"antler" poems
In the evenings
the deer would emerge
from the edge of the woods
stepping over the tumbledown stones
of walls left untended-
they'd leave tracks through the snow
in a wandering line that led to the last apple tree
in the field by Orchard Street.
I remember that now,
staring at this antler I've found
in the clearing between the cactus
and sun bleached stones.
The lines of the antler
flow into the fractures of my palm-
two thousand miles from snow,
and two thousand miles from
the blue evening glow
of a shivering world
glazed over by twilight…
And the deer-
magnificent, pawing the snow
searching for apples that had fallen below-
emboldened by the frozen sweetness of autumn.
They were graceful even in flight-
when cars with chains
jingling and crunching the ice
rounded the corner
down Orchard Street.
Today I've tracked over two thousand miles
in my own wandering line-
the lines of the antler
flow through the tangles and hollows of time.
Sometimes I stand in a clearing,
sometimes hidden by trees,
sometimes I scratch below the surface,
and I run- but, less gracefully...
There are walls I've left untended
and some I've crafted too well-
it is through forgotten tumbledown walls
that memories come-
I thank grace
it was into this clearing they fell.
Tom Spencer © 2017
Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 6:55 PM UTC
she likes to dance in cemeteries naked
warring little but jeweled ***** bells,
ankle bracelets
toe rings
bingles, bangles, piercings,
through ******* and nose
her tongue split
each side wiggling independently
she gives head on a head stone
her blow jobs
like two undulating mouths
her skin inked with
black and blood tattoos that say
*Satan's little ***** *****
double penetrations preferred porfavor
the more buttery big ***** and pastry puffy ******* the better*
she
all purple hair tinged red
and antler horned hat
with silver toe and finger nails
a crazy saint sane
adored by the popes of the lascivious
eyes wide open over a crimson mouth sneer
cherry pout lips
gods gift to ***** and vaginas
a temple of relief exalting
Eros
a **** it bucket list of lust
her heart
cotton candy in flames
****** like a river of smashed potatoes
in cream
she like
phases of a corpse moon
begs to be used after death
like pigment on canvas
smeared red globes and chiaroscuro
she playing dead
living it up
do you know her
she keeps her secret hidden
on her sleeve
while you keep yours
from yourself
*bless me father for I have sinned
and loved every minute of it
yet dare not be happy
for fear of Gods rage*
my soul saved
turned fertile earth to sand
and shrouding vistas of light
till the bed is the bed
of the living dead
so there's nothin left but work and sleep
and dreams of drunken **** madness are buried
under the weight
marked forbidden
black sun curse
hips sway in ashes
a forbidden dance
Feb 22, 2018
Feb 22, 2018 at 10:42 AM UTC
stuck pig
injecting
in a tiny house
on a green island
raining
a jungle of
cable
internet a
septic
tank
I run a
maze
grow bananas
wait for delivery
departure
line up
for my plastic
sippy cup
eat
pancakes
stack
Bromantane
for breakfast
nootropics
family
replacement
new tropical
smoothie
maker
prime member
of the Amazon
got to stimulate
my work in the garden
see that
water feature
it’s a duck pond
no it’s
an empty kiddy pool
but on a tree
I’m over it
an antler bromeliad
hunting trophy
a certification
of my triumph
the plot
next to it
my head
in the mail
a miniature guillotine
to repatriate
my body
and tail
still moving
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 10:45 PM UTC
pale clouds at the summit
water color sky
cattle guard at wood bridge
creek bed running dry
split log fence downtrodden
razor back in wire
sinkhole on the wild plain
grouse fields under fire
pine bug and a lone wolf
clear cut on the trail
stump lake on the open range
kettle valley rail
raven on the hatheume
slash and burn and scar
blasted church in a tired sun
wild rose under char
thistle in the hollow
quails nest sitting high
carriage house at lone rock
curtains of july
smoke jaw in the canyon
percolator dream
silver sage in chapel
schneider's requiem
stockmen on the wrangle
big horn antler chase
table top at sunset
deacon creek in grace
quarry in a furry
lines of tinted red
spurs and blades and columns
patchwork of the dead
past the bow hill junction
cattle ropes are black
indian amphitheater
saddle on the rack
sun is at a high bake
sedimentary stone
three days on the morphine
skeleton and bone
cold water road is lonely
corrals are cut and paste
gone but not forgotten
the dust filled aftertaste
Jun 3, 2017
Jun 3, 2017 at 1:06 PM UTC
shapeshifter, son drunk
& changing skins.
he digs up skeletons of a spanish battalion
buried
by tigers on the garden key.
suncresent
spray of blood & oranges.
new-fangled sailors once soaked
in madness.
now just starvation.
the viking speaks:
in limericks of new world poise.
his antler woven mask,
set nicely upon the shore.
seod, turtle lord
of space & time, appears only once
every lunar eclipse. bound by treatise
to the jellyfish triumvirate.
his acolyte,
bolivar t. shagnasty,
wanders the mainland in search of water
or meat of trees.
kindness
of men turns to dust & belly worms.
forgotten, the plants mutate
into root-rich empires
of fish & figurine.
million year armistice.
dr. samuel mudd,
shackled years to tide-slab &
fort jefferson. he
purifies the island of its yellow
shivering death.
hospital key.
fastforward hundred plus years
through mudd lifeline:
battle weary sneakers,
spokes sung by strum of card, the bmx
stridden boy & his
teenage mutant ninja turtle mask.
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 4:55 PM UTC
I'm gonna draw thing!!!
it's gonna look so awesome-
what the heck is this
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 11:12 AM UTC
The Autumn missal has arrived,
A fall reminder of the coming cold,
Strange slanting light to shift the maple
Greens to furious red and gold.
High above the myriad travelers chant adieu,
As on their sky-road paths they sing,
A chorus glorious to southern waters blue
Where winter marshes serve a warm retreat.
A liturgy of highest order drives the world
Beyond the ken of time-old cycles round;
Hibernal instinct now in feral life unfurls:
Flogs squirrels outward on their oak-corn bounds,
Plushes wealth of wolves' warm winter fur,
Hardens bone and antler, deepens feathered down,
Adds harvest fat to beast and fish and fowl,
Drives sap below old Frost's attempt to burrow down.
_________________
Unspoken paen unheard by almost all,
A careless shivering passerby may dread
This ritual changing of the Fall,
But never mind, the liturgy is read,
And Nature safely tucks herself into her wintery bed.
Sep 19, 2013
Sep 19, 2013 at 9:53 AM UTC
I remember her distinctly,
she wore green flannel & cargo shorts,
Che cap & a stuck sunflower,
her braids exploded from under it.
She was proud of her antler-handled side knife
& jump boots, traipsed around
like she was on the nature boardwalk,
I heard she stalked Sasquatch once.
That girl was
the consummate outdoors woman,
she knew all about trapping,
skinning & first aid,
could make water
spring from the ground.
Her grin was infectious,
a true aura of love hung
like dander around her,
her sensuality screamed
silently from her twinkling eyes,
the color of azure.
I was with her for one summer,
then I moved out of her sacred-valley.
Every time I look at the stars,
I remember her campfires
& the times we spent
at Moondipper
in each others arms
tasting marshmallows.
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 3:44 PM UTC
reach out ye white antler antennae
up to the succulent sky
tree teach me how to always be
growing, spreading finger branches high
teach me roots
teach me the hidden why
of the fruit of not every leaving
is to die, tree
reach out ye white antler antennae
and blossom me into life
Apr 26, 2021
Apr 26, 2021 at 8:56 AM UTC
Raining
Pouring
My dad’s up a ladder,
Wet,
Cold,
Attaching the reindeers antler,
Up
Down
I start to climb,
1’oclock
2’oclock
Taking too much time
To high
Wobbling
Cat’s eating the wire,
I pull
It pulls back
My patience starts to tire,
Mum
Comes out
“It’s in the wrong places”
Goes inside
We take it down
“This is going to take ages”
Cold
Tired
It’s eventually done
Inside
Warming up
“Now wasn’t that fun?”
Dec 5, 2009
Dec 5, 2009 at 6:32 AM UTC
“The Huntsman”
“There are plenty of fish in the sea”.
What they don’t know about me...
Is that I’m not a Fisherman.
But instead I’m a Hunstman…
Following the trial of the White Doe,
I have a wish, and she has the power.
Many years now I pursue her.
This doe is one of a kind…
She’s keen and clever.
Her tracks are hard enough to find.
With ease, she evades my traps.
Each AND every one on the map.
She never leaves my mind,
yet she’s always out of sight.
Craving to touch her pelt:
a desire beyond any I've ever felt.
Then like Divine Intervention
I’m swept with rejuvenation
On a cold winter night.
She’s at my campsite.
Pulling the rifle to my shoulder,
The barrel aims for her eyes.
She shivers like silver flags
under the moon light .
Hesitant, the rifle was lowered, I turn back.
Realizing if I were to pull the trigger,
it would mean the end of the journey.
Negligent, I didn’t notice the White Stag.
He impaled me, through my lung with his antler.
My blood freezes onto snow covered lilies.
Once I fell to my knees…
I remembered my wish.
I turn my head for one last glance.
I crawl to the rifle for a second chance.
I then whisper to her,
“I want to be with you forever.
That is my wish.”
TJW 2013
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 4:22 AM UTC
.
Hunting knife strapped to her ankle
Across her shoulders
Mystic bow and arrow
#
If you betray her
Believe me !
She don't write no pathetic
Teary poem about it
And post it to strangers !
//
( she would just realize she made a mistake in trusting you
And move on )
HER LIFE IS REAL
//
We meet at midnight in the hills
//
We exchange any wisdom gathered
In our attempt to produce
Strong children to face tomorrow
//
Clad in furs and antler horns
( or so it seems on the poetic level )
Quite ordinary really
Except for the REAL FIRE
In her eyes of love
//
She has not become stupid like most if us
She doesn't play games with love
Or emotions
Or
The fear of being needy
//
love ?
•
Well sure
//
Why not ?
Nov 8, 2015
Nov 8, 2015 at 4:47 PM UTC
Stumble on the ragged bones and fur of a deer above the spring,
choke on fear and grab your dog, drag him (and you) away.
Three years later, come upon the picked over corpse of a button buck in the upper field,
notice that there’s only half of it, back away and shudder.
Older now, pass half a dozen bloated carcasses along back country roads,
sigh, swerve to avoid the bloodstains on the pavement.
Meanwhile, your father’s got a doe in the bed of the truck strapped down still warm,
step back to keep the ****** snow off your boots, smile.
There is blood dripping from your nose and your brain feels like it’s rotting,
a blight of molding fur in a fallow field; picture fire, not bones.
Before, herds crept from the tree line at dusk while you sat around the flames,
grazing the lower field until they bolted at the howl of coyotes.
There is a bottle of pills and a carved antler whistle on your dresser;
one could save you, one might **** you. You know which is which.
Stagger through the woods with blurring eyes and a hanging head,
trip on a mouse-chewed antler and pick it up, smile, list right.
There is a white fawn standing plain in the bottom field that will disappear come winter.
Pull the arrows from your eyes; you can feel them, you know they’re there.
When the pain leaves you will run, fleet as deer, and outstrip the exhaustion that
howls at your heels. You will be alive again, and stop rotting.
Meanwhile, try not to trip on your bones, body trying to drop as though from a headshot.
Don’t lie down yet- the blood will scrub clean eventually.
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 4:08 PM UTC
The Escape
When Rudolph the red nosed reindeer wanted to
Be normal and join the flock on earth, Santa got depressed
Sat by many of Finland’s lakes contemplating his life
He too was tired of flying through the air and gets a cold
He wanted sunlight and a sandy beach.
He got hold of a tame water buffalo and an unemployed
Drunk from Helsinki and for a while they got away with it
Till an elf with a grudge told a newspaper about it and children too
Had long wondered why Rudolph had two horn, not antler and why
Santa was late, swore and kept falling off his sledge.
Santa had to come back from Thailand and sort out this corruption
He told twitter he was sorry, but fired blabber mouthed elf.
He had to look for sober man to act as Santa and train a new reindeer,
Because Rudolph and had got the taste of the high life.
Dec 27, 2015
Dec 27, 2015 at 5:24 AM UTC
Leaving the camp behind, we sped along the road, in a cloud of choking red dust, proceeding towards an area known as The South Australian Dessert. Barren, almost featureless country where the daytime heat was almost unbearable and night time temperatures were close to freezing.
During the journey, my thoughts drifted back to the time of my call up.
I was one of the last to be drafted into The Royal Air Force
My dad needed me desperately in the shop, he was working too hard. I resented the fact that a certain second rate comedian was excused because he claimed it would damage his career, what about my career, and my family? I was chosen-along with six hundred plus airmen, to be a part of Task Force Antler, of which you will hear later, In the mean time, we were waiting in transit in a camp in Glostershire, ROYAL AIR FORCE INNSWORTH. There was nothing to do on camp really, except clean latrines that had been cleaned thoroughly already, I was bored, and my dad needed me. I soon discovered a gap in the system, which allowed me to go home every Wednesday afternoon, and return on Sunday evening. My dad was very pleased with my help, and it became a regular routine, until one Wednesday evening. I had just walked into the shop when the phone rang. It was my friend Harry who had been covering for me. "Bernard, get back to camp, we are being kitted out in the morning! I was very tired, after spending the afternoon hitch hiking approximately one hundred miles, much of which I had covered on foot! I had a quick cup of tea, kissed my mum goodbye, and left holding a sandwich in one hand and my holdall in the other. I was going to need a miracle to get me back on time, it was a notoriously bad route for hitch hiking! more to come.
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 7:49 PM UTC
I am made for love
simply to be swallowed
inside flame
but without burning
too crisply
feeling just east of
too much pain
I would **** it all down
I would take it all in
I would ingest that
subtly powerful potion
fling inhibition
to the winds
run through storms
and swim through
murky, wild ocean
I would don both wings and
antler, or horns
just to show you my
animal instinct
I would sniff you out
in a hidden thicket
of thorns
even if physically
it's distant
I would sway my hips
join the gypsies
in their dance
I would get naked
in the river,
hypnotized by the moon's
seductive trance
I would cross the
longitudinal division
to cup my hands
around your face
slice through ********
with quick precision
if it threatened
our sacred space
I would take my sword
and cut any signal
that destroyers
laid in path
I would challenge
the logical probabilities
of looking into your eyes
or placing my hands
upon you
(so **** what if it defies
the math)
The glorious point
of what I am saying
as I trip myself
through you and
fully live it
is that my stars ignite
the power
of this
liberation of
tightened,
connected spirit
and I am not giving up
I am not succumbing
to the sirens' call
of demise
Just watch me
bound out
from behind
the slippery
precipice
and see
my spirit rise
May 28, 2016
May 28, 2016 at 2:44 PM UTC
We enjoyed two days of rest and good food and discussed between ourselves all the possible reasons why we had been shipped out to OZ, instead of The Second Tactical Air Force in Germany! Neither of us had a clue, and try as we might we could get no explanation from any source.
Towards the evening of the second day, we received instructions to wait by the admin office at nine thirty the following morning, with our belongings. "What next," Gordon asked. I could only shrug my shoulders,
"After what we have been through, anything is possible." An orderly was waiting for us, to check our twelve fifties. "Come with me please."
He escorted us out to where our aircraft was waiting, Our Pilot and the two fitters were busy loading equipment on board. "Climb aboard guys, we won't be long!" "Can you tell us where wer'e going?" He grinned, "Yes, of course, but not just yet, let's get airborne first, shall we."
He changed the subject abruptly. "You will be glad to know that our friends have fixed the problem with the reduction gears, and have replaced the seals on the fuel tanks, fingers crossed, we should be ok."
We were ok, the aircraft lifted off and we gained altitude quickly. The pilot drew our attention to something below. "Do you see that road? "
We could see a black ribbon stretching away in front of us. "We follow that for about six hundred miles, that's the end of the line for you!"
I looked at Gordon, our eyes met, he nodded. "But what are we doing there?" The pilot's grin widened grin widened. "You will join the rest of your friends on Task Force Antler, you will be testing Atomic weapons, and good luck to you."
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 7:58 PM UTC
Why the love
if it didn't even
sell the soul
If it didn't even clothe the naked
why do you get choices
& It always causing choosing a hole to fill again
runes in antler. anthology lending itself to a bandged roadkill
**** I keep hitting it again
stopping on my trip to pick it up again
and consuming psychic vampires. highest excitment
Jul 11, 2015
Jul 11, 2015 at 3:36 AM UTC
APPROACH MY ALTAR
WITH FEET AND HEART
LAID BARE: I AM GOLD
CAST ANTLER CROWNS
AND T HE SMELL OF
BURNING IN YOUR HAIR.
I AM THE ABRUPT DECEIT
OF DARK WATER, I AM SON,
I AM DAUGHTER. I AM THE
FOREST MADE HOLY, THE
BRANCHES WHICH HOLD
UP THE SKY. I AM MOTHER
OF SHARP TEETH AND
FATHER OF NATURE'S LIE.
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 9:35 PM UTC
I’ve had a terrible day today
The horse had broken a shoe,
I had to get to the marketplace
And didn’t know what to do,
So I borrowed the neighbour’s horse and cart
Was stopped by the local cop,
He said that the stuff on the neighbour’s cart
Had been stolen, from a shop!
He wouldn’t believe it wasn’t mine
And locked me up in a cell,
I’m being done for the stolen goods
And the stolen cart as well.
It took them hours to bail me out
Then I had to walk back home,
Fifteen miles to the mountain top
And the tongue of a rabid crone.
‘Why do you always do these things,
Why is it always you?
The guy next door, he never gets caught
But he’s so much smarter - True!’
I didn’t think she’d ever give up,
My dinner was down the drain,
They say that marriage is so much bliss,
Then why is there so much pain?
The kids were screaming about the place
When they should have been in bed,
She said she couldn’t control them, but
At least the kids were fed.
I bit a crust that was far too old
And it almost broke my teeth,
Then saw the thing was covered in mould,
All that I want is Sleep!
‘All that I want is sleep,’ I said
As I staggered off to my room,
It seemed a conspiracy overhead
Was acting out in the gloom,
A crash, a clash on the tiles above
I thought it was drunken Joe,
He’s always fooling about at night,
Him and his ** ** **
The wife snuck into the bedroom then
And she said, ‘Don’t make a peep!
Or Father Christmas will hear you, Ben,
You ought to be sound asleep!’
My eyes bugged out and I leapt on up
Flung open the window wide,
‘And how do you think I’m supposed to sleep
With you ******* about outside!’
I heard the chomping of many teeth
And a very distinctive ‘Neigh!’
Stuck my head out so far that I
Could see this silver sleigh.
I yelled, ‘Hey get off my effing roof,
You’re damaging all my tiles!’
And then this guy in a bright red suit
Looked down, his face all smiles.
All he could say was ** ** **
He’d come from some funny farm,
I yelled, ‘Do you want a bunch of fives?’
He started to look alarmed.
I heard the rattle of antler horns
As he started to ride away,
I couldn’t believe my eyes to see
It was Santa’s Silver Sleigh!
They’ve stuck me out in the doghouse here,
I had to kick out the dog,
But found, at least, that his rug was fleece
I could sleep at last, like a log.
There’d better not be another day
Like this, as I said to Steve,
‘You’d think that someone would warn me when
It’s coming up Christmas Eve!’
David Lewis Paget
Dec 24, 2014
Dec 24, 2014 at 10:45 AM UTC
Young trees stand in clumps,
Bursting forth in tender leaf,
Chattering in the early fall,
Silent in the early spring,
Tender shoots alive,
A school yard thriving.
Thin bark, food for winter starvers,
Antler rubs for summer bucks...
A stand of youngsters
Waiting to be thinned..
The old trees root down,
Twisted, misshapen,
Root masses exposed,
Bolls huge at intervals
Intermittent.
Solitary veterans of Time's war,
Arms twisted and split,
Cracks in the roughened old skin
Letting strangers at the heartwood,
Grown sponge-soft,
Home for squirrels,
Sleep-seeking 'possums,
Note-leaving lovers.
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 9:24 PM UTC