How exquisite that gaze of yours would be if you were being whipped to death, in the last agony.
Leopold von Sacher-Masoch in Venus in Furs (1870)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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More than a Look
There is nothing like this
Which hurts quite as much
As seeing the one you love
Gaze into another’s eyes
To see them smile, laugh
Light up with such delight
It is an exquisite pain
You would give anything
To be those eyes looking back
The reason behind that smile
To be laughing in tandem
How it hurts to be left watching
To suffer such agony
When a look is more
Than you can bare to see
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Poem: Forever Scarred
Spiked to pair of wooden, interlocking beams,
He hung bleeding, after being severely whipped.
There Christ experienced for the first time,
what it really meant to be like us -
bruised, dirty and covered by a legacy of sin
that clamors for our eventual death.
On that fateful day of His crucifixion,
our Lord felt the agony of separation,
as Jehovah turned His back towards earth,
being unable to gaze lovingly at The Son.
In Christ's final hours of suffering,
God's presence had departed from Him;
He was subjected to physical pain,
the shame from emotional wounds of rejection,
the ridicule concerning His destiny
and divine, heavenly authority.
Today He wears the disfiguring reminders,
permanently in His holy and glorified body,
while His eyes drip with tears of forgiveness;
it's an unending testament of His Love for us,
having been… forever scarred.
poem by Joseph James Breunig 3rd
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Exquisite Dead Guy
Exquisite dead guy
Rotating in his display case
Exquisite dead guy
Swear I saw his mouth move
Exquisite dead guy
Outside my high rise apartment
Exquisite dead guy
Hanging from a skyhook
How am I supposed to let you know the way I feel
About you
How am I supposed to let you know the way I feel
About you
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Death
Death is anger, agony and despair
Death is white like a ghost; nothing to kill or die for
Death is bitter and hauntes you in your sleep
Death is something knowone can excape
Death is not the end, but a new begining.
poem by Katelyn Ross
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War Is Our Worlds History
I Look into a history book.
And what do I see?
Pain and agony, death and suffering,
I see history that tells a lot about our world.
War!
Our world's history is war.
It is the pain and agony, the death and the suffering,
I see large fields of dead bodies,
I see our heritage being destroyed by other people
because it is not what they believe in,
I see people begging for mercy, but they do not get it
instead they get a bullet in the head.
In our history I see many mistakes in which we can learn from,
but we obviously we do not.
They say not to judge a book by its cover,
to me this quote means nothing to our history.
Our history is our cover,
and the book is filled with pain and agony, death and suffering.
Plain and Simple
War!
poem by Christian Cervantes
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Exquisite B.S.
Exquisite B.S.
Finessed at its best.
This wont sit to become fossilized.
Maneuvered?
Yes!
The finest B.S.
Gets to be marketed.
Exquisite B.S.
Tested for perfection.
To leave no guessing game to correct.
As this exquisite B.S. is set...
To endure without stopping.
To ensure its success.
No remnants will be left,
To forge with a defense...
By those unconvinced,
It is solidly based in cement.
And will not ferment...
As circumvented intentions meant,
Are sent.
This is exquisite B.S. to document!
To subdue those who protest.
And addict those who confess...
A weakness they get.
As if to crave a feeding,
With a licking of lips with a wish...
For more of it.
To induce into seduction,
With an unlimited fix.
Until the power of thinking,
Independently...
Lifts from minds,
That are drugged to drift!
Exquisite B.S.
Yes!
Yes!
YESSSSS!
And as delicious to offset,
Any cure that should manifest...
With attempts to correct!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Rock Already Turned
If I had my druthers,
I would not bore you with my genius.
I would pretend I was of shallow mind.
So you would find me worthy,
To pass exquisite...
And exceptional judgement.
I've always been the one to say,
Wasted venom...
Leaves a rock already turned.
And the love I have to upset apple carts,
Has to be genetic.
My daddy,
God rest his soul.
Once surprised a burgler.
And then asked him,
If he wanted breakfast 'first'...
Before he whipped his ass!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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It's Death Again
It's Death again - He's always there -
Watching, waiting - e'er the stare!
Every time I look behind
Or reach to pull the window blind,
I catch a glimpse of grubby hood -
A little clue to where he stood;
The glint of light that caught the scythe.
Perhaps if I could pay a tithe…
But O! no use, he'll never go.
The adamant phantom; don't you know
He will but wait until it's time
For me to hear His fateful chime? -
The toll that claims my destiny,
To Hail: 'You're next, it has to be…'
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
The Reign of Death
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Disingenuousness
Here lies another box for nature,
Carbon ready;
Black to eyes down here,
Where death is at its job.
Up there you’ll hear a rhythmic sob
Or two from living yet-to-dies –
A humming lacrimoso –
It all but cleans the eyes:
Forget it –
The dismal show of grief –
Life is only chemistry –
Our stay is only brief.
It’s we who hype it up!
Diaphragms jerk again;
The jet monotone of hearses
Feeds the disingenuousness
Of undertakers –
They seem to stare at something up ahead –
For them, it’s in the blood,
To taxi off the dead.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
The March of Death
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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You ask why these mountains
YOU ask why these mountains delight me no more,
And why lovely Clwyd's attractions are o'er;
Ah! have you not heard, then, the cause of my pain?
The pride of fair Clwyd, the boast of the plain,
We never, no never, shall gaze on again!
What though from her coldness keen anguish I felt,
And vainly, to move her, in agony knelt;
Yet could I restore her, I'd never complain,
Not e'en though she doomed me to endless disdain....
I'd bear any torture to see her again.
I grieved when on others with kindness she gazed,
I mourned when another with pleasure she praised;
But could I recall her to life by my pain,
I'd urge her to favour some happier swain,
And wish no reward but to see her again.
Those beauties that charmed me, from death I would free,
Though sure that those beauties another's should be!
But truth, and affection, and grief are all vain;
The pride of fair Clwyd, the boast of our plain,
We never, ah never! can gaze on again!
poem by Amelia Opie
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Beldame of Death
A crunch: afoot a dead arachnid
Spanning once a serving plate –
Oh! that others be alive
With such as me for spider bait!
I slunk along the silent hall
Of ancient ore attired in grime –
Feculent beyond the nose;
No bearing here, nor feel for time.
I shuddered in appreciation –
The ambience would mortify
A feeble mind, aghast, opined
Of murky thought, and typify
The will of Belial err I brought
Upon myself to loathe and dread
Exquisite retribution: to linger
Oftentimes alive, then dead.
Compulsion saw me edging on
Toward a narrow door of oak.
Behind, I knew, a greater evil
Waiting in her fusty cloak.
A choice of nil upon the table;
Aught of leave, I had to face
Alone the shrew – her flaming aura
Angling me; my deep disgrace
From ugly deeds I dealt in life,
A heinous world I honed in glee…
'Now take a crooked path to death,
For I have come to torture thee! '
Out of eyes of orange flame,
A piercing glare, then here it came –
The cackling cry of chanting song:
'You thought you'd die alone in pain
The once – nay nay! you'll die with me,
And so a catch: you'll die again
Ad infinitum - ever be!
Your soul to curse, my heart we'll gore,
Your liver to draw and quarter;
A sadomasochistic pair,
We'll slither together in slaughter! '
I answered only with a scream, from
Sensing near her craving lust.
My crimes to answer; wrongs annul;
Renounce my soul and turn to dust...
On an evening cool and quiet,
Stretch an ear to listen tight –
Are you lucky of a moment –?
Hark! my clarion call of plight.
Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009
Notes on this poem can be found at:
http: //succumbedtothinking.webs.com/featuredpoems.htm
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poetry is the exquisite expression of exquisite expressions.
quote by Joseph Roux
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Joys too exquisite to last, And yet more exquisite when past.
quote by James Montgomery
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Sad Eyed Angel
You gaze at me
with your sad eyes
seemingly to be
as old as time
a dull but bright beauty
made of agonizing crystal
enough to make me cry
you look so scared
so painful
but i never want to change you
my sad eyed angel
gaze upon me
with honey orbs
the smile on your face doesnt match
there pools of sadness
oceans of agony
crashing in those eyes
and i get to see them everyday
my beautiful
sad eyed angel.
poem by Vanessa Feliciano
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Death and I
When death comes
I’ll need not love –
Consumed,
No wreath or dove
Could offer me salvation,
Not when I’m no more.
A weathered stone will bear my name –
Identity of once a being
Living out existence in
A world of risk, and never seeing
Sense of why we’re here.
My genes will die away thro’ child –
Hue of eyes and hair, the way of thought,
Will quickly dim with generation –
Bow to future dominance –
Memories of provenance
Resigned to curious few.
When death comes
I’ll need not grace
Below; no grieving face
Will call my resurrection,
Not when I’m at ground –
Death and I so bound.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
D eath Crawl
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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The first dragon (sestina)
They went to find a thing that belched fire
a killer, a dragon what could it be?
To defeat it, to win they did aspire,
to set the people from its terror free,
it was huge as it could never tire
and where it went, there was only agony.
Those brave humble men were of all fear free
were like a mighty force that did aspire
to make men godly, as t no man should be,
to snatch from that beast it’s devouring fire
and to bring to it just death and agony
and in this quest they would not tire.
Yet all of the great brave men do aspire
to in the unknown find knowledge free
to test skill against the beast and to tire
to measure if plans full of follies be,
later to chance, to fight using its fire,
even in using if there is only agony.
They wanted the truth of its power to be free,
free to use in destruction like the strange fire
that came from heaven that fell in agony
that has the capacity to even gods to tire,
they constructed weapons that should be
the main goal to which warriors do aspire.
It may that other men could easily tire
of this overwhelming quest whose worth could be
not lovely high things, to which to aspire,
nor a guiding light sparkling over the free
but quenching of life by its terrible fire,
with it only acts of death and agony.
Then like destiny, which doomed in agony,
like the first discoverers of divine secret fire,
the beast would rise and in raving anger be
really ruthless and from tricks it will not tire,
its intimate knowledge would not come free,
to seek power in which men as fools aspire.
In pride anything to be, finishing foes with fire
while endlessly to be free they do aspire
while men tire in wars only breeding agony.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Exquisite Beauty
She's as pretty as the moon! As vibrant as the flower in blossom? as beautiful as a poem! like marble scuiped to our exquisite splendour.The exquisite beauty of my heart.she's the last of the beauties God created.
poem by Tijani Adebowale Destiny
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A Given Batter Whipped
We all have our styles.
Tastes,
And approaches to life.
To rate them narrowly,
For the purposes to suit...
Choices of critics on pursuit,
To dilute...
The wide range of changing preferences,
Only scatters the patter.
Leaving it ultimately not to matter.
Eat it up,
Or give it up...
Or leave it alone.
A given batter whipped,
Has its own magic!
Eat it up,
Or give it up...
Or leave it alone.
A given batter whipped,
Has its own magic!
We all have our styles.
Tastes,
And approaches to life...
To appreciate or eliminate.
And...
A given batter whipped,
Has its own magic!
Eat it up,
Or give it up...
Or leave it alone.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Death, Inevitable Death
Death, inevitable Death.
So now You come to show Your world,
Hence the blackened cloak – unfurled.
And peering down upon my form
– Bereft of pity – Your eyes of storm.
Death, inexorable Death.
‘When? ’ The only question out of Thee.
My dream retorts 'But ne’er for me! ’
But now awake, I bid you so –
My giving tears cry ‘Where to go? ’
Death, adamant Death.
You cast Your spell and guide me 'way,
For life and I have had our day.
And what of me? I prey You, tell!
Be glorious in Heaven or gnarled in Hell?
Death, ineluctable Death.
Oh wiry ghoul, I'm here to follow –
I leave my body grey and shallow.
‘Come! ’ You bid in thund’ring tones,
‘Beg farewell to shattered bones.’
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
Death
Death death
Death death death
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Death death
Death
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Beauty In Chains
Torture me, hurt me, break me,
Supress my freedom, make me yours,
Tame the beast within me,
Tell me I need this pain to exist,
Your nails rake my flesh,
And I scream in exquisite agony,
The realease such a sublime torture,
You know I want you so badly,
And I shall break myself to please you,
Because i am beauty in your chains...
Spread the love... The peace will follow...
poem by Cosmic Dreamer
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