"armors" poems
You say doctors will
make the best poets.
They will search your emotions
by the skin; cutting open to reveal
and revel
with surgical precison.
They will play with
heavy drugs and blades--
nothing shall hide beneath
the armors of bone and muscle.
They know the anatomy
of the heart too well.
They will find the things
you have hidden in your chest.
I say
doctors will never be poets.
They are too mechanical,
too fast with their edges
and ridges.
They cannot see the pain
as pain but merely as an anomaly.
That sadness is black bile
not melancholia.
They cannot sing to you
but only clammer in medical jargon.
Poets will use their imperfect words,
and perfect rhymes
to find the secrets of your rib cage
with ease.
They will find every flaw
of your broken body
and make it the best story
you've never heard.
Doctors,
they will put love to define as
a momentary rush of adrenaline,
an arrythmia for another human
caused due to an imbalance of the heart rhythm.
Poets will tell you
that love is the first jolt
of life for them.
They will say love is a state of euphoria
that takes those irregular rhythms to perfect symphonies.
Doctors say that
veins carry blood
devout of oxygen.
I say that they carry your broken emotions
to their feelings factory
to mend it within its beautiful catacombs.
All those doctors
will find and fix you
with perfect solutions.
And these poets
will do their best
to be your perfect solution.
Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 8:25 AM UTC
There, she lies on the altar
Almost held the sun she—
almost in her hands
Opened up, a rose-bud chaste
petal by petal by blood, with
a sting, so sweet and sweet, as
sunset reborn a bee; she was
gold and silver and black at once.
Almost held the sun she—
and no wax wings used
Oh, Icarus, love you did a wild sky,
— yourself a light-licked doom
as your father cried,
Your father cried for you.
A veil as simple sour starlight she wore
as wings of wasps as beetles she giggled
Icarus, flew that you
—and with tongue-tied elation too
Icarus,
she rambled on for hours long.
A letter she held in spring kissed hands
—I will wed you to the sun, her father had sworn.
The sun—and a sun he was,
child of the sea, some sword in honey
dipped; now her awaiting.
And blushed she did herself a dawn
The altar, on the altar.
Almost held the sun she—
Swallowed a mayhem for the father's sin.
Icarus, tell me of the plummet.
Tell me of the greens you saw,
of blues, of whites, of the whirling world—
Men go around around her
their soles all ready
to crush lost skulls an empty moor.
Twirling,
the dust, like may have her hair
before the wedding day
Strands and strands, gently styled—
Spears, swords, rubbed to mirrors,
to lakes lifeless
Armors and ships laden with life, with
sails, the fluttering doves;
As the winds dance once more—
as harbors vacated, as waves torn apart for the horde, as move they on— on too the sun— as
She still lies.
Icarus, Icarus, was it the ocean
that cupped its palms, or did the soil cave in
as down into dark's slick throat you slid?
Surely, was soft, the sea's well-loved mouth,
Surely soft or true
She lies on the altar
a trinket glossy on a hoof, a ****** in the bell,
how does one say—
the valley of lilies, she grew it inside.
Spilled out on the stones, they are fed
to the flies.
Almost held the sun she—
Icarus, must you know
You did not sleep a wretched silence
within the womb of war.
No crescent blades you drank down a leaking throat—
She lies on the altar, vanquished for moon
— for metal upon bone
for blood, for blood, for blood.
A father’s green promise—
Seasoned to rust before the king
Icarus, on the altar she lies—
a ripened land far, far away lures her king
to another rosy worship.
Icarus, Icarus,
on the altar
Aug 3, 2021
Aug 3, 2021 at 7:45 AM UTC
A string of words that flow like the rivers,
Showing enough thought to provide the shivers.
Reflections of the poet within,
The type thrown out in the garbage bin
Or the type framed and hung on the wall.
There's a poet within us all.
Not all are eager to show their inner poet,
But would rather let it set sail
As rivers stream from their eyes
Due to the symbolic lie
They believe, making them pale
As, with their sorrow, they wallow it.
Patronizing executives and farmers
Believe their exterior would be shattered
If their inner poet let slip.
Once somebody gives them lip,
They harden as if it mattered
And equip their shields and armors.
The Spartan with the inner-Athenian
Would be killed by his friends
If they knew who he was on the inside.
This fills him with fear.
He keeps his ears open to hear
If anyone is coming as he hides
So his poetry will have its end
Before this war with the Peloponnesians.
Such beauty gone to waste
All because this facade of masculinity
Everyone puts on to protect themselves
From the beasts in this society
That would love to shatter those dreams.
Artists should gather in teams,
Ready to fight this anarchy
That would place our poetry on the shelves,
Collecting dust with haste.
Collecting dust with haste.
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 6:19 PM UTC
There is a certain romance of incomplete stories
and unrequited passion....
A certain heroism , in unfulfilled ambitions and sacrificed wants ...
(There is also
Selfishness in altruism,
Mockery in humility...
Fragility of pretenses,
Deception of senses,
Armors of sensitivities...
all those nitty gritties,
paradoxes that haunt
etc, but then...)
Sometimes this happens,
love stays and we go.
Sometimes this happens,
there is no beginning, nor end:
through “ifs” and “buts”
priorities distend
the space between, what is seen and what has been.
I picked your hopes with my eyelashes
and thatched together a shade for us
You caught my fall in the web of your thoughts,
softening for me, the landing, and thus,
we built a dream.
Sometimes this happens
the stars are buried in the desert sands
the lines dissect though you’re holding hands
but for the heart that understands....
it’s all divine. Not yours nor mine.
Sometimes this happens
one understands, but it’s not enough
one knows, but accepting is still pretty rough
You may have all ingredients
but you still need a “here” and a “now”
no question of why? or what? or how...
Sometimes this happens
the wait becomes unbearable
so remember that you know....
time is deceptive
and it’s already tomorrow in Tokyo
Arshia.
Nov 26/27, 2017
Nov 27, 2017
Nov 27, 2017 at 2:17 AM UTC
*Firelight Affairs & Atmospheric Starlight,
Rainbow Instincts Enlightening Her Satellite Twilight,
Quivering Symphonies & Colorful Voices,
Lyrical Abstracts Of Her Monochrome Noises,
Prismatic Rage In Her Eternal Sage,
Resonances Whispering Her Voices Onstage,
Vertical Ensembles Of Her Ecstatic Fashions,
Witty Odes Enlightening Her Arrested Passions,
Prancing Temptations & Provoked Mysteries,
Entrancing Her Artistic Waves & Surging Tapestries,
Storyteller Flares On A Perpetual Lease,
Intoxicated Mirrors Of Her Spiritual Release,
Lucid Memoirs & Condensed Revelations,
Inquisitive Glances Of Her Cupid Flirtations,
Crimson Armors & Her Reflective Scents,
Illustrious Serenity Embossed In Her Scenic Ascents,
Fluoresce Echoes & Her Scenic Prelude,
Coalesce Spotlights Guiding Her Summer Nudes.
- 01:24AM -*
Apr 17, 2017
Apr 17, 2017 at 3:00 PM UTC
Struggling inhaling
A swelling, current
Mix of malaise and
Iridescent rays
Whipping within my 6th
To 2nd -
Is this normal
It’s not
Meditation shouldn’t be
This ***** filling
Royalling current of **** -
God, what happened to the bliss?
The breathing in until peace
Amidst a storm
External;
What did I do to deserve this
Everything -
It’s all spread in;
Sins, loves, memories
The currents of the past
Slamming against my dammed
For too long
Now spring 4th
Only by being
Here;
May I come to
Know these pieces
Long repressed
In armors rusted shut;
This is spiritual lubricant
It’s ******* me hard
May 22, 2018
May 22, 2018 at 12:48 AM UTC
I learnt today that things hidden between the shadow and the soul are the most precious of all. Maybe there’s something about darkness that keeps, that stays, waiting for light to leave but still doesn’t reveal itself. I learnt today that somewhere, between the shadow and the soul is where dead things live.
Maybe in the dark we can both lay down our armors and no one will know. Maybe we can strip our bones of our skins and bath in the shimmer of night till we belong.There’re two lovers at the bottom of a well somewhere in the middle of nowhere with their souls dancing to the sound of sinking water.
There’s a rotten corpse that serves as a home to an earthworm and a field mice that know they shouldn’t be in love, but they come back to the dark everyday. There’s an alley that dances with its shadow every night when no one is around to judge. And I’m somewhere in between, between dancing alleys and sinking water, spread over the different shades of dark, between the shadow and the soul.
But with all this dark, nothing compares to mine, where I have hid me, somewhere between metaphors and mirrors. Cos the brightest of lights make the darkest of shadows, so we hide in plain sight, a dozen fake smiles away from sunset, waiting for night to come.
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 6:16 PM UTC
Back and Fourth I swing, my better sides hiding in the trenches of my mind.
My body is no mans land, caught between myself and I.
Violent vocabulary and assaulting alliteration load the barrels of my tongue.
This is self-protection, I'm burdened with armors against affection.
I spew sarcasm with venom, cold-blooded and serpentine.
You're the antidote and if I could I'd make you mine.
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 7:39 PM UTC
Women, bearers of warriors' marks,
You're the tough layers of the baobab's barks,
Best of the portraits that nature paints,
and Catwalk models of baggy pants.
You have been misled and misused
Your bodies and souls have been abused,
Yet, like a rose planted in a concrete
You majestically rose on your feet.
Women, flawless skins, lipsticks queens.
Fresh like shades of master's greens.
Big bones babes, skinny jeans chicks,
Gorgeous women, with kitchen tricks.
You are every woman, universal mama,
Rest in peace to the mother of Obama.
God bless every woman from Uganda
to the outskirts of the land of Wakanda.
African woman, Mother of humanity,
Thou are endowed with enviable beauty.
Eternal goddesses, brides of great kings
Multitasks babes, doers of great things.
Oh, Woman, givers of selfless love,
Sent to us from the great man above.
Oh, Woman thou are blessed,
You shall slay, was long prophesied.
This is a tribute to Maya Angelo's mammy.
Bless your lyrically poetic womb.
a solemn tribute to Mother of LeBron,
The NBA GOAT, King James of Akron.
Curvy Women work your gorgeous hips,
Smile with your Luscious rogue lips,
Thou are the pollen grains of biology,
and the specimen of perfect anatomy.
Eve of Eden, the apple of God's own eyes,
You gave every woman bedroom eyes
that pierces to the core of diamonds,
Like hardened bejeweled armors.
Woman, thou are truly nature's bounty.
Showcase your freaks and sexuality,
For which your petals toast monthly...
Slay dear queen, slay perpetually.
You came from Adams's ribs to give life
Woe unto any man who mistreats a wife,
Thou are indeed a blessed assurance,
Behold your grace, strides, and elegance.
For Sarah Brooks, my deceased mother,
and Sarah Ivana Brooks, my daughter,
For white, yellow and Brown women,
and all beautiful black African women.
This poetry, I penned for women is a tribute to everything.
For those nights you stayed up to sing,
Those prayerful songs only God heard,
Lying on tears soaked pillows in bed.
#IvanBrookdpoetry© Bassapoet©
August 16-2019
Aug 20, 2019
Aug 20, 2019 at 7:01 PM UTC
Let me give you my armor
Take my sword and shield
I'll be your knight in skin
With only my words to wield.
When the armors worn and broken
You can take my skin as well
Tattered, scarred and broken
But for you I wouldn't yell.
And with you every word
That you picked from my throat
Melted in your hands
And filled your empty cup.
You drank a part of me
My words upon your tongue
They trickled down your mouth
But your heart had already sung.
The tune of someone else
Your song it wasn't mine
My heart was already shattered
But it broke differently this time.
- N. Morin
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 11:25 AM UTC
It’s not easy to be vulnerable,
When your armors welded on.
It’s not simple to calm your soul,
When your very existence is seen wrong.
Oct 1, 2025
Oct 1, 2025 at 2:16 AM UTC
You can't fight yourself without losing.
Lost in this haze of constant confusion.
Are you human? So you know what I mean,
fighting temptation is as hard as it seems.
So this is the battle between emotion and logic.
Rewinding back like, "Is this real or a card trick?"
Oil slick. Static seeping in my mental navigation,
refusing to cut the ties to your connotation.
You read the last chapter now read the beginning.
You can't figure out if you're losing or winning.
Are you kidding? You lost track years ago.
Inattentive, glazed eyes pointed out the window.
An ultimatum emerged knocking on your front door.
Your words used as weapons caught in civil war.
Killing floor. Visual spectacle merely invented.
Armors the shell of your steam-powered persistence.
These days the wind blows so turbulent,
Natures influence forms dramatic events.
Circumvent. Form yourself a fate of your own.
Discard your words; pick up sticks and stones.
Mar 26, 2011
Mar 26, 2011 at 3:40 PM UTC
I want to catch loving looks,
To feel adoration and care,
Vainly try to resist the pull,
Because of the feelings shared.
I want heart-warming hugs,
Soft lips' sensitive touch,
All-night-long talks under the stars,
Honesty, happiness, trust.
I want to drown in the warmth of eyes
To hear words coming from heart.
I want to break my armors' ice
And fall deeply and deeply in love.
Sep 20, 2020
Sep 20, 2020 at 11:16 AM UTC
See her glances enchanting,
And rich scales set beautiful eyes,
Now who may breathe fire?
Long graceful neck,
The girl’s too,
Slender limbs,
Smooth,
Inviting
Even as a tail guards
Will hands caress you?
Their appearance neither coarse nor scarred
Never mind, other talons will tear
Like others pushed away
A fair maiden’s decidedly worth saving
Damsels are so often distressed,
Though, you see no tower?
Still, sword gleams!
And your armors match.
The dragon’s now slayed,
Yes I bid you to,
And she fell
May 23, 2010
May 23, 2010 at 4:35 PM UTC
Fearing the suns final eclipse,
men turn the night to day
but anguish also narrows wits
and scares foresight away
little wisdom stays
to the panicked men
the hunter hunts
the victim flees
and dread does still remain
Chorus:
Three things can´t be trusted
In the fright that walks the night
The oath of men, the fire’s light
And the sounds of hidden life
Little does the darkness care
About the stranger’s dread
Like dancing shadows in the flame
The restless feelings spread
The blades and armors shining bright
and blinds the fighters eye
And in the dark
The shadows waits
To hunt the hunters pride
Chorus:
Three things are deceiving
In the light of lanterns spark
The strenght of blades, the might of men
And a gleaming in the dark
A voice wails from the shadows deep
Out of the towering trees
And like a hunted animal
The fighters boltness flees
The howling sound like hunting horns
Fills heart and bones with fear
And in the dark
The glistening eyes
Are glaring bright and clear
Chorus:
Three things are most perilious
The dread that walks the night
The wicked howl that warns you
And the eyes that shine too bright
The warriors cried and ran away
and turned around no more
And spared no thought in silence
What they were panicked for
And as the soldiers fled away
The monstrous beast draws near
A cat, a dog, a donkey
and a rooster does appear
Chorus:
Three things never change its kind
under the darkness ban
The sounds, the eyes and shadows
That fear any armored man
Feb 21, 2019
Feb 21, 2019 at 10:36 AM UTC
How tall and stout were those who wore big armors?
I wondered at a museum of heroic ancestors.
In self hypnotism I look through future.
find machines are giants, people- pygmies,
products outnumber their creators,
most inhabitants follow train of thoughts
set by few scientists and technicians,
brains control sentiments as machines monitor hearts.
The stance is broken as the closing-bell rings.
Slowly I walk out of the empty hall.
1st. Feb. 2017
Feb 1, 2017
Feb 1, 2017 at 10:40 AM UTC
Sardonic savory armors against midnight shift,
Scrapbooks made from scrawny writings,
Wherein science is religion,
Some are hit and miss!!
Scowling, surely overcrowds happy intentions,
Noone mentions the fetal positions overthrow!!
Window peepers gaze between one another,
Serpent sermons drumline strong to song's of shipment sufferance,
Where thine utterance is grieved more than thou has ever felt!!!
More than the fall membrane beneathe your feet you shall blow!
Doth thou roll amongst forge stone?
Amongst the shows that made thou the mime thou art today../
A smile upon your cloak,
Yet thy finest of coats is in all disarray...
Perforaters try harshly to subdue our mother like peons,
Formulaic bringons,
Or turn one to sickened ones alike!!!!
Chasers of cognizant, bringers of fatality,
For doth thou chooseth to have life?
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 12:26 PM UTC
All the snails
have hard shells
like coat of arms
of pachyderms.
Beetles' hard sacks
save attacks
just as armors
of old soldiers.
Our safeguard
is to make skin hard
to let us glide
in ebb and tide.
1st Dec. 2016
Dec 1, 2016
Dec 1, 2016 at 10:20 AM UTC
***
I know this pain
Kiss me again
We’ve died a thousand times before
Don’t let it be in vain.
The fires burn
The sky bleeds black
I’ve said a thousand hurtful things
I wish I could take back.
I’ll wait for you
Beneath death’s river.
Come find me love
Come make me shiver.
I only lived while dreaming
I only died while still awake.
I’m done with paying
For my heart’s mistake.
So give me hell
I’ll burn it down.
They took everything from me
I’ll take the crown.
To hell with gods, karma and fate.
I’m still here standing,
it’s not too late.
I know this voice
He calls my name
I lived a thousand times before
To play this game.
My armors light
This blade feels true
I’ll slay a thousand different worlds
To reclaim you.
©vera_anne_wolf
Apr 6, 2019
Apr 6, 2019 at 11:15 AM UTC
It would be sweet to **** a dragon~
and save a princess fair~
Riding by the monster's corpse~
smoke drifting from my hair~
To cut the ropes that held her~
snugly to the pole~
and not to find her satisfied~
as a living goal~
To see her nod her thank you~
and turn from me to find~
within the dragon's treasures~
a great big axe to grind~
To see her sift through armors~
of knights the dragon dined~
To see her eyes light up upon~
a set that suits her fine~
And then to bid me forward~
And as her partner I obey~
To render her assistance~
In other dragons for to slay~
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 11:16 PM UTC
There is a place
It is heaven and it is hell
The place inside my head
Where no one can reach me there
I can imagine butterflies
I can imagine dragons
I can see me as the princess of Albion
Or see me fed to the Lions
With books, in my head I imagine
A world with fairies and armors
Garden with daisies and arbors
With pain, in my head I imagine
A world with cries and tears
Rivers of lies and fears
If I find myself sliding into my head
With a frown on my face, and a heart that aches
Do pull me back
As the dangerous den to be
Is a place, called my head
Khayrsouf|Aplacecalledmyhead
Jul 8, 2019
Jul 8, 2019 at 10:17 AM UTC
Thou must deny thy power
To enlighten hearts, they're pure
What thou should behold
Is thy help to stay that bold
Hath thou ever believed in chastity?
Then it hath been too late to be
When thou dissed grieves in levity
It is better not to forget history
Legions, armors, protections, sieges
War bugles, tear drops, bloodshed
Orphans, widows, maniacs, cages
Rapists, religions, trials, are been led
Until no white flags are raised
Immobile fingers and legs scatter
In the dirt by swords ablazed
Wish doves with mint leaves matter
Dec 8, 2016
Dec 8, 2016 at 3:03 AM UTC
Rise, brothers,
Freedom calls us.
Grab your guns
Wear your helms
This day all tyrants
Will turn to our servants
This night their hearthstone,
We will own!
Army of the horde is on the way
Warriors, line up!
Standby for battlecry
Bloodlust has conquered our minds and our souls.
Rip off their hearts,
Break their skulls!
Trenches made of corpse
Armors made of bones
Slaying the horde is our goal
Taunts and cry-outs
Sounds of swords and shields
Is our music
Their throats and their backs
Sounds of the bones break
Injured warriors are bleeding
It paints your soul
Stand up and fight
Drive the lance of light
Into the eye of the night
Free the world from the rage of this dark hate
Army of the horde is on the way.
Warriors, line up!
Standby for battlecry
Bloodlust has conquered our minds and our souls.
Rip off their hearts and break their skulls!
Rise up!
Sep 8, 2019
Sep 8, 2019 at 5:40 AM UTC
Play with words, but not with my feelings,
Forever, reach for your own sky
Find your glory until you touch the brink
But meddle not when I'm that high.
Your eyes may not simply discover why
Our hearts may not wander tonight
But let me show you my lovely guise
Away from stark heartaches and lies.
Hit one, strike a couple o' letters on the board
Let emotions flow until you can't seem to afford
Simply stream of consciousness working on us now
Then you'll have to put your heavy armors down.
See the beauty of your thoughts float by the bay
Together with your weary heart, let them go astray
Yours and mine, like blind ants, will surely find a way
A beautiful art, the poem in us, our love, I'll have to say.
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 10:39 AM UTC