"balking" poems
1356
The Rat is the concisest Tenant.
He pays no Rent.
Repudiates the Obligation—
On Schemes intent
Balking our Wit
To sound or circumvent—
Hate cannot harm
A Foe so reticent—
Neither Decree prohibit him—
Lawful as Equilibrium.
6.1k
the new tupac will have you too walkin with gangstas
the new two stupidity now two steppin with prankstas
murked the first one sayin he's blacker the berry
when i'm sweeter than juice
bass voiced top me if you want to experience that jacked tweeters induced
when i own all of Victoria's secrets as proof
tellin me what the body when all his deducement has him actin when he's wearin his shoes
crypt walking like that it's only talk
missed balking like has bass fits jocking as his only walk
******* with me when All Hailed Mary like if she was his when is only stolen balk
I'm walkin again the gauntlet cuz all the women they want this flauntin all **** like if i was jackin all the wanted
like ghost whippin me imma follow you till i'm haunted
pain really, so bow down, when my diamonds glisten
listen again is just as well bilateral biased has his confused his like the ol' eminem was in the new form gettin his face jacked again
like me smokin crack with friends like all given enemies stressed was all given was a race black and then
we actually are the same race like i knew you back like i owned all the streets like his females thuggin as heathen
**** riding i'll **** your *** up like settin me up when i'm always the last muthafucken breathin
exposing the ***** heathen breathin like if you were the only man catching bullet rounds exposed like the new you was still alive
to the next ** hiked my socks up construed you at hit stupidity when will ride
ghettos owned by just the black reppin when you're steppin the whack, honest it was just onyx
i'll blast your *** like if you stole my pump shotty:
like i never was wanted runst follies
anamoly run has all criminal cops all fathering fun deceiving that all to gain was never greed when all greed in need bothering sons:
all you still down with me when we ride it
looking like a *** while i'm guy gee stag when you're looking into their eyes, they'd know comparison of a bird control as if fathering guys
my knowledge is flight applauding the time, are you still down with me
i hide behind the love of beauty of my womens eyes when you're looking like the female opened you up to your face compared to opening thighs
they don't know like how you stare in the future that tommorow comes only after the dark
knowing me marks the coming of the actual god
I am "unconditional heart"
Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 11:59 AM UTC
balking, then walking into the suburban night,
I have escaped the TV, the PC, the clutter of memories
and the last two hanging, breasty incandescent bulbs in the galaxy,
soon to have their filaments burn out amid the indifference
of florescent pigtails and their infinite, incessant hum
I have escaped into this night
marching on, marching on
the sullied, sacred sidewalk squares
past the dentist’s house, past the woman whose husband was murdered
by his best friend over a case of beer, and had her eternal fifteen minutes on Dr. Phil
past the retired educator, past the woman who…hell I don’t know what she does--she drives a gold Avalon
and never retrieves her Sunday paper before noon
marching on, marching on
I count cadence, move as if I am headed
to another battle, and I am, but I won’t see my enemy tonight
he is yet on the black horizon, waiting for me, and you
marching on
when I pass the widow’s house a second time, a third (?) time
I smell her cigarettes and see the orange glow in her garage, like
a lonely firefly moving to and fro, in the universe she creates for it
before flicking it to her oil stained concrete graveyard, stomping it out
never to let it fly again, though by my next circle she will have birthed a new one
and given it a foul fickle journey of its own
marching on
a truck passes me on my final lap
its fumes mixing with the cool moonlight
I hold my breath, wanting neither lunar light
nor carbon monoxide for my evening repast
when I breathe again,
the scent of tacos soothes my olfactory,
I do not know its greasy origin in this dark place
nor do I care, but I inhale again more deeply
daring the odor to tease me again
and help me forget what
I escaped to find
marching on
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 9:33 PM UTC
The Ravens
On a rainy night so boring
I heard Munin soundly snoring,
I grew tired of my poring
Perched above Valhalla’s door.
“Munin!”, screeched I to the ceiling,
Sending the poor fellow reeling,
“Let’s deal out a joke to Odin,
One that he’ll be falling for -
Just one joke, and nothing more.”
After barrow ghosts-invoking
Odin entered, wet and soaking,
And I started with my croaking
From the dark above the door:
“I’m the first and oldest Volva!
All my secrets I could tell ya,
For the right price I might sell, yeah”,
And I cawed, “Would you know more?”
(He is crazy about lore.)
“What!”, cried Odin, “Quick, be talking!
At the price I won’t be balking.
Searching wisdom, I’ve been walking
Wandering from door to door.
Let my need for knowledge reach you,
All my own skills I would teach you;
Tell me all now, I beseech you!”
Quoth I grinning, “Nevermore!”
(Just a jest, and nothing more.)
Odin with frustration sputtering,
Munin laughing, wildly fluttering,
I was dead-pan and kept uttering
Nonsense about hidden lore.
For his need he found no quelling,
All Valhall woke from his yelling –
Oh, the fun to keep on telling
Him that one word, “Nevermore!”
(We thought it was a joke, no more.)
In the morning ceased his raving,
But that did not end his craving,
And we saw our master waving
To our roost above the door.
“Friends”, he said, “Now I will ride out;
Over Midgard you shall glide out:
Seek the Volva in her hideout!”
- Then it felt a joke no more.
(And Munin, to this day, is sore.)
Every day we must keep flying,
Always for that “Volva” spying,
Acting as though we were trying;
Well, the joke’s on us, for sho…
To escape a rightful chiding,
To this day the truth we’re hiding;
By this tale we are abiding,
And we’ll tell you nothing more!
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 3:22 PM UTC
I have a million things to say.
Yet I keep silent.
I pepper my conversations with pregnant pauses --
Uncomfortable breaks which throw the whole thing off kilter
and send the other party slinking away.
Much later I practice what I might have said --
Something remarkable or brazen, hilarious or incredibly insightful.
But it's much too late.
Like a show horse balking at a gate, I arrived at the moment of truth
and chickened out.
I could have made the jump, I just lacked the necessary courage.
I marvel at people who are so
comfortable in their own skins that they can
talk with ease and aplum in any situation.
I envy them.
Truth be told, I hate them.
Don't they know I have something great to say?
I'm just a little slow on the draw...
Okay, a lot slow...
But I do have a million things to say.
Jan 21, 2013
Jan 21, 2013 at 5:17 PM UTC
Sometimes I miss the holy grace of ignorance,
Sometimes I miss the comfort that I felt when I read about David and his caves,
About his moody eyes and his harp,
About his *** addiction and his jealous, musical heart that only a god could love,
About the way he loved with abandon, reckless, selfish, taken aback in naivety, balking at those who dared disagreed with his unwavering need to be as he was
David made me ***
David made me feel closer to God and my mother
David told me a story of lust and ****** and protection and angst and a sweet tortured easily patronized self
Maybe in all of this, one day this flawed, beautiful man who murdered a giant and sang to lambs
Would be me
A woman, self possessed, soothing sheep and culling sleep in her victims.
Passion dripping from her honey harp.
David, thank you for the awakening and for the saturated hedonism that you spoke to in me.
Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 5:10 PM UTC
Solitary hiker, trudging up the slopes,
breath quickened by the angle;
hallway up, I spot a rock, sit, and
let my legs below me, dangle.
Take in the valley, far below,
that lingers lovely in my gaze;
through mist-filled clouds,
and scattered haze.
I find my pulse on my carotid,
the big artery on my neck;
it's bounding and it's fast,
but I continue, on my trek.
I slow the pace with measured gait,
granny steps and slow walking;
nearing now the summit's crest,
my hips and legs do all the balking.
Solitary walker, his face now in the clouds,
congratulates himself at last;
looks out into the far horizons,
out to the mountains of his past.
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 10:53 AM UTC
My shoes are scraped and scuffed,
But I'm still walking.
My voice is pained and gruff,
Yet I'm still talking.
My fear appears so tough,
But I'm not balking.
My love had never seemed enough,
So this is shocking.
I feel so blessed.
Each wound a test.
Please hear me knocking.
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 5:44 PM UTC
In my sister’s shoes, I sit here talking
Waiting for the moment she’ll walk in balking
I’m no impersonator, no, no ventriloquist
I don’t pretend to be so
I won’t pretend to be so
I feel more like an actor thrown on stage
Without a script
I lost my ID card somewhere around here
I think someone ran off with it
Stealing identities
My friends keep calling me by the wrong name now
No matter how I try
My corrections are taped over with permanence
I wonder when they’ll realize
It takes people a while you know
They discriminate what they shouldn’t
Choosing words they like over words they don’t
I hear love
Well I said hate
How hard is it to understand?
Clearly written out to comprehend
Just listen for once, no, no
Not ‘your’ definition of listen
The real one
Maybe then you’ll see
But probably not
Apr 18, 2012
Apr 18, 2012 at 9:47 PM UTC
White.. Doves Are My ..Shadows
All Color's Hued Within.. ..your
prisms casting no doubt to.. ..
There She lays In Sleeping
Greens furling about Her
Great Serpent slithering
stalking a darkly prey
already in mourning
great spirits balking
walks talk of surely
withering this way
fearing rememberence
of dying.. ..dear Blackness
Serpent's Heart of Loving
Our breaths cast away
in lieu of the fight's
in lieu of the flight
in lieu of the fear
of the..Shadows
in love..cast as
lights chill to
Soul's hued
with..eye's
lie to soil
a'bout
'your'
me's
see
E
Y
E
'
Dye'd
to
'I'
Oct 11, 2012
Oct 11, 2012 at 11:43 AM UTC
rows of two!-three!-four!-boys-bloc-king-the-cor-rid-or
will soon be gone
and the RHYTH-mic-tick-tock-of-my-leg-BOUN-cing-on-the-floor
will be no more
it's fresh cadavers wrapped in string
it is a joyful gospel hymn
mourning the best and worst of youth
(those shiny kids who'd first walked in
with all the grace and all the poise
of hatched arachnids missing limbs)
but what of "her" – you know her name –
that overfed, reptilian thing
who shed her hair and scratched her skin,
cursing the odds at Him upstairs, demanding He re-shape her?
some say she cried herself into extinction
– sailed away on a crimson tide –
balking at the trauma of being seen
(enforced, cursed vulnerability
in being known to man).
the rest knew better;
they were voyeurs in this
fruit-carving tutorial
on 'how to grow up':
STEP 1) consider all other alternatives
2) take the scalpel and initiative
3) before adrenaline gives way to doubt,
turn the flesh-vessel inside out in a cocoon of your own creation!
while organs may rupture and it aches like you've skinned yourself alive (good for her, setting herself free!) you'll look cuter in the class photos and has you-know-who... finally... shifted the weight?
4) breathe through the blood loss and searing pain
5) notice
you
can
breathe again.
at this point, does it matter that it aches?
May 10, 2019
May 10, 2019 at 9:50 AM UTC
the lean stammer of long balking ***
froths diligently on my lady's bones
and it plastics a largeness heading
southern sea to lake and fire perpendicular
unraveling senses. a mire of spitted
tongues or saliva all a laminating
her magic gaggle of crumbling...
***** and notch; twin ecstatic jumbled
notes in discorded unity of tentative
lips... mymy
mym
y
my my mymym
y
my yoke, my egg, my scorpion. ***** me quickly venom
i'll a sprung!
Dec 15, 2010
Dec 15, 2010 at 11:46 AM UTC
Tail wagging
His tails wagging is no barking
Balking at wind, at passing car
Just body friends of wet sniffing
Two pant legs to be followed
Only to be shaken off in a vile
Basement of dark shadows
And sleeping cars in their veils.
Pant legs have no steel in them
And a soft bite is afraid of pain
By four ****** just below navel
Here love ferments but festers.
Lame dogs
Plenty of action is in the street
A dog leg is gone to child's pleasure
By a boy's stone at its whelping
But three legged dogs still bark
At passing cars, their shadows.
You cannot straighten his tail
His tail is like a crescent moon
Its flies like stars buzzing around
Or like a scythe the farmer uses
To bring his crop under control
And cannot be straightened ever
Like a crescent moon or a scythe.
May 11, 2012
May 11, 2012 at 4:16 AM UTC
bawling ballads, blankly bask
basque baroque bent blessed be
beats bleed burn black bombastic babylon
bury berry's bandulu bashment
brake bodderations balking bahamut
blend borders
beckon bredren
banter balladry
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 6:43 PM UTC
Why can't I do anything right?
I can feel the rope around my neck getting tight.
I am not sure if I am having an anxiety attack,
but my vision is fading to black.
I should shut up!
Seriously
I don't know why I keep talking,
but my breathing is getting balking.
My heart is going the speed that my fingers are flying over the keyboard
and I can feel cramps starting to erupt,
and I am trying to hold them tight,
trying to press everything right.
But with shaking hands it's not so light!
All I did was drink
2 glasses to be precise
and the next thing I know
is that I wake up to apologize
to a girl that I love
which I called a **** for fun
And that's where the drama begun.
She asked if a was already down the drain
And even with a clouded brain
I saw the mistake in her spelling
and thought it would be fun to be the one telling:
“Are you grammatically incorrect?”
And all I hear this morning is the loud voice that yells at me
“You are rekt”
And she is right, I am.
I hurt the one most precious to me
Just by saying something that I thought was funny.
Running my mouth is like running a train.
An unstoppable force
until it rolls of the rails.
But from now on I'll keep quiet,
I swear to you, my dearest one,
because I can't see you being gone.
Mar 18, 2018
Mar 18, 2018 at 8:08 AM UTC
They stay vigil, ever waiting the new design of sigils.
Kinda simple, keep their fingers pressed to pimples,
The pus a pit of petered parts,
Perceived by the reckoning of depleted hearts.
I rushed the doors at the sound of a great escape,
The process a repeat coordination of hurry up and wait.
Ever balking at the atrocities of cost,
Average Joes chasing dreams at the velocity of sloths.
How to be content with immense disparity?
Hands out faking quivers, shaking for some charity.
Forsaken someones somewhere surviving on a sliver,
Watching all the getters, I see myself a giver.
Oct 25, 2017
Oct 25, 2017 at 8:32 PM UTC
*as we move on through our day to day
heading who knows where
the hustle and bustle of the there about
seemingly without a care
the ups and down in this show of life
the taking of the offering
if we could see i think we'd find
that we mostly are sleepwalking
we slip and slide the routine
one foot in front of the other
along the way we eat and breath
so as not to blow our cover
making sense in all of this
mumbling as if talking
doing it like nobody's biz
the artful art of sleepwalking
wheeling as we're dealing
faking savoir faire
the sleepy path that we are on
is filled with our nightmares
we make our way through drowsy days
no hesitation in the balking
all we have made in this display
effortlessly sleepwalking*
Jan 23, 2016
Jan 23, 2016 at 8:26 AM UTC
Perplexity is hidden in head space.
Perplexity is hidden in grace.
Perplexity is hidden in these affirmations.
Perplexity is blinded to worry and manifests fear.
Fear begets courage.
And perplexity hides in that too.
History hides a lot of confusion.
Perplexity is blinded by knowledge.
Perplexity is still hidden in college.
And knowledge is a trained phenomenon.
But training has no skill set to One without a question:
Balking at knowledge because the training does not produce it.
It produces a branch of knowledge that is always incomplete.
Thus, a degree is only a measure of completeness.
The rising of the completeness puts out the fire.
A stammering tongue has no place here.
Let me say something while you check your notes
Passive listener, scratch the back of your head because this wasn't prepared for.
Nice is true to my style.
Conditioned by the miles I've walked.
This is not for your entertainment.
This is about word placement.
Uncovering the person that I am.
Feb 6, 2021
Feb 6, 2021 at 9:31 PM UTC
Lying across the lush humid moss
dusty trees foster a veil of privacy
Swaying willows softly moan into the dying breeze, each graceful crossing branch-slapping out tunes in harmony
Dancing leaves claw and scrape the earth underneath, touching and crumbling in musical ecstasy
A berry ripe for picking
nestles deeper in the foliage
shivering and trembling
seeking solemn warmth
As the distant sun backs out of view
the ambitious moon
finishes its silky crawl
setting a mosaic mood
The shaded forest comes alive
playing the enchantress
balking at the day
Consuming the light
with shallow breaths
and quenched acceptance
welcome the fervor of the night.
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 3:33 PM UTC
Former CIA Director
John Brennan scathing headlines
Washington Post op-ed sharply
published critical accusations
muted excoriation slams
Commander in Chief
volcanic blatant pathological lying
spews like lava his American
foreign policy boilerplate brazenly
bastardizes by banditry blueprint,
balefully balkanizing beautiful bracketed
booming brady bunch brand,
bests best-buy buffer braking balanced
bastion, bolstered beloved benighted
bequeathed bicameral bipartisan bliss,
Baptizing bacchanalian buffoonish bombast,
betokening bobble-headed Bumstead,
barmy bartered bride bravado, bizarrely
brash brassiness, blindsiding behavior,
beetlebrowed bonehead, bafflingly baldfaced,
bankrupting, blithely bollixing,
bombastically belittling, badmouthing,
banally blasting, banana-boat baseless,
bearish blandishments, beastly boastful
boosterism, bellicosely boorish, bug-eyed,
bighearted, bigoted blathering breeding
blunderbuss bloopers, bewildering
bloodletting bellyache blight,
brazenly being bandying bellwether,
blitzing bourgeoisie balderdash,
balking but beaming barbaric
berserk ballyhoo backbiting,
backslapping backstabbing
blacklisting bromides,
besetting basic bestowed blooming,
Bobbitizing bedeviling beneficial
bulwark bereft badinage, ballistically ballooning
betrayal birthing bedlam.
Jun 2, 2018
Jun 2, 2018 at 6:06 PM UTC
digital noise...everyday
humming at low frequency
disrupting the human flow
human noise... everyday
balking at volume in desparation
causing harm to all
animal noise.. everyday
beautiful tones and chirps
a free choir that brings joy
we have the choice to subscribe to all of these noises
or to seek peace with careful selection, wisdom and a smile
Oct 4, 2023
Oct 4, 2023 at 1:34 PM UTC
Into the darkness I walk.
Hand and hand with the unfathomable flock.
Leaving footsteps as I stalk the docks.
Hands in pockets, filled with rocks.
I begin my journey with locks on my ankles.
Breathing in, working against the clock.
I hear my heart squawking like a trapped hawk.
Inside my head, listening to the knocks.
My lungs fill, balking within my plummet into the darkness.
For once, I fear no rejection.
In the darkness there is no direction.
Only the natural selection.
The perfect connection.
The correction of my death in deepest, blackest of waters.
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 12:03 PM UTC
During the anticipation and transitioning of a beautiful morning sunrise sky
Five minutes of mindfulness and quiet breathing gives me a reason to fawn
There is a magic-ness waiting and watching for dawn
There is internal balking at impending healthy walking
My attention switches
I seem concerned about a proper Thai lunch venue
And whether luv is on the menu
An afternoon nap is refreshing for an old sap
A pink blue sunset quietly paints the evening sky
Such a wonderful feast for tired, sore eyes
I spend dark night hours interweb surfing, online backgammon, watching some Masterpiece views of a dead monarch’s family fight
Hoping and praying for a continuous sleep filled night
This all happens over the course of a day
Dec 17, 2018
Dec 17, 2018 at 2:15 PM UTC
starting with periwinkle,
when they say I'm colorblind
I cough a bit;
tarred-up heart, doncha
know, bless your little heart then.
I could run wild, given highs
that rare to lull;
now, a call to cull. I willing,
force the slaved ego.
I said never to capitulate;
how obstinate, I;
swearing prostrate.
I, crying why?
"To live of metre,
for to die in metre, of course."
pretty cold-blooded, a moment
for I when I needs an eye;
prostrate, perfect,
composing ****** structure
in order for I to redeem
a gaze from hand
[when clock tick-tocks]
through wound of perfect grace.
feel all awkward, shut
the door right quick;
"Who the **** was that?"
Suzie Black,
why you sulking around this I?;
why you balking around some lie?
Feb 11, 2017
Feb 11, 2017 at 7:36 AM UTC
I fear that I’ll lose you,
Even though I want you gone.
I want you to stay,
Yet I often contemplate running away.
Does that make me... inhumane?
Have you driven me insane?
Or is that my head talking?
You’re the one who got me walking,
Now, here I am doing all of this balking.
We’re facing a scare, scarier than painless death.
We’re facing your suffering, promoting your very last breath.
I want you to leave me be,
But not to die prematurely.
Please don’t leave me,
I’m too young to bury,
The one thing that created me.
Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 11:25 PM UTC