Rain
I like Rain, not hard angry rain with an attitude
who was neglected ,by the mother cloud and
its hate shows hatred who has nothing do do
to do towards it misbegotten infanthood
No. I'm not thinking o soft rein
And nature still has a moment, denied by
the dampness of my skullcap
I''m jus a spectator who wants to go home 1
The Big House
I could not live in a house with many people
Voices at all hour of the day, no privacy, the precious moment
When the world rolls slower, and I can hear time`s clock tick
In a house full of people, there is a din of violence to come
And whispering sin at night
Flushing toilets, subbing feet
The tears of the misbegotten, those who are cheated on
Drunken brawl screams and police sirens.
TV that is full of banalities
Every news program feels the same, recycled from the same supplier, adding to the sense of sameness and dullness that fills the house.
To live in a house full of people must be very lonely
With no time for reflection
Adjectival expansion:
describing the resident
of the Executive Mansion:
I give you, the President …
mean, obscene,
rotten, misbegotten,
rough-hewn, jejune,
numb, dumb,
rude, lewd,
sadistic, hubristic,
orange-dyed, red-tied,
frightful, spiteful,
greedy, weedy,
grim, dim,
crabby, flabby,
freely-swearing, diaper-wearing,
furious, incurious,
sallow, shallow,
benighted, indicted,
painted, tainted,
addicted, convicted.
overcast
I like rain, not angry rain with an attitude
neglected by the mother cloud and take revenge
for its misbegotten infancy
lashing those who sought peace and the promise
of forever, with ice blasts
soft rain that feels like a caress, a day in June
Drips from my blue umbrella feel like kisses from
a long-time lover
overcast
I like rain, not angry rain with an attitude
neglected by the mother cloud and take revenge
for its misbegotten infancy
Lashing those who sought peace and the promise
of forever, with ice blasts
soft rain that feels like a cares, a day in June
Drips from my blue umbrella feel like kisses from
a long-time lover
It speaks of loss and vermilion
It speaks of everything and eternity
Shadows reek of dead things n burnt dreams
Shadows hide the faces of the world
The truth from the light, the madness
In houses of civility, things of industry
In the deepest night, shadows linger, creep
Shadows cover our misbegotten deeds
It speaks of loss n suffering
All hidden things in plain sight
Of oblivions needs, righteous creed
Shadows speak; truth where lies flower
Shadows speak, righteous riddles
Shadows reek of decay, lost power
It speaks of the past in vermilion hues
It speaks of everything, eternity n deities
Shadows reek of dead things n burnt leaves
Shadows hide the faces of the world, sublime!
Anointed by God to rule the land
Yet brags where he places his molesting hand
Let us love one another, all children of God
Yet puts proxies before a firing squad
The Lord he praised and the Bible he thumped
Yet adherents of the Word neither phased nor stumped
Turn to God when forgiveness you seek
Yet replies NO, never shall I be unmanly/meek
In the eyes of God, we are all alike
Yet the misbegotten can all take a hike
Obey my command and I’ll offer benevolence
As I give E pluribus unum a whole new relevance
God hath anointed His faithful avatar for you
Yet now go and do as I say, not as I do
A mask
Cracked but standing
Not fallen
Yet hollow
Eyes etched into the ruins
Trapped between what remains
And what has been lost
Thoughts through the rift,
A mouth, open yet voiceless
Whispers out of place
Where the winds speak no name
And stone withers memory
Interwoven
Thorns crawl heavenward
Meek n determined
Reaching to spires, un-obtained
Faded into ash
Once a kingdom
It, without words
spire now shadow
Piercing what remains
Purpose forgotten
weight of eternity
Something misbegotten
Into fractured skin
Behind the mask, eyes stare
Fighting the stains
darkness lingers
Eyes, hollow they are,
Beyond the ruin keep
Beyond the walls of time
Beyond the veils of sleep
I pity the refugee’s road of flight,
the children of the shanty and the gun
who on all humanity are a blight -
who die or live unto be an orphan.
I pity the meagre, the forgotten
who a crisis of ravages endure,
whose fate is that of the misbegotten
and whose need is now, real, grave, just, and raw!
I pity the terrorised, the wartorn,
the sacked and conquered that bury their dead -
the child bride, the child slave still to be born
and alas the lost soul already bred.
I pity the brave girl I used to know
and wonder dreadfully where did she go?
Written: August 2006
You said, "trust me, until death do us part",
But your plans were misbegotten.
Do you think that I've forgotten?
You said, "I'll always be your faithful love",
Yet I smell a fish gone rotten.
You must think that I'd forgotten.
You told me, "I will be forever true",
But to some things I can't cotton.
And you, dear, I have forgotten.
the smithy was empty
and the tree near it had fallen
and no one had expected it
the sunken sun had made a stand
with desperate gaiety
swept through sleep
to break the night
The Autumn children
like caged birds
counted the crocus stalks
and for footfalls of a misbegotten
soothsayer
Staring at the stars in the sky
Hollow heart,cast under the shadow of love
Forgotten, downtrodden
Castaway,the fate of the misbegotten
Cursed to wander the desert of the unloved
Thirst and hunger through the mist of eternal pain
Starved of amourity
The biting darkness,my old friend.
Thinking of Thanksgiving Day
And its required feast
Makes me think it’s time to say
Which things I like the least.
For giving thanks for what we’ve got
Is kind of getting old,
Since there is much we hate a lot,
If I can be so bold.
Like a certain politician
Calling his opponents “vermin,”
Reminiscent of the disposition
Of a certain German.
Or protests lately in the news
With hostages forgotten
And blame set only on the Jews,
In speeches misbegotten.
Or keeping guns but banning books
And spreading lies much faster
Than it can take to stop the crooks
From causing more disaster.
Or watching as our planet aches,
Despite each expert’s warning,
Repeating all those past mistakes,
Preparing us for mourning.
I could go on but I will not,
Yet gathered ‘round the table,
I’ll ban these thoughts and find a spot
For thanks, if I am able.
Dark denizens of the night
gathering in ill-lit backrooms
haunts of the night
They tease each other with
rouged cheeks, their mascara
their pimply breasts, shaved legs
Some are known for tantalizing
tempting striptease, revealing
hairy chests and knobby knees
Their hardened faces greeting poor
unsuspecting 'straights,' who, horrified
run screaming off into the night
And now the Left has lumped these
misbegotten sickos of the night
in with today's 'civil rights movement'
of transgenders, kweers, and worse
too debauched to describe, to be
celebrated in 'Drag Queen Shows'
in our public libraries, where America introduces
her precious youngsters into the fraudulent
creepy cabals of Satanism, endorsed by 'leaders' gone mad
I could prove a point thought misbegotten,
For long years packaged as Flatly Rotten,
I myself judged a spiritual loser;
Indeed, an Abhorrent option chooser!
But why, God had said so: "Esau I hate."
So, all his damned mistakes had flowed from Fate
"What's my birthright to me now that I'm dead?"
One, who just in the morning, had not fed!
"Right, agreed, you're Esau, then call Jacob"
Lion Jacob would have turned helpless cub!
Why hadn't Isaac Dad remembered this?
Lord God had that moment blocked Wisdom's kiss!
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