Tirades

ti·rade
ˈtīˌrād/Submit
noun
a long, angry speech of criticism or accusation.
"a tirade of abuse"
synonyms: diatribe, harangue, rant, onslaught, attack, polemic, denunciation, broadside, fulmination, condemnation, censure, invective, criticism, tongue-lashing

Example:

"This is my diatribe of nomenclature, you could just say that it is in my nature
to argue, find a segue and stop all activity to make a snide comment in order
to cross a line or breach a border, so I can annoy you and thus get a chance
to crush the circumstance to prove myself worthy or at least true. True to what, you might say, no you will say it anyway. You will just start to rant, like an imbecile on wordy crack attempting to sound educated but then again you can't articulate or get a date or even demonstrate your points to us, don't just give up or cuss. Consider this my fight song because I might have been bullied since I don't belong midst the maddening throng, I will retaliate at any rate to enunciate the my POV, you just wait and see! This is my tongue-lashing the syllables on your lack of principles since you seem to run on chemicals like coffee and cream, more that it all seems to be nice and clean, since I can disagree with a brick wall on the time of day, no that it not all I have got to say.
This is the criticism of the world's inability to understand a witticism, social media is not wikipedia, the facts get blurred with the misdirections of people's recall or lack or perception. Was the dress blue or was it gold, so I have been told that it was both and the same, just like a game for fools, the evidence is not in the details, the reminder of which lurks in the added sense that everyone fails- to appreciate that all I am doing is to retaliate at the fact that I said this one thing that ended up under assault as if I could be bullied or bought for being able to think my own thought about whether the weather is cold and fraught with worries over the political onslaught. Now I am caught, in my own lack of irony, the circumstances of which is paragon in the paradox that I cannot find matching socks or the condemnation of freedom to be whatever I want to be, no one will see that it's not what I want or what you think that has brought us here like horses refusing to drink from the well of salvation, the denial of the sate of the nation, it's not ironic, it is just another situation where my imagination ran rampant all ad hoc, run amok, a raging rampage of words and meanings galore, and what is so much more than the innuendos I am making, my point is now just burnt out fading away like the dusk of day, I have sinned and prayed as I make this my tirade. 

Folding Anxiety

Crumpled, smashed, basically miserably trashed

sad, sadly mistaken, tragically forbidden to 

unfold from the compression of emotion 

statically frozen in between the nightmares

and

 sleep, the unrelenting proteins of insane dreams

the corners of white rooms, the unforgiving, unheard

screams, the past withheld, the last time I smiled

and felt the warmth over the prevailing chills

of winter, the snows in social contexts

and

the rejection of living, understanding, denial of context

sympathy flows out like oxygen escaping into the vacuum 

between what once was acceptable now unspeakably

false bending around the atomic genetic

response to pain, now I will write the refrain

it's all in your brain,

it's just in your brain,

it's just in your brain in your head

just as bad as wishing you were

dead,

Instead of being locked into your thoughts

collapse into the fear, surrender to the pointlessness

of the straggling sheets that bind you into your bed.

just unravel where it all began where it could end

fold it like a comic strip from the ugly paper

away into the pocket

of your sanity

let us pretend

we're fine, after all that's easier to defend

to everyone else than the truth that we cannot say

what all that was other then the seconds

it took or all day I needed to

make the first crease

to make folding the anxiety to cease.

Give me Steam

Look at the way the wind blows

in the wisps like the spirits of a dream.

Look at the cloud bank rolls across 

the remains of the morn.

All will vanish into the grey illusions 

from which the mysteries are borne.

This is what I can see, she whispered

this is what I will give you, steam!

Witness the tendrils reaching out

of the darkness of the surrounding night.

Feel the chill that comes creeping along

with the touch of the southern wind.

Slithering slinking through the town 

like the nightmares lean and finned,

that swim along in this vacuum

as it covers the sky, erasing the light.

Watch until all is covered by this

silent silvery shadow we call mist.

We lesser gods dance in the wet smoke

remembering our world before it broke.

The rest of mankind will curse and spit

then flee back safely inside lickity split.

Give everything running through your head,

give it soon or else you will all be dead.

I am after all, nothing but

 a figment of your imagination.

The darker mirrored agitation.

Now do me the favor of your scream,

Give your all, give me Steam.

Song for Rebecca Rachel Goldstein

Hair as dark as the raven's wings
the silent beat of shadows of long
forgotten things, like the gossamer
flutter of the fingers stroking upon
my long asleep heart strings.
skin as smooth as soft stone sides
of the marble die that I cradle in my
hand contemplating what role I will
take when the game demands that
we meet to play this our lives in
a different way.
Eyes speckled with clouds rings of
stardust that sparkle with her mirth
as I try to tease the words that will
capture the way I feel whenever she
smiles at me with her eyes.
A chance meeting was all it required
to drive out the love that I had not
known hiding inside, the seconds
between our first touch, almost too
much as the separations somewhere
it would seem before I come to sleep
wondering if I was so lucky to have
again this chance to dream.

For Lynn in Winter

The snows returned today, falling swiftly softly without sound
I stand here between the drifts, a holy sense that somehow surrounds
the silence is absolute as if the world has become hallowed ground
for it is Lynn in winter that I miss now like a fever in this white
memories of what once was fill me, the cold chill of seasonal night
where is my raven red haired lass out here amidst all this light?

The Age of reason is gone, now that ideologies are to be recast,
the tragedies of life, love, and loss- the fatal fallacy of dying to fast
I challenged it all, ignoring all understandings I shared with the past.
I am looking for the Lynn in winter, before it's too late, unforgiven
I am waiting for the moments of passion, the struggles to be striven
the fading smile, the reluctant denial, the desperate days driven.

The cold is all that I have come to accept, the chills are all I know,
like the ice that is found in my soul, the scented smell of fallen snow,
like the drops of tears turned to icicles frozen during the downward flow.
I must move or die, the lack of warmth freezing my utmost desires
the embers of love, the ashes of heartbreak, the death of our fires
I look for Lynn in winter, but she is gone along with all I admired.

This is what my life has come to...

This is what my life has come to, year after year....
taking my mother grocery shopping while discussing underwear.
Watching my fellow Americans with shopping carts come and go
with junk food and 8 packs of coke waddling and wading to and fro
arguing about politics even though they'll never vote anyway
spending credit on nothing that amounts to anything all day.

This is what my life has come to, week after week...
living alone, unable to find another woman, to whom I want to speak
no one who isn't married or in a relationship that is "serious"
this is modern romance, no talking, just texting, so delirious!
watching the lovers walk hand in hand, but only on the movie screen
Facebook status updates, it's complicated or somewhere vaguely in between.

This is what my life has come to day after long day...
writing out the same old poetry like I have nothing left to say.
Watching TV shows with relationships that I can only dream of
taking online quizzes, trolling dating websites, looking for love.
And sex doesn't even come into it anymore than I can look for porn
something has been lost and I don't even remember for what I should mourn.

This is what my life has come to hours after hour...
Well, it is time to go back to bed, right after a long cold shower.
I will drop down into sleep, after a prayer or two for my soul to keep.
Perhaps my Jane will stop me from the precipice, that lover's leap.
For when I do have to awaken, I will have to face another share
of taking my mother shopping, discussing our underwear!

Wyrds

Wynd thru spaces places races around me, can you see
sometymes I feel the age of rayne the situations of payne
the darkness falling soft movement like flying up the swell
a bubble of sound exposing out into waves around the vast
abyssssss-ness that fallacy of words the at you mind will
try to correct even as I write them wrong wat is real
is this how i want you to feel about the things that I am
tellin you to see feel falling faster than snow drifts sliding
down the mountains of dreams like the coasters drayning to
the seas of madness that are filled with the felling of rads
everythings that is bads -I find I can now scream the dreams that
crowd my bed gray mist sheets suffocating the blindness
of light suffocating the suggestions that life is not filled
with the strife of breathing underwater fog a clog in my
system ram bam cram the blockage bass beat retreat that's
neat now the cykle is done, am I complete?