#subterranean - Hello Poetry

Chasing darkness surmising depth lies in the depths trenches are dug in craters the holes we dig make us special so we keep on digging. Subterranean cranium head in the sand—soul buried in soil paying the undertaker in advance the shovel feels lighter once it's smoothing the dirt guarding the top of the grave. Coffin solitude dormant tears loosen the Earth the clay dam breaks jailbreak mudslide birthed from a muddy womb crying, gasping for air. We cleanse ourselves in the healing waters of time donning our Sunday best for church joining the choir boys standing at Jesus' feet singing a chorus of denial "I never asked for this".

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Aug 26, 2020

Aug 26, 2020 at 7:40 AM UTC

andrew-rueter

Subterranean Cranium

Chasing darkness surmising depth lies in the depths trenches are dug in craters the holes we dig make us special so we keep on digging. Subterranean cranium head in the sand—soul buried in soil paying the undertaker in advance the shovel feels lighter once it's smoothing the dirt guarding the top of the grave. Coffin solitude dormant tears loosen the Earth the clay dam breaks jailbreak mudslide birthed from a muddy womb crying, gasping for air. We cleanse ourselves in the healing waters of time donning our Sunday best for church joining the choir boys standing at Jesus' feet singing a chorus of denial "I never asked for this".

21

beneath the earth's soil a vast network of roots lay which succor plant growth they ingest the loam's good food through their subterranean sprouts

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Jun 14, 2020

Jun 14, 2020 at 5:51 AM UTC

ElizabethSquires

Subterranean Sprouts (Tanka)

beneath the earth's soil a vast network of roots lay which succor plant growth they ingest the loam's good food through their subterranean sprouts

5

Scream into the darkness Without a sound Weakling Powerless miscreant Buried by ash And trampled by a thousand footsteps A thunderous roar rips through the night My desire to reconnect is devoured By my craving for... Subterranean hedonism Exhausted from the surface I burrow into fantasies of sunken darkness I have tried to blend into the world But people continue to dissapoint me Bones ground to ash and thrown to the wind My last burials rites I had hoped it wouldn't come to this But there is no hope...there is only me

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Jun 19, 2016

Jun 19, 2016 at 3:39 AM UTC

max-southwood

Subterranean Hedonism

Scream into the darkness Without a sound Weakling Powerless miscreant Buried by ash And trampled by a thousand footsteps A thunderous roar rips through the night My desire to reconnect is devoured By my craving for... Subterranean hedonism Exhausted from the surface I burrow into fantasies of sunken darkness I have tried to blend into the world But people continue to dissapoint me Bones ground to ash and thrown to the wind My last burials rites I had hoped it wouldn't come to this But there is no hope...there is only me

18

My ***** felt a feather heavier than iron As I’d opted for anything other than rollover Whilst puking up that, “nicer,” guy. The drink’s a ghost. The scold’s a mixer, Soured on the rocks, Shaken, not stirred, Stirred, not shaken, And without a sliver of, “he,” who’d opt Accommodate or acquiesce. Call it, “transcendence,” I guess? Born a realization that this world’s, “DOG-EAT-DOG,” or, “GOD-EAT-GOD,” or, “GOD-TEA-DOG,” And should I not comprehend This very simple reality, I’d be a doormat unto my own grave. So I fail, I’m frail, and all for one tail Prior the act that’d ever invoke, “Leave;” even atop the eve of beggary. Resolute? I’d opt for the longer life, perhaps, Not that I’d wanted to live to long anyway, But I’d made a choice, I’d arbitrated one cardinal direction – elliptical. I’d acted, placated, satiated, intimidated, Decimated, defecated, wiggled my right pinky And culminated a prayer atop altars, “godless,” To never knock upon that door again. And so, but one question remains, “Did I?”

0

Jul 2, 2015

Jul 2, 2015 at 11:25 AM UTC

liam-c-calhoun

Between (boys, girls and tables etched bourbon)

My ***** felt a feather heavier than iron As I’d opted for anything other than rollover Whilst puking up that, “nicer,” guy. The drink’s a ghost. The scold’s a mixer, Soured on the rocks, Shaken, not stirred, Stirred, not shaken, And without a sliver of, “he,” who’d opt Accommodate or acquiesce. Call it, “transcendence,” I guess? Born a realization that this world’s, “DOG-EAT-DOG,” or, “GOD-EAT-GOD,” or, “GOD-TEA-DOG,” And should I not comprehend This very simple reality, I’d be a doormat unto my own grave. So I fail, I’m frail, and all for one tail Prior the act that’d ever invoke, “Leave;” even atop the eve of beggary. Resolute? I’d opt for the longer life, perhaps, Not that I’d wanted to live to long anyway, But I’d made a choice, I’d arbitrated one cardinal direction – elliptical. I’d acted, placated, satiated, intimidated, Decimated, defecated, wiggled my right pinky And culminated a prayer atop altars, “godless,” To never knock upon that door again. And so, but one question remains, “Did I?”

29

A one thousand page hymn singing from lotus petal pages bound on hummingbird wings Subtle energies unfolding, unfurling unwinding within Celestial prophecies unrooting in elements of oceans of water of air Gaia and Uranus blooming from aetheric nests Subterranean spelunking unweaving a gossamer cloak from plumes of the Red-Tailed Hawk

0

Nov 22, 2014

Nov 22, 2014 at 5:10 PM UTC

aaronmullin-fb

Red-Tailed Hawk

A one thousand page hymn singing from lotus petal pages bound on hummingbird wings Subtle energies unfolding, unfurling unwinding within Celestial prophecies unrooting in elements of oceans of water of air Gaia and Uranus blooming from aetheric nests Subterranean spelunking unweaving a gossamer cloak from plumes of the Red-Tailed Hawk

15