"barbs" poems
Deferred thought my mind speaks
but unable to reach
Since, lacking proper fuel
words are no more than tools
Idly on the shelf
All alone by themselves
Whether each has the skill
Makes no difference still
Needs a user to wield
The brain must be unsealed
Else it's nothing but noise
And will only annoy
To communicate one
Has to pay attention
And your message think through
It is important to
Listen right back
Without barbs or attacks
Open-mind speaking freely
Add diplomacy
Must employ use of tact
Support statements with fact
Do not rush; take your time
Critical? Then be kind
Not a must to agree
Can't force someone to see
Each of us has his thoughts
Throughout life we are taught
There are social patterns
Easily to discern
So, wherever you fall
Do not build up a wall
Keeping out you will win
As you lock yourself in
Rigid form without flex
New ideas will perplex
Ignorance and denial
Grow into a pile
On island alone
Statue made of stone
In your mind you’re entombed
Happy life is now ruined
Feeling always against
With a paranoid sense
A refusal to see
An unwavering tree
But a tree can still bow
Give and take it will show
Rigid thoughts become firm
Close your mind; will not learn
Placing all of the weight
Just for you; here to take
And must always support
Forcibly will contort
Having flex we adjust
This in life is a must
Something we can not do
Like to uncook a stew
Won't exist very long
People just not that strong
Or should they try to be
A journey incomplete
Happiness lies within
On these words please don’t spin
A sole island you're not
Harmony should be sought
Infinite universe
You can’t always be first
Finding balance in life
Like to see without sight
Each of us wants respect
But to give is to get
Listen up before talking
Use foot and start walking
Will find in due time
Not to bother or mind
People are free to think
From each other we drink
How we grow and evolve
Complex problems we’ll solve
Not a perfect system
But we gather wisdom
Always strive to improve
It’s the best we can do
To communicate we
Open our minds to see
And try to understand
Flawed and kindred humans
Jun 14, 2018
Jun 14, 2018 at 10:08 AM UTC
'tis a sad sad
tale of woe
of which I sing
of gods and godesses
and their lessening
how forlorn
the goddess Ceres
once loved by all
and wooed by many
when unprovoked
and unforeseen
a war was wrought
'gainst fair queen
caught unawares
her throne assailed
her forces scattered
'twas all unfair
cast down she was
from lofty throne
no longer crowned
no more beloved
pierced thru
with many thorns
belittled
and besmirched
her reputation
and now her station
lost far beyond
re-incarnation
silently
she slips away
lost
and near forgotten
wounded
and rarely seen
her sullen thoughts
of malice reign
shamed and bleeding
plotting her revenge
till time and chance
provide the proper
circumstance
then all the thorns
that pierced her thru
she shook as many blades
and hurled
those bitter barbs as one
'gainst Hades' mighty gates
shaken he
from his dark slumber
his rallied forces
armed in numbers
their banners raised
on solar breezes
as trumpets blare
thru breathless reaches
voices shout
in protestation
slide rules locked
in astrometric
calculations
oh see how Ceres
scorned and mocked
has wrought
her rotting vengeance
on Pluto's frozen rocks
"Oh woe to thee
my Persephone
flee thee now
to thy father's house
for thy husband's hearth
hath been broken
and Hades' home
now just a token
My lofty edifice
a shattered wrack
an' all that's left
'tis a humble
wretched shack"
Pic Poem
https://www.pix-star.com/media/cache_local/download/23fc881b88e812947b061094f5694d32/JPlutoThouHastFallen-e52.jpg
.
Apr 22, 2018
Apr 22, 2018 at 4:02 PM UTC
Many have seen it within holy brains.
I've also found Terror on political lanes.
Most have spotted in religious garbs.
I've even seen Terror in Leader's barbs.
In hammer and sickle and in flag red.
Saw Terror when it left believers dead.
It came from skies on land of rising sun.
Horrifying, ugly Terror spared none.
Most have seen Terror in rebellious fire;
But I've even seen it in democratic attire.
In bullet cruel Terror can always be seen;
But I have even espied it in ballot mean.
Each has seen Terror in AK47's shine;
But I have even figured it in M4 carbine.
Things left unsaid may I dare to inform?
At times I have seen Terror in uniform.
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 9:48 PM UTC
Silence.
This is all we hear now.
Gone are the sweet words of the Sapphire-Eyed Serenity.
Gone is her radiant light that illuminated our world.
We have been thrown back into the darkness that haunted us for so long.
Yet there are no screams to torment us. No hisses to harm us.
Even the Solitude is silent.
Perhaps it has taken pity upon us.
Or perhaps it has learned a new method of torment.
Yet there are echoes that boom through the darkness, flashing memories in the sparks of light that accompany them.
The absence of the Sapphire-Eyed Serenity has turned the passion in our veins to poison. We feel our very soul dying, fracturing from its touch.
We beg for the light of the Perfection, but darkness is all that answers us.
There is none to come to our aid.
Our only solace is the words once written by the Sapphire-Eyed Serenity.
Yet even these words cut deeper into our wounds, twisting into our heart as haunting reminders of what we cannot have.
The mind cannot help but endlessly repeat the memories we created, its gaze unblinking while they continue to cast lacerations upon it.
We have tried in vain to pull the mind away from the memories, to save it from the anguish.
But it has become paralyzed, caught in a horrendous cycle of elation and devastation.
We are left with no other option but to numb the mind beneath a sea of liquid repression.
Yet even then, she visits us in our dreams, giving us the company we desired so desperately before, only to awaken to the twilight that perpetually surrounds us.
Silence.
This is all we hear now.
We have been forsaken, left to brood over our deeds while we lie upon the cold ground that is littered with barbs and thorns created by our own foolishness.
The Solitude looms over us, watching us shiver in pain as the blood from our wounds stains the ground.
We feel its harsh glare bore into our very soul, while the specters of the Sapphire-Eyed Serenity eternally whisper her words in our ear.
Our strength is dwindling, and our desire to carry on is fading, for all we see upon this path is agony and torment.
Our path is wrought with cracks and blades from lovers past.
The Sapphire-Eyed Serenity
The Traveler
The Fallen One
The Distant One
The Nameless
They have each riddled our path and our hearts with scars that shall never fade.
And the Solitude vows that it will continue this cycle for eternity.
That it will force us to crawl upon this wretched path, relentlessly reliving this horror if we dare continue.
Yet despite the twilight and anguish, despite our forsaken soul, there is one who has stretched his hand in aid.
The Companion.
Unaffected by our plagues and spines on our path, he kneels beside us and speaks a single word that sends the Solitude into rage.
Rise.
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 1:43 AM UTC
This poem is dedicated to the fallen of the First World War, and also, to all those we have lost in the years since.
- Somme Harvest -
In the early morning
Dawn of the fiery horizon,
The sea of green caresses the land
And gave it gentle kisses
Of tender sadness.
On this day many an unlived life would find
Life in Death, but first must come Death in Life,
Indeed, a bouquet of barbs grace the
Dark, dank, *****
Halls of Morningstar,
Servants go to and fro preparing the sordid feast
Of unsung heroes.
Babes in arms are they, who shall
Ever sleep till the break of the final day.
Fields of Flanders infertile,
But for the harvest to ripen
The fertilizer of life is
Scattered, battered, tattered,
Sown,
Human manure, nutrient of vitality,
It seeps into earthly soil.
In the year of our Lord,
One thousand, nine hundred and sixteen
Did the farmers collect their greatest bounty,
Not all farmers reaped massive yields,
Farmers Kultur, Sickle and Hammer
Fed their maniacal hunger with rotting corpses,
While famers Lion, Bulldog and Bald Eagle
Wept their hunger with mechanical eyes,
Farmer Scythe, steward of Morningstar,
Laughed dry, dead tears of hungry joy
And sang the golden harvest song
As his blade swam through the harvest thirstily,
For indeed, the harvest was an endless
Smoky sea of blood green
And thousands were sailing.
Twilight gleaming through the sky,
The raging war god vomit’s dry thunderous wrath
And wreaks barbaric, savage, ferocious, ****** carnage below,
As sleeping
Babes in arms fly through the red twilight.
Vultures dressed in human feathers
Gather and crowd around their congealing cold feast,
With hatred sewn on their
Lifeless, lidless
Blind eyes,
They shriek their throaty, ******
Thankless prayers to idle gods.
A multitude of thousands upon thousands
Of souls sour to the heights of Mount Olympus,
Unshed tears,
My child, I saw you in that dusky evening half-light,
Flying, soaring and rising higher with your
Brothers-in-arms.
As I looked up at the darkening sky
My heart wept warm tears of ebbing love,
While my eyes forever dimmed the light,
And my baby,
My body became the Earth,
The phoenix has nested.
Nov 11, 2011
Nov 11, 2011 at 6:04 AM UTC
Translations of Urdu couplets by Mir Taqi Mir
Sharpen the barbs of every thorn, O lunatic desert!
Perhaps another hobbler, also limping by on blistered feet, follows me!
―Mir Taqi Mir, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
My life is a bubble,
this world an illusion.
―Mir Taqi Mir, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Selflessness has gotten me nowhere:
I neglected myself far too long.
―Mir Taqi Mir, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
I know now that I know nothing,
and it only took me a lifetime to learn!
―Mir Taqi Mir, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Love's just beginning, so why do you whine?
Why not wait and watch how things unwind!
―Mir Taqi Mir, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Keywords/Tags: Translation, Urdu, couplets, Mir Taqi Mir, Meer Taqi Meer, desert, feet, life, world, illusion, selflessness, neglect, knowledge, learn, learning, love, India, Indian, mrburdu
May 1, 2020
May 1, 2020 at 5:25 AM UTC
Blood-red
you are the
essence of all
that is ******
a passion
unbound by morality,
sweetest smelling,
your satin skin
begs for my caress.
Such heady perfume
draws me closer
fills my lungs,
my eyes closed basking
in the Aphroditic aura of you,
swooning as you caress my senses;
to hold you,
possess you is all
I know ...
Reaching out
pleading,
begging,
my hand enfolds you ...
Your barbs
pierce my skin
blade-drawn, my blood
oozes gently out,
mixes with your satin touch,
its rich aroma
startles my perception
awakens me.
My hand jerks open
and you flutter earthward
to lie crumpled and torn
on the ground
consecrated by my blood,
my complete forgiveness given;
your beauty, your passion deserves no less...
Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 3:50 PM UTC
birds on barbed wire,
watching over me,
lodged in a private
penitentiary.
birds on barbed wire,
not a chirp or peep they make,
they just perch between the barbs,
watch, waiting, wait, watching me
shiver in silence, violence shake.
birds on barbed wire,
will neither spread wings,
or take flight,
these wire-bound birds
will not
leave me out of their sight;
-nor will any such
birds on barbed wire
call out or make cry,
these birds on the wire
are here to wait and watch me
just die.
_________
birds, barbed wire:
http://beautyineverything.com/5082513864
Oct 15, 2010
Oct 15, 2010 at 1:16 AM UTC
veiled behind the barbs of acacia
the river bathes in the lazy sun
she's a thousand years or more
but knocks my heart's door
like a flirtatious teen
*come deflower me
bare me in your poetry
wear me on your skin*
soon she would be lost to the sky
leaving on the banks echoes of her lust
i pause for a piece of her
before my dream turns to dust!
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 1:00 AM UTC
hope
she said is
the thing with feathers
perched and singing
without words..
words must surely
be deeply hidden
within that song..
can we locate
another perch..?
and ask the feather
what are your words
and your song..?
the words we find
it's shape does bind..
here are the
sharp connectors and barbs..
barbules and hooklets
all of these
to hold a feather form..
and what of a song..?
a central shaft with ending quill
guides nutrition and light..
sacred texts penned
and that majestic flight..
hope extends...
(with appreciation for
Emily Dickinson's
poem)
Dec 4, 2012
Dec 4, 2012 at 5:21 PM UTC
Oh, ponder, friend, the porcupine;
Refresh your recollection,
And sit a moment, to define
His means of self-protection.
How truly fortified is he!
Where is the beast his double
In forethought of emergency
And readiness for trouble?
Recall his figure, and his shade--
How deftly planned and clearly
For slithering through the dappled glade
Unseen, or pretty nearly.
Yet should an alien eye discern
His presence in the woodland,
How little has he left to learn
Of self-defense! My good land!
For he can run, as swift as sound,
To where his goose may hang high--
Or ****** his head against the ground
And tunnel half to Shanghai;
Or he can climb the dizziest bough--
Unhesitant, mechanic--
And, resting, dash from off his brow
The bitter beads of panic;
Or should pursuers press him hot,
One scarcely needs to mention
His quick and cruel barbs, that got
Shakespearean attention;
Or driven to his final ditch,
To his extremest thicket,
He'll fight with claws and molars (which
Is not considered cricket).
How amply armored, he, to fend
The fear of chase that haunts him!
How well prepared our little friend!--
And who the devil wants him?
2.8k
Sweetly reaching for my hand
A rattlesnake curls up in yours.
Smiling oh-so-carefully
To hide your poison pellet
Delivered with a kiss.
Platitudes and honeyed words
With fishhook barbs inside them.
Lies disguised as candy bars
Offered out with sticky fingers
Mostly crossed behind your back.
Promising that all is peaceful
And there’s no danger to be seen.
Alarms and sirens drown those words
And say my world is burning here,
And sinking in a morass there.
If only words were scimitars
To slash a way to truthfulness
And cut the evil from the hearts
That proclaim love for one and all
And secretly deliver hate.
ljm
Feb 28, 2017
Feb 28, 2017 at 12:33 AM UTC
We have erred from the path.
We have succumbed to the illusions of our foolish desires.
We have extended our hand to brush against her beauty, even if for a moment.
We have broken our vow.
For this we have suffered. We have been stung by the barbs of her disloyalty.
For this we have spit venom upon ourselves, burning against the skin as if it drips from our teeth.
For this the Solitude mocks us, boasting in its victory with fervor.
Alone we kneel in darkness.
Perfection guide us.
Alone we wage war against the terrors of the night.
Perfection save us.
With every nightfall, we stare deep into the harsh gaze of the Solitude.
Soon our beloved mentor will depart, and our enemy will be mightier than titans.
Yet the Perfection is mightier, and has called a traveler to cross our twisted path.
We gazed in awe as her very steps smoothed the jagged edges without difficulty.
How we wished to learn her secret.
The venom turned to silver as we pleaded for the Traveler's attention. Yet with every glance she cast upon us, we hadn't the strength to look on.
How we wished we could meet her gaze.
Her company was short-lived, yet we cannot help but admire the footsteps she left behind.
How we wished for her to stay.
We shall press forward on this grueling path, holding firm that the Traveler will return to polish the road once more.
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 12:11 AM UTC
There were six horses,
Abaco Barbs - black, white, tan -
enclosed in my Olympus's lense.
The camera reached through deadwind
that whipped the Huey's window,
painted a staggered line where the herd had been.
It was fall 1977,
Abaco's Independence Movement had ended;
Oliver and WerBell were gone,
having run off like photographed horses -
distant, almost ignorant of me (at some point,
they must've assumed there were wildlife
photographers inside Abaco). It was fall
1977:
the ornamental Allamanda still rustled in deadwind;
the starfruit still ripened and fell. It was fall
1977 and that country
was nearly the same as it'd always been.
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 9:23 PM UTC
92
My friend must be a Bird—
Because it flies!
Mortal, my friend must be,
Because it dies!
Barbs has it, like a Bee!
Ah, curious friend!
Thou puzzlest me!
2.4k
Ballerina Barbie
Twisted, bending back
Awkward posing
Woman-doll
You painted her in black
She used to float
A sun-stream ray
Stars lit up her eyes
You took advantage
Of her light
With prying nicks and barbs
Cuts and slaps
Tore at her heart
You slowly wore away
The shining brightness that she was
Bound her like a slave
Until she woke
One foggy night
Shaking like a leaf
Vulnerable, but strong inside
She knew she had to leave
She ran straight through the wispy fog
and turned the golden key
She turned and pushed and turned and pushed
The car would go nowhere
She looked into her rear view mirror
And saw you standing there
The metal cap held in your hands
A smirk upon your face
"You twisted, broken Barbie doll
Will never leave this place."
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 13, 2013 at 12:51 AM UTC
Well, not we
But you alone delayed
Those blurry red lines
That poured from
An officers light.
He pulled you from the grave
In the way
You pulled those stones
From the ground,
Pillbugs and all,
To call them boys
And count their fingertips.
Each had ten
While you had twelve
After the crash.
The car wrapped around the sharpest
Pole you could reach
(The car wrapped around,
Twisted like a cobra,
With poisonous barbs ready at will)
and spit you out towards the top.
You slowly slid down
Peg by peg, full with splinters,
Then the officer came
And let down his hair
To weave into yours.
After we went camping
The forest swallowed you whole
And the belly of the world
Was swollen with guilt.
After we went exploring
You swallowed your tongue
And your belly was swollen
With rage and your
******* with milk and metal.
It was the wild
(About which you had forgotten)
Which drove you to madness
And
It was the madness
That drove you to
Crash the car
Once before
And though I hope otherwise
We fear it will drive you
To crash again.
Well, not we
But I still fear for you.
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 3:00 AM UTC
I recognize
this ground
laced with stones
and poisoned barbs
hike barefoot here
unafraid
a barren desert
feels like home
when there is nothing
to be lost or gained
I have been here
many times before
stripped down naked
in the noonday sun
watching vultures
wheel and dive
as I dangle
twist and spin
ever the enabler
enabling
Mar 30, 2016
Mar 30, 2016 at 11:54 AM UTC
when fair
swings with
Chevrolets so
children rush
there when
some peanuts
are fired
when nights
begun barbs
that Randall's
humor still
in stride
when a
plause would
take center
stage with
gossip y'all
Feb 4, 2019
Feb 4, 2019 at 9:06 AM UTC
I
Icy fingers wrap around
my legs and arms. They
sink their daggerlike nails
into my skin, and force
me to go to places
that I shouldn't be
Thick polluted smoke
enters my lungs, and
fills them with the
darkest tar. I cough
and spew out words
that I shouldn't say
Slimy tendrils slither
into my ears and wrap
around my brain. They
snake into the crevices
of the gray matter, and
force disturbing thoughts
to the surface of my mind
It's the Devil, my dear
who spits out poisonous
barbs that make you cry,
Not me.
It's the Devil, my love
who stares at you with
those cold red eyes,
Not me.
It's the Devil, mon cherie
who whispers sweet nothings
that always turn to cold lies,
Not me.
Don't you know I love you, babe?
II
Please forgive my insincerities
It's not me at all, you see
There's a devil controlling the things that I do
and wouldn't you know it, he's not fond of you
He made me take a gander of the lass with the cans
It was all him when I forgot our dinner plans
Don't blame me when I stumbled in drunk
He likes tequila, who would've thunk?
When our ********** session was somewhat abrupt?
He was the reason I was forced to erupt
When foreplay became no play, who else can I blame?
He's bad at back rubs, and we'll toss just the same
He's crass and uncaring and remarkably rude
He's insensitive, boorish and unimaginably lewd
He's not me, my dear, of that much I'm sure
I'm wonderful, loving, tactful, and pure
So the next time you're thinking of starting a row
for something I've done, or something I've blown
Take a deep breath and look into my eyes
and maybe catch a glimpse of the devil inside
Feb 2, 2012
Feb 2, 2012 at 10:16 PM UTC
Her shoulders are tired carrying heavy loads.
While crawling, she began throwing away the logs, rocks, barbs, and thorns.
She replaced them with feathers and
flower-petalled wings to reach the moon.
May 5, 2020
May 5, 2020 at 1:56 AM UTC
He could not see
What was under his nose
So he plated the thorns
On the Phrygian rose
And there she sat
Barbs glittered - not gilded
Impaled on her spit
Of aureate anvils.
And the pissy-beds
In their plain yellow trappings
Fathometer blips
On a bed of green wrapping
Their ******** halos
Trudged underfoot
As he ground them to mince
In the threads of his boots.
He could only love
What he couldn’t have
What lay free at his feet
Was too common a salve.
But it’s hard to love
What is hard to hold
Thorns will draw blood
Even if covered in gold.
Nov 15, 2011
Nov 15, 2011 at 3:46 PM UTC
Blue is for detachment, the lateral, the second thought
The dragonfly’s wing, that blue, the company of a shadow;
The curtain of dusk, the blue of solitude;
The blue of people, their blue hair;
The abandoned blue of loss;
Astute blue, foreseeing who wakes and who sleeps;
The blue of blue jays, one tear of a fallen angel;
The blue of what is forgotten;
Blue of juniper, blue of sky;
The blue of rivers, the blue of fingertips;
The blue of feathers, their glossed barbs;
Poppy seed blue, recently harvested;
The blue of argon, the arm, the path to refuge;
Blue is for hope, a sanctuary, the final word;
The turtle’s back, that blue, the pulse of veins;
Wind chill, the blue of absence;
The blue of trees, their blue branches;
The paralyzing blue of fear.
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 9:22 PM UTC
Awaiting that moment, was it
Meant to be, as two feathers
Floated upon a last breath.
White as if from heaven, landed
Settled upon the left eye.
Seeing, searching the mind of
All the good that was done.
Dark as night a feather as ominous
As night itself fell upon the right.
Seeing, searching the soul for
All that tainted through life.
Barbs did seed upon the flesh,
and all that was known was now
Learnt, nothing hidden all was
seen from within.
Each rachis did fill, leached from
The body of what was drawn in,
Soul, heart, mind now emptied
in to each feather filled.
The quill did drip, with all that
Was taken, the feathers had fallen
Earthbound each partaken upon the
Gateways of the soul.
What did it find within, as a drop
Fell from each upon the lips, and
A last word spoken from each.
But only you will speak these words
Once the feathers fall and see all
Within. One white, one black which
One will carry you, where will your
Afterlife now begin.
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 7:22 AM UTC
stone ground mustard Venus burns. She's not concerned that constant falling
and orbits, elliptical - are the same thing.
Her eyes are deaf. My eyes adapt to the pattern
that rattles the chain of events.
my Spartan theories dangle in dubiousness.
I find a trap, and call it Seattle... for i see cattle -
grazing a state of mind; north, north west of what God meant.
washing tons of pocket lint by hand.
chewing their cud
in the dark. meanwhile - outside the ranch...
My eyes refract. ***** and un-twink in the black lacquer that came -
with the oblique miracle. they sustain things that would sunder a doll-eyed bovine
to ever breach The Fence.
my hardened arteries jangle like numinous. I pine and snap ruinous barbs from Death's
prattle... for i see battle, razing the Grace of Time
more at war, than at our best. more -
bereft of what Reason defends.
tossing guns at bullets
by telekinesis.
[ undefined ]
i come from where i've never been. you were there. and ewe were there; fleeced and bleating
in the snow that fell as soon as shearing ceased. i recall, you were never there. but remember
passing you by... shilling an ocean roar you swore you'd plucked from a Seashell -
salvaged from the divine dry sockets of Poseidon's skull.
you were hawking your unawares. i played a flute made of question marks and glass drum skins.
i went where my stride was inclined, and never where i went to.
i never arrived by approaching the destination. only by always being somewhere else
till i got there. i came from where i'd never been and -
ain't been Nowhere since.
but i'm sure i pass
through There
ever since.
Aug 6, 2013
Aug 6, 2013 at 3:12 PM UTC