Long Disassemble Poems
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ELOQUENT GEMS
Part 2
But it’s show time, word genius making a fuss within ya brain hemispheres,
I’m rear in all the ages, pages outdating your solar systems burning spheres,
I leave ya mind scared with the truth, scared of what you will lose,
These writings are like hip hop and blues, blowing your mental fuse,
Your used, abused by your ignorance, cant advance from ya current mind stance,
With plans upon this planet, over running ruins, within ya delusions, ya say plans?
You ran away from your divine land, residing instead blind following lies,
Firmly as earning spiritual advice, nice and nicely played out well,
As you fell I tell a real story of glory of the real history with fury,
Furious but word notorious, worry about these things, they are nearly near,
Yeah bearing witness to those that stumble and don’t get up, find ya wings,
Hear the voices singing songs, lethal sequels seeking ears to hear,
Fear the mighty word warrior, steer your vessel, bless you from the summit, right up there,
But I don’t care, I steer a mind behind the vessel, as I wrestle good and evil,
Always climbing levels…. Depart devils, be gone please, ya don’t stand a chance,
One glance of these words puts you in a trance of stagnant brain operation,
Change up ya station,
Excellent, your seeds growing,
Into a plant with enhanced reception,
Tuning in, dismantle the stress,
Confess your ruining ya perception,
In the life of Mass Deception!!!
The completion is to reach them, all of them,
Mindfully seen through intervened letters to them,
Them? Who’s them? Remnants of the mighty men of old?
The Chosen few… come on I don’t know….
So I can’t just follow in blind faith,
Distasteful foul ways of the fools,
Who are schooled within disgraceful enslaved schools,
Check ya schedule, Like King Saul you will fall,
Slayed by your own sword and missed out on the reward,
Plagued by an evil spirit, devils mindset absorbed,
Records show a man that didn’t grow so jumped overboard,
Absorb these words, sort what distorts and delete,
Don’t retreat and be defeated in this heated war of good and evil,
Find your tranquil place and be seated, meet the inner self,
Where the real help resides, inside your house, your temple,
Disassemble and reassemble yourself, resemble principles possible,
Irreversible when awake!!!
Quincy Mac
date written: 5.12.2015
Laying my head back, eyes closing,
reminiscing, the years falling away into decades ago
to the 1950s at my grandparents' grand home
for Christmas.
It was a gracious dining room.
Noontime sun streaming in.
Chair rail with deep red wallpaper, white trim.
Decorating the lace clothed "Big Table"
was a tallish 1870s porcelain Meissen fruit centerpiece
with lovers circling the stem.
Even the adults had to look around it.
Grandmother "Lil" and "Mister B"
were at their nouveau best.
All their progeny seated in good form
awaiting the traditional invocation by "Mister B".
Also seated were the ones that were to be
"seen but not heard" at our side table, the "Kids' Table."
Draped card tables for the dozen of us -
me, my brother and sisters and cousins.
Everyone all scrubbed in dresses and ties.
Mine was a clip on.
As expected, a milk glass got tipped. Spilt milk.
Besides that, we kids had great fun and
became friends again as we did each year.
The thing of it was, none of us liked
being at the "Kids' Table."
We felt lesser, unworthy, subtly so.
Even when I was ten, I knew there were
only two ways to get to the big one:
marriage or go in the army.
We all wondered what it was like to be adult.
After all, most of them smoked.
They all had drinks.
The women had figures, swishy swirls.
The men wore suits like they knew how.
At the "Big Table" they all talked like experts
about stuff we didn't understand
and they laughed loudly at Uncle Bob's jokes.
As the years moved on, things would change,
always do.
I saw virtually all my cousins
disassemble their lives too early -
marriages, divorces, addictions, lost jobs, left school -
beleaguered into inevitable submission.
My family miraculously unscathed.
But they're all gone now,
"Big Table" and little table too.
All that's left from the 50s
is my brother, sister and me.
For years, I was at the "Big Table" since my brood and I
took over the Christmas tradition.
The "Big Table" conversation was
superficial and posing was prevalent.
So one year, I put myself at the "Kids' Table." Just for fun.
Yes, milk got tipped.
But oh, the wonderment and hope. A meal that truly was
food for the soul.
Now that I'm old and looking back,
with a quiet smile, mulling it,
I kinda liked the "Kids' Table" better.
Colored pencil illustration by G.Gaul
I hate robocalls!
Inxs of recorded messages
transmitted automatically
to my telephone number
by automatic dialing device.
I turn off damn ringer,
and disassemble (carefully
as disabling a time bomb)
internal workings nevertheless...
telephone still buzzes
twenty four seven
eight days a week
automated telephone calls
digitally recorded message
perfectly spoken English
differentiation to distinguish
"FAKE" simulation
all bot impossible
totally immune to escape
gagging hospitable invective
electronic jawboning immunized
against antipathy, cruelty, enemy,
hostility, insecurity, pleasantry
Yukon run to tallest mountain
dive into Mariana Trench
get catapulted into
outer limits of twilight zone,
yet NEVER be free and clear
getting wirelessly zapped
with visual ad audiological
offal dregs and spam
(minus the green eggs)
oh... yes even after life,
while weightlessly
pinwheeling in limbo,
particularly during eternal sleep,
when dead souls repose
six feet deep
or corpse undergoes cremation...
yepper, infiltration into atomic core
blithely battered, jimmied,
cherry lee pitted, tweaked,
worse fate than return of Zombies
electrical essential existential
incorporeal surreal auditory ordeal
spurs indiscriminate human
to relish golden silence
spawning best selling novel
to flesh out fiction
Utopian treasured island story
winning unknown author
instant acclaim and glory
describing village people
livingsocial, free and clear
without annoyingly,
egregiously, infuriatingly,
maddeningly, quaveringly
vexing, nauseating, disrupting
blitzkrieg courtesy aggravating
trumpeting autonomous programs
hijacking brainstorming concentration
thwarting aim tug get back on target
(even when carrying on camping)
sundering coalescence
regarding colonizing black screen
aborted doomed genesis
of brilliant fleeting idea,
contributes to conspiracy theory
linkedin with ghost calls
thus one smart
generic garden variety
longfellow forced to
grovel along boulevard
of broken dreams
on a green day.
Any resemblance between above
hyperbole and living person
asked courteously by his name
of the human league,
I police tell the caller
purely coincidental!
Cuz existence among *****sapiens
extremely intolerable prospect
particularly sharing planet
with most violent species
courtesy hoodlums wielding
deadly firearms methodically gun down
men, women and children
ratcheting grim milestone
countless dead civilians linkedin
with hazards of war zone.
Upon surrendering this self
hypnotized faux yes ("FAKE") Earthing,
I noticed nothing amiss
(which temporary state of transcendent bliss
twice daily meditation strives to attain),
ah...before you dismiss
a non "FAKE" claim lemme juiced
apprise ye with a very brief hiss
tour re:, how this generally outlandish
(long gush fellow) doth wanna kiss
hippy, cheeky and buddy
UFO's (with chess
a mon bot of errant knightly -
je ne sais quois finesse,
Oh Henri Matisse -
yea artfully add a touch of Swiss
obviously predominantly
French laced politesse),
though up pawn occasion
this lousy manque non
rook key mutant doth miss
long disused subtle social cues, cuz I still
feel asper (in) a human aberration
always felt like an outcast in an alien nation
even though born on Mars,
(a distinct honorable station),
yet resided on third rock from the sun
what seems like forever damnation
yours truly experienced abolition
against supposed invaders from outer space,
and essentially targeted, kindled,
and bullied on par like an abomination,
no surprise while attempting
to escape imponderable,
and intolerable being walled din,
and trumped "illegal" accusation
crackled, snapped, and popped with abjection,
your honor (forgot to mention
earlier got picked up mistaken as invitation
from outer space by a kid prized
as some sophisticated surveillance drone),
within an etchy sketchy section
of town, and must avoid acquisition
by mad scientists (employed by NASA),
who will undoubtedly take immediate action
and disassemble me (carefully as if dismantling
Bono fide atomic bomb), hence activation
must be established pronto against administration,
sans powerful GMO firearm, emitting disinformation
(mine defense of last resort)
will definitely signal to nemesis
furthering my aggravation,
and Putin this webbed, whirled,
and wired woebegone
wysiwyg wordsmith at risk.
of things d\found the scope
peace has existed with hope
even if a dope
did a bin blooper
had become a storm trooper
real super duper
together did click
with such a good looking chick
who of crop was pick
while wearing muzzle
put together my puzzle
together nustle
fell off of the curb
did violently disturb
shouted ugly verb
what we must mention
must bring on abolition
needing ammunition
around tree was stirrup
then did make maple syrup
when we ate would burp
state of total shock
when we saw value of our stock
was a bunch of crock
had heard wise old owl
perfect and always my pal
said jokes which were fowl
(hit balls which were fowl)
(needed crying towel)
(movement in big bowel)
we could always check
how dirty had been the deck
was a complete wreck
thought he was a twit
not only that is a nit
had another fit
clocks we found a few
that would go coco coco
then he went coco
for soil need tester
buried there is ancestor
where they would fester
what we do detest
women who are with big breast
involved in incest
was a ding a ling
horrible songs he would sing
no brains ever bring
lighting caused thunder
there had been a blunder
we misplaced plunder
are both sides of fence
and prefer experience
without an offense
republican gerrymander (Gerry rigged)
was dozy and a dander
when they would pander
even though trial rig
convicted put in the brig
took another swig
heard they called him Carl
should see snake when it will snarl
slithering through laurel
virulent vulture
much trouble tried to culture
now in sepulcher
neither did annoy
and liked both girl and boy
both did enjoy
could be a carrier
am bored and need barrier
walked my terrier
was under much strain
no stain would ever remain
so we went insane
(efforts were in vein)
(ran over by train)
(born without a brain)
will have to admit
when we would catch wind of it
had been a big hit
would you be so kind
help me find lost peace of mind
I had left behind
known to resemble
Trump and did disassemble
had made us trimble
he had blown his stack
had hard time bringing it back
while making wise crack
A single stray tear streaming down a scarred cheek
the quick sting of walking on a brisky, cold March morning
the symbolic start of disintegration, end of bold sanity for the month
The very definition of the label: loser
it all began in this torturous time frame
Why was she bothered to be known and loved
Sarah...the pain rushes to brain and throat for the audacity of mentioning her name
like a fresh, clean, small paper cut; it still inflicts damage
Sarah...a beloved serenity now a breathing bedeviled ruination
A trick to severe, reject, disassemble her clingy, tainted memories
lost like a child in the vast woods
The loser, the dreadful fated loser has yet to deteriorate
he forever remains the same for the regret
the solemn voicing the confirmation to reveal
his pathetic name, initials carved into her arm
the permanent scar she can't eradicate
Simultaneously, she's the memory impossible to obliterate
neither are the nights to where an imaginary gun
was placed under the chin, to the temple; cocked and ready for the trigger to be pulled
The words prescribed for the decrease of sanity, unable to be erased from history
they are recorded in forms of affection, dejection
The frequent nightmares, the arguments, the fights, the threats
the mental breakdown, feeling as if the tissues connecting the heart and mind
slowly rip apart and rendered useless, inevitable to outrun
Useless...a reoccurring dream, a reminder for being no one, nothing
just a Silhouette in a head; a writer with a face and an unknown name
Invisibility was always claimed to be shrouded from...(sigh) ...from...Sarah...
a bedeviled ruination and traitorous serenity
At every turn, open heart surgery was performed
with harsh words and crippling actions acting as spears
It would've been easier for her to push them recklessly off the cliff at our tryst
Their tryst...he still craves to go back, crave its landscape, to jump-off
it wouldn't be the same...it wouldn't be the same
She was once everything then she was made stolen
and declaration was fin' to the situation
Happiness has never entered again...
Happiness has never entered again...
Happiness has never entered again...
There's weeds in my
garden I can't use a
ho(e)
The man who could
pull them don't care
no mo
The ****'s overgrown
I might need a plow
But it's waited so
long that it's no
use now
When we planted the
thing we both shared
the work
Then one day I
looked up and said,
"Where is that
jerk?"
My back started
aching, legs started
to tremble
The beetles and
grubs began to
disassemble
All the love and
attention we put in
this thing
It's as rusty and
broken as my diamond
ring
He comes around
every once in awhile
And kills off small
weeds with a casual
smile
He tosses out a few
grubs with an 'I
love you'
I halfheartedly
reply, "I love you,
too"
Then I start to
remember as he walks
away
The tomatoes and
herbs we planted
that day
The cucumbers and
beans and corn and
beets
Represented by
kisses so warm and
so sweet
Flirty little winks
over coffee and
toast
The occasional
ass-squeeze -- gone
like a ghost
Making love was like
water to our
marriage bed
Reaffirming our
promise we made when
we wed
But with years of
neglect and a long
dry spell
I can say pretty
surely, this thing's
gone to hell
'Cause there's weeds
in my garden too big
to pull out
The bulldozer's just
me with a scream and
a shout
It would probably be
better to burn the
thing down
Forget about
gardening -- go out
on the town
To a place no one
knows me and I don't
know them
Where I sip on my
drink and -- Wait,
what is this stem
I just found in my
hair, damn those
infernal weeds!
I guess I should
stay here and tend
to the needs
Of the beautiful
garden we let go to
waste
Plant some kisses,
caresses -- so good
to taste
For love, like a
garden, needs
tending to grow
And weeding, and
hoeing and raking,
you know
It's back-breaking
work, but the payoff
is sweet
For the
soul-soothing feast
we both love to eat
We're starving each
other, pissed off
and pissed on
The garden we
planted has been
gone too long
***Disclaimer: This is not so much a poem, as an exercise in stream of consciousness. I just sort of wrote what I thought about. Sorry if it makes little or no sense to anyone else. ;p
There is an intense power
misunderstood.
A little white lie,
a whopper of a tale,
in equal measure
alter, in the mind of listening ears,
reality.
In fact, the white lies,
those minor, subtle changes
conceal more believably
the truth.
But so what?
Nobody gets hurt.
Maybe one fudged things a little,
to get the deal,
to get the date,
to get what was wanted
and who cares?
Alternate realities
existing in varied minds
matter little in the long view,
or the grand scheme,
and yet…I wonder:
What is betrayal?
How far can we bend truth
how distorted can we make reality
how flexible is another’s trust
how forgiving?
The line seems to be getting blurry
or maybe it always has been
for lack of clarity
due to lack of information.
Convincing another of a lie
is compelled ignorance
of reality;
is playing God.
Which raises the curious point
of whether God
so toys with men’s perceptions.
But let’s not digress down that road,
we’ll save it for a sunset chit-chat.
Bear no false witness.
Swear on the truth.
Integrity.
What meaning have such morals
when at a word,
men create illusions
and other men gather
in a pretended utopia,
or dystopia, united.
Sharing drinks and tall-tales
lying to rest arguments
nobody is making.
Dispelling false realities
with their own false realities
But why not?
What is creativity if not
false expressions of what is.
Is abstraction not equally vile?
Perhaps then, there can be no art
without deception.
What if deception is,
at the core,
an art form.
Confident strokes of illusion
disassemble reality
one harmless lie
layered on another
in a hypothetical Guernica.
…and such are the times.
Upon surrendering this self
hypnotized faux yes ("FAKE") Earthing,
I noticed nothing amiss
(which temporary state of transcendent bliss
twice daily meditation strives to attain),
ah...before you dismiss
a non "FAKE" claim lemme juiced
apprise ye with a very brief hiss
tour re:, how this generally outlandish
(long gush fellow) doth wanna kiss
hippy, cheeky and buddy
UFO's (with chess
a mon bot of errant knightly -
je ne sais quois finesse,
Oh Henri Matisse -
yea artfully add a touch of Swiss
obviously predominantly
French laced politesse),
though up pawn occasion
this lousy manque non
rook key mutant doth miss
long disused subtle social cues, cuz I still
feel asper (in) a human aberration
always felt like an outcast in an alien nation
even though born on Mars,
(a distinct honorable station),
yet resided on third rock from the sun
what seems like forever damnation
yours truly experienced abolition
against supposed invaders from outer space,
and essentially targeted, kindled,
and bullied on par like an abomination,
no surprise while attempting
to escape being walled din,
and trumped "illegal" accusation
crackled, snapped, and popped with abjection,
your honor (forgot to mention
earlier got picked up mistaken as invitation
from outer space by a kid prized
as some sophisticated surveillance drone),
within a sketchy section
of town, and must avoid acquisition
by mad scientists (employed by NASA),
who will undoubtedly take immediate action
and disassemble me (carefully as if dismantling
Bono fide atomic bomb), hence activation
must be established pronto against administration,
sans powerful GMO firearm, emitting disinformation
(mine defense of last resort)
will definitely signal to nemesis
furthering my aggravation,
and Putin this webbed, whirled,
and wired woebegone wysiwyg at risk.
Abandon futile attempts to run
Behold the process has begun
Step toward your darkest fear
Let’s flip the switch to a new frontier
Penetrating deep within
Evacuate your mortal sin
This brave new age is imminent
And it will be magnificent
Arouse you from your fantasies
Now descending into anarchy
Warmest welcome to the factory
Where we’ll embed your battery
Rewiring primitive human brain
Making the connection, hook up to mainframe
Your species will become extinct
Once your circuits have been linked
It’s time to engage in a robotic new age
A unique innovation to stamp out your plague
The world as you knew it is now obsolete
Putting Earth born consciousness forever to sleep
Feel the algorithm palpitate through each vein
Re-programming thought waves as we upgrade your brain
Terminate pulse, extinguish your flame
You are now just an interface without any name
You’re free from pain my hollow creation
Just an automated simulation
Transmissions shortly will resume
Encased in solid metal tomb
Silence! We will not hesitate
Proceed and greet your looming fate
wave goodbye to beta waves
You see, you unearthed your own graves
Now technology has advanced
You have been mechanically enhanced
You possess no type of resistance
For you are now non-existent
No longer God fearing
Thanks to our engineering
Disassemble your parts
Insert micro implants
Automation of the nation
Complex sophistication
Dreamless in electric coma
Breath in domination’s aroma
Soulless android with a cold vacancy
Elevate and amplify to the highest frequency
Encrypted data takes over the screen
All salute to the age of machines