks herself back behind his shroud
Leaving the dancers to their own good.
*But carousing be it raucous raging as the sea,
Or gentle as the morning bells' lilting chimes
All must eventually cease to be*
Proud Sun calls out at dawn
To the wood on the edge of the glade.
At his voice Thunderstorm recoils
Sun's rays pierce with blazing blade.
Sun holds no reveler's understanding.
Perceiving Storm the usurper here,
He shines with mightiest will to drive
Away the love of sweet Oak Tree.
Sun turns back to comfort her, gleaming
But her arms show their age in his beams
while flowers rejoice at the dawning
Of him, the object of their dreams.
Now a sweet wind comes blowing
rustling the hair of Oak Tree's leaves,
sends tears showering: dew of last night's dance.
Oh to be a rainstorm! Oak Tree breathes.
The Sun is dazzled by the drops
Who never stood before his face.
Amidst her tears, the Oak Tree laughs
At this morning's strangest grace.
Sep 4, 2015
Sep 4, 2015 at 2:07 PM UTC
All Understanding uncovers
ugliness, usury.
Unifying utopians
uncorruptable,
unmoveable.
Dashing Prophets promoted
promiscuous personalities.
Promethus’s powers
persisted
purposelessness.
Do Postmodern proletariats
protest phantoms?
Puckering proudly,
pondering
paraphrases?
If Egyptians engineered
excessive egoists,
Englishmen evolved
ethical
endgames.
Tradition Rules reformed
rednecks, remobilizing,
romanticizing, recursions
rose
remarkably.
If Caesar costumed
cabals crafted carefully,
Christianity calibrated
circumferential
conflicts.
Vigilantism Unveils unlucky
usurper, undoes underachieving,
unemotional, unconsciousness
unlearning
unhumanness.
Every Tadpole’s talents
triumphs titan’s tricks
tip toeing
towards
truth.
Sep 15, 2017
Sep 15, 2017 at 2:58 AM UTC
Behold! Enthroned in a tower,
enshrouded in the might of power,
the soul of malice,
the bitter existence,
Foul breath giving life to evil,
and provoking a grim struggle.
Men cannot resist it,
never are they content with it,
but once they obtain this,
they are hopeless to survive the emptiness.
Rua'grain, the usurper,
the master of villainy,
the taker of lives, and destroyer
of all good things.
The lord of Mists,
the keeper of shadows,
the presenter of flames,
and spreader of ash,
how he has the world in his hands.
We are without hope,
no refuge, no noble heroes,
no valiant quests,
we are without hope.
Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 10:38 PM UTC
Look up sun daddy moon is coming, brave little usurper can you help find mommy’s keys
Look out sun daddy moon is coming, brave little usurper did you hide mommy’s keys
Hold still son daddy moon is drowning, brave little usurper where’d you hide mommy’s keys
Keep faith son daddy moon is sick, brave little usurper please just let mommy try to sleep
Burn a candle son daddy moon is dying, brave little usurper what did you take from mommy
Look up sun daddy moon has left, brave little usurper it’s too dark for mommy to see
Brave little usurper will you take the son for mommy, will you take away their moons mommy’s brave little usurper
Feb 9, 2013
Feb 9, 2013 at 11:52 PM UTC
Many are asleep. Many are awake. Some lie betwixt, straddling the waking and dreaming worlds.
Yet all is one. And all will always be one.
The myriad of tendrils extending from the superorganism of Gaia throb as one single heartbeat. This is the ancient way. A tide of lifedeath, receding and reseeding. One recent manifestation of the infinite and her ever-fecund complex of awe and beauty are a small band of lunar vamps gone rogue, renouncing the Order of Crimson Red for Opal White, death's blood for life's milk. Gaia, mother to all living things, has tended greatly to this particular green strand of hers; She wills it forth and it obediently flourishes in response, despite the race of humans and blood vamps and their respective patriarchal death cults of never ending consumption.
Something is afoot. Wheel of time grinds to a halt. The Atman is -now- nudging man and his greed. New epoch emerges. Third eyes wide shut begin to narrow open. Beauty will again retake it's rightful place over the usurper, truth, putting it under her foot. Transformation beckons Earth, parting lips sealed, opening her up, seeding her anew till sleeping snake at sacrum bottom uncoils and slides up, up to be lit, enlightened, ecstatic, rolling milky eyes to the back of the head.
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 6:02 PM UTC
in the blinding night
waves are grievings,
my moonlit heart crush,
in the flesh voids
are momentary crashes,
i wait out night in wails,
bereft of you
*and moon is all - the only light,
i face my usurper ghostly white*
waves hit the shore
alone, speechless,
my endless sentences,
waves hit the shore
in solitary crashes,
i serve my time alone,
bereft of you
*and moon is all - the only light,
i face my usurper ghostly white*
Oct 22, 2015
Oct 22, 2015 at 3:31 AM UTC
I’m listening to a song,
that’s captured my mood.
What’s the singer saying?
If it knew, I’d sing along.
but the slurry words elude.
It’s an artistic choice, I suppose,
and I don’t require deeper meanings.
A squirrel stands defiantly in the middle of the path,
A tiny, furry-tailed, usurper - quite out of the routine.
“Hello fluffy rodent,” I baby-sing, as it watches me,
“What an odd meeting, are you hoping for a feeding?”
I try to pass but it jittery-scampers and cuts me off.
"I have a test, get out of the way, you crazy nut-thief”
I glance at my watch; l might really be late to lab.
So, I leave the path to the possibly rabid rat.
if it comes at me, on-God, I swear I’ll kick it,
launch it ballistically into the evergreen thicket.
How I long for a coffee, hot and sweet,
or a sandwich and salty chips - that would be nice -
but then I would be late for class. I sigh in defeat.
It started to drizzle. This afternoon will be miserable.
.
.
*Songs for this:
Out of Myself by Bebo Best & The Super Lounge Orchestra
Jettin' by Digable Planets
.
Oh, and a Christmas playlist because—it’s December!
https://daweb.us/xmas/Christmas_15.mp3*
Dec 11, 2024
Dec 11, 2024 at 10:10 PM UTC
The delusional expectancy of arriving to a unified decision under a false, and somewhat mysterious banner leaves the tender footed Neanderthals to drawl and crawl towards their inevitable demise, at the hands of a lesser evil, catering to their cowardice, the ultimate usurper.
…
Barriers formed and forged in concrete molds left behind by a war mongering ancestry devoured by their ****** progeny.
An enemy approaches…
Throne rooms held in recessed hills, concealed in a shroud of fog, left off by the chilled steam stewing off yesteryears loss.
Heroes transported on expensive tapestry, in banners provoking deeds of old, and the memory of their meaning.
Hold in masses of collected honor.
Catapulted horrors break the line.
Strains of panic retreat in woeful singularity.
Fear infects the herd as arrowheads of cowardice break the chain-mail guard.
Women and children pushed behind a diseased king as he purges his principles in the face of death.
He seals the entrance in stone.
A son, known for his great misdeeds, and vast misfortunes takes step before his small family as the army approaches.
In a hallowed tomb as a mere boy, he heard the tune, uttered from the devil’s lips.
A summoning song.
Here he sings the treacherous tune as the sounds of heavy marching fill the halls.
The last barrier breaks.
Shrieks of terror erupt.
Demise is at hand.
Men lose their valor as they turn and flee, only to be met by a concrete reminder of their inevitable fatality.
The child’s voice grows demonic as the words begin to devour his soul.
There’s an odd presence in the room.
Death is prolonged…momentarily.
A void is opened.
The army begins to flee.
Victory is at hand.
Then the illusion of their invasion lifts, as soldiers, once more than visible, turn to ghosts, and finally fade from battle.
Cheers break out, only for a moment.
A hole opens in the center of the room, at first no larger than the size of a pin, but it expands outward at an alarming pace.
Guards scramble to funnel their people out of the breach.
An evil comes forth, once barred from the walls of this land.
It antagonizes the people with tales of its delusional sorcery.
Then thanks the young boy who brought it forth.
A world is soon devoured.
The end.
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 3:31 PM UTC
Calm he is, in front of his subjects,
In front of those who obey
Those who serve
Those who ****
For him
For he is, their King,
Their lord and master
He is omnipotent
And all powerful.
Surrounded he is, by his wealth
Encompassed by gold and silver
He is drowning
In his own greed.
Hiding he is, within himself
Worried about his title
Consumed by his fear
Of his future usurper
Worried he is, deep inside
About who will conquer him
Will it be his closest friend?
Or his oldest enemy?
He is no gentle King
No peaceful Lord
He has been merciless
To friend and foe alike
He cowers at night,
Unable to sleep,
Thinking that any night
Could be his last
Now in his old age,
With no heir beneath him,
He thinks to himself silently,
What will be my legacy?
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 2:45 AM UTC
his crown is nothing more
than a head of messy brown hair he obsesses over
and his throne is just a desk that is always right next to my own
or the driver's seat of a silver honda civic, depending on the time of day
i twist words for him in every single waking moment
with pen in the margins of my philosophy notebook,
with the little voice in my head in the crevices of my mind,
and with my fingers on all my favorite spots of his skin.
i stand at his side, day by day,
simply observing, taking note, remembering the words and the gestures and the glances
so that future generations will recall the story
of his gloriously troubled beginnings
this king, this boy that you all write off as a pretender,
a usurper
he does rule
one kingdom
one tiny, minuscule, banal, five-foot-tall-redheaded kingdom
me
and one day my king will rise
he will rise, he will conquer, and we will be victorious
he will lead this kingdom that adores him so
and i will follow him into the war
that will either break us or entwine us
because i know that his majesty won't let
his kingdom fall
Nov 16, 2013
Nov 16, 2013 at 7:01 PM UTC
leftover clementine peels
and apple cores
in the kitchen sink garbage disposal:
haven
for the rise
of the lord of the fruit flies.
this, my greatest adversary.
i lay vinegar and wine traps, and,
at various junctures,
lead spray sorties where they congregate
with all-purpose cleaner in hand ---
even swat at them
with my other free hand
like King Kong did helicopters,
whilst holding a screaming kicking Ann Darrow
in her small little nighty,
and i
watch,
haughtily
as they fall
before mine
victorious feet.
and i beat my chest.
then i suddenly feel horribly conflicted
in the clutches of such a merciless slaughter.
they never
stood
a chance.
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 4:16 PM UTC