"alloyed" poems
The Bells ring out great Peals of joy.
The war is won, Great Albion.
It merely cost a million dead,
a generation lost and done.
To you, fate tendered victory sweet,
to the Germans, a bitter peace.
There, fatherless boys, abed, asleep,
plot revenge for their deceased.
In the Wilfred Owen house;
no alloyed joy to meld with sorrow:
That day they learned their son had died
They’ll dress the house in Black tomorrow.
His mother knew before word came,
she had a sense her son was gone.
That he’d be among the last to fall
for the glory of Great Albion
He fought almost unto the end,
dying in the war’s last week.
When Mortal flesh and bullets meet
Poets are silenced when machine guns speak..
There is a pathos in his fate,
dying in the last week of war
Like the man who sailed the Ocean deep,
only to drown in sight of shore.
Mar 11, 2012
Mar 11, 2012 at 9:40 AM UTC
Today,
This tree was the very picture
Of a pair of birds
Who had a fight after mating.
You will never understand
The eagerness of this tree
In making every morning a new one
Or daily showing me a new movie,
However I try to describe it
One day
Leaves, that cry
“don’t go” “don’t leave”
To the wind
That passes by
Another day
Of shooing cats feasting in the shade,
On fish bone, from someone’s leftover meal,
After dribbling pigeon-droppings from a branch,
Another day
The tear-filled eyes
Of its own branch
That cries
And supplicates the sun
To heal its wound
Another day
Of its own sister branches
Or, in human parlance, wooden chairs
That have become prostitutes;
On which strange people sit casually.
One day
The Bihari
Who is scared stiff of his lord,
And who runs every time a wind blows
To sweep away the dried leaves
Which the wind has killed,
Having made violent love to them.
On yet another day,
The fruits that laugh their heads off
Along with the little blossoms that laughed once |
At the silver-blue sky
On still another day
The tap root
That suddenly burst into tears
Gazing at the dusk
That draped golden strands on boughs and twigs
On yet another day,
The aged middle-portion of the tree
That unveiled the hitherto unexposed
Moss-green nursling
And prayed that it be named
Another day before this,
Had made me sad
By asking
“Are you wont to see
the other tree-friends
Throughout the countryside ?”
Had made me heartsore
By asking me
“Would you forget me?”
Once, have asked
Whether I would point out
The mother-bird
Who sowed the seed after she ate the fruit
I have made myself broken-hearted |
wondering
Where or how mother was.
At the moment
When the mind gets shaken up
And becomes even more fragile,
In the memory of
Some trees
That have helped some lives thrive,
Have given shade,
Given oxygen,
Crucified,
O tree,
I am hugging you,
Giving you
A frozen, but still very passionate kiss
With the Alloyed numbness of death and life :
A tree-kiss
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 10:05 AM UTC
the question remains a question
A paradox, an enigma.
Despair embodied with human curves
That arouses my deepest and most concealed fears
Like the heightened sensualities of a pilgrim
Or the hunger of a pagan god.
Once again, where is Mecca? or Jerusalem?
Perhaps Eden is in a box?
Or within the ****** of a battered woman
How about Atlantis?
Is it like me? Between 4 walls?
After all, we are left to confess and write
Our darkest secrets, our most inhumane crimes in a wall
In blood or in phlegm, or perhaps *****
Is just a matter of preferences.
Sartre is on the phone,
Looking for someone who’s never home
Whether he knows or not we’ll never know
But my finger touches his dance partner.
Dance away like numbers
Minus the precision or the count
Learning tango simply costs too much
and like Sartre, I'm poor, or maybe less
So he went on dancing like that,
With no measure nor count
Free like a ******* like me
Nervous yet spontaneous.
Another silence,
But unlike before it’s even more silent
Making it even more unspeakable, undesirable
And now it demands the impossible;
To be called by its name, by its urgency!
But the words, those little empty words
Withers away like leaves or skin kissed by fire
So we are left away with no device
To break the silence or to speak out its name
The trigger, the unmoving dance partner
Went down to its cold alloyed knees;
Proposing marriage with my finger
She knows the answer,
A way to speak the unspeakable name
Loud and clear, with a bang
That everyone will surely hear.
Or do we already know that?
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 5:18 PM UTC
The bad belongs to the good
sadness is to joy alloyed
life is perpetual flux indeed
what's built can be destroyed
Aug 16, 2021
Aug 16, 2021 at 9:24 PM UTC
There were feathers
In the gutter
Next to the cigarettes.
Another slow stutter
in the composition of nature:
Your ring on the left
Deftly alloyed.
Delicate next to the destroyed.
He only loves rhymes
So at certain times
I add one to make him listen.
A shotgun
Wedding, a glimmering glisten
Even as four cells large,
I am a turbulent charge
Across the flock of phonixes
Their feathers falling to the gutter
Jan 21, 2013
Jan 21, 2013 at 10:34 PM UTC
*We
are
both
lonely
in
the
company
of
solitude
yet
we
fear,
alloyed
we
might
still
be
incomplete
so
we've
settled
for
"just
friends"
however
much
that
ain't
enough*
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 5:38 PM UTC
Old lovers – they smolder,
But new flames burn;
(Melded and Molten,
Alloyed and Emboldened)
together, they solder -
all that I wished to discern.
In slow heat, in simmering embers
The mind cherishes, what the body remembers.
But in a warming blaze
In a fleeting phase
To ashes, to ashes!
My will - surrenders.
Up in flames! In plumes, in fumes!
You scorch, you scald, you willfully consume!
But I admire your fire,
Your fury, your desire,
extinguished too soon
upon our unlit pyre.
Warm my home, my hearth
My Heart!
Warn my heart --
it is worn.
Oct 28, 2016
Oct 28, 2016 at 8:14 PM UTC
They say she was molded from Angel wings,
that her face was brushed with star dust.
That she was bathed in a meteor shower,
And alloyed in an asteroid crust.
There was an eclipse each time she blinked
and when she cleared her throat an earthquake.
They say her heart was so big it could empty the Atlantic ocean,
that her smile was silver marinated with pure gold.
She caused solar flares when she flirted, global warming when she farted...
Her presence, osmium-strong, held so much weight,
that all marveled at her, as sapphires were her eyes
and her mystic gaze held the aurora in their depths.
Her feet were cosmic, galaxies born with each step,
Her mind a black hole of infinite wisdom,
some thought her alien, others titan,
for she clutched the universe in her palms...
and her handshake was a bridge to uncharted realms.
Her hair flowed in dollops of molten amber and liquid silk,
and her hug they say was a gentle breeze across the desert sands.
Aug 13, 2023
Aug 13, 2023 at 4:45 PM UTC
Roll up! Roll up!
Examine the corrupt,
the nose, hair, the olive of skin.
Dishonourable, alloyed blood.
Rub, Rub
I can't get it off.
grate, burn, scour,
I can only cleanse, gloss, polish.
Look! Come and see
the fresh, clean impurity.
Lay on the table,
sparkling shimmering.
We cannot control these sinful things.
Feb 20, 2020
Feb 20, 2020 at 10:59 AM UTC
.
Published by Trash to Treasure Lit, April 1, 2025
Barbies wear muselet helmets
Sherlock journals clues
Cricket-stump bin clinks dismissal
Bread is hard with mouldy middle
Cheese is soft with tinted velvets
All in greens and blues
Newspapers a carpet curtain
Other signs of note
Sinks drain-weary, veiled by dishes
Door blocked from unseen militias
Ashtrays strain with liquid burden
Mangled ends afloat
Late-night fry exudes lard landslide
Interesting leads
Window signs of blunt force impact
Latches show no signs of contact
Perpetrated from the inside
Casual misdeeds
Bottles strewn with empty glasses
Evidence galore
Christmas tree is snapped, now supine
Couch chair at confusing incline
Wasting roast potato passes
Solo on the floor
Shrouded dark in grown-up questions
Case remains unsolved
Pre-teen sherlocks are defeated
Unaware that help is needed
Claiming all adult transgressions
Guilelessly involved
Knowledge comes with maturation
Young gumshoe, take heart
Heavy is the comprehension
Adulthood in wise dimension
Toughest form of education
Living will impart
Trauma is by drink upstaged
Of subterfuge beware
Brace yourself for understanding
Bottle is a sly red herring
Denouement is disengaged
You won’t find it there
Life perspective is revealing
Sooner follow pain
Core of more investigation
Drink was only compensation
Obfuscating tricky healing
Alloyed with the leaden feeling
Undiscovered chain
You were just a fledgling hawkshaw
Grant yourself some grace
Rest the blame that you digested
Drop the anger you invested
Hopping off the guilt-rage seesaw
‘Case closed’ in its place
Aug 12, 2024
Aug 12, 2024 at 10:52 PM UTC
Oh, love, a pain so unbearably sweet,
Riddled with joy, infused with tragedy,
A task for the brave, a Herculean feat,
An alluring disease, a malady
Unobstructed by fate, untouched by time,
It is the passion in every sorrow,
The light, upon the destruction and grime,
The uncharted path, a road not followed,
Guided, by the iron shackles of fate,
Steadied, by the hold of insanity,
My friend, beware of those iron bound gates,
Imbued with pride, alloyed with vanity,
For I have been shot by Lord Cupid's dart,
Leaving me now, with just a lover's heart.
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 4:23 AM UTC
I am one intense mo fo
I startle myself sometimes
plagued by a good memory
not even Edison's medicine could short circuit this guy
each job interview I want to reach across the desk and smash the questioner in the teeth; compliments from yours truly, the misanthropic anti-social misfit for wasting my time.
beads and baubles, and fire water led them placidly to slaughter
people have to become somewhat desensitized to persevere and function through the fiction
butchered battered mangled diction
fabricated histories cleansed and tidy
perennial cognitive dissonance never stymied
alloyed wide eyed innocence beaten and bullied
futile defense wounds sullied
man is *******
parasitic cadgers
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 3:35 PM UTC
#† † †
When the ****** lost souls are voided
into the abyss of hell
I hope to have avoided
that last death-knell.
The blood of Christ assures me
that such can be admitted.
I pray it sanctifies me –
desires permitted.
They preach of joy unending
of sheer expanding praise,
but the unseen evidence lingers:
my carnal ways:
I flash on astral hotties
(the flames that life denied)
among celestial bodies
beyond the great divide.
I muse on raptured virgins;
Christ’s parables made flesh
and my unspoken longings
unveiled and fresh.
I long to know profoundly
the promised stellar faces –
or sleep so deep, so soundly
no dreams leave traces.
My hopes for that dimension
alloyed with base designs
grow vague. Incomprehension
misreads the signs.
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 7:51 AM UTC
I talk to thee in viviacious verses
About how bonny, beautiful you are
Because your sparkling spirit nurses
My own from wide and afar
Your true Heart's bliss consists in joy
Seeing it in evolve in others
Diminishing the evil alloyed
To our spiritual siblings, kindred brothers
Shakespeare in love tells all the world
What he sees inside it's hearkening heart
When all the world's a stage
Love will strike down fear and get to play its part
O Love, let me be the tender voice
That lets the babes of the world rejoice
Feb 16, 2017
Feb 16, 2017 at 12:33 AM UTC
He is not without dreams, without aspirations;
He simply knows them by their true name,
Knows they are alloyed and somewhat compromised,
The musings and misapprehensions of mortal men,
And he knows that his finalities outweigh and outnumber
Such things he has yet to realize,
Those lesser grails which tantalize and tease
Even though he knows their possession is far outweighed
By that gleaned from the pursuit.
But no matter, then--he has duties to fulfill,
Tithes to pay, promises made and, as such, to be kept.
There is the sun, after all, and the warmth of day
Sometimes not unlike that of mid-August,
Though the nights have lengthened perceptibly,
Their depth and chill implacable in their advance.
May 20, 2018
May 20, 2018 at 7:30 PM UTC
what i love about poetry
poetry doesn't talk
or converse
it yells, screams
simmers, caresses
electrifies, vivifies
soars, carries, raps
pampers, wraps
dreams, dances
laments, soothes
embraces, catapoults
the truth, the
zoetic gold
of the heart
even if tainted, alloyed,
buried, misshapen,
domesticated,
melted, newly formed
the gold,
if you dare
read it,
if you dare
wear it
unveils the
24 karat
jewelry of the
human heart
Feb 15, 2020
Feb 15, 2020 at 8:56 PM UTC