"accosted" poems
CATERPILLAR recognize me
BUTTERFLY (turning away glances over shoulder) excuse me
CATERPILLAR i’m you before you transformed
BUTTERFLY get away you ****** worm
CATERPILLAR you can’t be serious look at me i’m you
BUTTERFLY look at you? euwwwh you’re a sticky slug with too many legs (pause) i’m exquisite fluttering colorful poetry a celebrity with huge fan base wherever i fly people recognize admire me
CATERPILLAR (creases brow) what happened to you did you forget your past where you come from
BUTTERFLY my past is fiction i’ve always been this lovely luminary (turns profile to audience in exaggerated manner) can’t you see i’m busy go away please leave
CATERPILLAR (bluntly) you’re consumed in vanity drunk on yourself spectacle without substance you make me question my own growing will i become like you
BUTTERFLY stop talking i’m calling 911
CATERPILLAR (sharply) you’re a sickening disappointment another Paris Hilton spin-off i hope to die in the cocoon and be spared the sham of you
BUTTERFLY (speaking into cell phone) yes operator i’m being accosted violated attack in progress please dispatch police immediately
CATERPILLAR you’re pitiful over-reactionary spineless decadent
BUTTERFLY i have nothing more to say law enforcement will be here soon
CATERPILLAR quit fretting i’m out of here i need to find and warn other caterpillars this meeting is a bleak awakening
BUTTERFLY think what you like greasy maggot i’m late for a performance and need to skirt paparazzi
caterpillar trudges off stage left as butterfly ascends over audience
Aug 16, 2010
Aug 16, 2010 at 8:07 AM UTC
freak of nature
"selfish" screaming in my ears
I digress violently now
Whitman bleeding out of
my ears
I cannot bow
seventeen and furious
I am the poet of the
human skin; of violins
and softly fingered clarinets
singing of the dirt under
my fingernails
self-loathing--the evil twin
of guilt--is blinding
I cannot read graphing
calculators or the
future
but both seem empty
like the box under my bed
that used to hold pieces of my
soul (or I thought it did)
now I am scattered
I would like to
hold onto your hand
(I will be less abrasive this way)
instead of purging myself
of every doubt that
has rudely accosted me
in the marrow of
my simple human
structure
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 11:53 PM UTC
1407
A Field of Stubble, lying sere
Beneath the second Sun—
Its Toils to Brindled People ******
Its Triumphs—to the Bin—
Accosted by a timid Bird
Irresolute of Alms—
Is often seen—but seldom felt,
On our New England Farms—
3.3k
. . .
. . . .
. . . . . . . . .
i stare at a docile ocean
waveless sun accosted
dark and shadow edged
tinned with men's brave
history of misconception i
'Dragonne'.
'Colossuus'.
'Cetaecean'.
- Leviathan ?
As sure as hope setting sail -
Past shoal, past shallow,
So each chase begins.
Lines parsing out,
Expectations coyly
Embroidered,
Entwin-ned.
- Leviathan ?
Pray please this narrative be drawn :
Truth for sake of safe harbour;
Stillness without caution;
Softly ripening dawn;
Jupiter and Venus descendant,
Celestial promise anon ?
- Leviathan .
Violence
the casual violence of life
the worst kind
not casual really but whats violence anyway
few knew why why ask why the few
once the dice flipped get
its a flying a mind a dunzo game
gravity responds we hope hope together sake
to gether
we short the freaks short em' all them freakin freaks freaks
i want you I want yours
i want to take you over
take control take over
29' run kontrol all night day
long time end time
everthing happens forfurfor fit ur
once and done (nature) forfeiture
reason or ur other or ur another or ur a altogether reason
or simple GP drunkworld
reason (nurture)
surprise my ripest faither - less
5 rise 10 run huh
up the down and dumb
dumb ber right left left right thum ber
number one number
numb - ber
one ones
another
come
under
the
(tumb)
.
All Rights Reserved.
James R. Morse, NYC 2013.
Nov 30, 2012
Nov 30, 2012 at 9:48 PM UTC
The seconds
tick
tick
ticked on by into minutes
the minutes came out to a year.
365 days of ebbs and flows
I am physically exhausted
Emotionally accosted by all—
Unable to approach the mirror
Or face my melting features
I am 28 years old today,
with only empty hands to show...
See? I have nothing.
I’ll buy cigarettes today, no one can stop me
And move lazily through the aisles of **** I don’t need (44.19)
I’ll lay in bed and write poetry— sad poetry—
Get high and **** myself
Again
and again
and again.
I am 28 years old today
with only empty hands to show...
See?
I have nothing.
Jul 26, 2019
Jul 26, 2019 at 3:42 PM UTC
I used to live with these two friends—
A long-haired Navajo guy that was into Satan & Death Metal,
and an average white guy into Star Wars & Metallica.
This one night
we were going to see Danzig in concert.
Before we went to the show
we had to get a money order and mail it to our landlord
for rent.
The three of us went inside the Circle K,
got the money order, cigarettes, and some water.
On the way out,
back to the car,
there was an old, crusty, homeless Native guy
his neck draped in rosaries,
like Mr. T is in gold.
As we walked by, he said,
“Can you guys spare some change?”
“Sure,” my Navajo friend said, digging his pocket for change.
He was just about to drop a handful of coins
into the bum’s hand
when the old guy said,
“Oh thank you. God bless you …”
A smile came over my Navajo friend’s face
as he put the change back into his pocket.
“Nope. You shouldn’t have said that. You just HAD to bring God into it, didnt you?”
“Ohhh **** you,” the old guy yelled.
“Why don’t you ask God for some money then?"
We all laughed getting in the car.
The old *** kept talking.
“Just get outta here. Something bad is gonna happen to you boys. Go, get away from me. Something bad is gonna happen to you …”
My Navajo friend didn't miss a beat,
“Yeah? Well, if you don’t shut the **** up, something bad is gonna happen to YOU ************
The old man looked down to his rosaries and began to pray.
We drove across the street to the post office
to mail the money order for the rent.
The boys stayed in the car while I got out to mail it.
The post office was already closed
and all they had were those stubby little pencils.
It had to be signed in ink.
I went back outside
“You guys have a pen?”
“Nope.”
****
“Just ask somebody. And hurry up, we're gonna be late!”
Just then I saw a plump, middle-aged woman getting out of a minivan.
I approached her.
“Excuse me? Ma’am? Do you happen to have a pen I could use? I have to send off a money order for rent and I just realized I don’t have one …?
The lady sighed heavily, sounding annoyed, she turned back around
and began walking back to her minivan.
“I’m sorry to put you out, I just HAVE TO send this out…”
Getting into her van, she turned around and screamed at me,
“I don’t have any money for you to take from me. I WILL NOT BE ACCOSTED!”
She started the minivan and made a quick getaway.
“What the hell happened?”
“That crazy broad thought I was trying to rob her.”
We all laughed our ***** off at her choice of words:
ACCOSTED.
As we drove off, I remembered the old man’s words
“something bad is gonna happen.”
It coulda been worse.
So we said **** it and mailed it the next day.
The late fee was $15.00.
Dec 13, 2011
Dec 13, 2011 at 12:12 PM UTC
I make trips to the corner store, at 12 in the morning.
Calling all cars to get the **** out of the road,
I'm swerving.
Calling all lights,
blink and be gone. Streetlights,
stoplights, lamps, lighters,
blunt tips, cigarette butts,
all lights be gone.
Dear Earth, get low in the darkness.
On my first trip,
I was accosted by rabid dogs who drooled shoelaces
and I could tell they were being hounded
by the kilter of their angry maws
and sawed-off minds.
They barked like guns.
And they saw me--completely irrelevant---
popping caps off Lokos
taking sips that could **** up an Orca,
completely swimming.
I had to kick them home.
At work today,
Someone got caught stealing five pesos worth of food,
and got threatened with a felony,
but they've got some lint in their pocket,
and knew how to keep it cool.
My girlfriend operates in ideas.
I've been at work for so long,
that I yell and walk around,
like I'm in the shower.
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 10:35 AM UTC
In my dream,
I was accosted by sugar ants
in the sandbox,
near the honeysuckle
and curled parsley
behind the house.
I was trying to eat the little ants
but was called in
for cheese and baloney.
When I came in,
hopping in worn-out slippers,
the glass door slid into the kitchen
with plasterboard walls
and beige ceramic tile.
There was a black spider
perched on the ceiling
with bright yellow knees.
Those years ago
I drew with sidewalk chalk,
made myself mazes
on the sloping driveway
too steep for basketball.
Cicadas dragged in heat
on waves, droning.
One landed on me -
a yell caught in my throat -
but I made myself look at it
and be still, shaking.
Back then I had an old cape
& a homemade bow-and-arrow.
I’d sally forth
into the backyard, barefoot,
jumping over prickly mulch,
brushing my shins
against clouds of low love-in-a-mist
with its threaded leaves
& shy blue-white flowers.
Sometimes my sister
was back there too, tanning,
or Mom carving
little men out of cherry,
but more often I was all alone
in that wilderness
in moccasins & living
off wood sorrel,
the brighter clover, lemony.
Or in rain
I listened to my brother
play piano if he was home,
maybe Bags and Trane,
and I’d dance between shadows,
the underworld of the patches
of carpet in the light.
Later - a little older -
I recognized that home
is more a time than a place,
and understood I would miss it
years before it was gone
so around nine years old
I went through every foot
of that high-ceilinged house,
that weedy backyard,
and made a solemn farewell
to everything in advance
trying hard to be ready
long before the time came to leave.
Jan 12, 2010
Jan 12, 2010 at 6:41 AM UTC
All things – all – must end
Not just good, but bad as well
So here I am swallowing hope
To cure my belly’s new personal hell
For poems have reduced to mere points
And the poets who paint them just pawns
Compelled to take drags of this joint
For a prayer that our work carries on
Neighborhoods turn into ghettos
Victorian houses accosted by ramblers
Starving artists must don their stilettos
And we stay because we’re all gamblers
Mar 5, 2010
Mar 5, 2010 at 7:08 PM UTC
My body rippled as I swam into the river that ran through the town,deep and muddy brown with water washed down from the hills.
And rippling, I got my wish and turned into a silvered fish with golden fins to help me swim, down, down, down and deep within and under water.
Glad I brought a snorkel tube.
With ruby eyes and skies that faded into black,I watched a rack of pilchards passing,no sooner followed by a schooner of gadding tuna who watched two angel fishes trying to copy flying fish and failing.
A sail appeared,quite weirdly in the deep which keeps its secrets free from damp,
and then a lantern shone on me, a voice boomed out,
'what make are ye,
starfish,garfish,cod or roc?
A shock to me under the sea to be accosted by a skipper with a lip of larceny and what would I answer,could it be that I should not swim in the sea?
A fish
a wish,
one unfulfilled and killing off the thought I'd ever be
a citizen
of planet sea.
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 3:06 PM UTC
Does the migrating duck truly know
what it is that he wants;
or is he caught up in peer pressure
when he conquers indecision,
and spreads his wings to fly
south?
Is it possible that as he soars,
like Icarus,
that he is accosted by doubt
while the late autumn sun
baptizes him?
And when he finally crashes down,
in some forgotten pond,
warmed by a tropical clime;
that he wonders what might have been,
and is overcome by regret?
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 7:50 PM UTC
Hordes of mangled marionettes hoard so many histories of mystery,
That I beg in blank brandishing tongues, hounding the hordes most swiftly.
Because I am a puppet master pioneering such a broad pallet of poetic pleasure,
That surely the most silent shamans will sound their poignant sighs in solitude.
And we've accosted such armies--allied only to destruction,
Only to be found in fruitless dust.
Demons will someday antagonize them in blissful anarchy,
But for now we’ll pass an ancient altruistic remedy
And leisurely lull the pull of destruction.
Apr 20, 2012
Apr 20, 2012 at 9:10 AM UTC
One day he came home with a tank from the thrift store
bought five tiny fish
and named one Princess Peach
said, "that's you, I named her after you"
I looked at this eyesore in my haven
then at him;
a completely disheveled lump of black clothing
and just laughed
On February 14th
in the middle of a Maine winter
I was accosted in the kitchen
with Day Lilies and chocolate
"Happy Valentines Day"
"Stop skateboarding in the kitchen.
I'm trying to nap"
"Sorry I didn't know you were home"
And after I left he said,
"When you come back,
we can sit and watch cartoons again,
just like in Peach House"
I didn't know how to tell him
I might not come back
Every single time he looked at me
it was like I was the only thing
that had ever been kind to him
and I am too soft to say I never loved him
Nov 4, 2016
Nov 4, 2016 at 2:35 AM UTC
. ******* *****
The words come out swift
and angry,
accompanied by the contempt
in your eyes.
******* *****
I stand, accosted by your
animosity,
accepting every insult you fling so
unceremoniously.
******* *****
Sorry, don't think I heard you quite
well enough.
Please, repeat so I may keep your words
clutched closely.
******* *****
I take these taunts you throw out
so casually,
mold them tightly
into a ball
and force them down my throat,
swallowing them
like the poison
that you are.
******* *****
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 11:35 AM UTC
I am accosted by Your love
Thrown into the turmoil of emotions
Given no chance to realise
That I'm about forgotten notions
Love ought to be a pure thing
But here it is despised
No one can forget Your love
Yet many try to hide
Impurities and long lost dreams
They think it's all they'll gain
What others try to offer them
Is always causing pain
Love now is no more than a toy
To be found and lost
To be enjoyed and forgotten
Yet they never realise Love's true cost
It is an unmoving thing
Forged from Man's first thoughts
It always is and has forever been
Yet now it is debauched
We claim that we know what it is
And yet we have no clue
Unless of course we have sipped
The Love that comes from You
You are yet still pure of heart
And know of Love's true worth
For it was You, the Mighty Craftsman
Who first divined Love's birth
Jun 28, 2016
Jun 28, 2016 at 11:06 PM UTC
...the dusty road, wearing a sombrero,
i saw a chained monkey in the middle of
the road...under the heat of the sun,
its eyes seemed numbed, as visitors
gifted it with bananas and other foods...
was the monkey bored?
tired of watching people come and go?
day in, day out?
what if it rains? it has no roof above its head...
where does it sleep?
i wondered why, from the door jamb
where i stood, there exists
another door, smaller upon sight,
and another...and another...and another....
i was accosted by an endless series of doors...
what lies at the end?
is there an end to these succession of doors?
what could be its purpose?
i wondered about that reason....
i wondered...why the pathways
ahead, left side, and right,
involved going high, then low,
so you go up, then down...
you get used to its rhythm,
to the practice of going up, then down,
holding your breath,
grasping for a post to hold on to,
if and when you lose your balance...
you assume on what is to follow,
you are about to take a step forward
and you'll be surprised....your next step,
...............could be fatal....
you would expect a set of steps going down...
but, there are none...you're inches away
from the end of the ledge.....you stare
at the ground....from where you stand
......there's nothing there
........just an assumed fall..
............if you had been a fool...
these temples, with countless, endless
steps and doors, radiate with wisdom,
offered to us...right in front of our faces..
we just have to be keen...be perceptive...
be able to discover...and learn, before a fall
occurs...
i walked away from these walls and stairs,
tired...sweating...my knees aching......but,
with my wonderings............waning......
Sally
Copyright January 31, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Feb 1, 2017
Feb 1, 2017 at 10:41 PM UTC
Wishing on a star
See my falling heart
Love seems very far
Wisdom, do impart
Cupid must have a sense of humor
Or perhaps he is very evil
We're moments away from a rumour
About to witness an upheaval
My heart is exhausted
And ladened with guilt
I should be accosted
I just want to wilt
I'm falling in what I should fall out of
And wondering what has happened to love
This is unfamiliar terrain
Everything inside is sore
I don't want to be the villain
Is all fair in love and war?
I have analyzed all our transactions
You're the one puzzle piece I'm missing
I don't want to misinterpret actions
The truth is hopeful or heart wrenching
Jan 30, 2021
Jan 30, 2021 at 9:49 PM UTC
I don a heavy heart nowadays;
I smile, but it is limited;
Because my heart cries, I'm not surprised though;
Under these conditions, it is warranted.
Eyes stare, unwanted;
Smiles flare, directed;
Hearts lay bare, un-accosted;
All of them blind to the truth;
That being that my heart belongs, somewhere;
And till reunion, it will continue to long, remain nowhere;
For the rightful owner already exists.
I could fight it; problem is that this feeling just persists;
It grows stronger;
And to be honest I don't want to fight any longer.
I own a soul dismantled;
Joyless, confused.
But what can I do?
My physical being refuses;
If I do not let you grow,
I might end up having to let you go, forever;
I can't risk that though,
I need us together;
Yes, two hearts, sustaining one soul,
Just as two halves make a whole;
That is the forever we deserve,
The one I believe we both want.
But while I wait for forever,
A heavy heart and a dismantled soul are mine;
Waiting to begin our "Until the end of time".
Aug 3, 2012
Aug 3, 2012 at 11:45 AM UTC
A girl walked out of the thrift store,
Sporting a green leather pea coat.
She was accosted by a budding socialite,
Who complimented her garish green.
"How dare you call it 'Green'!,
Can't you see what this is?"
The socialite-turned-desperate shook her head.
"'Tis the colour of the trees after spring."
"Green?"
"No, silly. Beautiful."
And thus a trend was set.
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 12:52 AM UTC
Not to greet the dawn of the day
At care free weekends
Leisure infused lethargy
For him it was up 7 at 10 AM
He was at sixes n’ sevens
Quipped from cuddle of bed
At the warning warrant
Of piled up weekend errands
He sipped tea n’ clicked on screen
To play music of unseen scene
As he surveyed household
To bring home into his fold
Cutlery rattled prattled
Vessels cranked in sink
Threatening to stink
If not surfed to shine
Used clothes hanging banging
Summoned washing wearing
Carpet in sequence flared up
To mop it up long along
Bathing tub demanded its bath
Well before he had his bath
As he peeped out a while
For refreshing breeze
Waving blades of grass
Accosted to trim their size
Sinking hope of a post lunch nap
Grouse of grocery then unveiled
And kid’s unrest for the day-out outwit
Took a long drive for the joy ride
Week end outing weakened though
Alas! Weary weekend seemed longer than week
Feb 12, 2015
Feb 12, 2015 at 8:02 AM UTC
Step away from the world
and start anew in abstraction,
moving experiences in junction
with now.
Become an island with each metallic rotation
in memetic clockwork,
grind a mirror's glass
in it's gears for your beach
and when you find yourself accosted
by the sheer magnitude of the ocean,
look for your reflection in the sand.
O tender Earth,
I love where I stand,
a place
where all things converge
on my joy.
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 9:56 PM UTC
Not to greet the dawn of the day
At care free weekends
Leisure infused lethargy
For him it was up 7 at 10 AM
He was at sixes n’ sevens
Quipped from cuddle of bed
At the warning warrant
Of piled up weekend errands
He sipped tea n’ clicked on screen
To play music of unseen scene
As he surveyed household
To bring home into his fold
Cutlery rattled prattled
Vessels cranked in sink
Threatening to stink
If not surfed to shine
Used clothes hanging banging
Summoned washing wearing
Carpet in sequence flared up
To mop it up long along
Bathing tub demanded its bath
Well before he had his bath
As he peeped out a while
For refreshing breeze
Waving blades of grass
Accosted to trim their size
Sinking hope of a post lunch nap
Grouse of grocery then unveiled
And kid’s unrest for the day-out outwit
Took a long drive for the joy ride
Week end outing for joy weakened though
Alas! Weary weekend seemed longer than week
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 11:42 AM UTC
exhausted, accosted
feelings lost and
still dishonest.
bled dry, just along for the ride
all kidding aside,
just for a second, we die.
my moment is yours
wars of past are cures and
time lost is its own curse.
sleep tight, its the insomniacs
that dream tonight.
Jan 16, 2012
Jan 16, 2012 at 12:33 AM UTC
Choked by sunrise,
And the impending dew that crawls onto moss and peat,
My eyes struggle to open--
Irises swelling and pupils shifting, to escape the light that beckons.
The violet blanket of night removed,
Yet my mind is still nestled in slumber.
Yellows and whites of innocent roses open their arms to greet the foreboding Sun,
As I cling closer to my dreams.
The seconds that pass pick at the petals of my solace,
And begin to tiptoe around my bed,
Until they’re dancing with the losses of time.
And the melodies the birds sing--
I can no longer drown out from the shafts of my mind.
So I plant my frozen feet to the ground,
Rise--
Accosted by the Sun, I close my eyes.
Aching with the fear of time,
I’m quickly swallowed by the rush.
My body begins its clock-like motions,
But my mind always rests on its eternal pillow.
March 2012
Sep 12, 2012
Sep 12, 2012 at 3:59 PM UTC
On the first Friday of every month
the Arts District of Richmond VA
becomes alive at night with the buzz of artists
local artists of almost every medium
galleries which are only open for ten hours a month
suddenly filled with leather shoes
plaid shirts, skinny jeans, beards, and holes in earlobes
they walk around crowding the streets
coaxing families who made the trip from all the way uptown
to listen to the poets and painters and photographers and sculptors
prattle on about what sets them apart
they all clap each other on the back for being so **** original
I’m walking through the parted sepia sea
avoiding gazes of strangers cast in iron
I marvel at their work
which for this one night is the subject of a city
more or less, anyways
we were high on life. We were high off of too much ***
and all of the local talent
high on validation and pretension
the Mormons accosted us
their attempts to save our souls from damnation
really geeked us out
we took their lemonade, but not their word
“Incarceration: the art of captivity”
an installation by some kid who has never seen a shade of true blue
through the lens of his iPhone
if we all believe really hard -
then maybe when the sky opens up
to **** us all into the hungry sky -
all of this art will save us
Mar 8, 2014
Mar 8, 2014 at 1:20 PM UTC