#tarantula
Spider in my room.
Tucked away in the corner.
I know you are there.
Mar 2, 2019
Mar 2, 2019 at 4:28 AM UTC
This poem is originally written by my favorite poet, Charles Bukowski. .
they're not going to let you
sit at a front table
at some cafe in Europe
in the mid-afternoon sun.
if you do, somebody's going to
drive by and
spray your guts with a
submachine gun.
they're not going to let you
feel good
for very long
anywhere.
the forces aren't going to
let you sit around
fucking-off and
relaxing.
you've got to go
their way.
the unhappy, the bitter and
the vengeful
need their
fix - which is
you or somebody
anybody
in agony, or
better yet
dead, dropped into some
hole.
as long as there are
humans about
there is never going to be
any peace
for any individual
upon this earth or
anywhere else
they might
escape to.
all you can do
is maybe grab
ten lucky minutes
here
or maybe an hour
there.
something
is working toward you
right now, and
I mean you
and nobody but
you.
Oct 9, 2017
Oct 9, 2017 at 7:26 PM UTC
The sun bled infection
Mother Nature wept at all this mess.
they was all runts made of litter
& was done away with each other
before they seent they was
one with each other &
it bothered Father Time so
he shot Big Brother &
Little Sister down with his nine
& god daughter blind saw
the whole slaughter but
thought the whole thing was
pretty much black and white.
Do away with em all, Charlotte.
doused in scarlet charlatan-
lifted inhibition
her golden hearted
harlot trickery
speaks of defeat in victories;
he lived in his liquor
to prevent from feelin
too sick with himself
same reason
he sticks himself with needles
treating diseases
no one but them can see &
feeding to the need of the queen
to keep the screams quiet for the night
& keep the hive alive alright
& thriving vibrant
lest the fiends get violent
& riot inside their minds.
then there's a problem.
but problems is made for solvin.
zoom out, island of lost babies
where they got Wilbur's head on a stake
speaking zen
the monster live within &
we're just seeing in others
a reflection of ourselves.
breathe in, buddha.
burn slow.
move steady or
lose your head.
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 3:28 AM UTC
Blood, now boils quick, it's intense, he is in fire,
on her every touch, there is a special anesthetic
a poisonous binge, causes tidal waves go berserk
in his stream of blood,tangible effects of arousal results,
body now is a vast field, goosebumps sprout like spotted
magic mushrooms after a night long rain and thunderclaps,
the salacious intent of the scent of woman,wafts,
singing pheromones perfectly rhyme with *** center
of the brain, "Ï am addicted to tarantula's love"
his whisper sounds ominous, tarantula casts her net
Serpentine vines tangle on wild trees,in natural history
museum premises,trees fall down and rise, create leaf beds
dark enclosures where lovers escape the detection of radars,
explore,the unbridled ascent of carnal wishes,as if a permit
is ingrained in the scent of exotic orchids wafting in the wind,
allowing the wild run of instincts, a dam burst, here cobras prowl,
tarantulas, at a quick look are exposed ******* with dark *******
on eight legs the desire stands,waiting for the next ***** lover,
She was watching an insatiable pair of tarantulas in elaborate
mating rituals,they move inside, cracks and burrows,concealed
by the cover of darkness,they come out,to eat the night flowers,
exhaling ****** hunger; their dark, devious fingers, touching, caressing
finding each other's intimate parts has a dark frenzy...
he saw the blue glimmer of a concealed weapon,smeared on by amour,
as they tumble in bed,she flashes her most venomous smile,
like the quick move of the sharp end of a bodkin,
Tarantula's love affair,when it all are over, her lover's end comes near.
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 2:48 PM UTC
Falling to earth with such a crash,
antenna waves and legs do thrash
as panic fills this quiet place,
invading visitor is fast to race.
It chirps so loud, out into the night
perhaps to explain its weary plight.
In hope that someone may attend
and come to rescue a dear friend.
Alas the latter does not show
but I think that it doesn't know,
as off it stalks with knowledge none,
his fate is not an healthy one.
I sit in such a peaceful state.
Contented just to sit and wait
until this morsel feels secure.
As legs thrash through silky lure.
Until that time with such a gasp,
the critter steps into my grasp.
To struggle now is not of worth
as my fangs intrude throughout its girth.
With a body now so soft and limp,
interior now a lovely drink.
Its frenzied kicks to get away
for this cricket will never pay.
Venoms course, its presense felt,
a life that dwindles with the melt.
All that's left are bones to crunch
As this Tarantula enjoys her lunch
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 12:20 PM UTC