Songs of Ruinous Anger

The ordered and disordered thoughts of D. George. A collection of things that amuse, move, inspire and irritate, and of course a number that manage to infuriate. All writings and poetry on this blog are mine, except where credit is given to someone else. I do not own the pictures on this blog except those that look profoundly amateurish and/or contain descriptions pointing to my taking them (such as location and time).

  1. October 20, 2014


    I, Aurelius,
    of mortal men
    brought down the
    ages by a line of
    noble wombs,
    Robed in the linen of
    martyrs and depraved
    souls, fixed atop the
    mountain, my eyes
    bleeding red,
    The blood formed tears
    and I perceived the world in
    the haze of a passion,
    Led down the years along
    a turbulent path - the road
    paved with the stones
    of the French barber:
    That revolutionary shave, that
    blade severing monarchical
    heads, simply to deliver them
    into the cauldron of infamy,
    In adequate knowledge of this
    end, the conclusion scripted
    in the rhythms of poetry
    and the heretic’s chants
    I called for gods and men merely
    to deceive them into a
    rain dance of truth-telling
    and philosophy’s close,
    I, Aurelius,
    of a passing Earth and a senseless
    world, the life within a mere
    candle burning towards an eternity
    of oblivion and darkness,
    The mind closed to the sensations
    of progeny and progeny’s progeny,
    Their lot of footsteps and
    childish laughter regaling the birds
    and reptiles as my bones grind
    to dust in some slow chiming
    of melancholy’s clock,
    As love settles upon the survivors
    and nurses the embers of
    what it is I once was,
    And in them is eternity of the
    only possible kind,
    The blood flows forth as
    an inheritance.

  2. October 20, 2014

    Some Totality

    Love in its exceptional simplicity
    was the act of bringing her
    an orange,
    Peace in its pretty manifestation
    was the gazing over soft
    lapping tides,
    Contentment in its lovely assumption
    was to be in wonder and ponder
    the prosaic piece,
    Life in its unavoidable transformations
    was the pursuit of these three,
    amidst their counterpoints.

  3. October 19, 2014

    When the Junta Came for the Intellectuals

    Obliterate the literate,
    literati cum glitterati -
    The ratty posse on their
    catty pace, I untied their
    lace and watched them
    lose the race,
    Ratatouille taste inside
    the Rotterdam place
    The illiterate penned a
    il-literary tract of the
    roguish pact in the
    Intelligentsia Act.

  4. October 19, 2014
  5. October 19, 2014


    The poet was dead
    but his chamber was alive,
    Watered with beer
    and wine
    Cultivated with peanuts
    and brie,
    I passed amidst the
    gallant patrons
    Walked among a thousand
    intimate conversations,
    Glanced a hundred
    dramatic faces
    Congregated aside
    a multitude of souls,
    Along the way we spoke of
    love, while pondering war,
    Meditated the perilous, joked
    about the ridiculous,
    Poems festooned brick walls, the
    decedents’ shouts
    echoed about,
    Autumn came by and winter
    will fall; But now it
    is that the pumpkin blooms.

  6. October 17, 2014

    The Only Miracle

    I saw pretty things upon
    the face of the Earth
    And I was grateful for the
    happening of my birth,
    If for just those few traits
    some tears were due
    It would not be bad that
    pain came too, it’s true.

  7. October 17, 2014


    Black-winged, bat-winged,
    that fallen light borrowing
    its way into the abyss,
    Failed coup, vengeance due,
    that storm of feathers passing
    through an indifferent Earth,

    Of magic, strange cosmic
    upon such myths spun the
    understandings of war,
    Bronze age, mechanic stage,
    it mattered not for man was
    an animal being.

  8. October 17, 2014


    I am but a descendant of misfortunes -
    the product of a peculiar copulation,
    as birds and bees gathered around
    the dilapidated city,
    The priestess in her haughty mood
    cast about me the incense of the
    masquerading masked men,
    And against my unknowing eyes
    their reflections formed a
    thing of shadows,
    About which angels danced and
    gods were offered song,
    The young maidens in virginal
    gowns set upon an altar
    of tradition’s making
    While the future arranged a funeral.

  9. October 17, 2014
  10. October 16, 2014

    Liberation Theology

    Ah, the violence!
    It came with the gusts of
    Harmattan winds,
    As politics traded curses
    with black magic
    And the capital was made
    a killing field
    Against the tidal crests of a
    fish-reeked coastline,
    When boys grew into men
    and followed the pattern
    of a massacre,
    The outside world spun
    around its usual axis,
    While in the thicket of a
    burning bush - some
    heard god’s voice
    and freed their demons.