Enigmatic entropy endeavours the devouring of my depressive tendencies
In the form of an effaced anonymity
Pledging a tender hand to thwart the destruction of my anatomy
Distraught estrangement of in-autonomous tailing tellings
Shall cast this faceless stranger astray
Beyond the smooth syllables of an identifying name
For these hounds that thrash in the thick of sleep
And so do weep of singularity in accompanying company
Shall chase, shall gnaw at the face, the hand that feeds the freer frailty of freedom
And chaff this chance of a chance to escape
These samsaras of silence for the requiem of a dallied day
Dancing and dashing and prancing and thrashing
In the estranged fixation of this strange savior
That wilt know not of my inner ills, beyond the disfigurement of mine own outer mutilation
K.M.P
18//9//26
The best artists are outlaws
Vandalizing our sanctity,
Our sanctimonious freight trains,
Our parsimonious neglect.
The best artists are culprits
Chiseling our school desks,
Scraping our bathroom stalls,
Doodling our notebooks.
Graffiti spray paints the struggle,
Scribbling defaces the pretense,
Defilement arrests the complacent,
Disfigurement sullies the platitude.
Defacers embody the dialectic,
The opposition to conformity,
The betrayal of uniformity,
The rebellion against authority.
The best artists are pariahs,
Trashing our temples,
Tossing out our moneychangers,
Driving out our shysters.
By men’s dismissing laughter challenged,
It being sheer insanity ignoring the lips-twisting thing:
Round-table talks on it speedily arranged,
No more sexual meetings with any man, no fling!
By the suckling of her infant measurably scared,
Because of its disfigurement of upstanding breast.
So, why her at all lecture, preachy lips insensibly bared,
Seeing that vanished could be the trust rest.
Ceaselessly warming up for her entitled presidency,
Very hard for her first tenure, her first-rate jewelry:
Any silly story of her electoral defeat to be fought with urgency,
If the winner dares dine with her, lethal weapon their cutlery.
To-the –core feminist
Always is angry with Man…
The Nasty, Nosy Animist,
Who could never be her fan…
And never could her outsmart with a pen.
Even with Ingratiating luck not on her side,
As now as she was then:
The one veritably ingenious but choosing to hide…
In deed, literally does bound forward-A laureates:
There was one I’d been reading-A poetess.
I do not like to see my face floating
At the foot of a ewer,
nor in drops of water, nor in the glassy eye
of a slaughtered goat.
I am beautiful, but water and cloudless gems
distort, they are torturers of disfigurement.
Since I saw my reflected beauty
I have been unable to mirror that perfection.
I have ardently endeavored
to emblazon the beacon of that first time,
when I, suffused in beams of crystalline air,
beheld my countenance clear
yet now I am caught, caulked, and diked
forever dogged by a stark magicking
from ever parading that delicate radiance,
that inaugural art of my gift,
my exquisite features.
Yet ever my mind’s eye returns
to that translucent and timeless time
that empyreal morn, so fine and fair
where I beheld what I thought was there
and believed upon it.
UNTIDY HOUSE
Untidy house!
Round and round
Racing ‘round like headless fowl
Cleaning, cleaning frenzy is the go,
Guests are arriving nearing so
House of daily living though
Is not what they want to see?
All spic-n-span is not of daily grind.
So your visiting folk
Are introduced into a world
Of a falsehood here
But for them all they want to see
Is You!
The person of the house,
The rellie,
Or the one they call friend
And the one they’ve come to know.
Untidy house!
Tis equally same
As some wearing tattoo,
Ring nose piercing,
Being wheel chair bound mobility,
Speaking with a lisp,
Walking with aide of stick,
For those same souls
Maybe disfigurement
And if it’s that
Then over time
Magically a disappearing act
Therefore all the world to see
The real person in the skin within.
Untidy house no more......
Francis Cooper - Mac © 22-Jun-20
STAINED VIRGIN
They say a virgin is an undefiled maiden
An immaculate vestal
How else could she be,now stained ?
unchaste and smutty
tarnished and blemished
that's humanity !!!
STAINED is our religion
its no longer a personal race
but a raceway of competition
sanctuary has become an institution
for jeopardy to our disgrace
STAINED is our so called just government
Blood of humans lies in their hands
which has landed us in disfigurement
cause of selfish pleasure
blood shed all over homelands
yet no justice to measure
STAINED are our relationships
we prefer gain to true love
trust has turned into a treasure so hard to find
loyalty has turned to hard to equip
yet everyone wants to feel loved
when we're all disinclined
STAINED are our lives
everyone is in a rush to make it
never minding the consequences
we're ready to receive never willing to give
steady to commit,never set to admit
that's why we make accomplices
life is light
but what we see through it,is blood
brutal,reprobate,corrupt
has become the blight
profane and soiled has been the flood
she's too stained to be pure again
- Praise Irawaji
See the human debris,
the scattered limbs torn apart
by shrapnel velocity
In so many Third World places,
the second-hand groan grafters
commit mercantile murder
in the first degree
Time encapsulated buried hatred
leech covetously
Flooding the colonial lands with booby-trap misery
Tick-tock waves of disfigurement crimes
against humanity
Collateral damage seep in deadpool faces ...
dark moral cavities,
where maimed charity bleeds
Mental scarlet stains of pain
are strewn everywhere
Empty eye sockets are separated
by full-metal piercings
Observe the void spaces between desensitized ears:
Lynch pinheads be blunt instruments
using indiscriminate force —
Spreading teary shattered hopes of detached fears
Awaken numb senses
to the non-negotiated reality
of prosthetic dreams
Dry sea of grief ...
landmine of crimson carnage
Deathly halt feelings collect the debt
paid by the broken living pieces
Why is there only morphine comfort
in hidden swaths of shame,
where phantom limb emotions
have metallic waves of saline releases?
Don't like the weather... wait 5 minutes, then shoot yourself in the face
An old saying with a twist but better than leaping face first into a fireplace
Surely would be painful
Maybe even fatal
Need to wear a mask to disguise your disfigurement at the marketplace
Searing, disruptive, gravitational,
the face came into focus from too far away,
long before anything at that distance had a right to,
monopolizing eyes.
There was an audible gasp from the passersby.
Or at least it felt that way.
A form of disfigurement,
as if someone had taken a lovely face
and tampered with it until the proportions,
the lines, the feeling of it were all wrong,
in the way that perfection was wrong.
Painful to look at.
I felt sorry for her,
burdened as she was with a miracle of beauty,
so far out of the sphere
of ordinary perception
it couldn’t even be remembered.
Except as a lingering of light on my retinas.
Don't like the weather... wait 5 minutes, then shoot yourself in the face
An old saying with a twist but better than leaping face first into a fireplace
That surely would be painful
Maybe even distasteful
Need to wear a mask to disguise your disfigurement at the marketplace
Blood soaked disfigurement on the Cross of Love,
Etched markings of whipped cord; sinew of flesh torn
To shreds. Grimace of pain; ashen face of love
"Water! water! He cries, for I thirst. I thirst for love
For you and My Father. My body is weak and scorn
Is my food. My mouth is dry and I thirst for love"
Gazing down He cried "Father, forgive them, they
Know not what they do". Gazing heavenward He whispered
"Father, into your hands I commit My spirit." Day
Became night, incurring His rapturous hour of death
And with victory gain'd He sung His last words of life.
"It is finished" and fell asleep, now exhausted of breath.
Where now death your victory, where now death your
Sting? Can you not hear the Christ of God sing
His canticles, His psalms and glorias to His King"
Cradled now in His mothers' arms, her tears fall
Gently and mingle with her beloved Son's blood;
The sacrificial Lamb of God - Do YOU hear His call?
"Come unto Me all you who are heavy laden and I
Will give you rest and learn from Me; for I am gentle
And humble in Heart, and you will find rest for your
Souls. For My yoke is easy and My burden is light."
Interconnectedness
Life with all its twisted
Train wrecks
Contorted metal
grappled around
steel, disfigurement.
And at the heart
of it all, I want to crash
with you. Be a witness
to your incriminating truth
Twisted in ways
censorship can't explain
Remove stop signs at intersections
and T Bone with you,
Bleep certain words
as I drive right through
Swerve on curves
Creep through school crossings
and race towards
Photogenic finishes
Connectedness
like snowfall on Georgia freeways
cautiously making incredible
feats of disbelief
writing under the influence
of you, hard to avoid
your touch even following
the six second rule.
I want to rub paint with you
have fender benders
and crash our bodies in ways
our spirits become unrecognizable
as to who belongs to who...
Remember how intersection negotiations
and lane integrity created anxiety
when you first learned to drive?
Collide
My anger wells in my eyes
Why does she threaten me so
A different look, her different size
Ears burn red, they almost glow
Is it hate, envy, jelousy.... love
Why would I want to be anyone but me
She would fit like a glove
But disfigurement is all I see
He loved her once and maybe still
Secrets kept deep within him
A mountain to climb instead of a hill
I hang here way out on a limb
Her green eyes drown my blue
A smile that cuts me deep
My sorrows fade in me, through & through
For its his heart I shall keep
Passing through, a winter storm
Cold to the bitter end
I can see through to your real form
This heart is now mine to mend
A faint memory of what once was now
Grey eyes do gaze
I'm pleased with my work and shall take a bow.
For together we've made it through this maze
My mind unrecognizable
A twisted disfigurement of reality
Memories always haunting me
Mistake after mistake
Determined my future
Constant anguish
Abides in my soul
All this suffering I have caused
Tears my soul apart
Will I ever prepare to make amends
Or will fear of rejection
Overwhelm me
Without you next to me as I sleep, it’s like carbon monoxide in my lungs. I awake rotten and malnourished. Experiencing life as a ghost, everything is gray. Everything in ashes. Frail to the touch. Sickness resides in the majesty’s kingdom, yet I press on. Knowing you’re somewhere I must venture. I’ll find you this disfigurement of a waking life. My personal holocaust. The other side of the barbwire leads to you and I’ll rip myself limbless to bleed out into your soil. If only for a moment we’re together, than a moment shall be an eternity. My scared flesh tells tales of dreams foreseen. Golden rays of amber claim my vision, and I’ll never lose hope as I break my fists upon the stone walls of my oppression. With you in my heart I’ll survive the winter drudge. Towards the summer within your arms. Our love is timeless. Our love is God’s whispers.
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