("Untitled - The Eye of Jihad", 2019, original encaustic)
Love is Love - and other absurd truisms
“Love is love” is like “Follow your bliss”
a way to deflect the moral agency
and subsequent consequence of our desires
with vague equivalency.
It’s like all love and bliss is somehow equal,
which is absurd.
What if my bliss comes from destroying yours?
Or I love abducting, raping, slicing and dicing
then barbecuing
the infant you love…?
Where is the moral equivalence?
This is why the Golden Rule sounds great
up until you are up against a masochist.
And the world today is apparently filled with masochists.
But it’s all good…
At least it feels good,
to think we are all the same, all equal
in what we love and cherish.
The truth is we aren’t.
We may all be made of the same dust,
but that doesn’t make us equal.
Meanwhile the world turns,
a hit soap-opera
in its nth season
spinning relentlessly
a veritable Wall of Death
which in its shocking extreme
delivers some kind of perverse pleasure.
It may not be bliss,
or even what we love,
but it’s certainly captivating.
(11/1/23)
When do we knock off?
Home offices, not for toffs,
I stagger to the desktop,
Yikes, another job!
Guess it won't take me long,
Piss off my phone, should be my song,
We can afford gas for cars vehicular,
But not allowed anywhere particular,
So, we work in the home office,
Jobs designed for masochists!
Shadorma Form:
Turning tides
know nothing of my
nightmares, still
they seem to
manifest them every day;
reality’s stage.
Each rolling
wave, playing out its
scenes with such
vigilance
so as to traumatize me
again and again.
I order,
torture me no more!
Yet deaf waves
continue;
gyroscopic fingers that
fondle my psyche.
Tripping through
corridors of mind
invasive
liquid thieves
such abusive masters who
enslave my spirit.
I have a
way of dealing with
such beastly
masochists
I swim swiftly away on
golden prayer rafts.
sadist-masochists
follow the golden rule
do unto others
realistically
it's the war mentality
that haunts religions
Hypocritical, unethical, selfish, and unlearned
Under developed use of our overstated minds
Militant masochists tend to rule this world
Antagonistic especially towards our own people
Narcissistic insight concerning the global scale
Intelligence is wasted instead of being shared
Tragedy encompasses us forever the witch hunt
Yesterday's life lessons are learned nowhere
11/12/17
Written for contest: "Humanity/Acrostic"
Won 3rd Place in Contest Results
If we can’t manage face to face,
There still are ways of touching base.
Email, snail mail, text or phone
Help to make us less alone.
Though, of course, when we reach out,
An answer’s what it’s all about.
When none comes through, we wonder why,
Especially as time goes by.
The end result is we are left
Annoyed, let down or else bereft
Which makes me think those touch-base tools
Are used by masochists or fools.
At times when life seems full of ****
and you are growing tired of it,
when joy's been torn from out your soul
and left you feeling far from whole.
It's then that you, and you alone
can find another pathway home,
forget the hand that you've been dealt
and all life's blows below the belt.
Take all the misery and pain
and change it into lifelong gain,
Just like masochists all do,
laugh at those who would hurt you.
For they're not worthy of your kind
don't ever let them bend your mind,
if only bad things pave your way
don't let just 'luck' control your day.
The new pathways, that you’ll then take,
should bring forth laughter from heartache.
For this is how life's battle's won,
through all life's pains…still have some fun!
Ivor G Davies
I never flinched with I felt
the needle sink
into my skin.
Love is for masochists
and I was tattooing an image
of Forever in my mind.
Even when the tears stained
like blood
on my bed sheets and pillowcases,
I pushed through the pain.
And now silence somehow fills
the spaces where
“I love you”s danced much too freely
and for far too long.
These thoughts of us
are nowhere close to killing me yet;
they chain my limbs,
only binding me to
you
more than ever.
I wanted to write you
the same love poem today,
but I forgot the words.
As I began to
etch them onto paper,
my fingertips grew
heavy, and
nostalgia crept in
like a lonely cadaver
on a stainless steel platter.
I've been writing
the same poem for
too many years,
and the butterfly of my heart
has finally folded
in
on
itself.
There's gonna be a Freaker's Ball,
tonight at the Freaker's Hall.
Everyone's invited one and all,
so come on ladies grease your lips
grab your hats and swing your hips
and don't forget to bring your whips.
I'll take you to the Freaker's Ball.
Blow your whistle, bang your gong,
roll up something to take along.
It feels so good it must be wrong.
Freaking at the Freaker's Ball.
All the fags and the dikes are boogying together.
Leather freaks are dressed in all kinds of leather.
The greatest of the sadists and the masochists too
screaming "Please hit me and I'll hit you!"
The FBI is dancing with the junkies
and all of the straights are swinging with the funkies
across the dance floor and bouncing off the walls.
We're all freaking at the Freaker's Ball.
Hard hats and long hairs are kissing each other,
mother with daughter, son with mother.
Smear my body up with butter
and take me to the Freaker's Ball.
Pass that roach and pour the wine.
I'll kiss yours if you'll kiss mine.
I'm a gonna boogie till I go blind
freaking at the Freaker's Ball.
anyone else would be hard pressed
to find an 8x8 that brought with it
stronger bars, harder concrete,
less sustenance provided &
a bed that would put the iron maiden to
shame,
when it comes to the prison of the self---
how much hate can go into the energy it takes
to relive the moments that have already passed,
only to beat oneself up
again & again,
as if this time around,
something new, some kind of clue as to why
one acted in such a manner,
will pop out & make it all clear
so that suddenly some kind of closure, or
some kind of calming of the mind will
arrive---
rather, it is all the faces from the past that continue to plague the
present &
all the sands of time that travel through the cupped hands
now dry, cracked & wrinkling,
without a moment’s pause
as those around said
mental
memory producing
masochists
tremble & wither throughout their days
tremble & wither
as the fragility within shows on the outskirt of that very skin
doing its best to
hold it all in---
but if you look ever so closely in the eyes
you can see the bars themselves &
a person dying in the corner
of that very cell,
unforgotten &
unforgiven.
Sinners are winners,
and vice-versa
Killing the willing
and you don’t wash your hands
Doing bad ‘cause you’re sad
such bulls***, I say
We are sadists and masochists
just because we like to be
Practicing pain in bloodstains
on your carpet of lies
Sexing and hexing
is all wicked fun
What a shame is life’s game
but I just can’t stop
Living.
god, made in mans illusion
our egocentric minds create
deities of grand delusion
or of demonizing enemies
up before we find our cause
totalitarian reign of gods
or democratic masochists
finding naught but disappointment
together bound somnambulists
heretical self rightousness
ever bring faithful relief
machinations or delusions
always shifting to belief
crusading fanatics, blindly follow
him with nothing more to gain
i have forsaken you
never to find faith again
every time we need a monster
Love is an authority.
It dictates choice and consequence
and joins together all the wayward lamenters
who grieve at their loss of purity.
Love is an actuality.
It breathes new life into masochists
who wished to die a thousand times over
and prey upon the weak and fragile.
When you let love in at first, it may seem out of place,
like a foreign object lodged in your chest, a parasite
feeding on the brains of its host, thriving in darkness,
blood-letting leeches drain this swollen heart...
But love does not enforce kindness; only offers a gentle reminder
for anyone who's forgotten how great it feels
to give for the sake of giving
and not be afraid of his own shadow.
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