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Sombro Mar 21
Kiss me with deflating lips
Beach body beached on my mind
Fated errors in our minds rejoice
At distance confirmed and hammered in

To lift a veil and see the wolf
Corrugated eyes blend with the sea
Of unthought masses watching TV
Of the dark road, the foreign path

It's hopeless when your sleep
Loses its pull, its fire to be
What happens when legends draw their maps
And don't mark the road you knew they'd make?

I know I'm too young to feel this desperate
Never found the days that would keep the nights warm
Never saw the glint to the Tigers bite
Never saw the moon above the wave

Too old is an expression lost on eyes
Glassy for timebomb putty
Artists weary become manufacturers
When ignored, when declined

Beach body, that's what I had, a belief in clicky thoughts
Understanding caved in to knowing
And knowing fell to fact,

I've built my way, carved in gritty stone
That as sand my footstep knows
I'll crawl forward, step by slip
And follow the path up till the ahead.
A word on creation, and on walking paths that are aging
Sombro Jan 1
Sitting in bony wood
A seat to watch the prickly world stand still
Poised.
Reservations in iron clashing
Gong waves that drown

I can sit here silently
Smooth and clear as the varnish beneath me
This room has white walls
With ***** streaks like vapour trails
Across it, instead of human faces
In little square coffins
Nicely decorated, by, shaking, hands.

Questions don't need answers, I reckon
If my silence gives grey thoughts their place
Neat little rubix cubes make
Cult parodies
Of me, ironically bad.
Hee hee.

What a curious question
Whether instinct wants what is useful
And to trust it
Or shut up and simper
With the strength of women long jobless by
Liberty

In all things
Agency's just a mask
Worn by actors whose plays
Use up the muscles

My words can be recycled before me
Repurposed, simplified to fit new slots
Hard, to be a useless orifice
That wins nothing scarlet when it is ******.
Sombro Dec 2019
An honourable account
Of sympathy 1, 2, 3, 4, deferred
Finally something contained but
Lastly nothing.

I fortify puddles night and day...
That ***** grass grows by
And willow trees that twist and knead
Into crisp faces that
Pose for me.

Oh! Wood Coven!
Questions 345
What unknowing awareness they show, what membership
My cobbed old feet can't follow.

A successful heart with fearful veins
Taken lore-y blood for bishop doubts
From chambers of marbling fat
On a ****** run.

I found online that
People were scared of me
But in person they didn't care
I wonder if they dream so hesitantly
Or if they sleep just to wake up
On a pillow that smells like their wife's arm
Neutered, like feathers clipped short

Perhaps with that I'll choke
On a wishbone of some bird
Or my bones, brown like civilised wheat
Will nourish some fat lip
I'm not sure of that

O, an honourable account.
Sombro Jul 2019
That's not who I am
I'm built of burning wood
And hacked off pieces of granite deemed
Too coarse for cobble stones

That's not who I am
I'm nobody's child
I built myself through a muddled
Community of moth wings

We never tasted sugar, never felt the rosy clothes'
Crushing flesh, blushing chosen lyrics
******* swallows and cheating sucklers
Cold, sunken, green with no choice

That's who I am - my own monster
Stitched from what I liked, stuck with our greasy wick
I blended myself, found my backbone
In the granite sifted and spat away

You can't name me, I get that right
To bore myself in your thick skull
You gave me over to the frost the day I forgot what
Stupid people said I should love
Sombro Jul 2019
When grease turns, kettles scale over
Rusted innards show, red in the ground
T, TB, AA, PSA
What can I do?

When you catch the musk of defeat
Bleeding out your crusted dearest
How soon before the years since stutter?
I forgot them already

I can't be what I want to be, without your hateful consent
Tides of cradled love and rotten ****
Wash over me and I
Take it to heart

When it all loses spirit because no whim is trusted
From a signing bearded beast
When you realise it's not going to stop
Until we all fall down the molehills
Fastened and swinging
The only firm hand I ever knew

When it comes back, sweeps your Victorian progress away
Leering, you're not recovering anymore
You get to call yourself it now
You're the addict's child
Slip in that and curdle.
Sombro May 2019
My dreams are painted clean
Tucked and trimmed by a sewing machine
My mother's face is wrinkle free
And smiling for eternity.

My father's voice is soft and kind
My brother's eyes are sparkling blind
My sister's arm is thick and strong
My family line is clean and long.

My pencil fertile, conscious itself
Collecting brilliance without my help
My headache gone, my nostrils clear
Breathing sea air gushing near.

Inspiration well stocked, character for sale
My clothes well spun like a handmaid's tale
Garden promise behind shut doors
This is what my dreams are for.
I could have sworn I already published this one
Sombro May 2019
20
If we all died before we fell old
Consumed as we blush ripe
What would perish with us
But mold and setting mud?

Life could not be long
Nor sophisticated, for
All that thought never born beyond
The days of cocked feathers.

Our homes the wild trees
Burned or spared by our caprice
Sleep on the moss a groan
Summer in the morning the dawn

Tousled hair a-spring with salt
And the hoary sweat of the night
Eyes sharp and deep
Like pools in frothing rivers unsettled.

Muscles taught in conflict not against the world
But green competition, passion the reward
And pleasure, in sinew pushing, grabbing,
Taking what is Mine.

Our faces our identities
Our bodies our manifestos
Statements simple, ideas cut
To have sharp edges and grate at one another.

Night full of the juicy roars
Of fiery eyes consuming lovers claimed
In battle, ****** conflict
That mean nothing to time, nor for it.

Her smile a sugar suggestion
her ******* her belly her hipsherlips
Her lover at my feet.
Unembarrassed, unrelenting, undefined stones in his dead eyes.

And when lines would start to settle
And sense harden
When certainty dies like an old dog
There is no long goodbye, no sagacity gained

You cry to your last, terrified as you pass
Lost in pure droplets shed from a face
As its teeth grow too far while the mane retreats,
And the soul is killed for it.

Cruel, to let a who live past that
To watch who's spirit
Wash away and see the tide return
Gushing wine in your arms
That's gone dull and bitter from the Autumn left
Too long, too long,
Lived too long.
A poem about what it would be like if we never lived past our teenage years
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