#bone
under your rain i
soaking wet city
turns into flood
has my bones
trembling to
a pathetic feeling
of nostalgia and love
it is happened
all over now
May 18
May 18, 2026 at 1:37 PM UTC
trading places could never work
when all around screams 'this is where its at'
May 14
May 14, 2026 at 6:57 AM UTC
The calendar bleeds a strange, dark ink,
Where February’s ice begins to sink
Into the soil of a shallow, October grave.
The saint is dead; the shadows crave
A different kind of crimson on the floor,
Not from a rose, but something... more....
The lace is torn, the silk is stained with soot,
As Cupid stalks on a cloven foot.
Forget the chocolates wrapped in gold....
These boxes house what’s damp and cold.
A heart is gifted, still beating and raw,
Held in the grip of a skeletal claw.
The candlelight flickers a jaundiced hue,
Illuminating lovers who are black and blue.
They dance a waltz in a graveyard mist,
Sealing their vows with a poisoned kiss.
No paper cards, just parchment of skin,
To chronicle every beautiful sin.
So hang the bats from the heart.....shaped wreath.....
Hide the razor beneath the teeth.
In the hollow chest where warmth should stay,
The ghosts of lovers have come to play.
Love is a haunt, a debt, a moan......
A feast of marrow on a bed of bone...☠️
Michael Powers
"STYXX ON FIRE "
Feb 14
Feb 14, 2026 at 10:49 AM UTC
Rag and Bone he shouts out loud
Best prices paid he roars
His noisy voice attracts a crowd
But they all stay indoors
He continues on his merry way
His Horse Betty pulls the cart
A real pictures does he make
These two are rarely apart
His horse is now a tired old nag
Worn out from overwork
He himself is no spring chicken
And often feels a berk
As he sits upon the cart
His coat and trousers badly worn
Bad tempered most of the time
Because on his foot he has a corn
Which gives him jip each time he walks
And Betty’s in a sorry state as well
Her legs are tired from all the work
If you look you can soon tell
But they soldier on as best they can
To do the round all day
So always greet them with a smile
As they wend their merry way
Now Tommy has been in this trade
For three score years and ten
Which means he should be retired
Like many other men
But despite his grumpy demeanour
Betty means the world to him you see
They have been together for twenty years
Without each other where would they be
So as the day moves on without buying a thing
It’s back home they go together
Every day is always the same
In good or inclement weather
Feb 12
Feb 12, 2026 at 4:49 AM UTC
As he awakes to greet the dawn
On his park bench amongst the dew
The Times newspaper he has used for a blanket
The one read by the chosen few
As he stretches out his arthritic arms
And moves his arthritic legs
His eyes now staring up at the rising Sun
As he drinks from his cup, now full of dregs
He greets the day with his usual smile
Though the garden he surveys is owned by the city
As people pass him by and tut
He resents their look of pity
I may be a wanderer he thinks to himself
But self respect I have so much
I need no one’s indulgent stupid remarks
I do not need societies crutch
As he makes his way to who knows where
Each and every day
Spending his days on the road and free
Searching for food along the way
Every dustbin is his restaurant
Each *** bit or morsel that he might find
Will keep him alive and independent
He is just the roving kind
Each night he returns to the municipal park
His bench is always there
Another newspaper will keep him warm
So he can sleep without a care
But he is not alone it seems
He has a field mouse for company
Who arrives each night to sleep in his pocket
And will even partake a sip of his tea
As he sleeps he must remember
Not to turn over or disaster could strike
He would crush his little rodent friend
The one he has nicknamed Mike
So together they settle beneath the stars
Out in the cold and rain
And when they awake they both need to rise
And face the world again
Old Roddy, our gallant hero
From fighting, on the Som, in world war one, and yet
Has memories that bring him nightmares
Of things he saw that he would rather forget
Time has passed him by so much
His mind a blank to the person he once was
No one knows a thing about his life as they pass by
The ones who glare and cuss
But he always greets the day with a cough and a smile
Puts newspaper in his shoes to fill the holes
And watches intently as the old park-keeper
Clears up the work of last night’s Moles
As Mike runs off to forage for food
Old Roddy prepares to venture out into the morning Sun
Because his greatest adventure is about to rise
Unbeknown to him it has begun
Because every day is a new beginning for him
Where he will travel only he knows
But he will always return to his park bench home
In the park where the flowers grow
So if you pass him by asleep
Or if he is awake just say hello
Because unlike him you surely will
Not have far to go
And just remember one thing
When you see Roddy out in the rain and snow
He and his little field mouse friend Mike
Have nowhere else to go
His pockets may be empty
His clothes may look like rags
And as he wanders around the place
His worldly goods are all in bags
But that does not make you a better person
Than he ever could have been you see
But for fate and misfortune
It could be you or me
Jan 26
Jan 26, 2026 at 9:33 AM UTC
Old Archie was a rag and bone man
Who cruised the streets all day
With Mabel his trusted friend and companion
Who pulled the four wheel dray
Which he had purloined from a brewery
Which had been closing down
A big old red brick building
That was on the edge of town
Now Mabel was twenty eight years old
A big old dapple grey
Who cost old Archie a fortune
In biscuits and in hay
But they has been together forever
Or so it really seemed
To Archie as he sat upon the seat
Occasionally falling asleep and dreamed
Rag and Bone he used to shout
As loud as loud could be
And people would come out and give
Old clothes and other goods for free
Sometimes around the posh areas
He would have to pay
And that would just set him off
Moaning the rest of the day
For Archie was a tightwad
Money seemed to be welded in his pocket
He even had a few pound notes
Around his neck in an old locket
But it also contained a picture
Of his beloved flo
His wife for many a long year
The Lord decided had to go
So now it was only Mabel and him
Companions till the end
Working together all day long
Archie’s one true friend.
One day whilst out upon their round
Mabel caused a disgrace
Her tummy was not all it should be
She left manure all over the place
P C Smith came running
Stop he shouted loud and clear
Bur Archie being a little bit deaf
He really did not hear
The constable was now running fast
Gaining on the dray
But slipped upon some of Mabel’s mess
As Archie went on his merry way
He landed in a heap in the road
About twenty feet further adrift
Regaining his composure as best he could
Out came his notebook rather swift
I am arresting you he shouted
For causing this sorry mess
So let’s be having you matey
What’s your name and address
By now a crowd had gathered round
Complaining of police brutality
For picking on an old man and his horse
Only a rag and bone man you see
As P C Smith put away his notebook
Realizing it was a waste of time
Mrs Jones came from up the road
A lady in her prime
Bucket and ***** in hand
She started to scoop up the mess
It’s for my Roses she cried
Spilling some on her dress
Meantime old Archie and Mabel
Started off down the road
Having caused all chaos
His dray now with a full load
It had been just another day for Mabel and him
Who had seen it all, over the past twenty-eight years
A lifetime of hard work and laughter
Along with a few tears
So if you see them out when you’re passing
Just give them a wave and a cheer
Or even better still
Buy them a well earned beer
Jan 22
Jan 22, 2026 at 3:58 AM UTC
Cut the flesh upwards,
Bend your bone cot.
Be aware of everything,
Soul scissors don’t stop...
Our oceans stay so iron sweet,
And this will never change...
Our corrector eye lens cameras stay in range, far...
Our mystery.
Messy makeup burnt.
We’re not perfect but we are what we learn...
And this is where we start, from the pain beauty curves and carves a new art...
Aug 20, 2025
Aug 20, 2025 at 6:37 PM UTC
Life’s just a riddle that none of us can answer
we’ve got some leads, we’ve got some clues.
Still the answer eats alive like a cancer,
and the treatment is something I’m like to refuse.
It was raining
as always in September.
They were complaining
about what; I don’t remember.
Reputation staining,
or maybe full dismember.
In need of some training
or my tempers need to be tempered.
It’s true you can never go back home,
being on your own doesn’t need to mean being alone.
You can gift the people silver, gold and chrome
and they’ll still ask you how to skin a bone.
Life’s just a puzzle that’s missing a piece;
you can try your hardest to fit in another,
or you can accept it and leave the picture incomplete,
and spend the rest of your time left to be frustrated and suffer.
It was a cold December,
some would say you could smell the ice.
I only seem to remember,
the nerve of those celebrating, bleedin’ Christ.
Start a fire but end up with embers
I think a spark or light would be nice.
So I go in search of vendors
but they’re charging far too high of a price.
The nightmare had a nightmare of its own
never learned to share even though it’s full grown.
You can gift people blankets and tapestries that you’ve sewn,
and they’ll still ask you how to skin a bone.
Life is like a flower
it blooms out until it drops.
Each day hour after hour,
until time’s ticking then stops.
For treasure I still scour
moving so fast my steps are hops,
and the floors filthy; needs a shower
but I think I’ve broken the brooms and mops.
It’s true you can never go back home,
the path is covered by weeds and stone,
and to each town and city you roam
there will be those who ask how to skin a bone.
Aug 15, 2025
Aug 15, 2025 at 12:47 PM UTC
They call them the Kings of Bones,
torching the villages and the homes.
Saying they’re done with the ******* and moans
they’re expected to hear when upon their thrones.
So tell me is a battlefield even real
if it isn’t littered in blood, limbs and steel?
The bone kings only receive their end of the deal
if they offer up those who support them for the next meal.
So with scraped and ****** knees,
how are they to pray or please?
If our heads are always bent,
does worship even hold any sentiment?
So tell me is it really a done deal,
just like in guns, germs and steel?
The bone kings take what they want, act as they feel.
They tear all apart and neglect to place a seal.
They’re all too busy reading out of date scripture
that they’re all missing the blatantly clear picture;
Hell is empty as the devils walk the earth.
Everyone wants to rule the world,
trade gold for diamond and diamond for pearl;
doesn’t realize the reverse of worth.
Now they’re wearing collarbones around their neck,
and accessorizing every vertebrae as a ring.
Assuming this cruelty grants them respect,
really at best it’s just straight vulgarity.
But each King stands alone,
forever isolated and on their own.
So they polish a fresh bone
just to add to their skeletal throne.
Jul 16, 2025
Jul 16, 2025 at 11:39 AM UTC
i linger in the tub
long after the heat has left
i wait until it chills my bones
shivers down my spine
i linger in the tub tonight
bubbles sparsely sit on the surface
my pain is slowly unearthing
an iceberg, deeper than expected
an iceberg, how much i’ve been neglected
an iceberg, dive into my tempest
an iceberg, the weight of deflection
May 20, 2025
May 20, 2025 at 5:29 AM UTC
The dog's paw is broken.
The dog's in unbearable pain.
The dog's not whimpering.
It's as if happy. It's not on a chain.
The dog's satisfied with the sunshine.
And yesterday it was raining. That's bad...
Somebody threw a bone in the garbage.
It'll probable get it to eat beforehand.
Both dog's eyes are squinty.
It's warm and free now in whole
Yesterday's gone. Tomorrow'll be later.
Today the dog's calm at all
Mar 5, 2025
Mar 5, 2025 at 10:08 AM UTC
I'm my mother's blood and bone
Features on my face are shown
Identical birthing hips
More alike the more I have grown
And same bit of mischief is harbored in my eyes
In a slightly browner shade to focalize
Motionless in front of reflection transfixed
Cannot help but overanalyze
But on a binge of self-pitying despair
How can I mosey forward with only memories there?
Similarities between are reminders everywhere I turn
Her soul absent and I am all too aware
It comes and goes in undulations of pain
Lost in labyrinth lurking in my brain
Crippled by spilled love that will never return
Only empty echoes within broken heart remain
Feb 9, 2025
Feb 9, 2025 at 4:13 PM UTC
i’d step on your neck at the best of times but
i wish you the best of luck with the rest of your life
break a leg, hit your head, break every bone in your body
though i hope you make it out alive because i’d hate to feel sorry
i hope roses by your bedside would suffice for a goodbye
i hope we never have to speak for the rest of your long life
break a leg
May 31, 2024
May 31, 2024 at 6:39 AM UTC
I need the rain.
Hard,
broken,
dessicated limbs hang
low and heavy
like twin pendulums
of shattered lead.
I need the storm
Cold,
cracking,
drained roots coil
notted and gnarled
like a cage
of sun bleached bone.
I need the flood.
Dark,
engulfing,
suffocated leaves wither
rusted and dying
like an endlessness
of time-ground sand.
I need the void.
Apr 12, 2024
Apr 12, 2024 at 10:50 AM UTC
The poetry
Claws at my rib cage
Like it’s a real cage.
Like it’s minimum wage
Come to pay up, pay a price.
It 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘴 like blood
Or bone.
It blooms like a flower
Then crashes like stone.
It flows out of my lips
Like music’s own bile—
Life’s a trial by fire
But this is fire by trial.
Jan 13, 2024
Jan 13, 2024 at 11:12 AM UTC
plenty of phrases, soaked through the bone
eyelashes moving with eyeballs closed
it’s almost halloween
it’s almost time to party
for our souls
for our bones
for our skeletons we push inside our closets, we have a place to hide, don’t we?
but loneliness is an illness i would rather contend with
it’s familiar and frost-bite warm
i should’ve been warned
about “love” and hasty infatuation
these are my bones
creaky and unknown
they are alone
beside these muscles
that i keep so i
can convince myself i’m fine
beneath a cloak of darkness, of fear
you shouldn’t come to me
you shouldn’t dare
pack a suitcase full of your organs
don’t come to my part of this ghost town
let’s hide our skeletons away, so no one sees, so no one stays
to love us
we don’t deserve it
it’s almost halloween
and i will try to be me
behind a cave
carved makeup on my face
i will try to keep a smile
i will try to leave this denial
i will heat my body up with something besides the hesitation
this presentation, i will perform
with the skeleton in my room
that hides during storms
that is afraid of collecting friends like memories
someone take these bones from
me
Oct 22, 2023
Oct 22, 2023 at 8:19 PM UTC
The passion has almost gone
of love and longing for Thee;
there's no meat left on the bone
for devotion's heart to see.
Instead of looking within
the mind is focused outside
with the body getting thin
life's mercy is to confide.
One just can't ignore the signs
that can be seen by the eyes;
age seems to be drawing lines
and there's no comfort in lies.
Like a dog eating a bone
it soon gets to the marrow
and for this it eats alone
with its eyes being narrow.
We become what we're to be
over a lifetime of years prone
to the ups and downs we see
and fruits of our efforts grown.
It's by grace we can transcend
what it is we have not seen
so the hours we've got to spend
will determine places been.
If we stick fast to the path
and don't deviate too far
we won't incur any wrath
and even shine like a star.
Life's course involves such a plan
that we may glean in the mind
looking deep enough to scan
at its source of light we'll find.
________________
Jul 28, 2023
Jul 28, 2023 at 9:59 PM UTC
Staring at gravestones
Wondering what it is to
Exist, no longer.
Smell of sulfur,
Feel of bone;
Still as water.
May 30, 2023
May 30, 2023 at 10:08 PM UTC
the dog ate the bone
the human ate the fat dog
and i feel so good
Mar 8, 2022
Mar 8, 2022 at 1:42 AM UTC
And a rib was pulled from a side,
Soon was molded to be his Lover:
Tiny whispers calling beautiful bride,
Now with my hand so soft and bare,
I tend to land, _'these grounds of heart.'_
Lay down my eyes, hoping now to see,
The widest eyes, lookers of everything:
_'O, stop looking for perfect fish of the Sea'_
Rubbing salt in a wound, that won't heal.
All we are; are two skies far apart,
Longing to be one being and in flesh,
A piece self trading into your heart:
_Love was first made, we came second._
Children all of our Adam and Eve,
The seeds of a garden forgotten:
But even as I don't see my paradise,
Darling you'll always be my _Eden._
Oct 25, 2021
Oct 25, 2021 at 4:49 PM UTC
Strange creatures stirring
Hiding them inside our skin
Bone and flesh prison
Aug 4, 2021
Aug 4, 2021 at 5:15 AM UTC
I love you beyond the life I lead
beyond daydreams I had as a child
beyond this cage of bone
and the words I pray
I love you beyond
Beyond the earth which houses my body
Beyond the demons of desperation
Beyond belief and believing
beyond the sands of time
I love you beyond
Beyond hands which desire your touch
Beyond the music which sings out
Beyond my eyes which gaze
beyond all my doubts
I love you beyond
In the blackest hope I will find you
and I grasp your hand
Sit with you and make you understand
I love you beyond.
Jul 27, 2021
Jul 27, 2021 at 8:18 AM UTC
Almost like clockwork,
the bone breaks. This time,
an arm, a warning
against the things that hands
can do. Cut it off not at the disease,
but at the root.
We hope, this time,
that we were quick enough
in the amputation.
That the disease has spread
no further than the floor
upon which the phantom limb jerks.
Last time, it was slow,
an infestation below the muscle
until the patient was screaming
for morphine. We had to cut
the lower leg first, but the thigh
was already prisoner.
The neuroscience department
has been working overtime
on all the brains we lobotomised
before removal. We’re thinking
that’s where it ruminates,
dormant, like a volcano.
The infection manifests
differently in everyone.
In some, it cries for attention,
and we cut the throat.
In others, it’s violence,
and it ends up killing itself.
There’s not much we know
and even less we can name.
When they brought my body
in, they called it loneliness,
and cut out my heart.
The wolves ate well that night.
Jul 17, 2021
Jul 17, 2021 at 8:46 PM UTC