Long Disregarding Poems
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What Democracy
Democracy, in Britain is nothing but a lie.
From the dictionary the word should be deleted
Whilst democracy’s the slogan that politicians cry
The majority of us feel that we’ve been cheated
With political correctness forced upon us every day
Just in case the casual word may cause offence
If you have a strong opinion be careful what you say
Even though you may be talking perfect sense
When we joined the E.E.U. I’m sure we took the view
It would give a larger market for our trade
Yet now our mighty nation has a legal obligation
To abide by regulations Brussels made
The referendum was denied, the politicians lied
These decisions were decided by the few
It was no doubt understood, M.Ps thought it would be good
With a total disregarding of our view
MP’s pull out all the stops to try to fill our shops
With G.M foods that we don’t want to eat
Whilst cameras check our speed on roads where there’s no need
We’d be better off with coppers on the beat
If when confronted by a crook you land a good right hook
You may think that he deserved it, it’s his fault
When he is on probation you’ll be locked up down the station
To appear before a jury for assault
When travellers leave a mess, you’d be spot on if you guess
That authorities will turn an eye that’s blind
Yet drop a *** end in the street and before it hits your feet
You will get an instant ticket and be fined
If asylums what you seek and English you can’t speak
Benefits are paid for your welfare
But if your British and your old, your property is sold
To pay for any time you are in care
If you chastise your child, because he has run wild
That law will on your collar give a tug
For no matter what you say, do-gooders rule the day
Even though the child may grow into a thug
In the interest of fair play referendums are the way
The majority decide just where we go
We shouldn’t change our laws or take part in futile wars
To massage a political ego
When we are due a big election, parties vie for our affection
Promising the things they have in store
It fair gives us the hump, they should take a running jump
They must realise we’ve heard it all before.
It is hard to understand who governs our fair land
Or who it is that makes up all our rules
Our politicians bore us, or totally ignore us
Democracy in Britain! It’s for fools!!.
.
Form:
Of first embrace and broken glass
I cherish that first spark
New light upon our forest' dark.
Do you recall that northern wind?
It came at first so swift
Perhaps our growing light enraged
Poor Hopelessness', her whims denied
Inspired shadows from retreat
Those having once left us in our light.
"There's hope for you!” her battle cries
“Forwards; towards the glowing night
Attack! The lion will not bite
I promise he will turn blind eyes
Go back! I will cover your eyes!”
“Follow storms winds descent
True path through forests dense
Enter hence.
Rip, tear, rent!
From low to high
Head to toes
Even to above
Where dark forest glows
Churn even these shades
Whites and grays
Yellows arrayed,
Where once were dulled
"My children do not stop there!"
She would say,
"You must inscribe them full
Lest unseen hopes, occupy as slivers
As pretending tones, they have been known to hide
Shimmers upon the edge of shades
We must leave them emptied, lost whims, denied
Their ways left as waste to ruins
Despairs do not relent with dooms
Leaving chance to sparks in time
Per chancing kindles from hearts that loom.”
“Descend, my raging opaque!
The dense itself engrave
Teach young love old lessons
That she may now know at such young age
The heart of this forest lessened.”
“Now go' my shadowed tails delight
Slice sharp paths without care
Cause those within their ears too bear
The roaring of fresh leaves…
Torn from their rightful place
Before the given time”
“Dying screams let them endure
Let them feel your shadows
….Purge!”
The cold so swift
We were so sure This was spring
........residues
Your body’s naked form, lovely
Dropping, encircling our flame
Dying breath
Woman’s instinct
Nurturing
Disregarding winds intent
Then came the rains' extinguishing
Saving coals
Your hands were warm
My feet were cold
I shiver at this memory.
…Rains cold intensity
The downpour overcoming
Me
I'm sorry I could not see
My circle enclosed circles now
Circling
I knew the dark complete
As our smoke heavenward arose
To late this pittance; ash offerings
Ashes on the ground
Then came the rivers rage
Cutting its path through the heart
Forever too leave
Forever leaving its mark
Upon our forest dark
Meandering on; its choosing path
And I with it beside; belonged
For a chosen time
My love again I say
For a chosen time
Do you understand?
I chose the time of days
My shame
*Long long ago there was a very rich father who had a very large family. He built a large house anticipating his family. His children were normal and grew up with the standards that their father set. Occasionally, one or the other would step out of line, but they all respected their very understanding father.
But there was one who often stepped out of line and became more rebellious by not only disregarding his father's standards but by starting to make his own rules. The self-willed son finally grew up and went out on his own, making his own decisions and managing his own life and livelihood with the wealth he had obtained through his father's good graces. Quite often he had to humble himself and request the aid and wisdom of his father. This went well as long as the father would grant him his desires without questions.
When the father made inquiries so as to better assist his son in becoming self-sufficient and independent, the son became angry to the bewilderment and sadness of his father. The father was patient with his son but began to be at a loss pertaining to how he could really help his son. The father was not overbearing nor one desiring to control his adult son. He simply loved him dearly and wanted to see him become successful and happy as he pursued his own life's purpose.
However, matters at times grew from bad to worse, especially when the son would shout out what seemed to be his favorite demand of his father, "I want you to stay out of my business!". Why, the father could not understand such a demand, because he never was a volunteer, but rather was always recruited or drafted by his son into his vast array of adversities and conflicts whether they were financial, marital, or parental. It's sad when a son wants his father to be "in or out" of his life on the son's terms alone.
03252018FBPS *America, my great country, reminds me of The Prodigal Son story in the Bible. This is a fictitious description of America's rebellion against God.
remember when recent-psycho-in-the
brief-spotlight, Texas Gov. Ricky Perry,
smiled at the camera in the debate o’
repuglicans & couldn’t remember the
3rd branch of government that he told
the nation watching that he would eliminate
once he became president?
remember that this ******* had nothing to
say but “oops,” after admitting to wanting to
get rid of Education & Commerce---because
he couldn’t think of another valuable thing
to get rid of & Ron Paul sarcastically offered
up, “the EPA?”---
this same man also told the nation that he
had no regrets, that he “never struggled to
sleep at night” with the thought that any of the
over 200 more people executed in his
state (than the others in the US)
had been innocent---
after all, he is a proud representative of the
cowboy state that had to be forced by 2,000
federal troops to finally free their slaves in
1865 & one might not be surprised to find
him wearing a “don’t mess with Texas”
belt buckle, when he parts his suit coat.
a few nights ago, another man,
Mr. Marvin Wilson, age 54, whose IQ of
61 (9 points below Texas’ own cut off of 70
which determines one is mentally retarded) did
not even make a bit of difference to Mr. Perry &
the bloodthirsty behind him, was executed
without forensic proof or eyewitness accounts of
the murder of which he was convicted of in
1992---
Marvin was a grown man who sucked his thumb,
bearing many intellectual inabilities, from “telling
the difference between right and left” to “handling
money,”
still, disregarding Atkins v. Virginia (2002),
in which the Supreme Court posited that people
with mental disabilities rendering them incapable of
understanding their own actions, should not be
executed,
TEXAS DID IT ANYWAY.
one wonders if conclusive DNA evidence was
discovered years from now, exonerating him
from the crime of which he was convicted,
beyond the shadow of a doubt,
would Mr. Ricky & all the repugs still sleep
soundly?---
need we even take a vote?
7 are already dead in 2012 Texas, campers:
3 African-American men,
3 Hispanic men &
one white guy…
AND MORE ARE SCHEDULED
FOR THE REMAINING MONTHS OF
2012,
SO GET YOUR TICKETS NOW!!!
COME ON DOWN TO TEXAS,
BRING YER’ WIFE, BRING YER’
RUGRATS & PULL UP THE BACK OF
A TRUCK.
“gawd” bless this “democratic”
&
“civilized”
country of ours.
What does it mean to you
to be loved
right here
where you live and breathe,
eat and occasionally shower?
What value would you give
our investments of mutual regard?
Do you know
you can love
and be loved
for and as who you are right now?
And for that sainted sinner
you inevitably will become,
and for all those you have been
since first I laid eyes on you,
and smelled you,
and listened for your still small
and large voices.
Love cannot be reduced
and confined
to just one tense,
or even two
with those we are committed to
and for;
And best spreads across
all four seasons
of sacred change.
Love is limited
only by mistrusting imagination,
WinLose dissonant assumption,
reductions of sacred organic integrity
to secular strategic mendacity,
deducted images distancing us
confining what I know and feel
for you and us up to now,
Not disregarding
or over-valuing
past and potential future
wealth for what feels safe for us today
to believe and hope,
our reviving health
tomorrow.
When winters hand out plastic bottled lemon juice
and grieving onions
too long endured,
I would like to trade some for limes
and grateful southern summer garlic
if you have those
to share.
Together
we might make lemon-lime local aid
and add community's basic bullion
for regenerate harvest
building stone multiculturing soup,
green vegetarian
and redmeat simmering stews.
When life hands us lemons
and FixIt unpeeling onions
Earth invites rebirthing us
to re-imagine all four seasons
and three tenses together
our re-creolizing cacophany
with restoring beverage
of healthy re-changing choice
for loving peace as resilient ecojustice.
Love of who and what,
when and where,
and why until just us again,
revisiting community polycultural outdoor worship
during summer health climax
And on through fall harvest,
and yet another inevitable winterish lemon
of creolizing discontent,
stuck inside
liturgical long-range extended family garden planning
plotting sun and water worshiping community love redevelopment,
global song and dance sacred restoration,
healthy-wealth of peace
As integrity of love
for WinWin organic choices
changing four-seasons from above
as below,
without
as within.
Disregarding the familiar closed habits and
Washed into mind by morning’s arrival so quietly, then raging
Questions of this new intoxicating radiance in her garden
Spiraling in this foreign, brilliant white illumination, unfamiliar and exhilarating
Momentarily unconcerned by it
Questions will not be put aside today, cannot be covered, or oppressed
Disregarding the familiar closed habits
Driving her thought, separate from rational reflection
The recollection of the moments when reason, judgment and deliberation were
Left behind for moments of serenity in the brilliance of him, a tourist
Falling into this sway, this swell of movement driven, driving
Exploring the significance of this circumstance and touching it, grapsing it at times
Disregarding the familiar closed habits
Senses recalling the sights, smells and the contact, I let her take pleasure in it
No curtain over it, allowing it to silently overpower her
The moments over time, building into a narrative, quietly, softly
Carefully treading in this, with feet bare, footprints almost unseen on undisturbed soil
Again and again sharing seconds of humanity wrapped in familiarity and fear
Disregarding the familiar closed habits
In time, minutes and hours shared laying in the pools of temporary light he brings
Her tourist helping with comprehension, guiding when asked
Willing to share his own translation, the peaceful philosophy reaching her
Imparting and changing perspective, changing the gardener’s promise
His careful liberating freedoms, tolerating exploration, she welcomes him
Disregarding the familiar closed habits
Let go, uncommon precious beliefs, thoughts, gifts, pristine and unspoiled
Reason becomes need, granting the tourist passage into this glassed-in garden
Feels his breeze, his warmth, the depth of him, his movement, she smiles
There is no other place so reverent, so warm, and kind, built for him
Uncommon, imagining the tourist has never, will never be so adored, so treasured as here
If he knew. She laughs, and then
Regarding the familiar closed habits
Recognizes that gardens are most common, shared with ease and naturally for most
Nothing remarkable of hers but its solitary audience being
Unaware of his own presence there
Lest we forget that back in 2017 at a softball game,
they tried to massacre members of the republican congress.
Then between 2016 -2020 they impeached trump twice
for nonexistent and/or trumped-up charges.
During the fentanyl Floyd riots
they attempted a REAL insurrection at the Whitehouse.
None of those insurrectionists were jailed.
Then in 2020 the CCP and the Fauci DNC
unleashed a gain of function plague on the world
to shut down our booming economy
to crush our livelihoods
to uplift the globalist agenda
and disrupt our electoral process.
They closed churches and decimated small businesses
deeming them non-essential.
While fast food conglomerates and Nancy Pelosi's nail salon
remained open.
Since then, they've illegally wire tapped {aka Watergate}
Trump properties.
Storm troopered his home with authority to kill
They've tried to:
slander
jail,
bankrupt
frame
keep him off the ballot in several states.
Biden said we need to put a bullseye on Trump,
Mere days later {they} tried to assassinate him.
Additional plots to assassinate him
were stopped before they came to fruition.
They {LEFT} the unvetted borders wide open
to build up their dwindling voting base.
Mixed in with the desperate migrants are drug cartels
human traffickers, known terrorist and rivers of fentanyl.
Whose ingredients are made in Communist China.
Whom by the way are buying USA farmland at an alarming rate
Complacent representatives have let the trojan horse inside our (Billy Gates)
They kicked old Joe to the curb (disregarding all those who voted for him in the primaries) because of plummeting polls.
Then They claim that republicans are suppressing votes
by promoting voter ID laws.
They replaced old Joe with Kamala
who set up bail funding for the Floyd looters and rioters and not the victims of the looting and riots. She promotes a no bail agenda in general.
She has now selected late term abortionist Waltz as her running MATE...
During covid Waltz set up a hotline so people could snitch on one another.
And they have the nerve to scream that Republicans are a threat to democracy...
When in fact they are Projectionist of the highest degree.
Wake up people The D.N.C tree only yields fetid lemons.
1.
Uninvited you come, oh Erato*, you muse of poetry, the
Majority of the times,
Knocking at my soul’s door at any given moment
Insisting on letting you in, your message to deliver
Disregarding at what state my soul is and if she could
With your request, comply
2.
Oh, Muse of poetry, when with my soul’s inspiration
You are flirting all the time
Whispering in her ears words of wisdom, coming
From your divine essence
My soul, mesmerized, tries the words of wisdom,
Lingering in her depths, again to remember**
3.
A difficult task it is; indeed, I admit,
For the language of heavens that my soul, once
Knew very well, now she has forgotten**
Because of her association with her mortal body
For that reason, oh divine muse,
Be patient with her and give her just
A little more time
4.
The time that my soul needs, divine muse, to learn
Or rather to remember
How to talk and to express herself in writing the way
You would like:
In accordance with the universe’s harmony and
Its eternal laws
5.
When this blessed hour comes, my soul able
Would be, poems to compose
But
Her writings, her creations, and her poetic epics,
The work of you would be, oh muse,
No credit would, my soul, claim
For
She knows very well that only an instrument she is,
Oh muse, into your godly embrace,
Just to be used according to your desire
Because only you, oh muse of poetry, know
How
The universe’s poetic language should be used
And how, in verse, it has to be
Delivered!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
30 SEPTEMBER 2014
* Erato, one of the nine daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne (memory ).
She is the Muse of lyric poetry, love poetry, and marriage songs.
** Socrates, Greek philosopher 469-399, believed that the soul knows the truth but because of her association with the body, after her incarnation, she forgets therefore what we call learning is, in reality, a process of remembering as it is indicated also by the name of Erato’s mother, Mnemosyne, (memory).
A poet should always follow Erato’s instructions that come in the form of inspiration, in order to reach the desired result. This is because Erato’s knowledge is unadulterated for it is divine!
Carrying a sleeping baby.
Cleaning after a successful party.
Camping beyond mountains more mountains.
Playing trumpet on the streets of New York City.
Eating although the food supply is deeply compromised.
Flying with Democrats and Republicans, evangelicals and atheists.
Flying like a fruit fly that won’t quit mating.
Cool as a hummingbird in the stream’s wet spray.
Abstaining wholly, absent from worldly life.
Two dogs fighting but not biting hard.
Chanting as if the planet were mending.
Gourmet dining, devout prayer, loving Mary.
Evenings watching tv. Scotch and Star Trek.
Taking off Emily Dickinson’s clothes.
Meeting in the meeting house, arguing and praying.
Planning a legacy as if you knew enough to control events.
Pursuing happiness as a naturalist or humanist.
Spinning with the planet, performing the history that surrounds us.
Killing many Germans, saving many Jews.
Doing less until one thing’s done well.
Fainting from staring at candles through stained glass windows.
Morning, a billion trillion nuclear detonations per second warming your
bones.
Manipulating symbols, solving equations.
Disregarding tweets and facebook persuasions.
Sitting with a tiny Buddha near a rushing stream cutting a gorge.
Running, disciplining myself, making myself healthy.
Ingesting drugs, throwing die, drinking sludge.
Growing varicolored corn.
Participating in the cause because it’s impossible not to participate in
the effect.
Running over a chipmunk, groundhog or a skunk.
Lying face down in the emergency room facing doom.
Waking up Monday thinking Sweet Saturday! but soon remembering your
trick knee.
Turning the towering young thunder of my anger against my sons.
Regretting the callow dispassion with which I met my parents’ quietus.
Lawn mowing, leaf blowing, yapping dogs, napping old people.
No jets but a rooster mornings, cows and goats.
Al is painting an apartment. Sirma is cleaning the floors. Felix is taking
out the garbage.
Deciding tentatively I slightly prefer Heifetz’ to Oistrakh’s Sibelius.
No cedar waxwings, no chickadees, but beautiful moon!
If you’re alone as you get, why are you crying?
As men we aspire to perfection
The slim sliver of impossible
which lies between infallibility
and the outskirts of non existence,
Searching for its proof for the mere
chance at having it define us,
For other adjectives have become
beneath us in our own evolution
Thus we strive for a deity's temperament
and assume equality with unseen irony
Disregarding humility, nobility, desirable
work ethic, and other essential virtues,
For each becomes viewed as inferior
to the extravagant identity we have stolen,
While conventional attributes such as pride
and confidence are escalated to frailties
Too ignorant on our quest for best,
to notice the change of our views,
As visions of tomorrow become
stepping stones to a more myopic sight,
Belittling the very allure of being mortal,
by denying ourselves wisdom through experience,
For no future mistakes means no future period
which condemns us to our present self,
In retrospect, which reiterates the ironic
truth of the entire self perceived perfection,
Our only perfection is our constant evolution,
as it was at birth, it shall be through death,
The continuous cycle of ignorance to knowledge,
For if man does find the treasure of this desire,
Man will still be man and nothing more,
With only the potential of failure as motivation,
Thus, abandoning the sweet taste of accomplishment,
the soft touch of achievement will be never more,
For perfection has only itself to aspire to,
and only its inevitable demise to be a last sight,
A demise that happens at the moment of assumption,
For to be perfect is to be flawed temporarily,
A fact that holds true even to the assumed perfect
which is unseen to him, thus ending his identity,
Therefore, he who holds himself as infallible,
Disregards hope, Disregards logic,
Disregards truth, disregards companionship,
Abandoning his mortal life to become excluded,
Selling his realization of humanity for the price
of a label that will never be proven to others,
Watching us live a life he wants, but still has,
Unable to see his flaws, he has become less than all,
Thus the "perfect" person, lives in perfect misery