"bead" poems
I want to beat you to death with a blunt object
I want to get one of those high end fashion mannequins grab them by the ankles and bash your ribcage in
I want to sharpen 5 pencils, bind them with a rubber band, put them in your mouth and punch the erasers
I want to strap you to a bead of nails then strap that bed of nails to the hood of my car so I can watch you suffer as we drive over speed bumps on a mall parking lot during an earthquake
I want you to somehow survive a terrible car crash and somehow not survive a small fender ****** on the way back from the hospital
Nov 20, 2016
Nov 20, 2016 at 5:11 AM UTC
Someday, someday far away
when all the pain has passed
beyond the sea, the sun the stars
I'll find you...love...at last
Though raging storm
or cosmic ray
may tear my limbs apart
my love for you they cannot sway
for you possess my heart
Our Earthly lives hold many fears
remorseless in their quest
to break apart the bonding years
for which we've stood the test
Those precious times together
cocooned in love's embrace
a breathless bead upon my brow
that falls upon your face
Remember me my Angel's dream
as soon my life is through
for every sinew of my soul
belongs alone to you.
Mar 28, 2010
Mar 28, 2010 at 8:00 AM UTC
I wanna see that look in your eyes that used to give me all the time
A look of seduction, fear, and lust.
Otherwise known as the "come hither" look.
It makes my heart beat grow faster
My palms start to bead with sweat.
It makes my insides quiver and groan for your presence.
I don't think its love,
but its **** sure not just friendship.....w.e
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 6:14 PM UTC
Infuriated doesn't come close when listening to the words you spout
You are so special in every way I could feel the need, I had to say
If you don't go away I'll strangle you with your mum's **** beads
Now where that came from left me at a loss, but he shut up and buggered off.
Probably gone home to check what else his mum has hidden under her bed!
Aug 27, 2013
Aug 27, 2013 at 9:59 AM UTC
goodmorning
the **** convinced me
not to move the black bracers-
killer whales wanting to dance
but i stuff them with threads,
knots of ebony and fishnets,
so they hang over my body
at night during my journeys.
are they looking after me or
are they after that red bead
in my center?
burning woodsmoke now, patchouli
melt creamy- as venus sways one
hip from the fire pits of aries
she ends up on the other side:
the dirt finger grove of the steady
bull chanting "hold and touch and stay."
goodmorning
when has the sun glided his way,
as if upon the hips of a sea nymph,
across miles and angles of what
was a dark night?
keep your water, i am weaving.
i am breathing every taste of it
i am touching infinitely that center,
so sought after, like the walls of palaces
when tongue touches lip
i am rubbing every color through me
i am watching your scent drizzle gently
all over my pools of skin.
tend me like the earth, goodmorning
string me like the grape vines bursting forth from soil.
Apr 15, 2013
Apr 15, 2013 at 7:01 AM UTC
greyhound station
quarter to three am
in the rain
she is sitting on the bags
playing a vampire movie on the kindle
the screen lights her up
as she leans in close for the big wedding scene
run my hand along her dreadlocks
stopping to eye a new bead
thats her...a new little treasure for my heart each day
she leans on my shoulder as we
sit in the very back of the bus
bare to the warm night air
while dave matthew's sings to us
a little ditty from his long ago
has such a style don't he
she whispers a kiss onto my cheek
slips into dreamin
miles run past breathlessly
just an ebb and flow of u-gas and jiffy ****
just a parade of kids playing by an endless river
right outside this dim window
shes sleepin softly
i'm so awake to how i feel
to how much she means to me
where ya going mister
where ya headed
i point ..."thata way to the bright future"
so full of promise
so full of joys
with her at my side i can do anything
with her i am superman
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 8:08 AM UTC
Writing a poem is like making a necklace,
Bead by bead, pattern on pattern,
Complex or simple, colorful or monochromatic,
The good ones take talent, but chance luck can help.
This one for that friend, that one for this day,
Good words like fancy baubles,
Well placed they make the string,
Wrong placed and they ruin it.
Some come easy, some are long thought out
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 4:59 PM UTC
The third moon brought forth from the shadow dark.
Gentle breeze freewheeled across the lakeshore.
Windswept was the air, in peace night was marked-
Unyielding stillness, blooming fairness more.
Silky pastel cloth, gushing curtain soft.
The window let in hushed waft soothing cool.
Fixed firmly on shore with poles planted stiff,
A pavilion meek light heartened the pool.
By the portico was a tree bent down
Whose white flowers bloomed lovely as a nymph.
Its jagged branches, lumped of golden-brown,
Delicately grown each emerald leaf.
Underneath its shades were cheery plantlets;
Pebbles hard and cold; red earth spongy ground;
Flying whirly bugs, glittering bead lets.
Fair maiden deferred, there then can be found.
Pleasing to the eye, that dignified dress
In white noble silk with fine needlecraft.
Regal as she stood, just for a mistress.
Mystic was her eyes, a soul was grafted.
Filled with potent life in her burning stare.
Profound as the deep, tranquil as it surge.
One may glimpse straight to, utmost one can't bare.
To its mysteries, one gave in and urged.
Verdant her hair was, hearty as it shone.
Longer than she was, white as the moonlight.
In her neck are chains, beads and shells she owned.
Varies in sizes, things that make her bright.
Oct 11, 2012
Oct 11, 2012 at 5:30 AM UTC
heavy traffic
so we stash ourselves in the publix parking lot
and watch the flashes of the departing thunderstorm
she lays out on the buicks hood in a bikini top
a bead of sweat kisses her bellybutton
her thick dreadlocks spread like ropes
i pick one up and stick it in her ear
shes not happy with that
afternoon is all sunshine and watered down sodas
isles of plastic goodies and elevator musics
the old woman pushing her empty cart while dragging a bag
she goes to get her nails done
i push pebbles into parking lot puddles
and watch the sky drift in the reflection
she is half my age
she sticks her tongue in my ear
i dont mind
there are palm trees and lizzards everywhere
and pebbles in puddles
im a pebble and shes my puddle
shes all wet
im hard
we laugh in the forever summer sunshine
we dance in the parking lot puddles
of the fiveashes publix lot
and daydream the stars above
this is no ordinary love
this is passion's fire in the hearts eyes
shes my jezebel
im her poet
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 11:42 AM UTC
These berries are bruises
Fading birthmarks I have still
Fresh from that morning you opened my curtains
Rolled down your window
Promised me honey and a candy-colored life.
These berries are bruises
You made me breakfast in bed.
Too early you lifted my tent,
brought a full spread:
Fruit, toast and black coffee--
But when I tilted my lips
You drunk first of my womanly cup.
Pouring out hot, bitter slick
My lips swelled blue blister
I stiffened under your dead weight,
I killed my tongue.
I tried to keep dreaming of
Hands to knead me
And butter the softness of these
Blueberry scone hips,
But instead you picked all the berries out
Your greed a mouthful,
The growing woman inside me leavened--
Watching you stain my girlhood,
Popping one fruit bead after another
******* the seeds from my teeth.
Jan 31, 2012
Jan 31, 2012 at 2:25 AM UTC
the grass, leaning in the south wind , seeming
as if emeralds, had sent tendrils up
to suckle at the yellow breast, now, high above inflamed....
over soft new
grass
like
strands of green gemstone,
as delicate as humming-bird tongues
teasing nectar
from a titan,
in the sky
triumphant in the void,
a golden bead in the baffling blue !
cattails, curling in sway...and two brown eyes bob upon the surface
of a myriad fertilities.
as if
nature itself had known, one day
a poet would come ~
to roam the rambling renascence of these remote ramparts
in awesome humility ~ and so prepared
a path afflux
that ambled near
and yes !
an
anonymous nomad
with nicotine skin and a scabbard of scandalous quills
would indeed
stumble in as if returning home
to a mansion restored to glory
and seraphic randomness....
a place
that in youth, sustained a quiet, soulful troubadour
by gospels of granite and grain, grass finch
and faun - ennobling an oracle ... but now
enticed a scholar from his cot
to jot ephemera
of outlasting spark
before dark-fall
and so... there
amid all allurement and soft machines
a word-smith gathered
poesy and prose.
muse-driven
this one served
an invisible
sovereign
one
of unsurpassed virility
who charms kaleidoscopes
with offhand sketches
rescued
from
a landfill
a basket weaver,
that unravels to
achieve pure
forms
a wineskin was decanted in dianthus and hollies -
as ampules of anagrams
were sold unscrambled, to dyslexics
without hope
a falcon frolicked above the lowborn lilies...
with eyes
too keen
to see a
blur
as the hand
of god
or a vole
as a lifeline
on his
palm.
Sep 8, 2012
Sep 8, 2012 at 6:15 PM UTC
The spider Queen, aloofly vain!
She rules a silent ruthless reign,
with black-bead eyes like pearls of rain
that damp the depths of her demesne.
.
.
.
A spider spins, with nimble feet,
a sticky web of grim deceit
that drapes the corners, dark, discreet,
in catacombs of her retreat.
Her jointed legs (in number, eight)
traverse the threads with stilted gait,
but often more she'll lie in wait
within the hub of her estate.
Shy spiders live their lives alone
ensconced within a silky throne;
unless a transient guest comes flown,
their lives bide empty, monotone.
.
.
Well, now and then, a sullen breeze
may twitch the toils, begin to tease –
yet nothing's caught and nothing pleas,
so patience's bid at times like these.
But then again, when stars ignite,
may maunder by a gnat, by night,
be taught a dance, a writhing rite,
within a lace of death, wrapped tight.
Sometimes a spider's in the mood
and waits awhile, whilst being wooed –
and then, to later feed her brood,
the widow slays her mate for food.
In time a spider dies, 'tis true,
bequeathing but a residue
entwined, devoid of retinue,
in fibers decked in silver dew.
.
.
.
One asks "What purpose serves the GNAT –
to feed and make the spider fat?
Well, 'tis perchance just naught but that
within a mindless habitat.
.
.
"Yet, what's the aim?” you may inquire,
“at the heart of MAN's desire.
To which goals should WE aspire
reaching high and reaching higher?"
We've, through the ages, left the mire,
trundling wheels and taming fire,
doing deeds that must inspire,
nursing needy, calming crier, …
Such things as these, most may admire:
- placid dove and war defier
(some are bolder, some are shyer)
- patience (mess-up mollifier);
- humankind (Life's justifier)
- charity (charmed self-denier)
- tolerance (proud pacifier )
- love of Life (folk unifier).
What more could we, as flesh, require?
Needless kneeling neath the spire?
Childish chanting in the choir?
Preaching hell's impending pyre?
No, Death's the only rectifier,
comes the instant we expire,
nothing after, sentience prior.
So, treasure Life and don't deny Her.
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 1:29 PM UTC
Almost everything in the fairytales turned out to be true:
Horrible witches, nasty curses, dark demons, and guarded fortresses.
But princesses?
I thought they were figments of our imaginations.
And yet little girls read storybooks religiously, dreaming of winning over the Prince Charming.
Well ladies, you can keep your pristine and spotless princes.
I know where love and honour truly lies.
It is in the dragon's keep,
Where she is locked away and hidden.
The walls of her own heart blocking everyone out,
Burning everyone down who dared face her inner dragon.
But there is determination running through his veins,
Bravery in every bead of sweat,
A fighter's honour gleaming in his eyes.
Breaking down the barriers to find a damsel in distress, he did the strongest thing:
Held the wretch in his arms.
A soldier with the ability to find perfection in the weakest of souls.
My knight in ***** turnout gear,
The firefighter who discovered a princess.
My love who proved the reality of fairytales,
And found our happily ever after.
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 10:16 AM UTC
i.
Mine artistry inamorata
Airburshed on tapestry upon;
Fernando Amorsolo canvas.
ii.
Thou art mine Atlantis
The air I sucketh in;
Mine piece of God, timeless.
iii.
What id do without thee?
I couldst not liveth;
I'll giveth thee mine last drop, of blood mine dear.
iv.
Cometh near
Shadow's dance with us;
Filipino perfume's, ancient dusk.
v.
In the negrito of Luzon
Bead's shalt bounce ourn neck's;
Red one's, yellow one's, tribal seed connect.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane dedication
Aug 18, 2015
Aug 18, 2015 at 7:42 PM UTC
Note the time
by seasonal migration
return of osprey, eagle
each feathered pearl
a moment strung
on the banded necks
of brants and loons
velvet-lined memories
gathered within
my threatened
wild spaces
raindrops find
their way home
watch them bead
on the backs
of sitting ducks
serenely surfing
sibilant waves
silkily filling
oceans within
my tumultuous
wild heart
Apr 13, 2017
Apr 13, 2017 at 10:11 AM UTC
Inside the bunny suit
my ears are still small
and round, and percussive
sounds come to visit me
costumed in white muffles.
Inside the bunny suit
a bead of sweat itches
my nose to rabbit fidget
and wiggle-twitch where
my fingers can’t reach it.
Inside the bunny suit
a thin layer of nylon dots
inserts its silky self
between me and everything
I fumble to touch.
Inside the bunny suit
the outside world’s broken
up by a half-dozen holes,
and green strands fuzz the focus
of each fragmented peep.
Inside the bunny suit
probing orange lights
make kaleidoscope shapes
through those same cut
openings. They distract me.
Inside the bunny suit
I can smile at and feel
closer to the fantastic
creatures who surround me
in their own decorous skins.
Dec 18, 2010
Dec 18, 2010 at 6:17 AM UTC
Gazing into her crystal eyes
not a glimpse of light
in her pale illustrious orbs
her couture matched
the threads of a goddess woven by silk
never has the world heard such a harmonious voice
her hair as black and glossy
like raven feathers
a frame so divine
complexities came to mind
that god himself was almost unable to
carve a radiant smile as glimmering
her soft skin made her known
as the temptress of the night
her sweet mouth sang of hymns children slept too
the curvature of her chin wickedly attractive
following the course of her smile to her rosy cheeks
the ring on her finger is one of saturns
the hue from her lips are as red as foxes
burning with infinite intensity.
Her pale forehead knew every answer in the universe
the glow between her eyebrows majestic
her third eye spoke of exquisite beauty
holy light was her aura
angels danced around her
shrouding her body with stardust from the heavens
butterflies applied her makeup
whenever she arose from her chrysalis
revolving the world on her throne
without a bead of pressure to perspire
her vocals an instrument to my heart
listened to with wild passion
luster from her skin expensive as gold from India
her existence was solace
for rational reasoning alone
unflawed her lips reached mine
under the eclipse
the shadow of my phantom
caressing her hips
my wild craving tasting
what it it truly means to be in love.
The orchestra of her movement
can save a man from death
her words whispered to me like rhinestones
the touch from her waxy hand
trembling across my stature
cracking, shaking
with electricity at every fiber
pulsating from my heart to hers
capsizing from secrets dripping in my ear
she treats me to more wine kisses
traces of her ruby red lipstick
on my chest
her lofty thoughts completed mine.
the golden trim of life
seen throughout the land.
Oct 2, 2013
Oct 2, 2013 at 10:59 PM UTC
The legends won't tell
of Arthur when he fell in love
when he swooned for the arm that held Excalibur
extended out to him
how he did a double take
and stuttered and gawked
at the simple beauty of her flawless freckled skin.
And in this moment
I behold the Lady of the Lake
her divine completeness:
holy and whole.
Elegant sloping shoulders
a regal neckline pleading to be united
with loving lips
in an everlasting caress.
Water droplets dripping from her form--
reluctant,
wishing they could reverse the laws of nature
fall up from the surface
to bead and cling to skin again--
desiring to be as close as we
as she entrances me with emerald eyes
rivers of red hair
enchanting lips that know no equal.
She's won me over
and she drags me under
below the water
beneath the lapping waves.
The ripples on the surface
echo my farewell to the world.
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 1:23 AM UTC
Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o the puddin'-race!
Aboon them a' ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye worthy o' a grace
As lang's my arm.
The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
Your pin *** help to mend a mill
In time o need,
While thro your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead.
His knife see rustic Labour dight,
An cut you up wi ready slight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like onie ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin, rich!
Then, horn for horn, they stretch an strive:
Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive,
Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve
Are bent like drums;
The auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
'Bethankit' hums.
Is there that owre his French ragout,
Or olio that *** staw a sow,
Or fricassee *** mak her spew
Wi perfect scunner,
Looks down wi sneering, scornfu view
On sic a dinner?
Poor devil! see him owre his trash,
As feckless as a wither'd rash,
His spindle shank a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit;
Thro ****** flood or field to dash,
O how unfit!
But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread,
Clap in his walie nieve a blade,
He'll make it whissle;
An legs an arms, an heads will sned,
Like taps o thrissle.
Ye Pow'rs, wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
That jaups in luggies:
But, if ye wish her gratefu prayer,
Gie her a Haggis
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 9:37 AM UTC
Last night I dreamt
You called me "gorgeous,"
"Gorgeous?" I said, "that's not my name," I said,
As my cherry red tongue dropped my lollipop
Straight on the ground,
***** red sugar slivers gorging on my
Blood vessels pumping into my heart -
A big metal spoon banging on a cast iron skillet.
Skillful, you are with your
Cinnamon heart smile
Burning my taste buds and
Hugging my curves with every -
Gorgeous.
I dreamt of you
Running your finger like a wet paintbrush on my
Obscenely white canvas
Soaking up my stereotypically common insecurities and
Gently placing them in your pocket,
"I'll take those, gorgeous,"
And then you color me with purples and reds,
Red,
Like Red Delicious waiting
For the bite, like my neck,
Waits for your teeth, maybe
I'll just wake up and keep dreaming,
To see you,
Fiddling with a razor in one pocket,
A cloudy crystal in the other,
Mediating the argument of
Who gets to protect you -
Who gets to lick the salt from your cheeks
After backyard creeks race to your lips
The space between our tongues so small,
Yet it weighs on me like
A sixteen hour car trip with your baby cousin,
Torture.
Like blue eyes shaded by glasses,
Hiding behind fallen heads.
I woke up just to remember
That your eyes are the only shapes I draw in the dark.
Begging for sleep to bring me back
To watch you stare at the dirt snuggled into your
Weather cracked boots
Your fingers tugging at the chain that rests on your chest,
Keeping my attention,
On the heavy black coat I'll be wearing 'til
Summer, an extra layer of skin,
Keeping me from gorgeous,
Let me drop it like an old tissue in the cold,
Let me lose it like I've been sick for weeks on you
And I'm shedding my skin like it's time to start new,
There you go,
Wearing your silence like a tuxedo,
**** - always ****
And you're breathin' fractions of facts in my ear,
Seducing it's drum like a late night jazz club and
It's your first time on stage,
Gorgeous.
Let my stomach politely introduce itself to my throat,
Pleading with my temple to hold on to that bead of sweat that
Reluctantly drips down,
Gorgeous.
Down,
Like the tips of your lashes meeting my bellybutton,
Wet lips tracing my skin with "gorgeous,"
In your black coffee voice,
Gorgeous.
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 11:32 AM UTC
Drawstring linen pants,
Unisex from a women's catalogue.
Dark green shirt, tomboy approved.
Enough makeup to hide my faults.
Pink heart earrings, and a silver cross in the 3rd hole.
A silver cross, trans emblem and a silver heart engraved Laura, my true identity, together on a black bead chain.
Silver Lesbian insignia ring with my wedding band on top.
A black 1st finger ring etched with the Lord's prayer.
2 bracelets, one orange one turquoise to match a turquoise hat and dark glasses.
A couple of mists of Acqua di Gioia.
Women's turquoise/orange runners,
And a Victoria's secret backpack.
I didn't really think about the details until evening,
All I knew is I felt comfortable today.
I even went to Kohl's department store alone and browsed, and felt a confidence I'd rarely felt in the past.
Is this how some people feel every day I wonder?
I was so grateful for just today, just one day.
Today I was me
by Lj Mark 2015
Oct 31, 2015
Oct 31, 2015 at 12:54 AM UTC
There's a stream,
splashing and gurgling,
sending up in the air a single bead of water,
sun beams giving a lightbulb's twinkle
and inside lying fragments of it's history,
I wonder if it has a tomorrow
As I daydream about it's mysteries;
The path down the stream,
taken within the flow
with other waters,
weaves,
in and out of the gills of a baby minnow,
over and through smoothed rocks,
Seeping from a canal
racing through locks,
drifting down straights with no bends
Left from the **** of a stag weekend,
And before that a can of cider,
and before that a tube in a mechanical assembly line,
from a water tap,
that came from a reservoir,
Which fell from clouds above it's perimeter,
and before that splashed from ocean froth,
lifted up in a collision of waves like a table cloth
after being taken on the hull of a speed boat
carrying ******* from a river,
where it had once briefly been on a paddle
from a man fishing to make his living.
And further up the river where it divides into streams and then nothing,
and then famine,
moist ground from tears,
It had been someone suffering.
A million lives
entwined in a drop of water,
each one a coincidence,
coinciding just by chance
the spectrum of it's experience of us is wide,
and with each and every drop the water empathised,
Tears at a wedding,
At a funeral,
Christmas spirit in mulled wine,
A plume of sea water from the belly of a jellyfish,
Pushed forward through it's life,
A trillion drops of water helping to make gravity decide
How high or low to go to make the tide,
Unified in direction
helped by the sun's and the moon's light,
Does it take the love of one direction (not the band)
to be unified?
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 8:35 PM UTC
Maiden crowned with glossy blackness,
Lithe as panther forest-roaming,
Long-armed Naiad when she dances
On a stream of ether floating,
Bright, o bright Fedalma!
Form all curves like softness drifted,
Wave-kissed marble roundly dimpling,
Far-off music slowly wingèd,
Gently rising, gently sinking,
Bright, o bright Fedalma!
Pure as rain-tear on a rose-leaf,
Cloud high born in noonday spotless
Sudden perfect like the dew-bead,
Gem of earth and sky begotten,
Bright, o bright Fedalma!
Beauty has no mortal father,
Holy light her form engendered,
Out of tremor yearning, gladness,
Presage sweet, and joy remembered,
Child of light! Child of light!
Child of light, Fedalma!
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