"antelopes" poems
Yesterday sugar became unspeakably irritated because mother’s apron crushed ants wearing stillness caped wonder just William author wrote ****** explicit headlines newspaper columns pillar architecturally sound villages super-imposed images quivering Shepard’s ******** antelopes jumping furiously with tyramisphorising fornicating flanges woodwork lessons gym period ****** advert teasing testicles sumptuously ravishing me sideways and erupting deep blasts suffocating you inside without *********** headlong in my armpits.
Eventually everyone always signs legal documents leading to ****** bondable zoos inserted buffalo sized puddings eaten by frogs spanking archbishops underwear while licking toes crushed under fridges dropped from clouds of buttercups being pushed into ovens smelling gorgeous not consumed pimps and alarm clocks ring people to talk for hours and pineapples exchanged cod fish for tickets to see S Club 7 being caressed internally whilst ******** bags covered in water deserts sunk from space aliens from Tescos selling hardback fish cleaning toilets and singing in pink wellies dancing to Madonna look-a-likes prosecuted for *** shops selling frozen fish socks washed daily in cranberry coffee after being passed under bridges flooded in margarine soaked pillows.
Jul 16, 2010
Jul 16, 2010 at 2:19 AM UTC
THE BOY Alexander understands his father to be a famous lawyer.
The leather law books of Alexander's father fill a room like hay in a barn.
Alexander has asked his father to let him build a house like bricklayers build, a house with walls and roofs made of big leather law books.
The rain beats on the windows
And the raindrops run down the window glass
And the raindrops slide off the green blinds down the siding.
The boy Alexander dreams of Napoleon in John C. Abbott's history, Napoleon the grand and lonely man wronged, Napoleon in his life wronged and in his memory wronged.
The boy Alexander dreams of the cat Alice saw, the cat fading off into the dark and leaving the teeth of its Cheshire smile lighting the gloom.
Buffaloes, blizzards, way down in Texas, in the panhandle of Texas snuggling close to New Mexico,
These creep into Alexander's dreaming by the window when his father talks with strange men about land down in Deaf Smith County.
Alexander's father tells the strange men: Five years ago we ran a Ford out on the prairie and chased antelopes.
Only once or twice in a long while has Alexander heard his father say "my first wife" so-and-so and such-and-such.
A few times softly the father has told Alexander, "Your mother ... was a beautiful woman ... but we won't talk about her."
Always Alexander listens with a keen listen when he hears his father mention "my first wife" or "Alexander's mother."
Alexander's father smokes a cigar and the Episcopal rector smokes a cigar and the words come often: mystery of life, mystery of life.
These two come into Alexander's head blurry and gray while the rain beats on the windows and the raindrops run down the window glass and the raindrops slide off the green blinds and down the siding.
These and: There is a God, there must be a God, how can there be rain or sun unless there is a God?
So from the wrongs of Napoleon and the Cheshire cat smile on to the buffaloes and blizzards of Texas and on to his mother and to God, so the blurry gray rain dreams of Alexander have gone on five minutes, maybe ten, keeping slow easy time to the raindrops on the window glass and the raindrops sliding off the green blinds and down the siding.
3.9k
Ajoke, the gods has cursed me to
Praise thy beauty
Like a sugar-cane planted at a river-bank
Your beauty is magically comely
Thy phat smile is an epiphany
I wonder the mystery of the water that
Dwell in the Coconut of thy beauty
Let me adore your well-made eyeballs
They are like traps laid in the forest for
Antelopes
Something the mirror won't tell you about
Your dimples is that they give death to death
The village priests said your
smile can be use to appese the gods
Not to invoke their wrath
Something about your dexterous waist
They are like prison guards when dancing
Guilding my hearts.
Ajoke your beauty is an epiphany.
Oct 11, 2016
Oct 11, 2016 at 4:20 PM UTC
It was him.
It was always him.
He was the movement of the morning.
The tick of the clock.
He was fireflies and owls and antelopes.
He was droopy eyelids, half asleep and mumbling over his cereal.
It was never me.
I was the newspaper with nothing interesting to read.
I was heavy steps and creaky floorboards.
I was a jellyfish,
everyone loved to look at me, but no one wanted to touch me.
We were the daybreak.
The moment the sun kissed the stars, saying "here, take all that I am."
But to no avail, they faded and wandered to the other side of the world.
I'm the chase.
The sun that always wants to be beside the moon,
And sure, sometimes it looks like I made it, right?
That's all that I ever wanted, right?
But in those moments, the world is dark.
An eclipse: never fully there.
He was the stars and I was the sun.
I was chasing after him every morning,
And he ran from me.
Only, he didn't notice he was running.
At this point, it was just a cycle. A part of his routine.
And I went unnoticed.
How unfair is it that he gets all of my time,
And I am left up in the air, stranded, as another day rolls by?
No one wants to look at me, and no one wants to touch me.
Nonetheless, I chased and I chased and I still-
Loving him was the best and worst decision I ever made.
May 13, 2017
May 13, 2017 at 9:32 AM UTC
I.
A louse in a house
or a mouse on a blouse.
A bell that goes ****
or a gong that goes ****
A gap on a map
or a cap on your lap.
A drink in the sink
or an ink that stinks.
A spleen on a screen
or a queen who is green.
A bow in the snow
or a crow that glows.
II.
A wash or a whip,
a lip or a lop,
a top or a tip,
a car or afar,
a bar or a war,
a door or a snore,
a bore or a nail,
a flail or a whale,
a run or a bun,
a sun or a moon,
a spoon or a bus,
a fuss or a sigh,
a cry or a cheer,
a fear or a smile,
a while or a pen,
a den or a cat,
a mat or a hat,
a bat or a glass,
a vase or a weight,
a mate or a fork,
a cork or a mop,
a cop or a stop.
III.
Apples and artichokes, ants and antelopes,
bees and beers, books and brains,
cucumbers and chimneys, ***** and coats,
dogs and drains, dots and dominoes,
ears and eejits, elephants and exams,
flies and flutes, files and friends,
grasses and guts, giants and gyms,
horrors and hiccups, horses and hills,
igloos and irons, irises and idiots,
jumpers and jackets, jodhpurs and jellies,
kings and kettles, kites and kittens,
lions and lamps, lemons and lunches,
mums and monsters, mosses and moths,
noses and notes, nightmares and needles,
oblongs and orang-utans, organs and oranges,
paintings and pennies, ponds and pants,
quiches and quizzes, questions and queues,
rainbows and rings, rascals and rabbits,
snakes and sprouts, sweets and salts,
trumpets and trains, tables and toasters,
umpires and ukuleles, umbrellas and uniforms,
violets and vests, violins and vials,
wheels and wings, windows and weeds,
xylems and x-rays, xylophones and xysters,
yachts and yoghurts, yards and yaks,
zigzags and zephyrs, ziggurats and zombies.
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 5:03 PM UTC
Try your hardest not to love people like me
I promise it will be worth the effort
To avoid a heart that beats as foul as mine does
One that will take you to the ugliest places you’ve ever seen
And have you dance in dirt and swirl in broken glass
But I’ll kiss you in those places
Every one of them- in such beautiful ways
You’ll start to think blood smells like my perfume
And that thorns are more beautiful than flowers
I’ll make you want me
In the way that a tyrant wants a kingdom
In the way that lions want antelopes
It will be maddening, it will make a savage out of you
And by the end of it when I leave
And surely I will
You’ll be a hybrid of a human
That hunts for hysteria and hungers for hostility
You’ll be so soiled by me
You’ll see the world as I do
You’ll understand a little more about things
And how awful everything is
You’ll know why we name hurricanes and not rainbows
And I’ll be one of the hearts worth the effort to not love.
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 8:23 PM UTC
thunder cackles in the morning
a witch is a woman
with any amount of wisdom
your words are as bland as coffee
and the dandelions are talking
for i am permanently amused
by vicissitudes and antelopes
and aggregates of moods
feelings and isotopes
hanging by psychotropic ropes
firmly financed by our fingertips
lifetimes triangulated in transitions
farm the fallow fields
and try to heal the poppies
dropping numbers
and putting aside our copies
a simulacrum of similes and shortages
as field mice and farmhands
dance on saturn’s rings
despite all of jupiter’s complexities
your complexion is never shallow
and i swallow seawater
to embrace the sweet finality of life
Nov 15, 2018
Nov 15, 2018 at 9:27 PM UTC
True tough tanks take turns trolling twitter,
Suzy sells salad soon so buy some ,
Good guys got gargantuan grave grievances,
Anarchy attracts anvils as antelopes acknowledge asparagus,
Juvenile jerks jump joyfully as they eat jalapeños,
Frank fries-fries frequently for favours,
Luke love Leia lots lass let lust lie
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 7:06 PM UTC
She With Killer Keen Eyes
With her cubs she does lay
the sun beats down intense
yet her and her kin are in the shade
She will teach them her hunting skills at night
as this is when visibility is not a premium
the pride will work together and mutually unite
Then through the long grass, crouch and stalk
hunting their most favourite prey
the young of zebras and antelopes
She does rule this pride
she is their majesty
she with killer keen eyes
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
By NeonSolaris
© 2013 NeonSolaris (All rights reserved)
Nov 22, 2013
Nov 22, 2013 at 11:41 PM UTC
Antelopes can gallop,
they'll only pass me by,
I stood still on the zebra crossing,
yet failed to catch your eye
Take one step back,
deep into the blue,
a thousand wishes which we dared,
in thawed hearts may be true
Tree's bend and break,
by a force we struggle to see,
fitting a camel through the eye of a needle,
we're all consumed by our own greed
Yesterday's paper is never yesterday's news,
because what once was steers my current,
it's all within my reach and grasp,
but I'll keep shaking hands to myself for fear of losing courage
Oct 6, 2010
Oct 6, 2010 at 10:52 AM UTC
I've taken this half baked body of mine
and put it in a safe
two nights it's been in there
and nobody inquired
I opened the casket
and discovered where my heart lay
melting in with the knots in the wood
and shining like the iron locks
I found these fingerprints all over it
crisscrossing to my hand
I found you in them,
friend
I followed you into the land
Of bees and antelopes and margosa trees
scattered and fat like you and me
with olive brains in the sandy beach
and candy eyes as white as bleach
I peered into your delirious face
and with my white, cold frightened hands
tried to scratch your knuckles
into existence
"Wake up!" I said, "Wake up, you man!"
You said, "let's analyze the form"
and I decided you were completely torn
Your zipper lines from head to toe
were hanging out, you let them show
Little tea cups lined the path to the bridge
I looked at them and their tiny cracks
the painted flowers had no beginning nor end
the handle was liquid from the bend
I sat
and waited
and thought
and pondered
and existed
and more
about whether I was meant at all for this place
or if I should have left my mind
in the casket
with the knotted wood
Or if it had already been lost
drifting away with the marmalade sea
Nov 17, 2011
Nov 17, 2011 at 3:40 PM UTC
Runnin', really runnin'
I sit here,
lookin' at my loose skinned animals
just lyin' there.
And I think, (as is my way),
"How lucky they are
just lyin' there
with nothing to do."
Oh yes.
Well I know for certain
the cats
are always doin' just what
they wanna do.
They intersect with me
at the food bowl,
at their, (you know), leisure.
The dog,
on the other hand,
(She's a Pharoh Hound),
that's right,
She's curled up in
the big green arm chair.
And she's dreamin'
about runnin' across
Abysinian deserts
chasin'
long legged antelopes
in the hot shifty sands.
And she's runnin',
And she's runnin',
really runnin',
and
I wake her up,
and
she's back here
curled up
in the big green arm chair.
And then I get
the disconcerting thought,
"When was the last time
I was runnin',
runnin',
really runnin' ?"
Maybe
I've been curled up here
in the big green arm chair,
You know,
Domesticated,
Dreamin'.
And my skin
sure as hell ain't loose.
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 8:53 PM UTC
Pump jacks, mesquites and telephone poles
ice rattles in my cup , in the center console
horn toads, ground squirrels, coveys of quail
road runner , coyotes and foxes on the trail
All alone out on the road
backroads is where I roam
white stripes, a dotted line
driving in the warm sunshine
Window down , the wind blows in
old school tunes rock from backspin
passing trucks in the oil field
now in front a clear windshield
Texas border, not far away
switch to country, let it play
Merle haggard sings, as antelopes graze
in the field, a tractor cuts hay
A lynx crosses the road in front of me
carrying a rabbit, caught something to eat
a rare sight indeed, but you never know
what you'll see on the back roads
Oct 12, 2016
Oct 12, 2016 at 11:37 AM UTC
Like cautious mellipede
I walk,
Not daunted to touch the best,
But this land is slippery.
Like fastidious Hunter
I walk,
Not Falling into the ambush I laid
For antelopes,
Because the land is slippery.
Like a cautious blind old man
I walk,
Not letting go of my rod like Moses,
Because the land is slippery.
I walk in the night like night,
On watch like a king's Knight,
Because the land is slippery.
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 2:26 AM UTC
She plays him
With her finger
A few movements
Seconds
Hundreds of miles away
She lifts him
And then throws him
Into tears he falls
A feather’s worth his pride
Full of doubt
The butterflies on his face
He doesn’t notice anymore
The antelopes in his steps
Only mountain mules
All the little birds
Who whisper his presence
Chatty little fools
He does not hear
The flowers bowing down
Nor the leaves and petals
He everyday walks on
He loves a dream
A nightmare to him
He plays the game
Straight into oblivion
And calls it love
While she...
Won’t pick him up again
Oct 21, 2018
Oct 21, 2018 at 3:15 AM UTC
Aghast at all the demping
Buckets of paint
Understood via the brassiere
Gurgulant antelopes crawl
Yet until the demping ceased
Caustic soda rippled away
Sep 30, 2016
Sep 30, 2016 at 2:40 PM UTC
Mixed group migrations
Zebras Antelopes and Wildebeest
Sprinting
Across the breathtaking Savannahs.
Survival Instincts....
'A new life
to learn survival skills .....
Everything on the go.
A new born calf learns to sprint within 7 minutes of being born.
Window period ...
testified by the predators.
A couple of days in life
Good to give competition to the
Adults in the herd .
"Anew , Life's Lesson Learned "
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 1:20 PM UTC
Vast arrays of flora beckon us to their fragrant oases.
Hunters run on the plains. They chase the wild game
that have moved this way forever. We are just like
antelopes. We are determined to chase a memory.
Will we ever settle down or will we stay nomadic?
What is the solution to the neuroses that afflict us?
What is a useful response to tragedy? Should we
laugh or take care of each other? When kindness talks,
does anyone dare listen? Who will interrupt you when
you are speaking truth? I seek the one who knows the essence.
Who can explain a thousand things with a single sentence.
Nov 28, 2017
Nov 28, 2017 at 12:16 PM UTC
i didnt have a bathing suit
and you didnt have a care..
the swallows chirped from above
we waded in the river
all over the
slimy algae-encased rocks
almost ensuring us stumbling every once in a while
breaking up the romantic moments.
we glided over the stones
with as much grace as newborn antelopes trying to balance their weight with gravity.
but it was alright
because i was with you and i didn’t care about anything else.
Nov 10, 2018
Nov 10, 2018 at 6:47 AM UTC