We are moved by the poems of a master writer,
And try to write poetry ourselves.
Yet it does not come easily.
Swearing friendship with the soul of the dead,
In the end, we fail to sever ties.
You have profaned the sacred poem,
You have defiled yourself.
Do you not know?
In the end, you are merely a stagnant being rotting together
In the dead water of a well.
To have tried to birth a poem from that very place?
Even the day-fly born there
Perishes together within an unseen furnace.
Only by finally breaking ties with the eternal friend
Can we see the truth of you and me.
"Rather than a bee going wild over the scent of honey,
Become a butterfly!"
Some theorists say
that consciousness pervades
all of creation. I get a sense
they could be right, that at some
profound level, a common awareness
sits at the metaphorical centre of the cosmos
and connects to the human soul.
Mostly I am deaf to its whispers,
drowned in the volume of my own noise
and yet I know it is there when I manage
to quieten the voices within, find a place
where earth, water and sky meet,
somewhere not profaned by greed,
perhaps a secluded beach
or a sacred path deep in a forest where
the soft murmurings of a pebbled creek
becomes a voice for the wider universe.
I would like to think such places
speak to me and that I become a part
of that voice resonating in air, trying to turn
the ordinary, the flawed, into prayer.
Ghostly, shadow on shadow;
Evening, draped in lace.
By Moon's loveliness, her own
Amplified is now.
Silent whose slipping by flow
Is cool to the touch.
Dear, feel you profaned, yelled through;
Peace to whom did vow!
On a shard stretched of incomprehensible narrow, tight and wide,
a silent strident laugh I often forbade-allowed myself,
it's the ordered chaos indescribable, the howling clang
of hermit tear struck in a shattered version,
habitual miracle of screaming silence, poor wealth,
fulfilled-unfulfilled love in the sweet cruel pain,
embalmed wound of your gentle-cruel smile, deep-smooth,
chasm full of filling, lady-lord, speak silently,
divinely mortal, thus unfulfilled-complete, mute song
of swan terribly gentle, of angel broken-whole,
white-black of the cursed one blessed in forgetting-remembrance...
I long without longing, dying alive, lucid foolish thoughts,
perpendicular parallel equations, humble pride of ladies
rubicund-pallid, prostituted icons holy-profaned,
fierce cold embraced I feel in ribs empty full,
our loves lonely-together, I have spring-summer
frozen-inflamed, satisfied hunger for warm winter,
autumns with dry rains of sleet falling upward,
that fly-frozen calm torrents toward fields
hermit-populated, our stars extinguished-lit,
sky-earth, living death from the empty-full mind,
your caress burning-cold, my life confirms-denies!
And I know, from freedom and by fate,
that the sky will weep upon us, Kohl in tears of virgins who has never taste,
the night that caste the shadows of its veil upon our decayed flaws on sand,
Glory remains the struggle to embracing a sent of belonging to a homeland,
The sorcery in your eyes steals the soul, I swear by my sacred-self and the Ghoul,
The roses I once plucked withered, burning, turning, sacrifices to my widowed,
Your burdens plant upon my back the weight of the past, once thought to last
Your wounds stain my hands with the blackness of guilty blood and dirty mud
And I realize that I am utterly ignorant of the holiest meanings of purity,
that I have profaned the sacred—
and if there is possibility to piety, it will mess my sanity and rip my dignity.
A sharpie--clutched in an iron fist.
Backed by barbed wire justice.
And noose-tight legislation.
Masked police… across the nation.
Surveillance towers.
And military powers.
Voices stifled.
Bayoneted rifles.
Distrust.
Fear.
Both--far and near.
A Republic—shattered.
Her people--battered.
Liberty--locked and chained.
A Constitution--so profaned.
Justice…locked neath bureaucratic bars.
Political corruption--leaving scars.
Across the land I once defended--
My heart is broken.
And unmended.
I live trapped in a basket of predators,
their skulls crammed with futile idleness.
They celebrate misery like a morbid feast,
with the suicidal arrogance of heirs to nothingness.
The flames of humanity have burned away
in the abyss of their barren souls.
They worship the anarchy of weapons,
I see nothing but fields of ruins.
Their battles are the masquerades of capital,
poverty spreads across the Earth like a plague,
and the closeness of deprivation becomes a nightmare.
I spit upon their rotten idols,
those false sanctities with profaned orifices.
I have piled up sins to taste the ecstasy of raw freedom.
Born from the wounded entrails of the Third World,
I refuse to bow before the putrefaction of consumerism.
Free from the origin, yet prisoner of a banana republic
delivered to the savage plunder of predatory empires.
I fight my demons in the trenches of the mind
to adorn my reality with fleeting mirages of this convulsive world.
They consign me to the dungeons of their alienation,
but I rise, insurgent against their servitude.
A sentence or two, nothing more.
Five rhymes, and then back out the door.
A meter that’s strained,
Some topic profaned:
Ah me! What’s a limerick for?
the public thoroughfare
pummeled, profaned
verbal fists rumble from
amped-up throats...
a generation or two
with nothing better to do
than scream at the intersection
of decline and decay
The voice of one
Crying in the Glade:
We are not safe,
We are being molested
And assaulted sexually;
We are not safe here,
We have sex without consent;
Angry dogs in the society
Have taken away our
Sexual prerogatives:
Our marriage privileges
Have been profaned,
Our future is in jeopardy:
The girl child screams:
Save us, oh Lord!
Protect us from the
Hands of these angry dogs
Were I enamored by a pleasant fragrance,
like a magnet, I would draw sniffers to me.
If I were covered with filth, I would draw flies.
A profaned loud mouth would draw angry ears.
A childhood friend drew many girls to himself.
On the other hand, they showed no interest in me.
I inquired of him a reason for the difference.
He said, "Some guys have it; some guys don't".
To my annoyance, he never said what he had.
And I only knew that I did not have 'it'.
I think 'it' was some innate magnetism.
Perhaps he had no idea what 'it' was.
I only knew that magnetism was inside of him.
He didn't put 'it' there and couldn't give 'it' to me.
101222PSCtest, Our Innate Magnetism.
Unseeking Seeker
I can see that The Holy Bible
Has not Good Words it kept for Libel:
Whoever has been badly defamed
To not feel like Our Lord ‘The Profaned’
I sort of spot in Holy Bible
The Faces of Men that did it scribble;
One or Two free with their emotions,
The Rest Inclining to God’s Notions …
I reckon The Forgiveness Command
Wants to Man confine to Mercy Land
And that it is a Grim Injunction
That brooks no Audacious Infraction …
A Sad Mathematics in Bible:
Christ’s stated Seventy Times Seven,
To the Aggrieved quite describable
In terms of An Unfeeling Heaven …
The Hard-kicking portions of Bible
Are its Ever Scary Hell Fires
Which their Happy Writers did scribble;
Still guilt after lawyers one hires;
I’d want not The Forgiveness invoked
And dying to hear The Hell revoked.
Whether it is now some folks’ habit
Or a lifestyle to try a bit,
You should begin to inhibit
The thoughtless actions others exhibit...
For here in Ariel we actively prohibit
Lovers having to cohabit
And should be the last to simply sit
While lovers below the belt chastity hit
Making the still-not-profaned their teeth grit.
I was alone
in here I found a crowd
I was scared
in here there was courage, strength they said
Strengths to harm and kick and maim and kill
Drown the world in petroleum soaked rage
Napalmistry is a real study
I, a vigilant student
I follow orders because alternatives are worse hells
drink deep. Drink true from 'god's' well
Drink fast! We have a story tell.
Match in tikis
how big were we?
Big guns equals big hearts, do you feel me?
Call you foul but your soul is white
Snow-blinded and numbed to remember the crash
Shhhhh I am too hungry load my bullet sash
Suited up for dinner just to dine on trash
Happily, orgasmically, hypocritically share like-minded high-fives
What fast times in this Ridgemont high
O what a time to be alive
To kill what I profaned, abused and stole
Goya's last six in dirty milk bottles
Down the hatch ideological Propofol
Diprivan-infused day-meres sending
Misquoted whispers bent out shape
That glorify the fear in my heart of things unknown
Fear fear fear
Hurt hurt hurt
Kill kill kill
I am afraid now.
I am scared
Please. Help!
I don't know how I got here
But I know
I am scared.
Discordant scissors cuts a ribbon
Pleasure of a man destroys
Nature bows to indiscretion
Reality deceit deploys
With glee, they break the ground
To set an edifice to man’s ambition
Forever ruined with proposition
Field and flowers sacrificed
Breached to bent insanity
Evolves a place profaned
Glowering graceless vanity
Imprisons the insane
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