literature

Literature

Folder: 
Haqueian Verse

Literature,


Enlightens, pacifies, enthuses,


Connects, helps, immortalizes,


Strengthens, Excites,

 

Ever!

View kingofwords's Full Portfolio

Idolatry

Ascending towards occasionally opened one-night stands of dogeared, dusty pages,

I discover my forearms contorted amongst forlorn images.

At the searing point of withered works in progress,

I idolize Saints whose mechanisms surpass mine 

as a meager cherub,

delivering demeaning news of contemporary heresy.

I've invited Abaddon to a tryst and anticipate what will come of this.

At eventide, he offers a glass of champagne and anticipates my descending again.

By dawn my head hangs and I continue to hiccup,

Ejecting an aroma of unorthodox affection.

I idolize Saints whose mechanisms surpass mine

as they bellow tunes of forgotten prose in attempt to cleanse me

 

as a meager cherub.

View mmmakaveli's Full Portfolio

"KAPOSI’S SARCOMA"

KAPOSI’S SARCOMA

 

 

It’s been many years since Charlie has showered. 

By a rapist, he was roughly deflowered. 

Born a piece of trash, he will remain the same. 

Generations of incest are most likely to blame. 

 

 

He wears a dress because he’s a homosexual. 

The frigid turnip has become hypersexual. 

Charlie was placed in a nursing home. 

He acquired immune deficiency syndrome. 

 

 

He’s such a mess.

His stature is small. 

Refuse to feed him. 

Don’t feed him at all. 

 

 

Transfusion trades;

He’s learned a trade. 

Spread it on purpose;

Another one laid. 

 

 

Partaking in the spreading of Aids. 

Sharing blood by way of needles and razor blades. 

I enjoy seeing his many defections. 

He has lost the ability to fight infections. 

 

 

He’s expecting to die from pneumonia;

Either that, or Kaposi’s Sarcoma. 

His request was to be cremated. 

Instead, for him a black casket awaited. 

 

 

Infect them with;

Immune system disease. 

There is no cure. 

Spread and seize. 

 

 

Sniff really hard. 

Smell the aroma. 

Charlie died;

From Kaposi’s Sarcoma.

 

 

From the book, EXOTIC NEUROTIC.

Copyright © 2016 Kenneth Jarrett Singleton

All rights reserved

 

http://www.booksamillion.com/p/Exotic-Neurotic/Kenneth-K-Jarrett-J-Singl...

 

"BONNIE’S DESTRUCTION OF THE PRISTINE DISHES"

BONNIE’S DESTRUCTION OF THE PRISTINE DISHES

 

 

Long live rage, as well as, tragedy. 

They’ll live evermore. 

I am confident without your trust. 

I’m glad that life is a major whore. 

She has washed her spotless dishes;

But they will never dry. 

She has washed her pristine wishes;

But the promises were all lies. 

 

 

Long live straining and intact notions. 

Some people live life only for chores. 

I am confident that you will rust. 

It is now time to produce the spores. 

She has left the rumor vacant. 

Gossip is left for thought. 

She has left the tumor vacant.

She is exactly what you are not. 

 

 

I created my own discontent. 

Contentment is absent and far away. 

Indulging in misery without consent;

I wonder what Bonnie would say? 

She possesses her own opinions.

Bonnie’s judgment is viewed as fair. 

She should put on display her dominion. 

Long live misery and despair. 

 

 

From the book, EXOTIC NEUROTIC.

Copyright © 2016 Kenneth Jarrett Singleton

All rights reserved

 
http://www.booksamillion.com/p/Exotic-Neurotic/Kenneth-K-Jarrett-J-Singleton/9781500951962?id=6805386427119#overview
View kenneth_jarrett_singleton's Full Portfolio

"PUTRID BIRTH"

PUTRID BIRTH
 
 
The daffodils of youth are still smelling putrid. 
They have grown beside my plastic, crucified cupid. 
I wonder if they want to rot with me in my nest?
An unceasing pain in my pressured chest. 
 
 
He was underdeveloped for his age. 
His parents restrained him within their personal cage. 
He was ungratefully nourished by way of container. 
His umbilical cord spewed just like a complainer. 
 
 
He was never washed spotless, or with good measure. 
He never acquired, but he still sought pleasure. 
‘Eliminate me, please,’ was his final thought. 
I have long been prepared for the eternal rot. 
 
 
There are constant clicks because the tube is feeding. 
I hear constant clicks because his organs are bleeding. 
Interminably will remain your absence of worth. 
I’m providing putrid flowers for your putrid birth.
 
 
From the book, EXOTIC NEUROTIC.
Copyright © 2016 Kenneth Jarrett Singleton
All rights reserved
 
http://www.booksamillion.com/p/Exotic-Neurotic/Kenneth-K-Jarrett-J-Singleton/9781500951962?id=6805386427119#overview
 

Literature is like a Beautiful Wife!

Literature is like a second life,


Literature is like a beautiful wife!


Literature captures history,


Literature is pregnant with creativity!

 

 

A writer breathes again and for eternity,


For the second time after fatality,


Through his startling creations,


And inspiring myriad imminent generations!


 

Even time may beat the pyramids someday!

 

But not literature, my poignant heart has to say!

View kingofwords's Full Portfolio

Creation of the World

Written by: Alejandra Jimenez & Andrés Sánchez

 

Fable

Creation of the world

 
 

At first, everything was silence. The universe was at peace, and nothing existed but a solitary god, in the form of a wolf. This wolf, the white wolf was on a long slumber, but eventually he woke up. After his awakening he decided that he should create the world. To do this he first created three gods, one for each element of the universe. God of earth, the black rabbit, god of water, a giant water turtle and god of the wind, the ethereal falcon. They lived peacefully before their long work for creating the world. The white wolf demanded the three childish gods his view for the new world. It must be colorful he said, full of life he demanded, it must be big, and there must always be light.

 

The gods got to work with the white wolf’s request for his vision of the perfect world, but there were some problems. The gods unfortunately were childish and had no self control. They didn’t complete the task that the white wolf set them to. They created the world, but in midst of chaos and disaster. Gods were always fighting, thinking who was the most important of them all, creating most of our landscapes and phenomenons. The god of water created the rivers, oceans, and lakes.During a fight the god of wind got mad at the god of water, therefore, he throwed all his anger by creating storms, taking out the peacefulness of still water. The god of earth created the land, while in another fight with god of wind about who gets the more space, he created the mountains, trying to build up even more, overshadowing god of wind.

 

There were also other factors that contributed, the gods had very particular personalities. The god of water didn’t like fighting that much, so he decided he shall leave so he could be in peace somewhere else, his presence kept flowing all oceans, rivers, and lakes. But by leaving a part of the Earth turned into ice, and that’s how it was created. God of wind had very changing personalities, depending on the day, so he created the seasons, when he was angry and didn’t feel anything he created winter, cold as his personality.

 

All their actions destroyed the peace that the wolf, the god of gods had been living in, and he was tired of hearing the same problems and issues all over again, just from them three. After this, he decided more people was needed for distraction, so he created human beings, giving them things to exist and develop. Watching their arguments and events they were going through was more entertaining for the god of gods. Creating new ones every time others ceased to exist.

 

 
View andres97sa's Full Portfolio

Definition of Literature

Literature is like water,


It does have ups and downs,


As is seen in the sea-waves,


Yet it works as the hearts’ redeemer.


 

They say that literature is like a mirror,


To Solzhenitsyn, it’s the “living memory of a nation”,


To Chesterton, it’s “a luxury”,


To Assante, “literature is air”.


 

Literature is that certain destination,


Where the writers and readers assemble in unison.

View kingofwords's Full Portfolio

Poesy

 

 

...........

 

and this thing called poetry, 


plucked from a pocket 


of space and time.


*


a blindly adorned subtlety


flowing from the wings 


of angels' thoughts unthought,


but with sultry desire.


*


a rhythmic taste 


of word salad


that fumbles all 


too easily and too often


from the lips of poets that choke 


on the salty aftertaste of


frivolous candor,


with a raucous brouhaha


likened to a howl 


from the maw 


of a wild banshee.


*

 

untamed and yet,


so wildly untainted


in the heat 


of  it's innocent discourse


that one can only 


breathe deeply,


the sensation of the moment,


and know how it feels to 


wear the cloak of truth.

 

*

 

4:03 AM 8/11/2013 ©


.................