Best Empty Gesture Poems
Centuries of lies, a hollow myth
Perpetuated by charlatans with great ceremony
The Greatest Show, the living bread
The crowd sustained and animated by necromancy
The will is fused, the body dismembered and reassembled
Eager dehumanization, they tread the path
An ancient instinct, hereditary chains
Lift the chalice, a cannibal rite
Commit the body to the fires
They burn all sin to purest white
Like bones they glisten in the sun
The heart is woman, a harlot's course
Chaos bound to ritual law
A book to strangle, the human vine
Withered fruit, none shall eat
A brittle parody of True God's design
The Word of sufferance, spread like plague
Prostrated before your False God
An empty gesture before his impassive gaze
Power channels, below the surface
Christian mind cannot detect
Stabbing empty, fever pitch
Turn the blade, release is now.
lush blue syringes
filled with caked on pus
she is not a mannequin
nor a living doll
nor dead space ajar.
She likes to stare
at the backs of her hands
as if at any moment
they would mutate into dust.
She can still feel
their presence
as she reaches out for air
one cup of blue air.
An empty yearning,
an empty gesture,
withheld alone.
get this---
you put the person behind you…
you did your best to burn them,
to amicably make closure with them,
to see their face,
however you now imagine it,
in the
rearview mirror
& then,
when you least expect it,
just when you were doing better,
just when everything was getting in line,
just when you convinced yourself that
you’re stronger,
you’re successful,
you’re
on “the right path”
(whatever the **** that is),
suddenly, said face that had been put away
comes back in full force,
with a smile & an empty gesture…
“you know, if you ever need anything,
just call…”
(opening a door that they don’t really want to
open)
&
as you begin to walk away,
there is a metaphorical lasso thrown,
in the guise of a memory that you could give a
**** about &
yet, it is brought up in order to light that
pseudo-obligatory fuse,
which promotes the idea between the two of
you that,
“it would be great” if you got together to
catch-up.
I am the root.
I am the green fuse.
I am the stem, the bud,
the dry twig,
and the stealthy footstep
that snaps it in the night.
I am the rising hair on the back of your neck.
I am Merlin, the bard,
and I sing of it all.
I am the bard of warm sheets,
and insincere ones as much.
I am the empty gesture,
and the chill that sets upon the pillow.
I am Love itself, and the murderer of Love.
I am the arrow on its mark.
I am the dregs of wine
at the bottom of the barrel.
I am the wrong unredressed,
and the debt long unpaid.
I am Merlin, the bard,
And I remember it all.
I am the vocation unheeded,
the monk with no prayer,
and the lusty nun, alone in her bed.
I am the trickster.
I am my own mother and my own father,
incubus and succubus, one and the same.
I am the milky breath of your firstborn.
I am the scent of his decay.
I am Merlin the Conjurer,
and I conjure it all.
I am the rising star in your firmament
and the wellspring of your dreams.
I am the grains of sand in your hourglass.
I am your merciless mirror, year after year.
I am the green moss awaiting your bones.
I am the greedy worms.
I am your life’s purpose,
and the odds against it.
I am your last chance.
I am all the times you turned back.
I am your fresh start.
I am the gnome, the sylph,
the salamander, and the undine.
I am the severed head, the cauldron,
and the threefold death.
I am the angel.
I am the serpent.
I am the hawk that circles in the blue.
I am each letter of your name.
I am Merlin, the bard.
I am you.
And I sing of us all.
So oft' he used to pass my way, and
merrily nod and pass the time of day
with a polite lift of his tall bola-hat
then he'd wander off again
His stature was somewhat portly
yet his nature charming just the same
I knew him to be a gentleman
with hat and gloves and cane.
One day he stopped and bowed so low
twas' not an empty gesture
for he became a suitor and I his wife
and he passes by no longer.
Smeared rouge broken nail torn slip
I'd waited for you again after the dance
a single light flickers a final sign
to fix my lipstick our song played on
the flashing seaburg just around two
quite thee empty gesture
that I'd been waiting far to long on you
with much class I would add until I bent
to retrieve my broken heart
from the paisley covered tile why it was
sheer elegance dining alone when
an interesting figure chanted
are all these seats taken i raised my eyes
calmly replies yes they are all occupied
for me myself and I the gentleman
ooked bewildered standing all alone
he politely asked in a soft tone
would you three lovely ladies mind
very much dancing with we three bored gents
FORGIVING
Forgiveness – well, just let it lay inside
Not to see any daylight, maybe never
No moment of weakness or surrender
If a request received, return to sender
It’s not about strength or being clever
And no way back once regret has died
Some might suggest an alternative way
Being the first to say I forgive, out loud
But for me, however, that is premature
With no reciprocation, there is no cure
It is not about being remote or proud
Just think twice and get through the day
Who does one have to be, to forgive
It smacks a little of haughtiness to me
As if such an offer commands respect
But it may just be automatic, I suspect
It’s not someone who I’d want to be
And such words fall through any sieve
If one gets an apology, maybe it’s Okay
Perhaps then forgiveness can be allowed
I’m not too sure who collects any points
Nothing is ever solved by smoking joints
It should never be just to please a crowd
And such an empty gesture doesn’t pay
Some equate forgiving with being gracious
Others may almost consider it their due
When accepted, is it really over and done
Or a dark cloudy sky when expecting sun
And it’s only worth it all, if it’s really true
To say the words when false, is audacious