Long Poisoned Poems
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How am I
To live a meaningful life
In a world full of misery
Inhumanity and strife
To dodge all the pitfalls
That lead us all to sin
Knowing good and well
It’s a battle I’ll never win
How am I
To be able to cope
In a society full racism
And a world who’s lost hope
To be reassured of a future
Where mankind still has a place
On this planet we have treated
With devastation and disgrace
How am I
To give my children a chance
To surpass my expectations
Is there even a chance?
Will they be left with a planet
Raped and poisoned beyond all repair
A wasteland of religious hatred
Do we even really care?
How are “WE”
As a species expect to survive
If we all continue with the mind set
That only "MY" race and religion
Deserve to be alive.
I told women that I loved them to get them into bed.
I promised them marriage but I dumped them instead.
I was the world's biggest player and that's a fact.
But when I dumped one woman, I came to regret how she would react.
She lied and had me arrested when she said that I hit her.
When it came to making my life a living Hell, she was no quitter.
I came home one day and found both of my dogs dead.
She gave them poisoned food that killed them while they were being fed.
She admitted to me that she killed them to break my heart.
If I hadn't been a jerk, my life wouldn't have been falling apart.
I was in misery because I thought that she wouldn't stop.
She tried to burn down my house and she was arrested by the cops.
She's behind bars and she'll be there for awhile.
Women were nothing but conquests to me and that was vile.
My friends said that my ways would catch up to me; it's a shame that I couldn't have
foreseen it.
I'll never tell another woman that I love her unless I really mean it.
(THIS FICTIONAL POEM WAS INSPIRED BY THE 1996 FILM 'A THIN LINE BETWEEN LOVE AND
HATE.'
Like an ebony rose in a province
of ivory and golden flowers,
you poisoned each peaceful petal
with your senseless scent of death.
You were never just another floret.
Was I a fool to sow your seed in
hope your roots would grow strong,
portraying saffron scarlet hues with
an emerald stalk flourishing with
verdant leaves in serene sapphire skies.
When winds blew too boorishly,
I held your supple sepal with bamboo hands,
so your sunshine spirit would not perish
to toxic storms from organic forces.
I was willingly the earth to your foundations,
but your breaths became too bitter,
stinging in selfish stubborn sympathies,
as wild weeds strangled your stalk.
We could have nourished nectar with
hungry insects in need of nurture,
but your grudge left behind
broken bridges with a trail of
crumbling caterpillars seeking wings.
Cuts from your thorns remain,
ingrained as internal inflictions,
but still I plant bulbs to bloom.
To create an oasis of graceful charm,
where blossoms of compassion
softly soothe petals of pardon
in a garden of a wounded soul.
Forgiveness is a heavenly light.
A radiant beacon illuminating
through a canopy of trees,
eradicating shadows of hatred you
left behind like excessive weeds.
A melody of redemption whispers in
harmonious refrains breaking chains
of regret with burdensome pains.
To let go is like maturing buds
releasing the grip of timeless hate,
as my meadows are a symbol of a
divine mantra only welcoming peace.
Blasphemy
"The Truth will out."
- So say the sages.
Yet lies proliferate-
Pages and pages;
Though the nude Emperor parades,
Sans clothes and sense,
His adoring subjects embrace his charades
Trading reality for reassurance;
This is not a new occurrence.
We've been down this road before
And know where it must end.
It will drag us to enslavement, and finally to war.
The devout can never see
While their deceiver seems their friend,
As he with truth contends.
These times are dangerous
For souls like mine,
Who run against the swelling tide
Of those drunk on poisoned wine
Of prejudice and fear.
To call out the tin god
Becomes a blasphemy;
Invites a settling beneath the sod
For those who speak, like me.
Yet blaspheme I will,
Blaspheme I must -
Still a servant to public trust.
I will consume the bitter pill
Balancing the common lust
For simple answers, simple truths
Satisfying neo-Hitler youths.
So I must express truth to power
Though it fall upon truth-deafened ears,
Though my words drop down in this eleventh hour;
Staunch not true patriots' tears -
I must speak the truth, and damn the lies
That perfidy with sedition buys,
To subjugate a worthy, noble nation;
To keep us in a servile station.
In the hush between heartbeats—there, I found you,
A flame in the catacomb halls of my chest;
Where shadows like ravens clung tightly around me,
And sorrow had long made a sepulchered nest.
Your voice—oh, your voice!—like a bell ever tolling,
Through chambers of midnight, resounded my name;
And stirred what was buried, long silent, unknowing—
A soul half-consumed by its own waning flame.
To love—what a terror! what rapture unspoken!
A fever that dances ‘ between torment and bliss;
A chalice once tasted, forever unbroken,
Yet poisoned and sweet in the depth of its kiss.
And to be loved—ah! such perilous treasure,
A gaze that lays bare every tremor and scar;
A light that reveals both the wound and the pleasure,
Yet binds thee more tightly than iron bars are.
For passion, dear phantom, is no gentle guest—
It storms through the marrow, it shatters the will;
It crowns you with fire, then denies all the rest,
And leaves me in longing that time cannot still.
Yet still would I perish in love’s haunted keeping,
Than wander eternity hollow and numb;
For better one night where two souls are found weeping,
Than ages untouched where no heartbeat may come.
If sky is a sea of
fallen flowers
and dusty diamonds
glazed in red,
I’ll unfurl the
saffron sun within,
stretching sandalwood
arms of serenity,
upon gardens of
glistening grief,
with healing herbs
and soothing spices,
from greener grass
of life amidst sorrow.
For I can
move mountains
and secure trees,
to a therapeutic realm
where perfumed
petals never wilt.
While kindness I sow
shall sprout in hues
of warm honey and
raspberry dreams.
I am an
unshakable rose,
blooming from
roots of ruins,
facing fiery fangs of
the phasing tulip moon
above wildfires
of whirling woes.
This musky
spirit is timeless,
resembling the
flaming heart of
an untamable phoenix.
My silence soars
beyond mourning wolves;
ice blue eyes
of fleeting seasons.
And you, twin-star~
my sister I cannot
breathe without,
will forever be the reason,
I’ll wear this amethyst
sequined armor,
to sail through
ripples of rage,
like a floating candle
amidst eclipsed tides,
that shifts and sparkles,
while flickering eucalyptus elixir~
upon scentless tea lights.
So if tomorrow, clouds
above your
sleepless sanctuary
swing with poisoned rain,
to drizzle splinters upon
your bed of melancholy,
remember, I’ll find my way
to your unrhymed spheres,
steal perfectly metered
syllables of hope,
from the elysian above,
that sprinkles
champagne lunar-beams,
and I’ll weave
a curative poem
beneath the ink-less
canvas of acrylic dirt,
to calm your
midnight musings with
mellifluous metaphors.
I'm hurting inside,
My feelings are fried,
I've tried and tried,
Now I'm terrified.
I cried so many times,
Lied about my own crimes,
Hiding them in rhymes.
Priming my abilities,
To see through fallacies.
A disease I didn't ask for,
Yet my consent brings more.
It's been such a chore,
I don't want it anymore,
I'm poor and my body's sore,
They fed my core with lies,
My food is poisoned by dyes,
Pesticides decide the fate,
Of the vegetables I ate.
Feeding our vision full of hate,
Now no one wants to participate.
Trained straight through a TV,
They were programming me.
Making me think I was happy,
Now my body feels crappy,
I'm sappy and tired,
My system mis wired.
I fired the chiefs,
They were more like a thief,
Steeling your belief,
A false sense of relief,
Feeding us all grief,
Leaving us all hurting inside.
FURUHI, A LAMENT
(Based on a poem by a Japanese poet of the seventh century, Yamanoe Okura)
What in all the world is most desired?
The precious ores, the seven precious stones?
Yet what are these to one
whom Heaven gave its fairest pearl,
that gem love brought forth to day,
our son Furuhi, our little son?
O why did Heaven lend to us
its fairest jewel?
When the star of evening shone,
he wakened us, laughing, jumping,
and when the star of evening shone,
he lay between us, there to be
a lily cupped by two green leaves.
But like that short-lived flower,
his freshness faded, wilted, paled,
as he grew weak and sick upon his bed
until like bird of night death came
to snatch its prey.
O Lord of sky and earth, tell why
you, possessor of both realms,
took from this scant store our gem,
our most loved only flower.
And Lord of dark shades of night,
to whose realm of nothing falls
all the realms of being owned,
why did you seize with such unseemly haste
what in full time was yours with better grace?
What cause had you to deny
a little season's bliss?
O Lord of dreams and visions, why
did you, as though consoling, promise
to return to us our pearl
and let us see him smile again,
and let us hear his laughter as before,
at our waking, till cold reason
with vial of gall poisoned the cup of dawn
that we felt his death not once,
but again with each returning day?
O Lord whose name we do not know,
lead him gently and with parent's care,
or call us soon that as before
our shoulders bear him high.
I am The Artiste.
I draws lines by cutting carcasses, among other things.
I am the crazed dancer, down pouring a diaspora of red essence and entrails as I sporadically spin.
I am the antagonist; the anti-hero jester with a ricin covered knife.
It’s poisoned point thrusted through regal robes; to rest in the fief, flesh and fealty of the king and his knights.
Making a mosaic of the martyred by combat and tactical subterfuge; again and again enacting battles of attrition.
Each successive version of ourselves adjacent to the next, compartmentalized in seclusive panoramic positions held together by Gravitons.
Vacuumed by a stretched string in infinite dimensions; making an Omni-vector to temper the fool.
Ah but I am the axiom of chaotic-kinetic dynamism; I distort lattices and break symmetry.
I am the Goldstone boson & Majorana fermion, I am the Tachyon.
I command my Pions to intersect and form a Rho.
Regimented in units, they leer over fortified Dirac and Neumann boundaries.
A coalition of rebellious Quasi-patrons; under siege by Gauge Synchronicities and Eigenstates.
But I am still my own worst enemy; myself and my anti-self.
When living in a world reborn on God’s Sword & Shield, many of us are left on edge and apprehensive; but we will always die in God’s heart.
From there after our remains are gestated; by the womb of empty space & silence, the true Matriarch Mother of skies.
They poisoned almost everything
their grocery store could hold.
Where all they knew as additives
and modified was sold.
Then paid for politicians
to put labels on for mind.
That expedite designer death
through purchases in kind.
Then set their sites on living
as subscribed by heinous crime.
As they offered up to Health Care
their own sake on practiced dime.
That they all sublulved forsaken
for their faith in borrowed time.
As is all who gait by doctors
show their wait on serpent clime.
That the ones who rush on surgeants
only show their passion more.
As at heart to would stop halfway
af for sake and someone more.