Best Complacence Poems
"Escalating the Muse"
Written on the body
passive complacence
stretches sharp ink
etched pain in the soul
then real beauty
from the
Book of Truth,
a page moored
in transparent skin
;
Black,
tattooed ceremonially
on the tongue
speaks diaphonous
Freedom
Written on the body
stretches stories ripped
and tall, they are torn,
a small revolution
amongst the crowds of
alphabet coding
in a tight sealed tin
akin to a
Can of Campbell’s Soup
Escalates the
Muse
Written in the body
a work of art, beautiful,
pure and stubborn centred,
dirt muddied yet,
clean stripped,
balanced for the
Laymen betwixt
Papillon
folded Wings,
en stasis,
looks through the Chrysalis
towards the you in gilded story
the Higher requires analyses,
there She thinks,
writes the Muse
tattooed on the tongue
Words
projecting Muse to
Escalation
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
llb/gvlm
for my daughter,
Georgia
;
"LUX VITAE"
"Brûle-moi" / Jean-Louis Murat
https://youtu.be/M6l_sQQ8lS0
"Distractions" / Zero 7
https://youtu.be/6ng6IKp8uao
"What New York Couples Fight About" / Morcheeba
https://youtu.be/RUE0J2UvThM
"Golden Years" / Bowie
https://youtu.be/JUuRGRcY9O0
Battement de coeur dans
;
Battement de coeur vers l'extérieur
Not following vernal flowers, you bloom in autumn;
By the fence, you stand by yourself in manners awesome.
You prefer to wither at the lofty bough with fragrance
Rather than dance with the north wind in complacence.
(tran.)
I am writing this poem about you!
It’s not an easy thing to do
because I don’t know you.
But I know there are billions
of people on this planet.
Some will die while I write this and
while you read it others will be born.
Most have two arms,
two legs, and two eyes
one heart, one brain,
one mouth to speak with.
We are all the same.
People are people but
we don’t think alike.
Some of us love each other,
others hate everyone;
most do both unequally –
we choose what we think,
and we think differently.
You are the perfect subject for a poem.
You are the same as everyone
and like no other before you;
unique to yourself, exclusive to none.
You elude the common
and illude the extraordinary.
You are a homophone for the human race.
Are we not all homophones of each other?
A complacence to complaisance,
and effect to an affect, a tear to a tear,
the sole of a soul.
A homophone like you may be too
large a subject for one poem,
too complicated, too complex.
So, I will write about my cat instead,
a car ran over him yesterday
he is dead; and I have, in my fridge,
a half can of cat food in a plastic bag
useless and taking up space
and there is no homophone for that.
False winter—deceitful—fuels the unrest.
Paris preyed upon; men’s anger coalesced;
guns frame the debate.
Pride and despair fan the unholy flame.
The dispossessed grab weapons and take aim,
do words or actions desecrate?
Twelve dead in Paris—and a free press denied,
mourn for the loss, when faith and guns collide.
To men with no life, there’s only death.
Fathers and mothers, daughters and sons cry;
the workings of men leave no time for goodbye.
Shout, “Vive la liberté” with each breath.
False warmth stirs a hornet’s nest, of dispossessed
on Boulevard Richard le Noir, hate crests.
Guns frame the debate.
Words are warriors, oh there’s might in the pen
what do men die for—ideas council men.
Loss, want, and hate dictate.
With bombs, knives, and guns Europe-wide
strike concern where complacence was decried:
no homes, no jobs, unrest,
societal problems in oversupply.
Your eyes, open your eyes, the dead cry.
There must be more than death.
First Published in here/there magazine UK 2015
Modern day Empire
The same as old,
Man doesn't really have time
Just Inventions and different clothes.
Still craving our nature the two split purpose,
Consumption and reproduction
All else is conjuring vanity,
An evolving Microchip of lost perception, a tinted clarity.
Yet we entrapped ourselves into a diamond cast,
Being compounded by every grasp that meets ear, eye and touch.
Never forget the truth bearing lust,
that feeling of inner-ness that splinter-hair precision awareness
And ask the question you've subconsciously locked away
Why are you being and what are the aims?
And then at that moment your shell will fall apart
so remind yourself of the real truth the binds mind and heart,
and roam among your ancestors in the lyceum of endless fascination
in one's mighty reflection and complacence.
And here i arrive at the lovers gate,
Steering thoughts to captivate
the ferrying notions of our fate,
the empty, quiet, familiar state.
Alas it's come to say goodbye
as i knock on yesterday's door,
no confidence or measure
no laughter, no more.
as we continue in our absence
we fade our memories in weary complacence,
like festering leaves among the steps,
leaning over the window ledge
coffee morning toast, bed
we eliminate the dread of the past undead.
just so we can forget and adjust
and forever pass-by in forgotten love.
my name is SINNER SAVED BY GRACE~~
In the yard in the moonlit night
You called me out of the garden
Because of my disobedience
You locked me out of second -heaven
By choice I choose to be complacence
my name is Sinner Saved by Grace
I'm ashamed my fore father
He whom made the wrong choices
Didn't transpose but in that instant
I choose to stop listening to those loud-silent voices
Of discord negativity I no longer will bother
While living this moment in this instant
You called me out of the garden
Because of my disobedience
You locked me out of second -heaven
By choice I choose to be complacence
my name is Sinner Saved by Grace
7/27/18
written words by James Edward Lee Sr.©2018
from anthology "MAYBE LONELY BUT NOT ALONE YOUR READING MY WORDS"
when they come for you
with a fistful of “legal”
excuses,
covered in camo, bearing guns &
battering rams,
when they handcuff you &
the people you live with,
when they turn your house upside
down &
accuse you of being in places
that you haven’t been,
when they make you aware that
they know what you write about,
what you paint, what you sing about &
that they know who your friends are,
what your ideas are &
that sooner or later
they think they’re gonna get
us all---remember those like
Leah-Lynn Plante who refused to
cooperate,
remember her silence when they
want you to speak &
ruin the lives of all those around you
fighting for a better life,
remember that she’s been locked up
with the key thrown away at 24 years of
age to stare at the wall for at least a year,
remember that no progress has ever
come from complacence, compliance &
convention,
for this is an age of interrogation,
this is an age of rounding up people who
disagree with the status quo,
who refuse to take part in a system
that has more care for profit than
people---
one to follow those before &
one that will be followed, no doubt,
by those to come---
until the empire falls or is
broken apart from within,
allowing the possibility of something new
to grow,
not out of greed & opulence,
but from compassion, intelligence &
honesty.
write her in solidarity:
Leah-Lynne Plante
#42611-086
FDC SeaTac
PO Box 13900
Seattle, WA 98198
*Image of Blues by Google.com.
Blue In Centerstage
Fondly, instants our measure of blue ... a boost or flat bring on,
Promptly, sea and sky are limelight ... point of view as quite concise,
Nonchalantly, unconcern and clamminess ... ranks are withdrawn,
*Fait accompli, preceding segments ... sway tactfully suffice.
Begets the 'ins' ... inspiration, intuition, intellect,
Pirouettes credence, responsibility ... and confidence,
Plaquettes of ... honorable awards, stellar ribbons select,
Assets of the unique bluish shades ... influence prominence.
Truly in hints of unswerving order ... peace, calm, and patience,
Cerulean surge deep relations ... o'er those superfluous,
Julian age casts peasant clothes ... purple made nobles complacence,
Herculean genders preferred hue ... business partners a plus.
Introspective chroma ... symbolize wisdom and conviction,
Defective draw sadness ... abysses of the human psyche,
Infective features ... induce fears, threats, and constant affliction,
Effective tint ... guides profound acumens by the almighty.
Cobalt animate ... ingenuity and enlightenment,
Pole vault reputations ... paint artisans treasured qualities,
Assault on nervous manner ... random acts disentitlement,
Exalt betterment ... magnify productive monopolies.
Cyan et al., ... are appetite and sleeplessness suppressants,
Point man merges the bluewashed value ... constant and unchanging,
Yes-man splashes ... versatile befits locations quintessence,
Wiseman choose ... blue on blue light-heartedness ever exchanging.
*Fait accompli: a thing accomplished
2021 November 04
*2nd Place*
BLUE
~~Mystic Rose Rose: Judged 2021 November 06
Coming is a time
When words won't do it.
When the pen's no longer
Stronger than the bullet.
Coming is a time
When the price of life
Is your own survival.
Coming is a time
Of death and violence.
Lines in the sand
Will be drawn by tyrants
Soon to be crossed for the cause
By freedom fighters.
Lives will be lost in
The crossfire.
Vows will be broken
As sides will be chosen.
True colors will show
And lies will be spoken.
The nights will be bleak
Until dawn lets hope in.
Going are the days of
Our complacence.
Growing are the days of
Our impatience.
Coming are the days of
Our own changes.
There will come a time
When ideas won't do it,
But this is a movement
Beyond stopping.
We will be there
When the bombs
Start dropping,
And we will be there
As the smoke
Starts rising
From the homes that
We used to
Live our lives in;
Following the light
That will always
Guide us;
Feeding the spirit
That defines us
And the fire of freedom
That burns inside us.
when one stands up against injustice
when one spits in the face of those that oppress &
shows not one ounce of fear in their eyes
often, if fortunate, standing amidst others who have come to
the same conclusion,
at first, it is like a joke being told at a comedy club
where there isn’t even a drink minimum---
for the need for customers is so drastic,
the club doesn’t want to ruffle any feathers by
asking at least that as a price for sitting all night
under a roof & listening to comedy.
as the plague of convention
spreads like the contagion that it so blatantly is,
more come to the conclusion of the initially brave
(and to many, thought to be the initially “insane”)---
people begin to see that things are being done wrong to them
as well,
and suddenly, because others have already put their lives on the line
in order to lock arms & fight
what they no longer think can be ignored,
this kindling gives way to a larger fire
which soon spreads on its own,
counteracting the wall of poisonous status-quo, complacence &
all out submission to the will of those that
feel that they are unstoppable,
offering not a crumb to the individuals challenging them &
still, the seriousness of the matter is not fully understood
by those which have become desensitized to any possibility of
actual change in their lifetime.
as the fire continues to grow & spread, becoming fiercer with
every gust of wind, ever new addition to the flames,
those that felt unstoppable begin to question their own ability
to crush the fire,
if they deem it out of hand,
that is, if their kingdom is on the fringe of being
invaded---
and it will come,
the bludgeoning of the spreading fire will be one of never before seen
ferocity,
for examples have to be made,
in order for those in power to prove that they still have power &
blood will be spilt, in fact,
blood is being spilt as this writer types
(little puddles now, written off as “unruly dissidents,” only foreshadowing a river of blood leading to a vast ocean).
it is the spilling of blood which ignites the last few,
those that thought it would all blow over &
that their lives could stay pretty much the same,
if they just stuck it out---
when friends, relatives and neighbors begin to bleed,
be it through destruction of property, incarceration, injury or death,
the once comfortable are forced to open their eyes &
decide which side they're on.
So many passed by his sentinel in mournful tears
But then a foolish mistake, a murder on his watch
A life in another, this was not their future, but
It was so real, so close, so stupid, a tyrant's death
There would be blood this night for such a mistake
He sat up inside the shell, in front of his new voice
"No more hearts, I do not want to see another bleed"
The corrosive veil leaned in on his capture and whispered
"You are weak; you will not make it without me"
In shock of his complacence, the young man stirred
Cast in nickel, the equalizer was locked and loaded
"Out damn spot" the young man thundered
The corrosion smiled, "You don't have it in you"
A cold barrel pressed against his temple
"By God I do" tears down his cheeks, swollen eyes
The young man leaned forward and wept hard
Gun to his head, demons in his heart, but not alone
"I don't want to die, I don't want to die!"
Click, CLICK, screaming for it's life, the darkness…
"You are nothing without me, nothing, NOTHING…"
The young man slowly took the shells out of the gun
The thing that had held him and protected him for so long
Was now lying dead in a wretched pile on the floor next to his chair
The young man then wept further, for he knew he had killed a friend
His protector was his demon, and his demon was now dead.
On the Verge
Every hand is pocket bound,
eyes lifted from the TV’s hallowed glow.
Breath is released in a low sigh;
worming, squirming, squat.
Thrust out of bounds in tandem,
nothing is done alone.
You’re seen, you’re sought, you’re it,
maybe you need a pill?
Vomit is on the upswing,
visual stimulation overload.
Brain cells can’t sort this one out,
tears are dry as bones.
Your neck is turned full sideways,
the punch is coming on fast,
Quick reaction is not your strong suit,
fall to the floor, break like glass.
What is happening to this picture,
not set, not neat, not bound?
Houses, cars, children, stores,
benchmarks strewn by the way
You’re in need of a clutch hit,
your world is stumbling on.
Detachment, resentment, complacence,
smug on your rug as a bug.
Happiness is a gun over-warmed,
second hand shits on a turd.
Feet of clay encased in cement,
your vomit is now overboard.
11/11/17
Every woe is a new poem
A new prose which fabricates the stars in the galaxy
They say about the spilling blood out from the heart
Like satin wine-drops in the pages
Behold! They hold their luck inside
Tuck their malice, which are undone
Let them breath with your inhalation
Let them live with your recitation
Every patel-less flower is a poem
They caste off their laughter in the sand
Which dehydrate them and shows the
Hallucination of heaven
Behold! They are naked and weeping for mercy
Let them cover with your hands
Let them free with your recognition
Every mate-less bird is a poem
Whose feather get ruffled by the ugly wind
They lost their voice of laughter
Sing only to remember the guillotine of fate
Behold! They’re falling from the sky with a new tone
Let them fly with your complacence
Let them have their salvation by your sad feelings.
with the threat of permanence comes dependence &
with dependence comes vulnerability &
with vulnerability comes sacrifice &
with sacrifice comes reducing one’s own life by half or more &
with the reduction comes a lack &
with the lack comes a void &
with the void comes the naïveté that it can be filled by ungrounded belief &
with ungrounded belief comes faith &
with faith comes the refusal to provide evidence &
with the refusal comes certainty &
with certainty comes ignorance &
with ignorance comes sustainability &
with sustainability comes comfort &
with comfort comes complacence &
with complacence comes submission &
with submission comes defeat &
defeat is the threat realized.