Dialectical Improprieties (The Razing Of The Kaleidoscope)

Bludgeoning the pursuit

Parabola in disrepute

Lies, shills, burning through

Core amendments digress

Upon a lot of all things hirsute

Every day problems magnify with poverty

Every illness is a damning edict, a death

Sentence, when you cannot medicate, a

Torment to live in such an infernal state

Aspect telemetry

A vision of Gethsemane

Hypnogogic resumes

Bio-energetic mediums

Served cold by flustering hypocrisies

Wretched septet

Barbarian bee

Caustic diadem

Procurer of persistently consistent migraine economies

Tamping down what could have been

In some other facet, convoluted by and then stirred to ease digestive properties…. wistful preoccupations or

Another enduring scapular placed upon

The neck bone of an otherwise removed staple of productivity

Robe—unworthy

For these genes—

False representative to the sea—

Waving to the minions below,

Bellowing inconsiderately

At his entourage, who cast

The vain impression, that

They are far above the

Polities of repressiveness

Forced frenetic scapegoat cur

Born of a plebe with better bite than bark

Star-Howl-Moon-Hollow

Kindred kiss,

Like kissing yourself, but better, much, much better

Kismet is stolen

Fate is betrothed to the enemy of wherewithal

And the bushes are on fire,

The damn bushes are on fire…again…what the…

Coalesce in my arms

Heal as my aura rebuilds you as you were,

Perfect, in ever sense

And if you choose to live—indeed it’s life you’ll have—

Free of debt, there’ll be no chains, no entitlements, no

Rigors latched to blame, no dirty shackles constraining flow,

Nothing, nothing like that at all…just free, forever free, to go as far or near, as high or low, whenever, wherever—even if those places don’t include me

And if you choose to die—I will grieve so much; the tears will smother the ceilings with their ebbs and tides…

Unrefined Opinions

listen to ‘Unrefined Opinions’ on Audioboo

An indentation fixed upon

Those spliced agendas

         Too often ignored

By salutations bred in happenstance,

An uneasy gullet appears, stirring forth an awkward shuffling of

         Distracted feet

“I think I’ll have Chinese”

“sounds great…ooh, I’m

getting the California roll”

“uhh…ok”

Sometimes it’s best not to offer penance when there is not a scar to erase—

Sometimes it’s best to allow the errors come back naturally, rather than explaining away some insignificance…

Tell that to the Japanese….

Tempura right

Sake

Damn ignorance is like a jackknife into a pool of rocks

But, it’s an offense even the most cautious and

Deliberate must at some time defend—

         Which of course

Does not absolve the responsibility stirred

In restitution’s anti-trust…

         It most certainly doesn’t exonerate one from their bigotry, just because one was born that way, taught that way, only lived a life in an environment as such….for if it did

         Well then we’d wind up with too many jackasses on parade, evil so and so’s dancing about with equality’s severed head dangling from a blood soaked hand—

                                    And all of our disgust will swiftly wipe away with a singular flash of that mentos smile…glimmering in obnoxious pools of blissful unconsciousness

         Only to awake the next sunrise

Wondering where the throbbing brow was first born

         And when the recognition finally sifts the clues together, pasting the picture back to whole…the nausea hits

and overcompensation seems the natural recourse—which

will seem forced, be out of character, out of place—thusly

it’ll seem false—which, of course, it is…not the actions necessarily, but the motives behind them, and I sit here then, wondering, which type of bigotry is worse…

There’s no easy answer

Lengthy deliberation will

undoubtedly paint some foul

corners—and

sometimes, it’s just best

to shut up and seem cold and uncaring—

which, of course, you can write off as being afflicted by demons you’re trying to sort out, or you are going through a bad patch, depression has a hold on you, yadda yadda yadda, and the like, all viable reasons, but those ready to condemn you, don’t care about what got you to where you are, they just want someone, anyone to blame…they want a goat, so once again, they can be reassured when they look in the mirror—

an epiphany delivers

it’s message, loud and clear

         like a drop of blood

                  in a lake so clear….

The Long Wok….of a short peer

listen to ‘The Long Wok….of a Short Peer’ on Audioboo

Behold and Lo,

Main, streets strip silt

from foreign lips—refreshing

lost convenience

Snuggling gainst

the wall, where a

deep fried tomb

gathers hot

by approximation,

in combinatory zest

appeal—enough for

many, if shared by

all

Too soon did show

the face of greed’s

remorseful duty

Oil fires firm to

scaled temperament—coveting

clarity, curving

appetite

So many you say?

Lost long where to whom shall fodder find a friend…

And, why is that so?

Precisely because of plethora put plainly…plausible pleas persisting purposely under problematic plains of perplexity…

Surely not so simply—when can one honestly recall facility without a frown,

As to wipe clean the

sauciness of a greasy flagellation—teeming rather ominously gathering

in the sink below?

If not then why, if not why then what, if not what then how, questions

linger in strands so long, that the boiling can only appropriate a section of the man…

When the coma sparks

only pray you now, to know

nutrients seep slow

When the coma sparks

only pray you now, to know

nutrients seep slow

Nutrients seep slow

only pray you to know now

when the coma sparks

Nutrients seep slow

only pray you to know, now

when sparks, the coma

Sizzle…sizzle…sizzle…smell of soy

sizzling, fresh chicken amongst colorful wonderments of a natural field…yummm….Thanks, for having me

over

for

dinner…

A Voice

It's Tuesday once again.  With it comes another edition of Open Link Night over at D'Verse.  This week Joe Hesch is your host.  Stop on over to D'verse and read a wide variety of awesome poetry and even submit one of your own.

I've also linked this poem, by request (Thank you:) ) to Victoria"s Poetry Site Liv2Write2Day

A voice may sound,

Loud or soft, 

sweet or stern,

A voice may crackle

Or it might display-

Ambrosial melodies,

Taking the ear

To dreamlike states

A voice may move the room in multiform

From lugubrious intonations to thernodial tics of speech

A voice may swim the stars multitudinously far

From anapestic accentuation to dactylic steps in time

Each word blessing air

A symphony of joy-

Or an elegiac affair

Manifold interpretations abound in all things

Illustrated in history, frozen for eternity

A myriad of experience sung just so

A voice is alive, a living abstract of the being

Possessing its own mark on space entwined

A voice can fill a room

From the banality of an office-

Where prosaic diction inflect with hackneyed tone,

While the sedulously spoken workaday,

Finds assiduous demeanor and quotidian pertinacity

Offers nothing outside fatigability and threadbare

To the biconcave land of the discontent

Where hearts socket in sepulchral luster

While funereal pyres singe what remains

Of a once Odic and Epical life

A voice may yaw in such strife

Sluing the dialect of ones dialectics -

Animus birthed from promissory guile,

Incurvating the path astray

Pabulum grows bromidic through chasmal chords

What first forged its corrosion through innocuous congeniality,

Has since traversed dilatable plains of platitudinous yawp,

O’er capacious terrain, multifariously expansive a course,

Past the sapid and the piquant, eradicating succulence with each noxious terraced crossed.

A voice, now writhing, in alveolated strain

Echoes in dementia’s blistered yawn,

A song is deafened by the nugatory harbingers, so very

Desperately, evacuating the tonality of mind

A voice sings, in search of homogamy

A voice, aching for propinquity

Yet the language of the song remains,

Persistently amorphic in each and every way

Concave skylines suppress the simmered sun

The voice has suffocated all proclivity-

Alive in verse, yet set to rust

A voice resigned to synchronicity of lip-

For with the jejune, voluminous wit shall do-

And the credulous will believe anything you tell them to

A voice scratched and bruised,

Disgusted by the prosperity of fools

The fatuous man is friendly

Yet knows not what his cheekbone wrinkles for

The otiose are slothful beasts

Wretchedly carnivorous

Snacking on the scraps they gladly take

The voice

One day will, again-

Find the most detectibly nectarous notes

To whet a dry mans throat

The voice

One day again, will

Embody a soothing tone

Nectariferous

Melliferous

Faveolate

Honey syrup

Voice unchained

Now flavors

A freer air

Where sugars

Always sweet