Best Regressive Poems
~the Fear of Never~ A DRINK TO REMEMBER!
And the fire catches every time, my heart needs a sip
I bear no shame pouring, poisoned pabulum whisky down
Lost in a place with hungry whores, ink paying gigolos
This night a respected gentleman put's on his evening gown
He sits in front of a mic playing the same old sad song
Fitted out in drag, his wife has no clue
Holy breeders trying to change my shoes
Lingering from the Cute Chinaman, running his tab sky high
Bluebirds of jealousy, set round the vintage Barstool like fools
Minds overpowered and threaten to the very nub
I am drunk-- in his eye,
He receives a macabre confession of possessiveness
I am drunk-- in her eye,
She has a sick confession of subconsciousness
Broken loose from a negative, regressive state of mind
Sit and enjoy this broken bottle of champagne
Unspoken rage in every empty can left behind
A shot glass drops from my unstable hands longing to hold a pen
I look into a mirror and embrace every meaning of stability
Blotting out the madness behind a metal cage of reality
At times, I feel the need to bring down this masquerade
A drink so hostile, I can't even remember my image and name
Too many scars, from the foster of paper and pen
My dependents are drunken demons from a traumatized childhood
Tonight I will legislate a special thanks
Holding up my cup, until death finds my note
I will smile, at every Judge and Jury, during karaoke night
Shutting down my eyes, fantasizing everything's gonna be alright
I will not jilt knowing, writers block haunted my days away
Insecure hoarding monsters enjoying spoil forgotten words
Tonight I thirst like never before, my tongue inscribes around a tin cup
I am not eating up by it, no matter how long I've drowned in it
This is my kind of whisky, my thoughts, my days of ammo
To tell you the truth, I possess no desire to drink
It's all about the love of poetry and how sober, I become (WITHOUT)
The monsters that reside inside, have one thing to say
"Give me Poetry, or give me Death!"
by: PD
Shadow Play
While Freud sits at the mind end of the couch phallus in hand
shapes others’ dreams in unspoken imposition ‘must-abation’
analyses abuses his daughter in metaphorical incest projects
his own aggressive sexual drives and neurotic megalomania
Jung after killing the father figure sits with and under shadows
gathers the zenith of clouds rays collects collective conscience
unconsciousness retrieves ancient symbols propagates mythical
archetypes to archetypical conclusions reflects tainted sunshine
He forges gently I surmise poles and vaults of contradictions
opposites polar juxtapositions seemingly un-mutual mysteries
and ponders light and darkness tearing torn apart thus healing
in the complementing contrast of void change completeness
Where Freud posits polymorph perversity bit by sexual bitter
sweet bit in a bid for so called science of mind over matter Jung
morphs perpetual change crafted and cast through a different
lens admits to poetic licence narration oral traditions and growth
******** in mind not of the ***** castrated in fear not envious of
phallic dominance over clitoral defence wombs groomed entombed
by guilt transgression sexual submission shallow **** oral penile
ossification of flaccid resurrection Jung begs and offers to differ
In complex incomplete never-ending search a path from change to
change and beyond dialectical synthesis played enacted in parallel
processes and progressive psychological drama of a different kind
he much kinder more reflective less regressive and adventurous
Lets shadows erect and paint play dance reflect and move on
16th August
26th &27th January 2012
By Sashi Prabhu (zeauoxian)
Alone I sat on the wet sands,
Of the Sernabatim beach lands.
The sun reflected blue sky,
On the greenish grey waters it looked so dry.
A sweltering sunny afternoon,
With the heat I began to swoon.
Alone, I moved myself into the waters warm,
The breaking waves look to me like many a lifeless form.
Warm waters I sense splash unto my waist,
Cool salty breeze sting my moist lips and chest, sweat erased.
The frothy waters seem so white,
Feral imagination within me is beginning to run regressive and makes me feel all right.
Alone I am rooted on the sandy shore,
I have within me, coming to the fore,
Feelings… deep feelings inside ignite,
Need to hold on to them tight,
The feelings incite,
A poem in my mind’s eye I feel and now see, that I would have to write,
Without any spite.
Alone, I am in the waters warm,
The breaking waters lash against me and quickly change form,
To myself feelings that turn to spirity words I begin to recite,
As I cast my eyes on nature around me from within springs delight,
And in its own right,
The poem begins to rewrite.
Alone, I am in the waters warm,
My feelings have begun to rewrite,
In my mind without any spite,
I am now filling myself with delight,
As expression is flowing freely in its own right,
And will transcend on to paper in black and white.
Alone, I now sit, drenched,
To the sands entrenched.
Melts the noon,
And evening falls attune,
The sun reflected blue sky,
Has now swooned away and I turn a blind eye.
Alone, I now sit, drenched,
Content in myself and with no feelings wrenched.
Gratified….soothened…satisfied…pleased,
Relaxed…happy….at ease and contented……eased.
The USA is not perfect
never has been
never will be
Unlike Russia, which has
‘no alcohol problem’
‘no civil disobedience’
‘no LGBTQ populace’
Not to mention no truth in the
information it disseminates to
suckers around the world...
Yes, indeed, the USA is not perfect
not with George Washington
the 1700’s slaveholder (gasp!)
on our currency, not to mention
Susan B. Anthony, who was proudly
anti-abortion, pro-life – for shame, for shame!
~ Our ignominious past consigns us to eternal penance ~
Unlike Libya, where an ancient slave trade flourishes
to this very day: Muslims enslaving black Christians
which does not fit the media’s narrative
so most people aren't aware of it
and the rest don’t care about it
Unlike Afghanistan, where the repression of the 'Old Taliban'
is now fully in place under the ‘Newer, More Gentle Taliban’
or Syria, whose butcher of a ruler has made refugees of half his
citizenry, gassing thousands of others with chemical weapons…
But yes, indeed, the USA is not perfect
Never has been
Never will be
Let us forever grovel in abasement to all the tin-horn dictators of the world
not to mention our home-grown squadrons of regressive radical progressives
Down with Jefferson, Lincoln, Grant, Teddy Roosevelt, Truman and Reagan!
Up with Omer, Tlieb, Pressley, Sanders, AOC, Corey Bush, Schiff, Nadler...
Long live Maduro, Castro, the Mullahs, Xi, bin Salman, Abbas, Gaddafi et al!
Lies are Truths Might Makes Right Facts are Opinions
1 9 8 4
The Sun rises...
I know the supposed science
of light,
bips and wavy lines of
pulsed propagation
like a heart
like emotions~
how human feelings start
and stop, the forward/backward of time --
the morning news
our repeated proclamations
stagnation and regressive
signatures, announced and printed
shouted over electronic airways
man’s modern-day gazettes
dawn’s transparent lush
on my face,
I admire and study –
the brushwork of gleams~
patterns of my traveled summits
and depressions indented
zebra primrose blossoming, in short
what love created such marvelous
striations? Say ye a God~ surely even
the moron
in glaring absence of other proof
would not guess less?
Him/Her? Our Blessed Hermaphrodite
of sentient-being creating, of morphing-realms
unending evolving
salacious advances of life mating,
entangling, imparting fond mysteries --
lips of roses unfurling, curling, inviting
nearer breaths for uninhibited exploration –
such exposure awakens and sleeps
yet we sense beyond-maturity
delve the wizard behind the curtain
all us Dorothys
trying to find a true way home
imaginable, at least a steady firmament though we
slip precipitously – My thought, to dust, clean and change
the sheets, as a new warmth attempts to re-freshen
recover nature’s veiled cycles our nightly often deeply
staining retreats
His hand reached out to mine, open,
Holding it, I smiled, our eyes danced with understanding,
Form and blush outlined his expectations,
But I could see that there may be fear inside.
Mary restated their predicament,
That the child was born out with the marriage bond,
And that people were swaying to the opposite side,
And course dialogue, laughter and spitting were norm.
So I asked the two for their thoughts and predictions,
About the child, if he perhaps could be like, special?
And they specified that he would cure, heal and exorcise,
And also promised that they’d talk to him about the poor.
Could this baby be the messiah?
I pondered and hoped in their certainty;
Was this the predicted son of god?
He would be free from aggressive victimisation,
If we could just name him as god's son.
So I suggested to his parents,
That if the wise men came with a quest,
To accept the name Jesus Christ,
And certify the census, no less.
Freedom for some is in lying,
When there’s no possible alternatives,
But I believe Joseph never lied,
In the population census of Bethlehem,
That just so happened to pass by.
The child would have been suppressed by all,
Assumed to be dirty and unclean,
Not for chat or dialogue,
And certainly not for work in a trade of his call,
Or for work in any trade for that matter.
Nothing would ever have been done,
The poor would never have been healed,
Or not so quickly for sure in history;
The government would not have been rifled,
And Christ would not have come.
Treating the poor for health problems,
Would have come through government legislation,
A long time after Christ,
In an austere, aloof manner.
People to people relationships,
Would not have been respected,
If care had been awarded top-down,
By bureaucrats and officials:
As supervisors of the protected.
Society at that time was narrow minded,
Stuck in traditional religion;
There were outcasts, sinners, infectious people,
And assumptions were remedial and red:
There were no special people,
No exceptions to the rule,
Only one place for the messiah confided.
One baby matters to me,
A life should be saved at any cost and risk,
Because the abilities you show when young,
Shouldn’t be muffled or labeled regressive,
But nurtured in acceptance and love.
At school I excelled at maths,
And English I found very hard;
Essays and interpretations floored me,
Although at poetry I was a bard.
But I managed a B in my O Grade,
Under the old teacher who was past it,
But was relieved when she fled and left,
Overjoyed when a young graduate started.
Throughout the school holidays with vocality,
I swore I’d been fine with the new teacher,
But my parents insisted that I have a tutor,
For Higher English, for university to enter.
I was very angry ‘cos I knew I’d get in,
With my other grades, two A’s and maybe a B,
So if I even got a C for 5th year English,
That wasn’t gonna upset or bother me.
But they just didn’t understand socialism,
That state schools were just as good,
And continued to deride my special school,
Which had school care very much under the hood.
So John from Edinburgh Academy came along,
Every Thursday to tutor me at Higher English,
But my biggest issue was that he attended,
My parents church and possessed an evangelical blush.
I really wanted to discuss the romantic poets,
The course novel and my essay interests and topics,
With a normal person who was not north on society,
Who would nurture me without any Christianity antics.
He had an axe to my neck about John Keats,
About Keats’ Ruth and how the man believed in god,
But I said No, no, no, he’s an atheist, a romantic,
About nature which was then far too divinely awed.
I didn’t even ever write the essays I wanted,
In fear that John would make my life harder,
And I always thought before I spoke to him,
Which is not the best for an English tutor.
But he is a very interesting, loving man,
And I did ask if I could use his last name,
To refer to him, to suggest a distance,
Between his views and mine, not the same.
He wouldn’t let me, but I got a B in the end,
And enjoyed anyway his lessons on literature,
How to express yourself and answer the question,
And knew to buffet his regressive caricature.
How come I never looked like Hot Stuff in a sundress?
My sundresses by comparison look anemic and shapeless
My figure is not what it used to be (it is hopeless)
It’s fallen down, spread out and looks a trifle excessive
Hot Stuff’s figure is lush, provocative and caressive
Her sundress is stylish, vivid and really expensive
My secondhand garb lacks style and are oppressive
Maybe a sundress worn at seventy-five is not impressive
Whereas, Hot Stuff’s body and dress are “in your face” aggressive
Am I too hard on myself, too critical and depressive?
Let’s face it; I’ll never look like Hot Stuff in a sundress
Just thinking about it makes me manic-depressive
Hot Stuff’s look is suggestive and expressive
Whereas mine is age-regressive and inexpressive
I never looked like Hot Stuff in retrospect
Yet we all have “our day” in one way or another, I suspect
I had mine so it’s time to step back and reflect
(Kindly!) on our replacements without resentment
Wishing them splendor in the sun without impediment.
“The Sundress”
Carol Zic
Punitively regressive are 'Progressives'
Defunding charter schools
Crippling the academically aggressive
Denying school choice
to gifted students
from poor families ~
without a voice
Equality; There is really no such thing as equality. How can there be if we are all different. There is, however, such a thing as fairness, but not yet. Not enough, anyway. Society; It seems the more progressive society gets the more regressive it gets. So far, it seems. Advice; When choosing between money and fame maybe one should take the money instead. ha ha.
We all want to live a descent life
Wealth is a necessary evil
Wealth has got company
Vices follow the trail...and savage qualities
Humanity takes the regressive way
02.08.2016
They're truly dumbfounded as to why hordes of parents are pissed.
That their children are being labelled inherently racist.
or perpetually oppressed...
When all children want to do is share a square of sand
(no regard to the color of skin).
They're truly clueless as to why hordes of parents are pissed.
That they're children are being drilled with complicated topics of sex
When they don't even know how to spell or do simple math.
They're truly dumbfounded as to why hordes of parents are fighting back.
Against "teachers" and administrators who want to shove innocence down their dark rabbit hole of hormonal tinkering, genital mutilation and moral oblivion.
Let them grasp what a noun is before tossing funhouse pronouns at them.
let them walk a rainbow instead of constantly being slapped in the soul with a barbed version of it.
In short let them just be children...
Fill their heads with the blossoms of literacy, kindness and respect.
Don't fill their hearts with the ball bearings of every societal tremor.
I'm dumbfounded as to why they fancy to call good-attentive parenting an act of terrorism.
i insist on suffocating slowly
still
i refuse to die
imposing my will to weakness
avoiding applying the “why”
implications are closing in, opressive
my mind is open, fluid
suggestive
interposing meaning and form with
the spoken and written letter
the light source filtered through all this
wreckage
the squeaking moving in, opressive
regressive, the way my vantage remains
a disjointed unit-whole
you persist, and i suffocate quickly
you ask so nicely for me to die
deposing my God damned will to power
why do i seem to avoid the “apply”?
THE SYMBOL ON MY HAND IS BURNING
into the flesh, and back out from inside
illuminates Prison, a chasm, a prism
dividing a spectrum of impossible light
we wholly refract the soma, the psyche
The Panic transforms into beauty inane
compulsion, obsession, redemption, addiction
we know we’re alive
we perpetuate pain
It is disgusting that 734 people died at Mecca,
Last Thursday, when so many lives were lost,
Needlessly, for want of crowd control officials,
To restrain the 1.4 million who’s emotions cost.
Religion is never an objective thing,
It's extremely emotional, out with rational thought;
And the ritual that the pilgrims were approaching,
Was, in my opinion, religion’s most irrational shot.
It was the Stoning of the Devil ritual,
Which celebrates Abraham’s obedience to god,
Who told him to kill his son and ignore all conscience,
Rather than listening to Satan, who seemed to have the nod.
This sacrificial story sickens me to my stomach,
Always did, always will, still does:
That you should reason by faith any action,
That's it's valid, whether moral, immoral, or even just a shove.
Killing your own child just for a voice in your head,
Which says he’s love’s superior, consummation,
Is insane, wrong, and really quite mentally ill,
And certainly should not be taught in admiration.
As a child it was one of my main objections,
To faith, the liturgy, the Bible and god,
Who today should be represented by elders or imams,
Who should contrive to keep within morality’s rod.
When you’re at Mecca, the epitome of your faith,
Approaching the most irrational ritual in your life,
Your emotions are bound to get the better of you,
Such that regressive behaviour will be your strife.
Iran blamed the Saudi authorities,
For having no safety mechanisms in place;
Fundamentalism should come under, like all else,
Crowd regulation laws and standards which grace.
Even the Billy Graham stadium events,
Used ushers and councellors to ensure,
That people were behaving considerately:
They were ready to attend to and direct the pure.
I would like all fundamentalism to be regulated,
Supervised by a human-centred body,
Such that god coincides with morality,
Giving seekers their lofty and loving somebody.
27/9/2015
Abraham’s sacrifice of Isaac is in Genesis 22:1-19.
My opponent will destroy democracy
But my opponent will normalize hypocrisy
My opponent pays hush money to whores
Well, my opponent snoozes in meetings and snores
My opponent’s in cahoots with radical progressives
But my opponent’s tax cuts are regressive
My opponent is in bed with Putin
Well, my opponent for Iran is rootin’
My opponent’s spending will stoke inflation
But my opponent’s plans will increase starvation
Enough! Stop! Cut! Halt!
It’s not all the other guy’s fault
All this negativity makes one thing clear
I’m voting for the first candidate I can cheer