Servility Poems

Dreams within Dreams

As my dream became lucid
I confront a two-sided mirror.
As my image in the mirror moved out of sync with me, 
I was forced to become the follower in the dance,
mirroring the reflected lead's every move.
I lost control and wondered who was real,
and who was the reflection, 
and who now pulled the strings.
I notice that the background in the image,
is not what is behind me.
The clock is 8 hours in the future.
It's daytime there, not my nighttime here.
I wonder who's awake? 
Whose dream am I in?
Who will wake up when this or that dream ends?
I move away to view the other side
of the mirror, and I'm alarmed to see
a very old man there that is clearly me!
I pinch myself, but I'm not awake.
I blink my eyes repeatedly to wake up.
I cry out in vain, but alas I cannot awaken.
I've fallen into someone else's dream
or into a dream I had before,
or one I've yet to have, in the future.
I'm lost in space and time, where things are not what they seem,
where lucidity is lost to servility, 
crashing out of control
tumbling in free-fall 
through the deluge of scattered befuddled dreams,
piling up like shadows detached 
in dead-end corners and stairwells.

A Simple Sonnet

A simple sonnet

The tramp, who sits on a low ledge, near the entrance of the 
modest supermarket that sells basic food fruit and vegetable
and to my surprise, has a good selection of wine, is ageless
The tramp- perhaps a wrong word- has a dark brown outdoor face, his hands a dark brown too, and the rest of him is covered in an old jacket and denim trousers.

He is reading a newspaper, eating from an open packet of biscuits and drinking from a bottle of water, our tramp doesn't do begging, but shoppers often give him foodstuff, apples and
bananas; which he acknowledged with a thank you but without servility; exudes a warm friendliness that soothed the many struggling with everyday life.

There is talk of closing down the relic from the eighties, after Christmas when the nice tramp disappears for a few weeks

Hypnotic Seed

If I where but a flower
I would completely overpower 
Passion exploding upon slow motion 
Burst forth gently, inducing satisfaction 
Numbing pain, exuding pleasure, irresistible 
Wafting flow, perfumed, appealing to desirability 
Inexorable heavenly, stimulating senses, comforting 
Hypnotic colours, psychedelic, evincing on persuasiveness 
Lose yourself in me, find servility, you so want to be mastered 
There is only one sweet moment, give in, indulge inequities 
Explore taboo feelings, ride the storm, I’ll set you free
Allow my scent to saturate, permeate, predominate
Don’t try understand, succumb, let it happen 
Relax unwind, in my redolent splendour 
It cannot be sinful, for nobody cares
Nature does not judge, but gives
Never forget my essence 
Have I not touched 
Sheer fantasy 
Pointedly 


If I Were A Flower Poetry Contest
Sponsored by mystic Rose Rose
01/02/2021

I Entered the Interdicted Land

I entered the interdicted land
Where she lived
I heard the murmur of the silence 
And she had had those with endearment

Since those Days
I could not apart myself from her longing servility
I saw her spoke to the mystic sky 
I saw her bathing in amidst the greenery
I saw her spoke to herself and cold death
And one day she said to me death can not kiss her unless her soul disappears

I entered the interdicted land
Where she lived with the bush of poems...

Mukut Ali

Totenkopf

Non-forfeiting my troth, in bonny and buxom, I believed.
What good is too good? And why is better, better than worse? 
Given the first beginnings I merge intuition with silence,
And form my own variant of “das Weltspiel”, as I deny
The realm of Earth and Heaven, and the realm of God and Man.
The progeny of thought, pliant but plum, with no falsity,
Purified by a jaunt of far and beyond, thenceforth
From a beginning to an end, shines in this darkness,
So strenuous in the pleasures of conviction,
Overwhelming and powerful, almost a daemonic proclivity 
Towards the duty to produce evil that destroys goodness.
The unrest is raising to overthrow the slavery reigning in the heart,
The slavery that is wearing the Totenkopf , so proud, and so it is!
I want to stop the cant I hear. Full of devilish malignity, the cant
Of a false scruple, in the world of no clear direction.
How one achieves it, if good is too good? If better is better than worse!
O, I have no predestined servility towards tolerance,
And I will passion and protest and be protestingly passionate,
In my own dimension of reality, frigidly judicious, as an old faith.

Nature

World stills of nature's hospitality
showing modesty and humility.
Sunlight dapples the hill's locality
winking through pines peace and tranquility.

A living, breathing, viability
cascading aquatic agility,
fluttering independent entity,
shine purely within the vicinity.

Dark trees, ferns, await dawn's stability
alive in amazing facility.
Birds sing providing audibility.

Brilliance with mental capability,
My mind's eye exceeds my ability
course the utmost responsibility
becoming a part of me willingly.

Warm seasons ebbing a reality,
winter will follow in servility.



5/27/2018

Fair Weather Friend

Fair weather friend,
Thou art a beguiling trench
So deep your carvings burrow
That the gorge, like a ghost's cravenly respite,
Stares at my face every morn and night,
And I, a childless brazen woman,
Wander along the narrow path of servility
Of fear and pain,
And the nuances of passion
Has desiccated my body
To a state of apathy
That is forever succumbing 
To what is known as the murderer of happiness.



Copyright © Iman Roy

Bitter Truths

Bitter Truths



How much of bitterness is truth we cannot swallow.
The acridity of words held idle for too long, fermenting
in the cauldron of conceit, the spoils of victory flaunted
in feigned servility.  What scales measure life against
life, gain against greater gain, success against success?
Can we not savor the sweetness of another’s gifts
without coveting them, bathing them in our envy,
sullying them with our rancor?  Could we not applaud
the valor and perseverance of the triumphant, revel
in a rivalry well played, tip our equally soiled cap,
nod in an appreciation of a job well done?
Must the fist of failure pummel all who do not win,
remove the joy of competition’s camaraderie,
negate the lessons learned, the hours shared,
diminish the successes in setting and
eclipsing goals and gains.  Does not the acrid stench
of final gun fade, slowly drifting on a passing breeze?
Why must the truth hold bitter still, unable to accept
the success in every failure and the failure in
disparaging success.


John G. Lawless
1/17/2014

9-2-5

The job is done.

Then why am I here.

Doing time for mans crime.

Paying homage to time.


Man once only knew the sunrise and the sunset.

The passing of the seasons was just a joyous celebration.

We did not know chaos ruled our lives.

We had no time; we only knew we were alive.

Out of this came a new reality.

Man discovered servility.

He invented numbers to count his flock.

He invented the calendar to know when to plant his crop.

And to know when to prey he invented the all powerful clock.

Who know we’d end up worshiping it instead.

Now with time organized we thought we had it.

But we still don’t know what it really is.


For the crime of nurturing civilization.

Man is now a prisoner of his own emancipation.

In this modern fast moving age.

We are free in many ways.

But in our structured cage.

We pass our numbered days.

Body of Christ

Silence is the ultimate
In the praise's of the Lord
           -------
It seeps' of servility
         And tremble's
With authentic unbothered 
          Change
          -------
But with Servility
Fore He hath given us      
         So much
For so long and so fully
           --------
Well I commend thee
I give to Him all the praise's
           And the dominion
Over man fore it is His privy

 ---- Never the Less ----

I shall give unto Him all of my
       Abidance in being
   Hail to all that which is His
In-order that I may be
   Sanctimoniously entangled
        And enthralled
     Fore I am at His feet



Gary Fields
Poet/Author





From: "The Cross"
          Xlribis.com  book #106627
          Rev.  (NOV2013)

Death of a Prince

* The life of a child called Jesus......

Blessed are the people
           -Fore-
Voice's rang out
Ringing in prayer
The scream and they shout
            ----
Earth doth shutter miracle's
        Servility and care
A quiver of sensation
Fill's the air
            With
Muffled sound's of deliverance
With broad morning gloom
For the birth of a child
Whom which died too soon
          ----
In the morning of strife
A quiet settle stillness
      Filled the room
He dared to shed the light
          Fore time
It was much too soon
           ----
With a evening made
        Of forgiveness
He filled das empty 
       Tomb

              GF

Body of Christ

Silence is the ultimate
In the praises' of the Lord
      It seeps' of servility
         And trembles'
With remote authentic'
Unbothered change
              -
  But with Servealty
              -
Fore He hath given us
         So much
For so long and so fully
 Well, I commend thee
I give to him all the praise
           And the dominion
Over man fore it is his privy
                 -
         Never the less
                 -
I shall give unto him all of my
            Abidance in being
Hail to all that which is His
In-order that I may be
Sanctimoniously entangled
       And enthralled
                 -
Fore I am at your feet


                GF

Salvation

Life above expectation
Was just my imagination
   With the equal
Of servility with a
Hardy expectation
But, then my Soul
Was cast
And laid to being
Reviled anew

          GF

Body of Christ

Silence is the ultimate'
In the praise of the Lord
It seeps' of servility
And trembles'
With remote authentic'
Unbothered, unchanged
Severalty
Fore Hee hath give me
So much,
For so long and so fully'
That well,
I commend thee
I give him all the praise
And the dominion
Over man fore it is his privy
Non-the-Less
I shall give unto him all of my
Abidance in being
Sanctimoniously entangled
Fore I am at his feet

GF

Split Personality

God-given Package, I'm weak,
Strong mentally, but matters physique,
Endure insult, to haughty meek,
Urchin servility, the reluctant beak!

Fury pressurized, wrath submerged, 
Luck withdrawing, ego gulped,
Jealousy fostered, though sanity burped,
Bearing, enduring, a character developed!

A violent being develops indside, 
Emerging obscene, nothing to abide,
The silent sacrifices, virulent when unified,
The two beings characteristically colide!

The meek ogre, that's an identity,
The vulnerable resistance, that is tenacity,
Antagonistic personalities, that is duality,
Accepting presence, a reticent alacrity!

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