"absconded" poems
Blandly mother
takes him strolling
by railroad and by river
--he's the son of the absconded
hot rod angel--
and he imagines cars
and rides them in his dreams,
so lonely growing up among
the imaginary automobiles
and dead souls of Tarrytown
to create
out of his own imagination
the beauty of his wild
forebears--a mythology
he cannot inherit.
Will he later hallucinate
his gods? Waking
among mysteries with
an insane gleam
of recollection?
The recognition--
something so rare
in his soul,
met only in dreams
--nostalgias
of another life.
A question of the soul.
And the injured
losing their injury
in their innocence
--a **** a cross,
an excellence of love.
And the father grieves
in flophouse
complexities of memory
a thousand miles
away, unknowing
of the unexpected
youthful stranger
bumming toward his door.
New York, April 13, 1952
3.4k
There once was a hedgehog who sang the blues,
And every day he'd sing his lonely tunes.
I asked him if he'd sing a happy song,
But he said not since he'd been wronged
By a certain red-hatted gnome
Who had driven him from his home.
That bad gnome, you see, had stolen his dreams,
And absconded with a mistress of seams.
With this seamstress the hedgehog had fallen in love
After she had sewn him some quite dashing gloves.
And while they then had a nice picnic,
In the rose garden, a place thought quite chic,
The gnome had more money
So she called him honey.
Then off they did roam, the seamstress and gnome,
Around the world, calling all places home.
The hedgehog ran off away from that place
Hoping to never again see Gnome's face.
But sadly Gnome found a job on TV
And every day he the hedgehog would see.
All this the hedgehog told me that night
As he sang in the pale moonlight.
Later that week I was back in that place
Where I found him with a smile on his face.
I asked him why he was so full of cheer.
And he told me that the seamstress was near.
She had left the gnome who was a rascal.
She had found with him naught but a fiasco.
From the hedgehog she had run,
But now to him she had come.
For she knew he did love her,
And he would be her lover.
Thus ends this story of seams and true love.
They lived ever after making their gloves.
Feb 24, 2017
Feb 24, 2017 at 10:51 AM UTC
645
Bereavement in their death to feel
Whom We have never seen—
A Vital Kinsmanship import
Our Soul and theirs—between—
For Stranger—Strangers do not mourn—
There be Immortal friends
Whom Death see first—’tis news of this
That paralyze Ourselves—
Who, vital only to Our Thought—
Such Presence bear away
In dying—’tis as if Our Souls
Absconded—suddenly—
2.1k
Loneliness
As it exists for me it creates a daily frown,
It restricted my world, happiness flown.
Like the autumn leaves fallen, wind blown,
My joys absconded to parts unknown.
To the world, I am famously full grown,
But lonely insecurity is my cruel crown.
Seeking to soothe the bruises all alone,
Drying my teary eyes as my soul does groan.
Hoping that the plans I have recently sown,
Will heal the unseen wounds of being alone.
©Perveiz Ali
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 10:44 AM UTC
We left the Summer too long,
that is ran off and absconded,
turned to Autumn,
made blue skies red.
I got told that
there’s a girl for every thought,
by a man with brown eyes.
He took a train South at
nine fifteen with a bought
bag of lies tucked between forearm
and chest; below the neck but still high enough.
Hide behind new names
devised by haircut disasters and
*** gin and past-their-sell-by-date jokes,
thought up in hotel lobbies
in front of a front desk clerk,
oblivious to everything but hotel work.
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 9:41 AM UTC
***I love your wicked disrespect
How you absconded and broke free
From the chains that tried to bind you
To the poets code for all eternity
You thought to hell with all that ****
I have my axe to grind
You cast aside the literary bonds
And no longer were you blind
Free you were to use the words
Whichever way you choose
Artfully awakened via the adrenalin
You released your dormant muse
You do not play with words my friend
Your writes are real and not pretend
No descriptive flowery language here
No metaphors in pride of place
Should you run and hide under the nearest stone?
For being the modern day poets distasteful disgrace
So … Fuck the poet’s philosophies
They can shove them up their ****
I’ll take the lead from you my friend
Liberation from this fraudulent farce***
Feb 3, 2011
Feb 3, 2011 at 11:47 AM UTC
A doctor who lost his dear wife
Took to probing the secrets of life
His intention was pure
Though success premature
Lead him quickly to trouble and strife
The notion popped into his head
To dig up the recently dead
With his stitching and knife
He created a life
Which promptly absconded and fled
He looked like the worst of mankind
But was blessed with a brilliant mind
He lurked in the wood
For as long as he could
But he yearned for the touch of his kind
To the doctor he went to proclaim
That his plight was of Frankenstein's blame
And he said he'd begin
To **** off his kin
Unless Frankenstein made him a dame
So the doctor stole bodies and stitched
With a frenzy, the man was bewitched
For his son would be saved
Once this woman, de-graved
Was alive and the monster was hitched
But a face at the window appeared
As his second success was neared
The creature was grinning
His eyeballs were spinning
In his trousers, a cobra had reared
So the doctor was filled up with guilt
And he tore up the woman he'd built
So the very next day
In a horrible way
His son was all strangled and kill't
The doctor pursued his creation
Across countries with growing frustration
He went for a stroll
In the southern most pole
A long way off from civilization
The going was chilly and slow
But he finally caught up his foe
The creature was greater
He killed his creator
And buggered off into the snow
The End
Feb 9, 2013
Feb 9, 2013 at 11:50 AM UTC
My expression in verse and word.
It is my rock.
My salvation though I. Walked away when limbs were healed. Over the
Years. It sat in dusty corner like the forgotten bookcase.
Runway living. Reaching for the next thing distraction.
Social interaction has become a relic. As we wiggle and prance but
Speak less about truth. Face to face. Eye to eye.
Raise your hands out there if you hear me.
Look up from. The screen if you know. Ditto.
Pain is the great equalizer. Fatigue makes cowards of us all.the mighty has a date as well as the meek .
Nod your head if too weak to speak.
I swear. This coil.
This man-ifestation of struggle and toil.
Fear not. The bottom approaches with a rush. A sudden stop.
It is the anticpation that tingles and teases.
Breathlessly we glide.
My words are my blessing and damnation. Barbed and tipped with buffalo ****
Sweet as the sweetest nectar. Volatile and ******
Willful and recklessly they exit to strike and injure.caress. Convince.
My fathers legacy. Process of elimination.
Truth. Has gone wanting today
Never to return I fear. A vagabond.outcast.
A *****
The wellspring rustles and bubbles patiently not stagnant.
Time is of essence an essence. In essence. A dab or two behind each ear.and sodium pentothal. politicians fess up.
Money caves see sunlight in all corners the thief has absconded. The judge
Slinks down from his perch blood red hands clasped behind his back
There stands the summit. Still I must climb. Unknown the other side.
Will truth abide? there .Another expanse of lies and distortion.Trickeration says I.
a misty bog. Listen. Bagpipes ?. The leafless branch vibrates a siren song to the sod.
The shimmering pool in the parched desert of god.
I stagger foward now unaware. No I am past caring. The will still is there
A ghost. Soon soon.
No ?. No. A mirage
Jan 20, 2013
Jan 20, 2013 at 4:22 PM UTC
Lying teeth
-
Creep
Dearer.
-
silence roars.
The closer it contracts,
further it draws away.
Astonished to find
You're still confined inside
Your mind.
Destroy the weaker
and hide behind reticulum.
In the realm
of a hollow crown
I absconded,
endeavoured to uncover.
I‘ve left myself behind,
an inch
beneath water
decorous
A wisp of smoke
as it climbs.
Carry your shame,
rise to the chime,
an unfamiliar invitation.
Bring your mind back around,
around to this
callous.
The room begins to gratify;
You tax,
obambulate,
depress.
diminished.
Penduluming
will never
mollify,
placate.
The moment you appreciate,
Passing.
-
Treasure motive
abhor being.
Be succinct.
Prove,
Demonstrate.
Nov 8, 2017
Nov 8, 2017 at 7:18 PM UTC
“She who has infused every minute of my day,
Hastens through titillating my endorphins.
Absconded hiding within myself,
As blue crystals glaring teeter in the sea,
As we sanction the reticence of ardor,
While the sea eradicates its perennial effigy,
As infinite cascades eradicate beneath us,
As the water stride procures to the sandy shore,
Where the waves shatter on unsettled rocks,
As once again the clear light bursts as sun sets,
Enmeshed in a fabric of palpable vibrant colors,
Portrayed as that of a burlesque plumeria of infinites,
The plumeria burst of aureoles immortal love,
Unyielding its pedals as the devouring sea rotates,
Will ephemeral demise procure in the deep blue sea?
Over its blue pedaled face an astringent frown,
We have embarked on a promenade of love my dear,
I now stand before you no longer with emptiness,
Only perennial affection that you are mine and I yours,
In our Aureoles of Plumeria”
By AG 03/10/2018 ©
Apr 10, 2018
Apr 10, 2018 at 6:52 PM UTC
Sketch me,
draw me in your mind,
project me onto your canvas.
colour me,
releasing the unquiet,
make me your,
unprecedented piece,
an ongoing life work,
perfecting all impurities,
eradicate all self-flagellation,
espouse a new desire,
akin to Basil's obsession,
The Picture of Dorian Gray,
infatuation lends to disillusion,
pursuing,
hedonistic pleasures,
soul baring to all sin,
intentions to please,
exonerate myself entirely,
you promised redemption,
not further damnation,
I'm Narcissus trapped,
between,
painted reflections of self,
dying a thousand times,
devoted & absconded trust,
pulling it out,
hand in chest,
blood,
*poured
poured
poured*
as Lector serves,
killings,
you feasted on my heart,
with the same delight.
© Sia Jane
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 4:29 PM UTC
There is a corridor that has escaped
and is out and is cold
and is overlooking Clarkson avenue.
That much I know for sure.
Because I turned
the cold brass ****
of the cold steel door,
heard the wind bellowing
obscenities as it absconded
berserkly. (I think
the other way.)
And also
walked through.
My mother’s voice has been
droned out by electronic
waves tentacling the immediate
space around me, around her,
and everywhere in between.
She sounds like a strange
robot, made-up. By me?
By God? It doesn’t matter.
Because that is
what is heard now.
That voice telling me with
the tragic kindness of
a mother
that I’ve forgotten
to call her, and my
dad, and my
sister,
and how come, have I
been busy?
How is life treating you?
Pretty good, I say. What’s
new? Nothing. Well then
what’s pretty good
about it, she says.
I laugh, she laughs too,
and I laugh again, inside though,
differently.
Slowly, our voices
wind down and we say
quiet goodbyes so that
I feel ice
about to rush to my
nose, it’s tentative, it
stops, and I
hang up the phone.
I am on the 6th floor of
a sick house, a hospital,
where some are healed,
some die, and others
stay sick. On the
ground, hundreds of feet
down and away
there are people I think, they
look so
small. An obese
mother, probably with
diabetes or hypertension or
heart disease or all of it
together, pushing her
baby in a carriage. A
smoker alone smoking
away something I’m
glad I don’t know and
other people just walking,
moving, like small living
things and then
I look down, closer,
at my own hands growing.
They can be
so large
when they move to
slowly cover
eyes.
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 7:55 PM UTC
A doctor who lost his dear wife
Took to probing the secrets of life
His intention was pure
Though success premature
Lead him quickly to trouble and strife
The notion popped into his head
To dig up the recently dead
With his stitching and knife
He created a life
Which promptly absconded and fled
He looked like the worst of mankind
But was blessed with a brilliant mind
He lurked in the wood
For as long as he could
But he yearned for the touch of his kind
To the doctor he went to proclaim
That his plight was of Frankenstein's blame
And he said he'd begin
To **** off his kin
Unless Frankenstein made him a dame
So the doctor stole bodies and stitched
With a frenzy, the man was bewitched
For his son would be saved
Once this woman, de-graved
Was alive and the monster was hitched
But a face at the window appeared
As his second success was neared
The creature was grinning
His eyeballs were spinning
He dribbled and lustfully leered
So the doctor was filled up with guilt
And he tore up the woman he'd built
So the very next day
In a horrible way
His son was all strangled and kill't
The doctor pursued his creation
Across countries with growing frustration
He went for a stroll
In the southern most pole
A long way off from civilization
The going was chilly and slow
But he finally caught up his foe
The creature was greater
He killed his creator
And buggered off into the snow
The End
Oct 31, 2015
Oct 31, 2015 at 11:10 AM UTC
I look in the mirror
And see an old face.
My youth has absconded
at a frightful pace.
Where is the bounce
that I had in my step?
It seems at a cliff, in
my life, it had leapt.
It seems only yesterday
My life was so full.
The business of children
And life was a whirl.
An old woman you see,
But my life is like yours,
Gone in a blink, not
keeping the scores.
Good times remembered
And always will be.
But sickness of heart
will be my final decree.
For people can see
in my eyes so clear,
That the way of my life
runs down my cheek,
(in a tear)
When I answer to God
I will hold my head low,
And hope that he sees
I have nowhere to go.
For life went so fast
Seemed I had no control.
Forgiveness I ask Him.
Please take my soul.
Mar 20, 2014
Mar 20, 2014 at 4:04 PM UTC
My message seems too abrasive to send
Like handwritten ransom notes
With a geriatric hand,
Gnarled and pimpled with
Weariness
And experience.
Our war stories
Are cards thrown down at a poker table
So initially casual
Then troubling after the fact.
People spout perspectives;
Our inputs are faucets overflowing
With the chemicals that change the mix.
Each of us contribute to the compound of strife.
What I need – what I want
Is my own element,
Thoughts pure of your life,
For you do not fully comprehend my experience.
My wuss-puss whines that resonate
As sure as a saxophone’s wail.
My jazz demeanor, burlesque figure
Only mask the pedigree of emotions
Beneath my wiggling hips, fluttering eyelashes.
Remember: this is a woman.
From smudges to sunlight to wind to aligned stars –
The cracked liar’s smile never eludes me
Just as the bite still scars my neck.
Marked, experienced, wrung out, aloof –
Live for sin, looping exponentially.
The seagulls scavenging in
The grocery store parking lot,
We know them and hate them for it.
**** drink, yell, tip your way, son.
I’ll tap my cigarette, clamber into bed
[my motives are my motivation]
Deepstep, baby, deepstep:
Come willing because I won’t.
I am the renegade impulsively flipping cards,
Smirking across the poker table
And yelling, “Checkmate”
For no good reason.
Scattered to the winds,
My nonsense is the very ground you have to tiptoe upon,
My sense is the word on the tip of your tongue that absconded.
I am not your maker for he’s my friend.
I am not your mother for she’s my servant.
I am not your lover for you’re my witness.
This [whatever it is] is a syllable caught skipping on the record,
And we’ll never know the rest of the word
Apr 7, 2011
Apr 7, 2011 at 11:49 PM UTC
What colour my eyes,
you'll see right through.
Into my mind,
I'm showing you.
Angels of mine
have all absconded.
The ballots are in
and all are counted.
A landslide shows
only demons have voted.
So words of hurt
have been promoted.
Poetry by Kaydee.
Mar 1, 2019
Mar 1, 2019 at 12:32 AM UTC
IV. Vengeance
1. The story goes; an enemy
absconded with his sins
I guess he thought that she had no one
and that the bad guy sometimes wins.
2. How foolish I was to think I knew true rage--
an overwhelming blaze consumes me
my anger's stirred a bit at evils past
but today its fire rushes free
3. You've been marked
marked by God's almighty touch
You are cursed
no man evades His clutch
vengeance follows close behind
patient
silent
watchful
when it pounces
you may flee again
but when you run
the Wrathful Hand of God will ****** you up
and hurl you at my feet
and break you
'til there's nothing left to break
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 11:41 AM UTC
I came here at a late hour
sure that I left my spirit in the dust of the day
but here after dusk absconded with the light
my muse flutters in
joins the candle flame and the piano fugue
lifts me like a dragon fly
doing acrobats on a summer day.
I write to capture
the small miracle of this moment.
Mar 30, 2022
Mar 30, 2022 at 12:43 AM UTC
What can subsequent generations inherit
Besides our curse?
Our ravaged, ruined, barren land.
We bestow upon our heirs
Unfinished wars
Over infertile land.
The grave pestilence of love
And lover’s disease.
We continue to deface
Monuments to our creator.
We have ravaged the innocence
Of our children.
The human race accursed
To preside over sterile soil
And walk amongst masochists
Calling for mass genocide,
For we are truly the beasts
Of this (impure) world.
Insatiable lust
Of blood and breast.
Traded a moment of pleasure
For the beating in my chest.
Instant gratification
Has left us naked and depraved.
Underworked and overcomplicated.
Morals absconded
With the men we enslave.
In the brevity of our existence
For ages, the world, we have slain.
In time, we shall eradicate
Ourselves
And only the pure will remain.
Mar 19, 2012
Mar 19, 2012 at 1:35 PM UTC
*I watched the bandits come to steal my sky
Black mask and black eyes
Black shapes spreading night
They stole the silver lining of the clouds
They took the sun and took the moon
Absconded with the stars I wish on
Held in their cruel gloved hands
All of my dreams
I swam with sharks to save you from drowning
Hungry and hateful
Sharp teeth driven by instinct
They smelled my blood in the water
Could feel my hearts broken beating
Madly longing for meat
A feeding frenzy
My flesh a feast
I died in a war to live with you
Young and hopeful
Bullets smile as they cut me down
Bombs falling as rain I try to dance in
I feel explosions in my heart
tanks and armies marching
I see enemy lines
And battles lost*
May 8, 2016
May 8, 2016 at 12:02 AM UTC
Once upon a lazing eve, there laid a twilight Queen
Whose every thought, with languor ease, on window ledge did glean.
Dreams soft with muted color, dreams of cloudy and opaque
The twilight Queen lay dreaming, half alive and wide awake.
Thoughts gathered on the bureau and took shapes of man and beast
A’thundering haphazardly like animals released
Dismantling the peace, piece by pieces of the night
Visions restless and unruly, hooligans cunning and sprite.
“Oh, what I’d give,” mused she, “if they absconded ‘fore tomorrow”
But to tame a thought, as stories go, wreaks pain and weary sorrow.
Ages passed in minutes’ span and she was not content
To slough away her slumb’ring hours with not a wink well spent.
And so, at midnight, to the dreams, her highness did bequest
Every single snooze thereafter, for one simple night of rest.
Dec 5, 2011
Dec 5, 2011 at 4:23 AM UTC
I’m made of dust, dried bones and incomplete,
To be cursed for want of a stolen rib,
Barely alive with the faintest heartbeat,
A grown man like an orphan in his crib.
No room for a soul in my shriveled veins,
No life support for fragile loneliness,
To acquiesce in sadness given reins,
A flawed experiment in holiness.
To be alive gives no consolation,
My helpmate has absconded with my soul,
Turning my devotion to temptation
To fill a void when I should have been whole.
This lesson has been far too hard to learn!
To God-forsaken earth let me return!
Feb 2, 2019
Feb 2, 2019 at 7:55 AM UTC