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ben-jonesPoems
It began, as these things often do With darkened skies and all around The night had paused to draw a breath And through the streets rebounded sound A slow and steady fall of foot I stepped the cobbles free of care My eyes were drinking vivid light A fragrance tangled on the air My purpose set My heart a grim quartet The door was mere scenery A sight to see but not recall The passing gaze is pushed away And sees there, just another wall No movement could I hear within My knuckles whitened on the knock Relief recoiled hastily A scratching from the rusted lock My fingers clenched Anxiety deeply entrenched The woodwork inched a little back A brow bedecked in withered hair A pupil sharp as autumn frost Surveyed me with a butchers glare Her voice, a blade across my mind Invited me to step inside A shiver shook my frozen bones My feet took up a timid stride Her tone shallow Her skin like warm tallow Within was soaked in tepid gloom In candle light the shadows danced The flames grew quick and paranoid And leaned away as I advanced Behind me scurried shut the door And down my spine, an angel tear A leather chair of ages past Held consort with my falling rear She sat near And whispered in my ear With lizards hiss and jagged tone In fragrances of smoke and gin She sprinkled such a parable That tingles bounced across my skin My mission lay ahead of me But caution of a reckless choice A curse that fed on failure And menace edged her ebon voice Salvation awaited But hope swiftly abated Away into the night I strode My razor wits with terror blunt I packed a satchel prudently For sustenance about the hunt A dagger dangled on my hip A bow and quiver on my back Its bowstring plaited spider web Was ever strong and never slack Horizon bound I broke the ****** ground My quarry was a worthy foe And many days I tracked until By moonlight on a starless night I caught a glimpse and stopping still A sight I've struggled to forget My bounty and my nemesis Was bounding past me heedlessly As fear wrought paralysis Eyes like death ****** hung on its breath It stood a daunting seven foot With talons jutting from its hands A mass of quills and tentacles With extra spleens and mucus glands A mouth with room for seven men And teeth the size of ironing boards A single but enormous eye With lashes like a row of swords My face paled My bladder faltered and soon failed I faced my prey and crossed my legs My stricken blood had turned froth I ****** myself in abject fear But stopped just short of touching cloth I turned about and ran away While screaming out profanity And crying like a baby And adopting Christianity Pleading with fate My pride a sorry state I fled the county, took my leave And made my shelter in a cave My punishment for failure Would see me to my early grave And so I lived in solitude Consuming only what I caught In time the wind grew perilous And hours of light were ever short Winter grips The solar zenith slips I huddle to this very day Amid the gloom with frozen breath And keeping warm is paramount For stretching life, postponing death Though purely for survival While I weather every storm I've taken to bumming weasels As a means of keeping warm Blunt trauma Weasel skin willy-warmer
0
May 5, 2019
May 5, 2019 at 5:39 PM UTC
Why I *** Weasels
It began, as these things often do With darkened skies and all around The night had paused to draw a breath And through the streets rebounded sound A slow and steady fall of foot I stepped the cobbles free of care My eyes were drinking vivid light A fragrance tangled on the air My purpose set My heart a grim quartet The door was mere scenery A sight to see but not recall The passing gaze is pushed away And sees there, just another wall No movement could I hear within My knuckles whitened on the knock Relief recoiled hastily A scratching from the rusted lock My fingers clenched Anxiety deeply entrenched The woodwork inched a little back A brow bedecked in withered hair A pupil sharp as autumn frost Surveyed me with a butchers glare Her voice, a blade across my mind Invited me to step inside A shiver shook my frozen bones My feet took up a timid stride Her tone shallow Her skin like warm tallow Within was soaked in tepid gloom In candle light the shadows danced The flames grew quick and paranoid And leaned away as I advanced Behind me scurried shut the door And down my spine, an angel tear A leather chair of ages past Held consort with my falling rear She sat near And whispered in my ear With lizards hiss and jagged tone In fragrances of smoke and gin She sprinkled such a parable That tingles bounced across my skin My mission lay ahead of me But caution of a reckless choice A curse that fed on failure And menace edged her ebon voice Salvation awaited But hope swiftly abated Away into the night I strode My razor wits with terror blunt I packed a satchel prudently For sustenance about the hunt A dagger dangled on my hip A bow and quiver on my back Its bowstring plaited spider web Was ever strong and never slack Horizon bound I broke the ****** ground My quarry was a worthy foe And many days I tracked until By moonlight on a starless night I caught a glimpse and stopping still A sight I've struggled to forget My bounty and my nemesis Was bounding past me heedlessly As fear wrought paralysis Eyes like death ****** hung on its breath It stood a daunting seven foot With talons jutting from its hands A mass of quills and tentacles With extra spleens and mucus glands A mouth with room for seven men And teeth the size of ironing boards A single but enormous eye With lashes like a row of swords My face paled My bladder faltered and soon failed I faced my prey and crossed my legs My stricken blood had turned froth I ****** myself in abject fear But stopped just short of touching cloth I turned about and ran away While screaming out profanity And crying like a baby And adopting Christianity Pleading with fate My pride a sorry state I fled the county, took my leave And made my shelter in a cave My punishment for failure Would see me to my early grave And so I lived in solitude Consuming only what I caught In time the wind grew perilous And hours of light were ever short Winter grips The solar zenith slips I huddle to this very day Amid the gloom with frozen breath And keeping warm is paramount For stretching life, postponing death Though purely for survival While I weather every storm I've taken to bumming weasels As a means of keeping warm Blunt trauma Weasel skin willy-warmer
ben-jones
Written by
ben-jones
English
May 5, 2019
May 5, 2019 at 5:39 PM UTC
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