"abduction" poems
Your seduction has been unfair,
Though you could not help it, my dear.
My heart melts with the thoughts you share
And aloe smoothness of your hair.
Executed so ruthlessly,
You constantly seducing me,
With love given innocently,
You did it all so carelessly.
I’m smitten and I can’t let go,
Seduced by all the things you know,
You made my desire overflow,
Just by affection that you show.
I’m a slave to your seduction,
Mastermind of will’s abduction,
From our very introduction,
I was lost to your seduction.
Jan 20, 2019
Jan 20, 2019 at 10:04 PM UTC
resuming vogon poetry
altering website logos
pretending everyone cares
playing "east hastings"
asphyxiating well-nigh denouement
depicting twitter status
obfuscating coincident deletions
translating from Sḵwx̱wú7mesh
assuring Sḵwx̱wú7mesh exists
painting skwiḵw's mother?
decrying micropolitical maelstrom
imbibing fireball fountain
inundating lexical foofaraw
crafting poetic wonders
desiring other mediums
remaining practically invisible
ending internet-only depression
drafting noetic blunders
requesting astute clique
blazing perilous trail
aging ominous grisaille
depicting kmart realism
seeking darker groups
increasing pre-weekend laughter
appropriating communist symbols
making lone chuckle
offending worldwide communists
colonizing hello poetry
colonizing parallel universe
relaxing e-migration policies
пить чистую водку
photographing abduction scene
¿losing consistent format?
increasing bluebird insignia
avoiding frivolous legalities
striking astraphobic comments
assuming near-universal automation
lowering latent inhibition
traversing oneiric plane
laxwadding afebrile loodies
wallscaping pitchsourced chthonicities
closing one-star conveniences
sharing alien-looking alphabet
writing system downtimes
Sep 13, 2015
Sep 13, 2015 at 7:42 PM UTC
I remember the days when
a broken glass was just a broken glass,
a poem was just a poem,
a wrist was just a wrist —
and not a headstone for
sunlights, melting;
flowers, wilting;
mirrors, breaking.
Now, it shows half summer smiles,
half dead and sunken cheeks —
an oddity that is Persephone, unhinged
and descending into darkness
and maybe one day,
I'll feel the haunted murmurs beneath my feet
and not in my head —
not in the poems
I cannot write again,
Now, the mirror shows
my aching — it shows my waiting
for death to show up at the doorstep
as though it was an estranged husband
finally coming home.
Slip your grief into Demeter's hands —
lithe. Graceful, and drenched in sunlight.
I remember back when this was an abduction
and not a quiet, slow dance with death.
Slip your sighs, carefully now,
into Demeter's forsaken hands —
I remember how breaths
ended in mine.
// "Maybe Persephone chased her death."
Dec 24, 2020
Dec 24, 2020 at 2:18 AM UTC
Luna Tickle eats only pickles and ***** up all the brine
When her brother tells their mother she begins to whine:
“Yes I did it! And left no tidbit
Is that such a crime? My brother smells and raises hell
And leaves the loo full of slime.”
Now their mother dear began to fear her children were obstructions
Never listening, since their christening, and wished for their abduction
So she planned a slaughter and called her daughter
Outside to the woodshed, then chopped her neck in two
She put Luna’s head in her brother’s bed and said,
“Now, they’ll be no more Boo-Hoos”
Now you know of Luna and her tragic ending
But there’s more to this rhyme that’s pending
For the Tickle name is quite insane
And was never worth defending
But that’s just what her brother did
When Mrs. Tickle met Judge Knuckle
And almost flipped her lid
Screaming:
“I never liked that kid from the day she began to suckle!
Why she couldn’t be more like me, or her lovely sister Tess”
Twas all Mrs. Tickle could confess that day to Judge and jury
Until brother **** chimed-in and confessed his sin
And did so in such a fury, it was heard throughout and within
The entire state of Missouri:
“I am Richard Tickle and do confess I am not fickle
In fact I am quite pugnacious
If you do not see the circumstances like me
I’ll be forced to be disputatious”
Interjects Judge Knuckle:
“Boy, I’ll have you buckled this instance to electric chair
If you’re not scared I’ll be splitting hairs
In a place where the sun does not shine
So if you care, you’d best beware
Or your Gherkin will be in a brine”
Now Tess screamed out and her mother did shout
In perfect unison:
**** is my love and none the likes of any other hooligan”
At this there was a scuffle
Each dame was muffed and ruffled
They could not contain
All their angst and their pain
And it led to the ugliest tussle
For each thought ****
Was devoted to she
And apparently, this could not be
As we know of the trouble with Luna
So the jury was not out
Or even in doubt
Of these sinister makings and troubles
It was the sickest of affairs
Mass-producing glaring stares
From everyone within the court
Missouri Gazette’s headlines that day
Told of how they did slay
And burn the Tickle chalet
Leaving it in incestuous rubble
The lesson today to this horrific ballet
Is don’t live your life in a bubble
Nov 21, 2015
Nov 21, 2015 at 6:39 PM UTC
Drown Drown Drown
racism and sexism and discrimination
and cancer and **** and abduction
and cutting and suicide and drugs
and broken hearts and torn souls
and ripped families and terrorists
just Drown Drown Drown
Drown till I can't see you no more
Drown without a sound
Drown Drown Drown
Please... Please... PLEASE...
before it Drowns Drowns Drowns me.
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 11:50 PM UTC
One night while I was sleeping
The bed began to shake
I knew right then without a doubt
That I was wide awake
Here they come once again
To take me for a ride
I saw their flying saucer
It was much too late to hide
So I put on my old blue jeans
And headed for the door
When I saw this giant beam of light
That ****** me off the floor
I knew exactly what they wanted
And no they didn't use a probe
They didn't **** my brains out
Or even ask me to disrobe
They were looking for a hillbilly
To teach them a thing or two
Like how to skin a possum
And how to make rattlesnake stew
Them aliens were some friendly folk
They said they liked the way I talked
They told me that was the reason
That I was the one they stalked
They asked me about beef jerky
And how to tan a hide
I showed them my old **** dog
As they watched me beam with pride
They said they really liked my truck
And wanted to take it for a spin
So I stuck that thing in four-wheel drive
And you should have seen them grin
When the night was finally over
I thought I heard them say
We'll be coming back real soon
As I watched them fly away
I only had one problem
As I sat there on the ground
Them aliens done up and stole
My very best blue tick hound
Oct 8, 2010
Oct 8, 2010 at 9:00 PM UTC
Sleeping Beauty never slept
she waited for those men.
High up in her dusky tower
she would sit for years on end.
Cigarette butts littered the floor
around her curtained bed,
and as always a Prince Charming would come,
find her sleeping, dead,
her lips painted red.
Seduction and abduction
no one saw them again.
Nov 19, 2012
Nov 19, 2012 at 6:56 PM UTC
My heart has been invaded.
Alarms sound through the open hallways
And echoing spiral stairwells.
I hear the tread of a thousand-man army
Trudging through liquid and flesh
To capture my precious Love,
The Love that has been locked away in a tower
Safe from the outside world.
Call 911 -
This is a real emergency.
Fear creeps up my spine
As the shadow looms in the distance
And my days are numbered.
The army closes in with a fatal lullaby,
But to my surprise
The figure emerging from the mist
Is no heartbreak militia,
But instead
A girl.
Just about my height
Face to face.
Flower petal lips and hummingbird heartbeat.
Deep brown eyes glance through feather-lashes
And I am smitten.
If my invader is here to kidnap Love from her tower,
Love would go willingly.
A dream-come-true abduction.
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 10:51 PM UTC
As humans we have a constant desire for "doing"
We are consumed by the idea of constant movement
Constantly itching for reason
Wondering just why our blood pumps through our veins
What we are truly meant to be
is simply defined, it is "to be"
nothing further, look no more
Living is beautiful,
but life's become a chore.
A beautiful, wonderful, constant bore
I'm sorry but I don't like this ride anymore
It spins and flips and throws us around
I don't like it now, please let me down
I'd rather continue a minimal state
Trust the creation, believe in my fate
Go only where I can wonder and wander
Speak only truths as I question and ponder
Simple love with no instructions
Instead of my mind suffering from abduction
Don't get me wrong, we'd cry if there's sorrow
But nobody lives in hopes of tomorrow
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 10:31 PM UTC
“What can a poem do?”
—————————-
***”A poem
is a not a tourniquet
when you’re bleeding.
It’s not water when you’re thirsty
or food when you’re hungry.
A poem can’t protect you from an airstrike,
or from abduction, or from hate.
It’s hard to write when our words feel
like they’re not enough—they can’t do
the real, tangible work of saving lives,
or making people safer.”***
(see (1) Maggie Smith)
<~>
as is my wont,
I write,
as is my Natted~inhabited,
retiring to the local watering holes of
Cerebrum & Cerebellum,
them regular haunts,
where all requests are mailed, processed, satisfied & marked;
‘return & render to the sender, who’s on a cerebral ******
and that request?
‘give me the words’ (2)
those ‘to do’ words, floaters, direct to top of list,
those ‘can do’ words, that can effect the affect,
spare the despair, realize the fungible, concretize cures,
soften hard waters, giving a worsening worn life fabric a
curated baby blanket feel, a 4-ply human tissue of
‘words that tell me everything’ (2)
salve solution verbs that bounty-wipe spills in entirety,
vacuum up spillage spoiling of 17 days of terrible nouns,
uncovered-unknown rages caused by inflicting prepositions
released a hatred rising,
safety rebury it deeper, drug & destruct the sleeper agents,
and let me start over again with
‘telling me everything by saying nothing’ (2)
the pausal silence, the quieted spaces tween the heartbeats,
where ‘reflection,’
the noun,
and its world of alternations,
reflection,
the noun,
look inwards, but shining outward,
this, this!
is where the poem goes to do!
enervating & arresting
its contradictory powers
rock you into wild docility,
possessive and submissive,
contradictory interferences,
smoothing the roughness,
closing the gaps it opens,
healing the caused truthful cuts,
with words that tell you
everything and nothing,
open the holes, filling the gaps,
that is what a
poem do,
in and by
the manner it is spoken…
<~>
“Sometimes a poem is the stone you carry in your pocket—the one you rub when you’re worried. Let’s fill our pockets with poems.”
(see (1) Maggie Smith)
Oct 24, 2023
Oct 24, 2023 at 10:10 PM UTC
I would like this life of endless
Greyhound time schedules to cease.
What self-inflicted alien abduction
tore me from the valley of my birth,
leaving me to wander empty streets,
each the branch of a coppiced maze?
I grow weary of quotidian fastfood buffets
downed with the aid of espresso baristas.
My legs have lost the muscle-memory
that strode the river cliffs with no regard.
Time to end the sleepwalk of forty years;
rejoin the forward guard of Iroquois.
Oct 18, 2012
Oct 18, 2012 at 10:47 AM UTC
Taken, screaming, kicking, his
nana's image slowly
dissapears
Being held tightly in tears,
nana is no longer there
No longer in nana's arms
He looks down at
dismal bottom steps
now empty
He smells the old wood
these steps of hell leading nowhere
Alien sounds from alien shoes,
he listens in fear and dread
Being lifted to an alien room;
taken against his six year old will
He remembers not what will come
remembering his nana's tears
at the bottom steps,
at the bottom steps of a foster home
And aghast, he was me...
Sep 19, 2014
Sep 19, 2014 at 4:52 PM UTC
Blueprints paved to corruption
Pain, Suffering, War
Minds partake in this brain abduction
War within every nation
The afterlife unknown
Together until complete separation
Together we stand divided we fall
What more is there
To nothing we saw
Feb 19, 2014
Feb 19, 2014 at 12:11 AM UTC
If a song can have power over you
Enough to control the rhythm of your heart
What may one say of the composer?
Who when immersed in the art
Commands the spirits to closure
Is he real enough to feel
The power when awake?
Is he deceptive enough to conceal
The grip of a bygone state?
Revel in the magic till it lasts
Even if for a while at any rate!
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 10:44 AM UTC
It's scary after dark
The moon doesn't quite reach you
The shadows cast are all new
Footsteps echo behind
You say it is just your mind
A hand reaches out
You prepare yourself to shout
A cloth
You gag and cough
Bitter taste
You should have made haste
You fall onto the concrete
What fate will you meet
Apr 30, 2017
Apr 30, 2017 at 8:46 AM UTC
The light, so bright.
Hovering over me tonight,
I look away as I float away.
My feet lose touch to the solid ground,
I am in air now. Humming entering my
ears, hoping I won't be speared.
Entering as I close my eyes,
knowing that I was the chosen one
tonight.
Laying down on a steel table,
hearing buzzing and drilling.
Fear and confusion swirled in my head.
As two big black eyes appeared in front of I,
the feeling of calm and safe calm me down, as I felt a slight pain
on my left arm.
Not scared nor confused I knew what is going on as I learn.
Slightly I fall asleep, knowing that it isn't a dream.
Waking up as I lay, softly in my bed.
My body is all so sore including my head as I bore.
Slowly sitting up, trying to remember what I saw.
Mind blink as I awake, sighing and feeling pain.
If only I could remember the dream I had and the sores on my body.
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 5:14 AM UTC
I Feel like
$100 in the pocket of a gambling loser
Drunk at a casino
9AM.
And Two Something's are playing
Tug-o-war with
my heart-strings
Nostalgic summer flings, bye bye
Goodbye young kings
I Feel like no one ever
Discovered fire in my life & it's still Dark in here
A dark, drunk destiny?
"Please not me"
$100 can go far -
But I'm anxious.
There's always that dwindling thought that
There's a diabolical grand hand
Reaching down from above in malice.
And like The Rapture, or an alien abduction,
Being taken.
Apr 19, 2012
Apr 19, 2012 at 1:06 AM UTC
I’ve never become low on my graveside attendance,
Victim , victim they call me, the moments I’ve been facing are abysmal,
Your voice, mellifluous, makes my world lucid, just like a blissful carnival
You fade away, so far away, in the shades of grey,
These black petals, merely dead, have witnessed a fray
Victim, an element of my soul, enshrouded in a stack of mud, in a desolated place,
My roots are too feeble to read that case
A fragmented mind, my hampered cognition, pictures you in the pleasing attires,
All I know are just my futile desires
Victim, they call me, when I visit your house, and grab those dispersed roses
A few letters garnished, just to seize my reaction,
Almighty has deceived me with his bitter, yet innocent abduction
Your warm breath, ventures me, like a spellbound,
Snivels, ****** tears, soaked up in the soil, I tend to hound
Victim, I’m a victim of my encapsulated love,
A victim of irrational fears, fallible against my taken vows
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 4:56 AM UTC
the cries of this soul entering the valley of death
where others before him sat and wept.
the life you changed is a life that had gone wrong
it was on the road of self destruction , and for
the devil it was an abduction.
your powerful wings brouht you to my side, when you heard
my far distant cry it was a cry for help so loud and clear
that all others shook with fear.
it was an echo that rang like the bells on a steeple
giving a warning to all its people.
knowing that your battle had begun , they looked down
to the earth to see which one had won.
the wings of the angel knocked the devil to his knees
as his pitchfork struck him and he began to bleed.
the devil jabbing at him with all his might , not wanting
to lose another fight.
the angels wings moved quickly like in a dance
and the devil knew he had no chance.
his arms were tired as he continued to poke
as the angels wings weakened him with every stroke.
with a screech he fell to the ground , screaming to the angel
" you won this round "
no longer did he have control over a child of GOD
because it had become much to hard.
the angel carried the soul to the heavens above
where all he could see was happiness and love.
(C) L . RAMS 062915
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 10:45 PM UTC
In depths of my unfathomable psyche
Submerged I find myself floating around in the ‘shallow’ societal sea of our world.
Oh but it is not ‘shallow’ you’ll see
It is a deep blue ocean that withholds great mystery;
& those who see it as ‘shallow’
Are only those who stand in clouds of constant oblivion; Ceasing the inhale of beauty, intellect, and individuality.
In the depths of my unfathomable psyche
Throughout every passing day
I observe, I listen, and I take into account the things that are done and said by every individual person I come across.
Now here I sit, in the complete abduction of the beautiful, yet merciless monster called insomnia, without fail of corse accompanied by her sister solitude;
& I reflect.
In the depths of my unfathomable psyche
I realize that in order to best express the realization of my reflection…
I must let my walls down; so I will.
And now that I have…
The word to describe the feeling that takes over ‘me’ in this very moment is one that acquires the ability to depict ones exact feelings in a way I do not obtain.
In the depths of my unfathomable psyche
I feel lonely because I know that the odds of me meeting someone as insane as me are slight; yet I feel appreciative because I couldn’t imagine possessing such an ugly, close minded, and indifferent insight.
I feel a type of sadness that could only emerge from a person that fears never getting to experience the comfort that comes from acceptance; yet i feel overwhelming excitement and longing in the midst of my hopeless romantic type daydream of the possibility that I will find my somebody that does not seek to comprehend or figure me out but will accept ever corner and color I currently am and everything I have yet to become
I feel pitty for the average;
Yes I am not sane
Yes I am not average
And yes the depths of my true thoughts I have not learned to control; but my insanity is and will always be the fuel to my potential.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 2:18 PM UTC
You know things are dire
When you study the Internet and buy an air fryer
A material abduction
That comes in a large box with no instruction
You search in vain for something to cook
Struggling on YouTube, you make that look
Of someone lost in absolution consumption
No sense of normal behaviour resumption
With social top trump psychology
We debate 'extra crisp' technology
Creating new food mashups from hell
What comes out of the sliding drawer no-one can tell
After dehydrating decent food
You may find you need to do some good
Switch off that new fire
And bin your air fryer
Oct 11, 2022
Oct 11, 2022 at 5:04 PM UTC
Standing in the tunnel
at Eighth and Pine station,
I survey westbound commuters
waiting across the tracks -
standing arms akimbo
or leaning on marble walls.
A well-suited young man paces the platform -
cell phone pressed to his cheek.
[Passengers stand clear of the
edge of the platform at all times]
Rushing in from the east,
a gleaming white chariot
arrives - pauses - resumes
leaving the far platform vacated
as if by alien abduction
From the left a blazing light
pierces the tunnel
and the Shiloh – Scott eastbound
halts and snaps open its doors.
crossing the threshold.,
I claim a seat by the aisle.
[Please stand clear! Doors are closing]
With eyes half shut I scan the crowd:
uniformed workers wearing ID's,
a toddler’s arms and legs
dangling off his mother's lap,
An elderly couple talking softly.
The soft clatter of wheels
and the gentle side-to-side sway
rocks us like a cradle -
memories of the long day
melting into thoughts of home.
[Fairview Heights Station.
Doors open to my right]
The lady with the toddler steps off.
A trio of teenage girls
fresh from the mall
seek and find empty seats -
filling the rear of the car
with the music of their chatter.
Streetlamps scatter shadows
over parking lots.
The unseen country side
slips by under cover of darkness.
Headlights gleam like jewels
waiting for crossing gates to lift
[Next stop Belleville Station
Doors open to my left]
I clutch my lap top,
work my way to the door
and wait for the train’s full stop
Stepping out into the frost filled air
I pause to watch the sleak white chariot
vanish on the eastern horizon.
September, 2006
Nov 13, 2015
Nov 13, 2015 at 6:29 AM UTC
We agreed it was the
********** of life searching
on our hands and knees
as meteors burnt up
in the atmosphere
discovering new through
burnt ashes and falling
in love too fast while
the child in us screams
where's the fresh cement
of unbeaten path? Silly
scowls sit with little lips.
Abduction he swore! They
probed picked his brain .
Meanings change when the lights
start to flash
and your senses are hollow
gelatin mix. Remembers not how
they got to be but
where it used to go
He said purgatory got him here
because he told them he
didn't want to wait.
Moses had to wait for
thirty years and millions
of lives. His naked ghost,
hair whiter, than artificial
light when he said
“it was in the naked catacomb
when the walls fully dressed, in purple's
nobility, while not forgetting to grab all
the beggars' begging.
the leak was quick not slow
and the air pumped itself.
Athena looked down and cried at
the misery. She pleaded for no flood, she
couldn’t persuade God.
Crumbling steal and birds of fire
brought upon the sand
that got stuck in the mouths. Grains from
different dunes all on one spoon
Does not mix all to well just like
how Noah placed the Lions
beside the Zebras in an empty place.
Mayans mark their skies as
Cats will their lives. They don't worry until
they're down to one, down to one
grain of sanded rice that's supposed to
feed the entire world but won't suffice until
someone sees at last.
Better too late than never, as they'll often say.”
Jun 19, 2012
Jun 19, 2012 at 1:33 PM UTC
There's a temperamental rainbow
he's seen, peeking out now and again, when
it's not shyly hid in cumulus cubbies.
He might, he can, win its sparkly trust,
luring it to him, between rainy bouts,
with promises of mood-altering
medication. Then, clapped with a lightning
clout, he'll stuff it in ten-gallon tubs
to struggle, bawl, and futilely fill
his deviant's plan. For in that muffle
of tinted pleas, its droppered breath will
condense against lids clamped-down tight,
and bottoms can collect sunny flavors
he needs to slather on the lolling
tongue of his too humdrum day-to-day.
Apr 3, 2010
Apr 3, 2010 at 10:01 AM UTC
*a Lady at psychological
treatment center.
she tells the therapist her story.
she says she's being abducted
by aliens every night
they take her to their ship
and she is used for
****** experimentation
to prepare for an invasion of earth.
the therapist holds her hand
and says never mind dear
I will help you get rid of them
forever in just a short while.
she shouted NO! in dismay.
Can you ask them to come
just once a week
she said sweetly.*
Apr 2, 2016
Apr 2, 2016 at 9:27 AM UTC