#ire
My words dig deep
And do they strike true.
My tongue is a weapon,
I don't always use
It can harm and main
Deeper than any physical wound.
My words can heal, harm...
Or haunt you.
Aug 19, 2025
Aug 19, 2025 at 9:20 PM UTC
Poke the bear
and run away
hope, he's slow and old
Fear his wrath
the aftermath
your corpse now dead
and cold
The flies swoop in
decomp begins
maggots have their day
Bleached the bones
left all alone
may heaven have your sway
When at the gates
an awful state
St Peter will inquire
"What made you brave
and misbehave,
rewarded, bruin's ire?"
He'll read the book
a double look
show you the way to hell
Cuz we all know
a stupid show
never ends up
well
Apr 10, 2025
Apr 10, 2025 at 12:04 PM UTC
you're "laughing out loud" at me
that's good
i hope its hearty
thank god i'm humorous
to bring elation to a life as dull as yours
and i'm not upset
cause i'm laughing too!
Jan 23, 2021
Jan 23, 2021 at 9:48 AM UTC
slovenly soluble loves
from hearts that ache
that can't imagine being
on their own
being by themselves
could you blame them?
Nov 16, 2020
Nov 16, 2020 at 5:24 PM UTC
Poke the bear
and run away
hope, he's slow and old
Fear his wrath
the aftermath
your corpse now dead
and cold
The flies swoop in
decomp begins
maggots have their day
Bleached the bones
left all alone
may heaven have your sway
When at the gates
an awful state
St Peter will inquire
"What made you brave
and misbehave,
rewarded, bruin's ire?"
He'll read the book
a double look
show you the way to hell
Cuz we all know
a stupid show
never ends up
well
Jun 25, 2019
Jun 25, 2019 at 4:23 PM UTC
a distraught sparrow,
tries to dodge the arrows of heat,
mother nature's ire!
Feb 19, 2019
Feb 19, 2019 at 8:59 AM UTC
If I wrote a poem for every ******* who I should've killed cold dead,
but I didn't
I would have written a thousand poems.
If I killed every ******* who I should have,
I wouldn't be writing poems,
I'd be happy.
Feb 15, 2019
Feb 15, 2019 at 11:09 AM UTC
I’m from Late night movies, goodnight phone calls, and reading till morning.
I’m from dragonfly walls, lost sleepovers, and 3am hot-tubbing.
I’m from spadolini sauce, moonpies, peach rings, and truffle popcorn.
I’m from my struggles that made me strong, my joy that propelled me through life, and my friends who taught me the beauty of the broken hearted.
I’m from the lyrics of Oh wonder, Lily Ire, and Elizaveta.
I’m from the movement of air past my face, the spinning of limbs through silk, and the taut of my muscles before I fly.
I’m from my mom with her comforting touch, and my Dad with his sweet humor.
I’m From Driving through tunnels of green - darkness all around -hand out the window, music blasting- And My brother sitting next to me, singing like an angel...
Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 7:47 PM UTC
oh to sink into the earth!
sodden and rancid with rain;
sagging under the weight
of too much
after too long. Drowning,
under more of the same
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 11:41 PM UTC
I inspire
I won’t expire
I transcend
I won’t descend
Aspire to transpire
Make pages
In His Story
Make a name
That won’t fade
Through the ages
And paint your images
With full colors
That time can’t erase
Mount your fears
And they will take you far
Like a feather
Blown by the wind
Fear is the weakness
It cripples your mind
And weakens your faith
Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 4:34 AM UTC
Get out!
Stop ruining my life!
Your words, they destroy my future,
Like a bullet, bomb, knife.
In other words
Shut up
Jun 9, 2018
Jun 9, 2018 at 1:31 PM UTC
you spite the gods
because who else would dare do such a thing.
you spite the gods
because nothing makes you feel more alive
then to imagine what their ire feels off.
May 21, 2018
May 21, 2018 at 7:00 AM UTC
please lemme know and honestly profess
if profusion of words create a lingual Loch Ness
(when hens canst come home to roost
especially, encountering
the following conglomeration
in matthew scott harris patois).
He readily admits writing inventive
attempts usually ten tubby a literary mess,
thus finding innocent cyber cruisers
Angle fishing for Saxony fundamental fluidity
courtesy of Freudian stream of consciousness,
gabbling gibberish, muck not done on purpose
and certainly less
to impress.
Gnome hatter intent toward
cogency, fancy ingenuity,
levity, the inevitable
resultant wrought gobbledygook
fascination for Lingua Franca
feeble endeavor splutters, splinters,
and splatters Asia Yukon guess.
Paramour status analogous with twenty six letters,
sans En gull Lush Mother tongue confluence
finds me submerged (as an Arctic Monkey)
swimmingly enervated
via ****** laced sentiments
perhaps finds bravely daring soul madly
hollering, gesticulating floundering,
(in close proximity to Davey Jones's locker)
to avoid drowning at sea
perchance comprehending passionate influence.
Upon espying a signature poem of mine
forces one pre ponder ring lurking predilection
tib hush anonymous re:
dears (dares) adventuresome mettle
taking him/her to the brainy
(briny) deep brink
Icon fess
this (NON FAKE) pretense, why
aye metaphorically express
(via medium of ordinary Anglophile
alphabetic wanton soup,
or figurative egg drop bub
bling broth (el) doth brew)
pronouns Sibyl affectation
affliction sans plethora,
where each ladle full adrip with
richly flavor Verdana Font lee
and sincerely textured vocabulary.
Pluperfect mortals beings undoubtedly feel
(blindsided, how this hunger stricken author
suffers said sesquipedalian syndrome
particularly expectorating flashy
hoping tum bark on successful literary quest)
hyper aware aspiring paperback writers wannabe
might stoop to conquer, cheat, cadge
vis a vis plagiarize plethora
amidst storied plentiful English droppings.
Rather than succumb pretense feigning paucity
temptation to bask exultantly,
professed glorious unrequited love
announcing required sworn vow,
(el lye ding) avowed consonant covenant.
Feb 23, 2018
Feb 23, 2018 at 8:25 PM UTC
In the park
Out for a walk
And the fellow joggers on the track
The gym equipments all occupied
Heavily working out
For sure the users
Were thinking out aloud
While working out
Maybe it's the neighbour
Or the bossy boss around
The equipments
Facing the ire
The users all on fire
Nov 7, 2017
Nov 7, 2017 at 5:24 AM UTC
Words theyv been feeble
Waves much unstable
Wallowing on the spectrum
Of overruling phantasm:
And eye have become...
Nothing.
Nothing but an oddball-
| Certifiable |
tenebrous influence-
| Socially unacceptable |
Day by day getting more and more..
un..available.
And All these Stoicism
All those optimism
Now have been
Swamped away by the skepticism
While every destructive mechanism -
They
Swift..
along..
The throat level
( choking )
And It is all inescapable
For them Crus are Tethered
Catatonic and unfeathered
Aaand
I am
choking
on
Every hit
of ripples
That I swallow
For this pond is
narrow
Way too shallow.
For me...
to
Sink.
Jul 11, 2017
Jul 11, 2017 at 5:07 AM UTC
These frail mane still smells of coffin nail.
Hands..Struggling with metacarpus to trade the manus ..
stretch. scratch. Twirl.
Orbs: wide and wrathful:
Fluctuating the pupils
left and right
| Mad mad |
Concerntating on these screams..
screams into le noir lughole .
THERE!
I grasp your fluttering wings.
Oh you flutterer !
fluttering on C.
Fluttering hushed ..
Fluttering hasten..
fluttering to strive for nooks and blood.
Oh you flutterer!
erroneous target thee choosed.
Smash. Squeeze.
Alas!
now ease into mine ichor palms.
Jun 10, 2017
Jun 10, 2017 at 1:16 PM UTC
(haiku)
Stars burst into flames
–a death of the little sparks
Evermore ablaze
Jul 26, 2016
Jul 26, 2016 at 1:37 PM UTC
He spoke it all into existence and now he dreadfully merits his quiet.
*Words do nothing for me
He quietly echoes
They leave him lost
Like dismayed homes
You cannot heed him
For he is the silence
Which reeks of ire
Do not try and plead him
For your abjection
Is his sole desire
In opposition to the will
He held her hands
Like a broken clock
No time for compromise
No time to stop
Words are nothing to you
He loudly utters
Words are everything to me
She struggles to mutter
Intrusion proceeds
Denuding her garden
Walls shadow
A penalizing truth
He cannot be pardon.***
Dec 20, 2015
Dec 20, 2015 at 11:30 AM UTC
What heinous acts
happened in Paris
so recently
happen all over the World
(yes, with a capitol "W")
every single day
and no one ever seems to really give a single ****
until it's a "civilized nation;"
that is to say
a western nation.
Oh, please.
Lest we forget
NATO, the UN, and countless other nations or groups of people
commit far greater atrocities
on a perhaps much larger scale
perhaps much more regularly
and no one talks about it-
yet if they do, and they're of the West,
it's glorified as saving the civilized world
from injustice, tyranny, bloodthirst and corruption.
Why, then, is it okay
for the West to transgress against others
for our own political, economic or simply sadistic goals
and for others to transgress against one another
(and for the West to bet on their strife and rig the odds too)
but then when it's done unto the West,
they're unforgivable evil warmongering savages
whereas the West is just innocent?
What the ****
Why do we in the Western cult of the World
get to be Judge, Jury, Executioner,
Press, Victim, and Beneficiary?
Sounds kinda ethnocentric to me..
Maybe these attacks
are to violently prove a point
that we are not so different or stratified or separated
as we may wish to think we are.
Maybe they're angry
we refuse to allow them to sort out their conflicts for themselves.
Maybe they're frustrated
with our domineering and permissive Western-world-centric
commodification, dehumanization, and globalized ****
of any resources, people, or land we wish to own
which is so graciously sacrificed by our sacred Mother Earth
for all and any to use-
so many of which so happen to occur
across petty and mortal geopolitical lines
drawn by fingers of Devils
in Gods' sands.
This type of ire and violence
should never be condoned
and I am deeply disturbed and ashamed
by our irksome and shameless
double standard propaganda.
All lives matter.
Period.
Regardless of
ideology or nationality.
Regardless of
*** sexuality, skin, dress, or hair.
Regardless of
language, culture, or material wealth.
Regardless of
geography, education, religion, or politics.
Besides,
I'm certain we've already spilled
at least just as much blood in retaliation.
How many of the dead would have to be innocent for us to even care?
It's a vicious cycle we Humans are pretty "good"at.
--
--
Please know that this plea is neither intended to downplay the very real pain nor to legitimize gruesome and tragically inhumane events, but simply to empathize and show solidarity with all of Humankind;
not just our fellow 'Westerners.'
We are all equally Human.
Every ******* one of us.
No exceptions.
Period.
Ever.
Period.
Our enemies are extensions of ourselves.
We must allow them to teach us.
To keep killing one another
is to perpetuate our self-inflicted purgatory
as a conscious species.
If we refuse to change,
perhaps we've earned this Hell.
Hold people accountable
for what they do to our planet
and to her life- our lives and those of everything around us:
animals (including Humans), plants, ecosystems, economies, philosophies;
no matter which side of which line they're from
or what name they go by
or what title they hold,
for the Devil's face and name must be known
beyond a shadow of a doubt
to be able to confront the Evil
and have the knowledge, courage and integrity to resist it
and in so doing transcend into Heaven.
I love you all.
Thank you for reading.
Blessings upon thy Paths.
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 10:27 PM UTC
Just what was love to you, sweet darling of nothing but bitter
what were its intentions
what reason was it there for
what wonders did it long to see
How many desserts did it wander
how many oceans did it swim
how many infernos did it dare enter
Darling, just what is love to you?
Was it as visible as your crystal-clear mirror
or was it as hidden as the flaws you tried to bury six feet under
while she was enveloped well in layers and layers of your pockets
in her gravestone, written, “Suffocated”.
Darling, just what is love to you?
Was it as long-lasting as the stains you’ve left in every room inside her house
or was it as impatient as those almost-adventures to deep seas, warm sunsets, and high mountains
she was just as ready and as packed as you were but you were already-distant when she went out the door.
Darling, just what is love to you?
Was it as understanding as the sea is to the shore
or was it as frustrating as a thread through the tiniest needle’s eye
you covered her in you salt-water and embroidered on her skin as if it was paper.
Darling, just what is love to you?
The truth is, darling; love to you was no one and nothing other than yourself.
That was all you ever cared for.
That was all you ever sheltered.
That was all you ever loved.
You were the desserts she wandered,
you were the oceans she swam and
you were the infernos she burnt in.
Darling, which was love?
Love to her was the mistaken-beauty in you
and you were so twisted in your paths to even
see how astonished she was that
one day her heart died loving yours.
You slapped heavens out of her and
ripped her silken being
whilst love for her was you.
Darling, you aren't much of it, are you?
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 10:52 PM UTC
My spirit soars in the squall,
tempestuous wind howling my body away,
a frenetic ire known only to me, all-consuming.
Then comes peace, bluster departing.
I spin silently through troposphere,
feeling the sudden gravity as I plunge.
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 5:36 PM UTC
Dark and cold and howling wind,
My ire hot and anger strong,
I walk the streets and long for blood,
A lioness whose prey is gone.
My skin is cold but blood is hot,
The need to rip, the need to hurt,
I know I can’t nor would I try,
But hurt and anger are deadly food,
And I eat upon it in the dark,
And all that’s past and all to come,
I know I must step back and calm,
To calm and settle and fight no more,
To return to peace, to cool my blood,
And in the dark and cold and wind,
I try to calm, I look for peace,
For ire cooled and anger dropped,
For waning fire and waxing calm,
Back to myself, I turn once more,
And let it go and walk beyond,
The lioness back to her cave,
And warm my skin and cool my blood,
And let Fate do what must be done.
~Heated Blood by Bethany Davis, October 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 10:53 PM UTC
He was sent to Aldershot for training
He would learn how to **** or be killed
The training was all done with broomsticks
When he thought back it made his blood chill.
His unit was sent down to Portsmouth
To board a ship and go over there
It was packed to the gunwales with weapons
And the rations left no room to spare.
He practiced with his rifle on the journey
Like others who’d not held one before
He’d no sense of the horror he’d be facing
Nor the violence he’d always abhorred.
It was such a small piece of shrapnel
Caught both eyes as a shell case shattered
He never saw his two boys as they grew into men
Missing out on so much that had mattered.
His wife who he loved always helped him
And a life with new interests grew
He learnt how to read the braille papers
It pleased him he’d still know the news.
But the trauma from the experience scarred him
And ire with politics grew by the day
So he took to his new odd braille keyboard
And wrote articles and letters to complain.
He could sense the new way that the wind blew
In the corridors of power in the House
There was money to be made in new weapons
And politicians ignore those who grouse.
Then again two decades later it started
Another war that would mean more dead men
The obscenity rose like a bile in his throat
So once again he took to his ‘pen’.
©JRW2014
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 6:37 PM UTC