"usurps" poems
1664
I did not reach Thee
But my feet slip nearer every day
Three Rivers and a Hill to cross
One Desert and a Sea
I shall not count the journey one
When I am telling thee.
Two deserts, but the Year is cold
So that will help the sand
One desert crossed—
The second one
Will feel as cool as land
Sahara is too little price
To pay for thy Right hand.
The Sea comes last—Step merry, feet,
So short we have to go—
To play together we are prone,
But we must labor now,
The last shall be the lightest load
That we have had to draw.
The Sun goes crooked—
That is Night
Before he makes the bend.
We must have passed the Middle Sea—
Almost we wish the End
Were further off—
Too great it seems
So near the Whole to stand.
We step like Plush,
We stand like snow,
The waters murmur new.
Three rivers and the Hill are passed—
Two deserts and the sea!
Now Death usurps my Premium
And gets the look at Thee.
25.3k
She stupefy truth
with her finely crafted lies
that stand head held high
without even
the slightest sign
of embarrassment.
She waters the seeds
with acid, deliberately
even manage to get kudos
for her 'kind intervention'
Her 'collected venom'
in real, is a counterfeit concoction
more deadly than the real,
that attracts unlimited attention
and the loudest rounds of applause,
for it's new shade of blue
when displayed with special effects
for all to view.
In her presence, fairness loses its meaning
foulness like her, usurps it, makes its own,
becomes the reigning queen!
Whatever she does
has a dark beauty,
even the true angel of evil
would greatly envy her.
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 2:24 AM UTC
All profits disappear: the gain
Of ease, the hoarded, secret sum;
And now grim digits of old pain
Return to litter up our home.
We hunt the cause of ruin, add,
Subtract, and put ourselves in pawn;
For all our scratching on the pad,
We cannot trace the error down.
What we are seeking is a fare
One way, a chance to be secure:
The lack that keeps us what we are,
The penny that usurps the poor.
2.6k
He is my least favorite vegetable.
No amount or level of preparation makes him taste better:
Boiling-
brings out his bulbous, insipid ego
the texture of his flamboyant ignorance.
when I timorously sip him in soups or broths,
his oozing insidious misogyny
contaminates my blissful dining, contorts any ingredients still pure.
I fry him, striving to remove the
excess of impertinence which
permeates the oxygen I feebly inhale.
but he evades my maneuvers:
usurps bliss and violates all semblance of tranquility
I cannot prevail
against the throb of his assaulting narcissism
I must instead attempt
to comment
(arduously, fraudulently)
on the delicate iridescence of his silkily mucoused membranes
and admire deftly
his indefatigable ventures to pervade my
every.
serenity.
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 3:18 AM UTC
Sometimes we are made aware of beacons in the rest of the dark.
Like stars littered across the attics we trap ourselves in.
Sometimes we chase rainbows with beggars eyes and wishes like children.
Some people are like soup soaked bread crumbs and wool mittens with the fingers cut out.
The rest of us are chimney soot.
And they are ‘chim chim cheree‘.
They are song filling every corner of the antique shop.
Silver under tarnish and weights and measures
balancing on the hands of the scale
suspended from the spear of a woman in white robes
with blue eyes that match the sky when we stare at it
and it usurps the corners of our eyes
and we are made aware of how small we are
as we get lost in how complete it is when it is with out clouds
with silver linings that never seem to follow through to rain.
And some of us?
Some of us are rain.
And thunder that shakes your soul.
And images of gods in black and white that burn themselves onto our minds
for us to study with our eyes closed.
And some of us are doing the best we can.
And some of us are not us.
But are the others.
And we would be lost without them
to point beyond red sails on sundown ocean horizons,
just before the world turns blue.
And some are the pops and cracks between the notes of Coltrane on Vinyl.
And you.
You smell of confessional walls and a nursery.
You smell of camp fire blankets and bruised roses.
You move like corner of the eye shadows
and windshield wipers with no chance of beating the rain.
You write like stone tablets and feathers.
Blown bubbles and spun webs.
And you feel like chance.
And love.
And strength.
You change like ropes on ship decks and tarot meanings from gypsy to gypsy.
And you are beautiful.
And beautiful.
And beautiful.
And everything.
And everything.
And everything.
Strong like ropes on yard arms of old ships in ancient seas.
And you go and you take us there.
And we go, because we want to see too.
And we want to be full on wild flowers and raspberries.
And we want you to show us the line on our palm
that separates the dark from the light.
And we want bed time stories and lullabies.
And with my eyes.
And with your own too.
And more importantly.
You.
You are the place where there is hardly no day time and hardly night. Things half in shadow and things half in light. On the roof tops of forever. Coo. What a sight…
Feb 23, 2014
Feb 23, 2014 at 1:48 AM UTC
i mean, i love your sanity, but
i need a drink; i learned more sanity from a cat
than i did trying to cure my eyesight;
if you think my parents did wrong
by giving me a proustian lifestyle
then i’m faust; polka dittoed devil usurps all
meanings, even the clever ones typed: chlorophyl.
well i'll be too many coo coo in pikachu for the orange
minding the size of the amazon
(and saying - there's a pain in my chest when laughing...
had i a heart i'd call it keith lemon) allowing
the "fashion statement" and instant grams of followers -
hey, it's called a middle finger for a reason - let me
anally absolve you from prayer
and salutation of the crucifix... k k o.k.?
Oct 10, 2015
Oct 10, 2015 at 11:35 AM UTC
in this crazed business of flighty gods and flitty humans,
this trove of love need,
this two way street for persons blind in one eye
thus they can see you,
the one who loves them
only when they squint real hard,
well it is a far better thing
to be next them,
to be seen and be seeing
than have the
ceiling be your horizon,
a pillow oscar-acting as a long lost love,
cold sheets and space heaters each losing the battle,
for when the moment occurs that
loving usurps loneliness
even for a moment’s moment,
it is a far better thing you do
than you have ever done before
8:41pm
Mar 19, 2018
Mar 19, 2018 at 8:51 PM UTC
924
Love—is that later Thing than Death—
More previous—than Life—
Confirms it at its entrance—And
Usurps it—of itself—
Tastes Death—the first—to hand the sting
The Second—to its friend—
Disarms the little interval—
Deposits Him with God—
Then hovers—an inferior Guard—
Lest this Beloved Charge
Need—once in an Eternity—
A smaller than the Large—
946
14
Every song or sonnet
singular in its intricacy,
in time it becomes something
other, hyper-personal and resonant.
14 things may burst into millions.
13
Three times I've felt alone
this minute. I should stop tallying
hours in my schedule, messy
rubric.
12
11-years old and jumping off
mud-mounds, playing King of the
Hill. The strongest rises to the top.
The cleverest usurps.
11
One thing for certain:
we are human. We are
not human.
10
Six times in school I got
detention. It was often due
to my willingness to be a
follower, silly sheep to a
slaughter.
9
Five languages of love we are
sure of, no more so far.
8
10 tally marks looks a lot
like less. Some things, like
people, refuse to show their
face.
7
13 is supposedly an unlucky
number. At this age I uncovered
a part of myself I did not know
before. Discovery. This is luck.
6
A dozen is meant to represent 12
because it is simpler, same syllables
only one less letter, a convenience.
5
If you flip an eight on its side
you can see forever.
4
Seven times I've thought this poem
gimmicky.
3
[redacted for time constraints
and continuity]
2
The artist places her pen to
paper and borrows, not stealing
so much as salvaging, wrapping
old presents in neat new bows,
satin or silk or rough twine.
Nine variations on the same
subject.
1
Four lids harbor two eyes,
a galaxy, universe,
each hiding half a heaven
from view.
Jun 20, 2016
Jun 20, 2016 at 3:23 PM UTC
The poem is the afterbirth,
A conflicts resolution, an outcome,
Battlefield debris, the residue of
An exacting vision, a sentiment surging,
And your army of words, inadequate to the task,
Fighting to capture that insight flashed,
Each word a soldier, disheveled,
Crying, let me live, let me be saved,
Let me make a poem,
Let it be inscribed upon my victorious flag.
The poem is the sweat left upon the brow,
Having exercised the five senses,
The salt of struggle and debate,
It's completion, each word,
Both a victory and a defeat.
To write down any old notion,
A la de da rhyme of late and fate,
To write to garner points and pins of glory,
Is just, well, ****** awful....
And
Mocks us all who ache
To write but a single line,
That uplifts the heart,
Eases pain, gives delight to strangers,
And makes you laugh out loud
With shivery pleasure,
That usurps a whole day and night,
That is a poets true measure.
Mastery of the poetic,
Measured not in quantity,
But in tears of satisfaction
When others love the taste
Of newly born stanzas
Upon their lips,
couplets born and transcribed
In the wee hours of the morn.
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 10:44 PM UTC
I woke up on a bed of moss
Spongey and warm beneath my back
Somewhere in my there is a sense of loss
A filling feeling sense of purpose, though, I do not lack
The air is heavy and weighs into my skin
The sky is low and sets my body ablaze
My blood is tight and filled with endorphin
It's a happy sickness, some sort of daze
Indigo firs crowd around me like I'm some sort of spectacle
Under tones of sepia and filters of light
Radiation of something pure, something spectral
The brown grass whispers to me in a form of delight
Warm fog rolls a billowing into my clearing
An aura of invitation, clean and mystic
It hinders my sight and usurps my hearing
And I know what lies beyond is likely cryptic
Walking through it, I am instantly transported
This mountain forest edges an empty sandy expanse
But something's not right and the distance is distorted
Floating geometric megaliths in a freakish kind of trance
Spirits of wander wisp past me in heavenly sound
Under an eclipsed sun, halway dark and halfway bright
A white wolf trots behind me, it's toes twinkling on the ground
Feathery wind tunnels vent me to move forward this night
In this place, though I am alone
It feels like I am indisputably at home
Even though not even a day has gone
It feels like I've been here for an eon
I could spend an eternity in this place
Purpose and meaning and time and space
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 12:33 PM UTC
Accompanied by blushing hews
The darkest skies chase the magnificent sun to it’s watery grave
The ocean waves rage,
patiently awaiting the burning head as it submerges into the depths
The baby blues turn to royal shades
The gentlest pinks fade to sickly yellow
The ocean greens turn to harsh steel
And down dies the sun
Its accompaniment is now red
Red as blood
The moon usurps the sky and reigns over the stars
Its silvery gleam rains on the ocean waves
It rains over the sleeping multitudes of creation
I witnessed this all
I witnessed the colors merge into black
And I exult in the solitude and the splendor and the magnificence of the moon
In the peace of the waves as they crash
And I lift my eyes to heaven and thank the Lord of hosts that he has given such beauty to the start of each day
Jan 19, 2021
Jan 19, 2021 at 9:34 PM UTC
the scientists called it The Bomb,
capitalizing it like God.
is there anything more
surreal or divine than to
crush the world under your fist?
is there anything more human
than to ascend, abuse, destroy?
do you think they realized
what they'd done?
animal breaks Creation,
adam usurps Creator,
radioactive, reeling, resplendent -
i hope for a nuclear future;
not desolation, no horsemen,
but clean air, man-made Providence.
there's something beautiful about
evolving, becoming more than animal,
living past hope or good sense.
i am become god,
bringer of life;
i want to live to see the atom split,
not for death,
but for light.
Aug 2, 2021
Aug 2, 2021 at 12:26 AM UTC
style
askance oligarchs
text for the win
pull heartfists up through mouthings
anticipating something winged
stardom usurps
star stuff
trimmed
none shall pass but i
it sez
we are a way for the universe to conquer itself
it sez
eyes pierced
with an earring sniffing
4 good taste
one yum style to style them all
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 2:01 PM UTC
Invades the finite,
When IMMORTAL
Usurps the mortal,
When OMNISCIENCE
Hovers over finite sentience,
The mortal man I am senses
TRANSCENDENCE,
Stirs uneasily,
Shudders uncontrollably, or
Rises, silently in bliss,
Unable even with a literate mind
To ask, "What meaning lies in this?"
Aug 14, 2017
Aug 14, 2017 at 5:34 PM UTC
from the tip of distal phalanx to the in-between phalanx media / distalis, i measured the orb, as the cursor denoting L.
i wrote this poem, with the fake...
should the sun come closer to
to earth as if the moon and earth entwined...
the distance would be this third orb...
now seen apparent in the sky...
a rarity kinship of omen that expanded
further more than i claimed...
in the foggy smog contrast it expanded
so much more...
what a strange telescope i’m seeing through...
it usurps japanese aesthetics...
it says:
simplicities first, complications later..
not like the french existentialism of:
complications first, simplicities later...
governed by what came from the linear
coupling of existence and essence...
mediating the kantian assertion,
a priori and a posteori are mediated
with: a priori ipse a posteriori -
as kindred of the cherry blossom,
the hawk and the maggoty optics burrowed into.
Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 8:13 PM UTC
Day emerges
And unburdened urges
The hour vessel sand,
Grain by grain,
To gain by gradual increase,
That he may enter into
A life that none can ascertain;
And he usurps the authority
Of
Death's powerful hand,
Alight with a spirit courageous
Yet stained
With Guilt...
For that hand many lives
Has claimed...
Encouraging specific grief and pain!
Devices do definitely die -weather worn and withered; whether worn and wilted -or otherwise.
Once born into his fortress forthright
-The right sustained thru
The law of casualties-
Thou gorgeous light steals e'en
The purest night,
Like a thief unashamed,
(Most naturally and casually.)
But soon Day too will pay this penalty,
And give up the ghost to Night,
Again one life ends with the sickle of Death,
So that a new life might reign
-Afresh in Time's cycle of Eternity forthright.
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 2:23 AM UTC
are you mine or should I give up that fight
this alienation seeks to press in, it is eager to bite
jilted lovers, if lovers at all
fading like old photographs hung on the wall
whatever the oblique harangue put on,
little frames adorn anyway
lightness into lightness
just before the empty,
I ignite, I paint the stars-
and the feeling that usurps grace is suddenly over me
-c.j.
Mar 4, 2017
Mar 4, 2017 at 5:56 PM UTC
Tell me what to do.
When the shades of a blue bird match
everything I put myself into.
Tell me where to go.
I know no home or family
I roam alone, left with memories of each other but they're people I don't know.
Tell me how to get there.
When I have lost myself.
I need to be someone else, I need to be true. My wisdom usurps the things I have been through.
Tell me who to cling to.
When the results of clinging to people can be seen everywhere. We have to exist together, love together, help together. But die all on our own.
Tell me why.
Any, why.
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 1:14 PM UTC
You think you can just enter and speak love
Then leave like nothing stays your feet?
I’ll not have it.
I’ll grip you firmly by the arm
And with luck and charm
And little gilded gifts I’ll sway you.
I’ll have you know, no one just gets to
Leave beauty all around these places I keep
Like fallen flower petals.
I’ll have you know no one disrupts my thinking,
Usurps my muses so without quick consequence.
So prepare thee thy heart for this squeeze,
This embrace ten fold that of other lovers.
Sigh for a life lived alone,
Now you share it with me.
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 5:04 PM UTC