"warranting" poems
What Dr. Lector devours with fava beans, inside rots. Too much Chianti?
Not likely. Likely, not enough
but there has been much else. Still,
no amounts warranting any shy example of overload. Mild splurges,
done in high style equal
nothing in comparison to toxic
baths taken in industrial grindstone
mortors. And the payback?
Walking papers and abdominal lump.
Poke it and choke on acid reflux. Pop
more pills to keep it down. Downers
prescribed on more downers.
Feeling down? Have another downer.
What else can we do? Your MRI's
and ultrasound, unsound, do not
come with flag from foreign invader,
claiming this new territory for king.
So, blame it on the offal.
Blame it all on the offal for not
having guts and glory
to fight off its own infection.
And eat your chicken livers.
Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 1:21 PM UTC
It took a hastily-made hangman puzzle
to **** you, a present-day friend
of mine to simply whisper
that three-letter word
as if she were restating the gospel.
Ironic, then, that as you were dying,
I felt an era-long noose loosening.
I remember finding skin pores
mistakenly labelled as sinkholes,
every confession warranting
a "believe me, we knew" after the other.
If you had spent any more time,
an indefinite amount of days
deciding to stay lurking
in the corners of the closet,
out there in the rafters
where no one could hear you
whispering poison into my gut reactions,
I might have sprouted
a kamikaze bloodline,
a raucous rhythm in the ranks
cackling louder with each year
of silence, each span of secrecy.
Although your plastic inflection
vanished with a collective
unlocking of the joints,
your cryptic sentiment still loiters
while my common sense is sleeping,
and I remember to repeat,
three times like Dorothy,
that moment I could only
be my true self on paper.
Sep 12, 2011
Sep 12, 2011 at 4:40 AM UTC
.
**•point
our fing-
ers to the
nearest a-
vailable s-
uckers• to
take respo-
nsibility a-
nd be acco-
untable....no
one really bothers•we
do it so well unlike any other•al-
most a skill that never gets duller•shit hits
the fan, we all look for someone to blame•it's a
hapless situation when we partake in such a ga-
me•it's become a norm that simply never ends •
it's a nasty situation that makes enemies out of f-
riends•i look at myself and realise that i am no
different•for i too, have my finger pointed si-
lent•i too, have erred...warranting reproach
•milling over transgressions my words
dare not broach•sigh...why is it so
that such a habit we can never
sever•think no further...let's
just blame it on......................**
human nature•
.
Aug 4, 2016
Aug 4, 2016 at 10:11 AM UTC
Charity and love
go hand in hand
From my perspective,
it's two breeds of the same species
To love encompasses the desire to give
yet charity has its limits
But what limits can be placed on a charity of love?
Endless giving even as much as my soul
and the purity that's left of
which you never turned away
greed is your sin
consuming the broken pieces of me
as if it were a buffet
But wait Hey!
if you consume all of me
what is left of me
the parts you control
in fear of being alone?
How is it possible to fear
what we've already experienced?
Is the experience that horrific and unrewarding
horrendous to the mind and eye
daily disrespect is ok and warranted
Warranting questions of common sense and more
dare we say even sanity
all in the name of love and charity
because what need do I have of me
without giving to the one I love
because he needs
more than me
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 12:49 PM UTC
*enter slav digressing with the celt... yeah, saxony, once known as the northern arm's length of parody shaking oiled up speaking saracen sign language: arabica wavy wavy bye bye. you concrete those words in i roof it over, then we can both admire the rich russian vixens dry up their wealth with the saudis - we need television after all - and it’s in 3-d! and it’s 1-d head-banging closure! :)... ;( :x, :s, \: (mouth’s missing but i have a mammoth in malibu -
and my love can’t aim to have the mortgage too - but hey, girl’s heading for the one coin-flip dolphin clap; and i was a teenager once too... but played grand theft auto 2d throughout asking for a bottle of whiskey and a panda’s / koala’s bothersome diet to hunt sleep); is there some sign language translation of emoji? i just don't have the talents to enter the emoji language and become a ********* or make democracy justly an exclusion of cowards and ****** i can’t do that, let’s utilise charles the third! ‘too busy, too fuzzy,’ well hear and karma sutra the talk of the man, after all the coinage and respecting the hedgehog on his head.*
i cleaned it into a hotel like i would into a brothel,
while the suffragettes
looked like the elephant man in niqāb,
and i was ready
with the fist; although i shook less
than i spoke to mouth it off into democracy
continuing the power struggle vetoed with bodies extracted
into the count warranting mourning.
what success is it if a white boy in a western society
can’t leave the nest and establish a taxable one to suit power?
where’s the power then, in the stateless individual?
where is your power to my ******* of being given wife and house
not given? where?!
if i can’t be the individuated pawn power broker you can’t be in power... idiots!
you have to give me the ******* i “desire” to be in power, if you can’t,
you’re not in power! ave augustus ave ego!
try contort the square into a triangle by contorting **** into f*ck.... ah ****
you already did... where’s the spanks’ worth of bullseye?!
you germans have no decency in human affairs
than you have to inspect **** movies varied
by wildebeest stampedes
from guernsey into gibraltar in gifs, do you?
well i did **** off a palm tree and got a coconut for an oasis’ worth of thirst.
Oct 9, 2015
Oct 9, 2015 at 11:24 AM UTC
A shot or item stolen
By someone, or myself
Maybe both, maybe neither
Crime is crime
Punishment is punishment
Is it innocent until proven guilty
Or guilty until proven innocent?
Either way, someone must pay
For hasn’t everyone done something
Warranting conviction?
Slowly descending into an icy crypt,
Their silence mimics my own
Half are me,
Other aren’t quite as guiltless
Trick is in the knowing
Of which is which
The long-necked key appears
Sliding painfully into its lock
A simple turning, a simple changing
Opens the dark room of misery
Promises of old are fading
They weren’t worth anything anyway.
Now only one oath remains
The silver skeleton proves its trust
And only after five years
Do red bars constrict
Closer with every breath
There’s only a single way out
Jul 13, 2010
Jul 13, 2010 at 1:22 PM UTC
Some say
That a picture is worth a thousand words
But what if each word
Was worth a thousand pictures?
That every single piece you write
Contains an amber memory
An emotion stained shard of glass
In the word "love"
An aching heart in the word restart
A laugh sown into the hollow of your smile
A desperate sense of awe and kindled fear
In the knowledge of what we write
Will out live us
That in a sense we artists
Who rip their chests open
Warranting our sorrows and joys onto the world
We bare our arms
We show our scars
Some of us to feel like we aren't alone
Others to be a light in someones darkest corner
A warm pulsating orb
To be here
To show
You aren't alone
That we're here
Bracing your heart against the hurricane
Some say that a picture is worth a thousand words
But what if each word
Is worth a thousand pictures?
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 2:09 PM UTC
Austerity emblazoned in silk
fallen out of the ranks
in the popularity stakes
the iced tea on the hob
warmingingly out of character
Do you recall turning the page of irony
yellowed blotter, signature book
of those you'll never meet again
autographed in old inked scrawl
holed up with cobwebbed coats
Well, they don't bother you now
even though they stared you down
head hunted the perfect prefect of popularity
seeking you to check out the aged paper trail
their current capabilities warranting a slice
Settling, the nest felt comfy
nurturing, gifts placed at your feet
you dislodged the parrot from your shoulder
it left its calling card, a neat reminder,
chatted up colourful clowns in the corner
Squatting within a lurch of emotion
fried eyed, stop tap turned off
zero shifting into first place
cashing in their deposit too late
they paid in full willingly....it seemed
Steamrollered, you left the game
parked your plastic smile
scrubbed clean the mossy mess
sat back amongst daisy/buttercup armies
felt the hot poker of rejection, water.....devoured it
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 8:45 AM UTC
The wild current flows, stopping for no one,
As I reach out to grasp what was left:
A hint, a memory waving by like deja vu,
Random access memories;
Perhaps I've imagined it all.
Here I am grappling again,
With that titanium door bolted shut,
Safeguarding anything that tries to trespass it;
One word, a grunt, a slight nod, casual shrug
Indifferent smiles
As you flow over rough and rocky terrains,
Boulders sharpening your edges,
A gaze here and a whimper there,
Your mind jostled, warranting rhymes,
As my heart gets trampled by the one you love.
Lucid dreams morphs into lucid visions,
I try to see what you see through the eyes you possess in the islands of your heartbeats and the crimson nerves coursing through your veins,
Alas the curtains come billowing down shut, "Nothing to see here, go on back home folks" and the circus ends for the night---
Not till a stubborn tug in the depth of my soul says it deserves
A slight hope that one day you would weave me unconditionally in your reflections,
To navigate the mountains together---
But for now, the ringmaster declares the show's over.
My weary heart has seen it all, heard it all, always sleeping with one eye pry open,
The other eye shut in prayer this wouldn't be the norm,
As I hold on tightly to the current, wildly rushing through the fabric of time,
Leaving no traces of faces behind but a faint tapestry of a memory
By the lake, held tight,
Supported by wiry artistry,
Calm on the surface but paddling nervously underneath like those waddling ducks,
Your lips and eyes melting into mine,
Asking me to be yours.
19.2.15
Shalini Nayar
(C) 2015
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 11:02 AM UTC
And you're still with me
In every rolling wave
Warranting unclean requests
For a reflection of freedom
Concealed below
It's the edge of cold perfection
As we surface for solutions
Doubting your grace exists
Feeling the gravity of an escape
Celestial restrain
Persistent devotion
Jul 30, 2015
Jul 30, 2015 at 2:39 PM UTC
It astonishes me to consider
The thousand thousand trials and triumphs
that had to be part of our paths
To ensure we'd walk together
but the consideration is fleeting
As nothing in the past carries much relevance now
Scars have healed or been forgotten
Remembered slights and grudges have been summarily dismissed
Even the glow of nostalgia has been cooled to embers
All has been relinquished to the before times
Warranting only an occasional quick perusal
A momentary revisitation of prior life
Soon to be left in the past
Excepting the recognition that everything aligned
To lead my present tense to you
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 2:55 AM UTC
*There is no time, in my eyes,
spent with you
that contain shadows,
warranting hopelessness or a magic potion.
Our sweet water is never lost
in what lays within
the music
streaming from our hands.
As if in a circle of satisfaction,
we talk in retrospect,
seeking comforting remnants
of what we brought to each others arms.
Measured spaces sit upright
on the shores of who we are,
yet still,
we are the same.
The whispering cries of love and hope
slowly pace
outside our doors.
We smile at memories
ascending to meet them
in the truest beauty.
What more
could we ask for?
Music to our ears so sweet,
is time slipping
where it’s supposed to.
Why would we run and ask for more
knowing one day again
we will be
face to face?*
Aug 1, 2011
Aug 1, 2011 at 9:01 AM UTC
oh my gosh oh"is that what ur saying sir? umm excuse me but thats just not me, i always say the lords name in vain. and all the subliminal marketing of your consumer artistry is making meweak an gag, im puking out all over in the bathroom upstairs past the solid maple tables past the circle murals in pairs who is there going to hold onto my hair when ur busy drooling about grandfather clocks high as **** doppelganging 2 levels flourished below me all the tans and the colors of the north arre closing in where everyone and everything are turning into furniture store manikins stubborn geriatric commercials with one foot already on the conveyor belt to heaven and i just stand here and put the chips in, wrist here maam, forehead here sir just lift up your skin, living memory card into your left hand so u cant forgot all the horrible **** that u did, and ur on your way again back from indecision wht the **** else could u invest everything you worked for in, i can tell you
where to place your last faith in, you are going to die, people tell me laughing almost every-time so what the **** is the point of warranting anything, invest in a quality product that completely dissolves your thought process and rockets you into purgatory, where all the other good spirits are prostrating begging to be inventoried all the dead fathers and husbands and all other price tags shes still floating on that ocean signalling ships in with her omens and they are driving into the rocks just to hear a second of her laughing
Oct 1, 2015
Oct 1, 2015 at 2:32 AM UTC
Playing in my waistband
Fingers trickle down
Fascinated with the way the lace moves all around
Your fingers take a dip
They trickle down my back
Warranting a hiss from me, (my) facade starts to crack
The feeling that it leaves me--
With when you're away
Makes me feel the color yellow, bright as summers day
And oranges remind me
Of the way you smell
I catch a whiff and rewind to our game of show and tell
Red is the flight
That I'm catching later on
Reminds me that I'm leaving and makes your touch feel like a con
Green is my mind
When I think of who I'm with
Never with you, far away, you're feeling like a myth
Blue is the sound
Of your lips leaving mine
As they throw away the butterflies and taste like Country time
Indigo is heavy
Weighing down my thighs
I'm feeling dizzy and it's got me caught up and surprised
Violet is ending
Impossibility.
Run around us singing 'darling..stand by me'
I clean the puddle up
I throw it in the trash
I hear it hit the metal, rainbow spills and feelings crash
The rainbow keeps on running
The colors start to muddle
I find them every morning in a technicolor puddle.
Mar 20, 2017
Mar 20, 2017 at 9:16 PM UTC
I asked God his majesty wether I was worthy of the breath
That comes and goes warranting no continuation
He asked what I would gain over a sudden death?
What dreams I yet had unfulfilled, What sleeps I had yet to sleep
To let the weary night beam in relief, and the day twirl
in the excitement of awaiting fortune, and to take a leap
toward the untamed sun, for a heap of mercy.
He knew all I had deprived my sight of, to flee like birds before a bear.
For life in all its solace is no forebearing, but erupts in discourtesy.
So I embraced an eye and kept weeping
for the breath in my lungs was worth keeping.
May 22, 2018
May 22, 2018 at 5:27 AM UTC
You don’t want the deck
Only a need for one
Somehow the shuffle still gets you
Warranting the luck of the draw
When the wild card is once in a life time
Yet you still bet blindly
Hoping for the forever hand
Full again but comes up empty
Find another way
If she smiled then she meant it
Ash has no density
Free from the party
I can’t get this song out of my head
The one you sang to me a Saturday ago
I’d kiss you next year
And thereafter
Probably not
Mar 16, 2018
Mar 16, 2018 at 11:08 AM UTC
I saw the gust of winter
Walks a billowing shadow across the field
Unmasking all covers of a happy summer
Whispering a once cold secret untold.
The dire wolf leashed under a leafless tree
Warns the old wise moon for omen
Has she come to betray me for a visit?
Or, steal me a kiss of vengeance.
Skin as pale as snow
Flowing in a cosmos of abyss
Thought ocean devours everything
Flesh with rocks can't rise above.
Has justice been this early winter?
Knocking on every door
Warranting about Summer 1990
Of a wrath under a sycamore tree.
Three wise men under the stars
A girl dances with the corns
Happy feet can't help but wander
Leading her to where daddy is.
Safe on these arms of forever
Carry me over where home is
Lit the light up unveils
Two shadows under the stars.
Seeing through a thick fiber
A nameless fear of silence
Not even a single drop of needle
Till her breath has faded.
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 5:49 AM UTC
The melanin in our skin,
leaves open a gateway for hate.
It is where violence and bigotry breed
at the hands of those meant to protect.
Was our skin color God’s mistake?
What is fed to us as seeds,
grows into fires filled with rage as we mature.
The cycle is inevitable, at best,
foreshadowing the entirety of our lives.
Placing those sprouted through hate into an inescapable prison,
filled with fires which cannot be extinguished.
Warranting these fires to burn within us, was God’s only mistake.
We will not be put out.
I.M
May 5, 2020
May 5, 2020 at 11:43 AM UTC
To Write For Whom
You reach an age when friends, your generation
Dying off like flies.
And you, full of ideas
Alive and kicking,
Finger licking fresh in mind
Trying to find
One out there,
To read your wares.
Your teeming thoughts,
Aware and deep with meaning
Warranting a reader,
Radar to its most intense.
Looking, writing, hoping for an audience,
Shakespeare felt the selfsame yearning -
Handel, Beethoven, each earning by conducting,
Not to mention poor Van Gogh
Who went the way of painters who sell nothing go.
To write, paint, sculpt, dance, sing, compose:
Any noise that oozes art.
For whom?
That is the theme, the problem
And the question.
To Write For Whom12 27.2016
The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II;
Arlene Corwin
Dec 27, 2016
Dec 27, 2016 at 7:06 AM UTC
Reality show
Notoriety hoes
Follow what glows
Behind a fame nose
In a shame pose
As the game goes
They keep staying low
While nasty stains grow
From thinking vapidly
And acting rapidly
Not speaking factually
We don’t see them actually
Seeming tame
And plain
Seeking fame
Their aim
All the same
They play a game
Of hoops of flame
Becoming circus acts
By removing tact
On a negative track
Of shooting flak
And shooting back
Negativity attracts
Harmful impacts
At an old impasse
Of cold syntax
Warranting a gin tax
Drinking from a tin flask
So the emptiness is masked
The reverb
Resurge
Rewords
The birds
Caught in the Internet
Like a flying intercept
Stealing their intellect
With a mundane misdirect
Of inane interests
A new method for dollar dreamers
Now the cynical screamers
Are digital streamers
Pivotal pleasers
Concerned with clicks
By scratch and kick
They hatch a trick
To match a *****
Dispatched to fix
Their lack of hits
The loud and obnoxious
Are proud of the noxious
And opening boxes
They stream video games
Other people made
They just played
For a good grade
In the leisure lane
No pleasure or pain
To treasure my brain
Their reality shows
In modality woes
Personality froze
Under their nose
In a monitor glow
Development slows
As far as irrelevant goes
They’re part of the flow
That doesn’t grow
Taking the shameful road to attention
For a dishonorable mention
Avoiding knowledge retention
For a superficial invention
Of social extension
They have a fatal mentality
That perception is reality
But the exception is vitality
That isn’t just an eventuality
For one must be capable and willing
To try to produce something fulfilling
Instead of just simple time killing
While hourglass sand keeps spilling
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 3:44 PM UTC
Her thoughts danced like an interpretation of anguish,
salt-water emerging from the corners of her eyes.
Departing from the calm of the open flame,
she soaked in her demise.
Abating breath, bracing for a new sense of normalcy,
she sensed her flesh yearning to bring destruction.
As each second of borrowed time passed,
she focused on the prophecy.
Impending fate toys with destiny,
as the fire in her eyes glimmers.
Warranting her sense of hope,
letting the boiling *** of liquid simmer.
She clings to the tightrope of her souls awareness,
knowing that the slightest falter could cause her descent.
What lies on the other end of this horizontal tread?
Ah, but the ladder to keep climbing, recognizing the ascent.
How long it has been since she reached for a new rung?
She has traveled faithfully on the chosen path,
accepting each task with obedience,
Alas, there is a new song to be sung.
Jan 5, 2018
Jan 5, 2018 at 5:54 PM UTC