Long Machinations Poems

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Electorate On Tenterhooks Until

Electorate on tenterhooks until...
outcome of 2020 presidential election announced

Polling places slated to open seven o'clock
in the morning November third two thousand twenty
heightened tensions will strain patience
to breaking point concerning
extreme anticipation common joe experiences
(biden his/her time)
regarding which candidate trumpeted
as de facto commander in chief of United States.

Carpe diem the echoing refrain
heard and seen dispensed and broadcast
across telecommunications medium
cuz the very survival of democracy at stake
ruthless political machinations employed
to seize inalienable codified rights
couched within Declaration of Independence

and Constitution, written ethos, dogma, credo...
compiling aggregate of fundamental principles
or established precedents that constitute
legal basis of a polity, organisation
or other type of entity and commonly
determine how entity governed.

Understanding North American government
inextricably found yours truly agape
when chance occurrence brought hefty tome
into self assigned reading material
which storied author David McCullough
wrote engrossing John Adams biography
I read aloud with measured deliberateness
clearly enunciating each syllable of every word

despite runaway enthusiasm
to acquire historical premise
whereby original thirteen colonies
teetered on brink of immediate collapse
soon after majority representatives
swore fealty among themselves
despite ragtag soldiers
easily overwhelmed courtesy
fighting force of British Empire.

As a staunch affiliate of democratic party,
one veritable common joe
just biding his time,
I trumpet how crass
deleterious, egregious, fractious...
usurpation of power
jackknifed, kickstarted and linked

endemic flood (gushing) hatred
malicious, nefarious, opprobrious putrescence
laid down at the feet
upholding seventy five inches
of corpulent doughy flesh
regarding one conceited, haughty, and obstreperous
politician orchestrating machiavellian leitmotif.

Mark my words, that bull headed incumbent
will clamor, foment, incite, loose chaos
if Democratic candidate garners more votes
at the ballot box nsync with absentee citizens
casting their lot with the worser of two evils
otherwise put head between legs,
and kiss tuckus goodbye,
cuz hell in a handbasket looms on horizon.


Predilections of the Phallic Beast

Adulterous besieging capstone damnation
exploitation foists groping, heaving
insidiously jerking
knowingly lunges
machinations notoriously nymphomaniacal 
officiating penile quests
rapaciously, sadistically 
tenaciously, unstoppably 
vasocongested wickedness 
Xerses yawped zeolously.
*************************** 
All throughout history of  man/woman kind
ascendent civilizations extensively gouged, 
impailed, kindled, murderous outrages 
quashing sacred urges, women yearned.
***************************
Versatile thematic refrain punctuating nubiles 
maximized looting, pillaging, raping 
visited upon females via decimating fountainhead 
guarding brestworks of vestal virgins, 
innocent youths (little boys and girls).
***************************
Twenty first century *****Sapiens male population continue to applaud, covet, extol, gloat, invoke, kickstart, molest outrages, quest savagely thee unbridled wedded yoke appropriating coquettishly enshrined gals imposing killing mandates okaying queasy sordid ugly wretchedness yanking aborhent behavior denigrating, fulminating, harrassing, jawdropping lewdness, nabbing prized rearends, twerking, violently whiplashing, yelling zingers.
***************************
Now not a day elapses with instances women claim untoward advances, and/or forced coercion to satiate and temporarily slate the sexual thirst informing prononced picadilloes (philandering if married pompous head honcho demands appeasement of coitus, ********, indecent lowball outrageous ribald uncouth x-rated animalistic, carnal, feral, gonadal, immoral, kleptomaniacally misogynistic, narcissistic, opportunistic, pathetically reprehensible, torturously undervaluing, validating virility within Yankee Doodle, haply lambasting, proudly touting, vaunted wayfair zest.
***************************
The above meandering stream of consciousness attempted to amplify, a recent spate of accusations figuratively slapped against a male sex mongers, who specifically rule roost, and blithely, demandingly, forcefully, hideously, impishly, killingly, malignantly, opprobriously, powerfully, repeatedly, terminally, vindictively, wantonly, yearningly acrimoniously belittle, demean flagrantly, harshly insinuate keeping mindful, not publicize rabid tawdry unwanted villainous withering zeal!

November First Two Thousand Nineteen

November first two thousand nineteen...
abuzz with Autumnal thrum

Divine myriad biota amidst
heavenly Lily of the valley
(Convallaria majalis),
he didst imaginatively greet
Edenic heavenly terra
incognita immeasurably sweet

nature's ensemble proffering
Gaia's quintessential orchestration
resplendent sensational treat
natural splendour regaling,
this fellow wayfarer
happenstance gifted autochthonous peoples

espied proud specimens unobtrusive
planted armada, viz sleek bodies fleet,
of foot while me accidentally
risking, schlepping, traipsing... offbeat
winessed unschooled tribe,
yet verily synchronized,

primed, muscled... athlete
their soundless rhythmic swiftly tailored
flit to and fro upon poetic
unshod calloused feet
carefully, gingerly, lightly...
I shod dully tread nsync

toward drumlins upbeat
mouthing, kneading, imbibing... glorious
ebullient choral unadulterated feat
extemporaneously kickstarting crisp and neat
pow hour full rhythm across
analogous macroscopic excellent spreadsheet

inducing their sonorous symphonic
roundelay unfamiliar tweet,
whereby flora and fauna future meal to eat
oblivious regarding mine seat
dated existence, which quiescent aesthete,
yours truly basked,

froliced, luxuriated... complete
as once innocent hymnals kindled atrocity
this observer, spectator aghast white as sheet,
how civilization's machinations didst deplete
terrestrial firmament within one fell stroke
eradicated once pristine unbroken

promises chiseled to cheat
rightful owners expansive swath
over yonder til ocean and land did meet
Europeans scoured seas one after another
lumbering bulwarked fleet
exhausting resources while simultaneous

mowing down aborigines
grotesquely analogous harvesting wheat
indiscriminate deliberate genocide
decimating indigenous tribes beat
defenseless against microbial
weapons of mass destruction,

thus only within third blind eye
courtesy invisible paleface with tenderfeet
strictly envisioned Perkiomen Valley
once abundantly populated
with ample game during cold and/or heat
paradise unbroken stretched hinterland,

where place names mock to pay hollow tribute,
where native peoples no longer replete
vinyl city amidst amidst graveyard
lovely bones turned to dust
paved over by mainstreet.
Form: Ode

My Dismal Reality

Having loved ones is an incredibly comforting feeling, but when you enter the vast 
landscape of the mind and see only depression and despair,  you become aware 
that you are alone in your misery.  Clinging to the last threads of sanity It feels as if 
you are spiraling into a bottomless black abyss. 
  All sense of responsibility, joy, hope, drive, ambition and any concern for life are 
gone like a whisp of smoke.  There is no comfort offered when  looking deeply into 
who you are.  Everything that you once held dear seems so pointless in the eternal 
perspective of time.  There is no escape from the futility of it all.  Will I make a 
difference or at least be a descent human being.  If I do, what difference will it 
make.  Countless times have I looked into the never ending realm of insanity and 
longed to leap into its welcoming arms.  I can think of no greater blessing than to 
lose one's capacity for self awareness.
  Would I fall for all eternity or through the destructive force of madness find 
normalcy. It all seems so hopeless.  Some say life passes so fast that you should 
cherish every moment.  But, living out the drudgery of each day seems an eternity to 
me. If I focus hard enough my minds eye sees exactly who I am.  I have a self 
loathing, over burdened, depressingly active, mentally challenged, sarcastic, twisted 
thinking process.  Process usually indicates order.  Not in  my case.  My mind plumets 
into a cold unfeeling wasteland that sends me into fearful fits of confusion where I 
am overwhelmed with unrelenting incomparable anger.  I ponder an escape , but I 
realize I am destined to wallow in the  company of despair and futility for all eternity 
and deservedly so. Then it finally dawns on me that through my foolish decisions 
and self destructive actions I have fulfilled my mission in life to be a stench filled 
mass of human waste.  I grieve for those who know the loneliness I feel  when 
journeying into the depths of the seemingly twisted internal machinations of my  
mind.  It is the only place that in all respects you are truly alone.  I no of no other 
place where hopelessness reigns as it does in the deep recesses of who I am.    It 
makes me wonder if I might be God's only mistake.
Form: Lyric

Still Counting

And when it ends suddenly, unexpectedly,
You start to count.
First on the days, then the hours - then
Just counting until 100
Then
Beginning            again.

The dead find their faces
The living count faces
                Then most forget
Unless the face has your DNA in it,

But you remember the body bags
Being moved around in the night,
The nurses crying,
The lies being spread,
              The excuses,
The obfuscation,
The blundering incompetence
Of bureaucracy and officialdom.
The elderly kept in deathcamps
that used to be nursing homes.
The grinning mayors
                          And governors.

It’s going away now.
Less and less each day.
It’s going away now
It’s going to a place
Where the living cannot find it
                  It’s going away now.

And suddenly you are very angry
About the stupid shut-ins and the shut-downs,
The politicization of tragedy.
The muddled and slanted statistics
The ridiculous projections,
The false data.
The contradictions and bluster.
The draconian regulatory and government
Sponsored power grabs.
The gagging and intimidation
Of workers.
The trashing of basic freedoms
People
Jailed,
Fined,
Harassed.
The banning's.
The right to collectively worship denied,
Peaceful protest denied.
Businesses forced into bankruptcy.
The unemployment
      The waste.
And destruction.
The sundering of families,
The needless school closures,
The suffering that led
To clinical depression and drug overdoses,
The disdain of those
Who rejected commonsense remedies.
The manipulations
              And machinations,
All the willing useful fools
Chorusing together to tread down
Democracy.
The grinning talking heads
      Who doctored the news.
The attacks and the cancelling
Of those who begged to differ.
Dissenters labeled conspiracy theorists.
The cover-ups:
Gain of function.
GAIN OF FUNCTION.

The dumb mantra of the ignorant
Demanding we 'follow the science'
But the science was wrong
The scientists lied
They lied.
  They all knew
                  AND THEY LIED!

And I am still counting
In case it returns
And I have a lot more things to count,
Lots more to tally and be made
ACCOUNTABLE.


The American Nightmare

Welcome to the world!!
Even though we come as infants
Needing protection
Our first order of business
Is stabbing you with this injection
We’re gonna lie to you 
And say it’s for your health
But in reality this is poison
We just call it something else
Next up on the agenda
Is making your parents work more
Making them work their life away
Because let’s face it 
even middle class is still poor
And then the best part
We tax and take away 
half of what their making
Stay with us don’t lose us!!
This is a disaster in the making
And while their gone 
They will have no choice but to place you
Into daycare or foster care
Either way the State will raise you
And it’s there that you will find
The next Step in your indoctrination 
Be patient this next step takes time
But we strip you of your imagination 
And tell you that you must follow the rules
Or face our indignation 
But what happens here stays here
This whole plan is our creation...
After we have put you in a vulnerable situation 
We prepare you for public school
Where you will be part of our 
Diabolical machinations 
If your lucky enough to survive 
Until your graduation 
We collar you into the work force
Or you join the Prison Nation.
But one step at a time!
Let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves!
Next up is peer pressure!
Spend your money!
Buy it all!
You need our worthless treasure!
With the latest gear
And newest phone
You too can be accepted!
There’s no room to think for yourself 
In this part of our deception 
We will bend you 
We will twist you
And take away any protection
Until your looking in a mirror
And hating your own reflection 
That’s when the next step of this plan
Powers forward on full steam
We make you hate yourself 
And lower what’s left of your self esteem
This is the American nightmare
There is no more American dream.
Money makes the world go round
None of you were created Equal 
Good is now bad 
And bad has become more regular 
And more evil
The system we have created
Thrives on the feeling of hatred
This is your life now
And your life belongs to us 
We have enslaved you for profit
Money is the god that we trust
© James West  Create an image from this poem.

In the Fires of Retribution

Our final hour draws near
As the pillars of the earth
Are raised above the threshold
The human condition of primeval primitivity
It's tribal, and civilized devices
Our cherished, but brittle
and unstable societal constructs
Have been refined and pondered upon
By wisemen for a millennia
But they remain all the same
of gold and jewel hoarding merchant swine
Or the Lord of the land which still
Holds in his hand the peasant lives
have existed Since the days of Christ.
Fortunes and prestige was made
On backs of the slaves of man
No longer slaves of one color race or Creed
Be it the blindly led masses, or the ones
Who exist to fill a pair of Jack boots
To crush any who oppose the will of few
Imposed upon the liberty and lives of
the inumerable many
Kept in listless contention
like precious cattle cargo kept in comfort
In the moments before slaughter
No use for livestock who no longer can be soothed
By the noise of the static which has kept them subjugated
Slaves, by whatever name designated
As a product of which the era produces for them
Today still remained shackled
Even as they no longer have chains
To bind the spirit or flesh
The forgotten
Will not be extinguished
They writhe in ancestral rage
Their enemy oppressors
Shall be cleansed as pennance
In the fires of retribution
But the end will be swift
with coming winds of changes
Which will blow with the sands of time
Eroding the stone inscribed with the epitaph of humanity
"What hope could there be, for us, when the light that we possessed
Our compassion, the goodness of man,
is something learned and not inherent in our souls
And bring the torrent of uncivilized upheaval
Tearing us like weeds from their earthly respite
Grinding and rending us in our vessels
back into the soil and seas.
Relinquished to the warn embrace
of our celestial mothers womb
As she plants the cosmic seeds
Sowed in the brilliance of her aeons
And which grew the bountiful harvests
that fueled our creation
And let us to thrive
as we found our way
through a cruel,
but natural order of selection
The anomallic flux
In a fluid plasticity of
Biological machinations
© James Moon  Create an image from this poem.

We Are Not Built To Last

HE: I felt so alive for a minute there. 
The moonlight struck your face.
Beauty fired my senses, arousing.
SHE: Tell me, I need to know you care.
HE: What will that tell you, what will it mean? What you already 
know? Or a dubious ambivalence that you cannot face?
SHE: You think we move too fast, I know. Pieces 
tearing away from us in blurring slipstreams? 
Would they strip us to the bones of unknown futures? 
Things we cannot sustain? Would such velocity deny you 
grip of your own personality. I wouldn’t ask that of you…
HE: Who knows what you would or would not ask of me if 
we don’t stop to think? 
To drink the air after rainfall, to watch 
the moonlight reflect in your tears, 
sweet silvered orbs of mountain dew. 
The savour of your essence, languid integration, 
development of a degree of certainty – barriers against pain and despair.
SHE: My tears? You mention my tears. My tears drawn 
from the well of your own sinking, buckets dipped in 
rupturing premature graves. 
The dagger plunge of reticence; failure 
to tell me of love; to say yes, come on, let’s go – 
and damn consequence. 
To hell with consequence. Tell me…
HE: Truthfully I am unsure of what to tell you. 
I hesitate to express it. I think, yes, I am in love 
with you…but do I love you? It’s early…too early…
SHE: I want to speed. I want to race. To run, shouting 
with adulation of you in 
rapture of your adoration for me. I want to 
move, fast, the way you moved against my 
flesh when needs must, 
when passion, lust, jawed and scavenged your will 
and rammed it against my bleeding feminine surrender. 
Time is wasting. Why can you not move fast?
HE: Fast? Faster than the rush of eroticism 
and it’s frantic tumult? Why, because the danger lies 
in reality and its fickle machinations. And it is this: 
we need to pace ourselves, for love, like 
the nature of existence itself, 
cannot be hurtled towards or through or against. 
Cynical it may sound, but neither is built to last, and 
neither are we. Each moment damns us by its intricacy 
You are…you are really crying now…I see…
SHE: Men!
© Tony Bush  Create an image from this poem.

Premium Member Procrastinating For the Gre

It was my plan to set aside this past week 
to prepare for the Quantitative Graduate Record Exam.

A week ago this seemed like a big number
for ample review,
time set aside from more typical U.S. autumn events,
like electing a white male economic supremacist for President,
after having taken a 12 year break
from all those irrational remainders.

I have always thought math should be revolutionary,
climatic,
resonantly resolving like rainbow harmonies of scale,
profoundly correlational with geometric truths
as algebraic beauty,
and I suppose it may be all those good things
yet this week math feels suspiciously snarky and sinister,
replete with far more ways to go wrong
than right.

So today I was thinking maybe I shouldn’t bother
with these mysterious Quantities of testing.
Although I did well forty years ago
and didn’t know any more or less
about mathematical machinations then
than now.

Or so I thought
until I actually opened up the GRE review section.
When did math become so monochromatically dull,
devoid of plot
and anything resembling metaphysical charisma?

Soon I found the verbal questions
much more edifying.

Well, OK, not really that,
but more entertaining than watching formulas dry
and principles march in relentless mind-numbing LeftBrain dominant lock-step.
It took years of ecotherapy to overcome
white male LeftBrain dominance
and now, so late in life,
discovering I don’t even miss it
any more or less than zero-sum WinLose economics.

But, I think I will visit the Quantitative section
day after tomorrow
Say goodbye to old friends
I’ve never had occasion to use
or abuse
due to relentless negative correlational neglect.

It might be fun
to see if I guess as well as I used to
when I was still young enough 
to believe metric right or wrong could possibly matter.

Now I know it’s just not true
except for statistical analysis,
which is at least as much about
the politics of subjective Electoral College economics,
as objective rules of fair and accurately cooperative procedures,
verified as reified by all.

Papa's Condemnation of Prejudice

Papa's condemnation of prejudice...

and subsequent grim statistic one
(among millions, or more)
tragedy with feted kiss
Yarraka Bayles darling son
hoop fully experiences bliss,
yet more vehement rage
against machinations (think 

with little effort cruel humans)
trumpets, tools, thrives...
wreaking psychological havoc -
case in point yours truly
wrenched, screwed, and hammered
psyche permanently amiss.

Despite outpouring drummed, 
plumbed, and summoned thru
worldwide webbed support,
whereby global netizen (regarding
crowded house village people)
forced to apprise
execrable endemic damnation crisis,

nonetheless, I lament with inconsolable cries,
(methinks linkedin exacerbated
racist, misogynistic, bigoted...
commander in chief doth demonize)
devastatingly loathsome nasty meanness
viciousness super powers must exorcise

immediate mandates necessitate
more than $140,000
courtesy GoFundMe page,
plus good humor guise
Brad Williams (good fellow
celebrity little person)
raised commendable effort implies

Quaden Bayles overnight
social media sensational rise
to send aforementioned lad (din)
upon magic carpet ride,
cuz bullies of all sizes
did relentlessly terrorize.

Since time immemorial, ill legal
pestilential, tyrannical blight,
whereby quintessential, overpowering
maniacal kickass delight
gushed adrenaline spurring victim(s)
to fight or take flight

impossible mission to escape hatred,
no matter ascending topmost height
stairway to heaven no guarantee knight
in shining armor to thwart might
against painful, (pit charred),
promulgated pugnacious plight

aboriginal boomerang promises harbinger,
whereby unbearable insufferable agony
will beget suicide, and/or violent behavior,
which haint right,
no boy birthed with Achondroplasia
rails lame excuse for beasts to subject

with atrocious, ferocious,
hellacious, malicious... mercilessness
comeuppance for venal wickness
will curse devilish fiendishly
gloating hooligans if not tonight...
what goes around comes around...
good riddance I write!
Form: Narrative

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