"behemoth" poems
Selene.
By the sea, I have been staring,
at your bright colours change.
Erythematous, murderous intentions of
a disease disseminating
on your surface.
The slow, penetrating anguish
tearing the guts,
a one-sided, disdained,
newborn sadness,
I am welcoming in my arms.
On the operating theatre of life
white and now dead moths,
stillborn butterflies
inside the flesh removed,
drowned themselves in a pool of blood.
They, an absurd joy
that never stood a chance
inside this cyanide prison.
Portals of loaned,
disillusioned happiness closed.
The liquid that raced turbulently
through my vessels, drained on a half-filled
with tears palette.
With menacing, impasto knife-like strokes
on the body
Morpheus painted the shadow-covered moon
with memories that refuse to be forgotten
from purulent, open wounds.
'Those worlds you will (never) see.
The people you will (never) meet' he said.
Soul chemicals eroding
the behemoth sky,
as the paint dries out.
Ashes of my Dreams (Not) Achieved,
astral remains;
everything I silently kept inside.
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 11:31 PM UTC
A scuba diver, head first like a dolphin,
goes in to the ocean, 100 feet down
in semi-darkness finds this apparition
something beautiful to behold in motion,
really really big and mysterious it appears
gliding gracefully spewing wonderment,
inviting reverence from all kinds of marine life
Clearly apologetic, for being out of place,
though he has encroached, in to a world
though not far from the sea surface,
yet in a depth where human has no place
all his scientific temper got evaporated
a simple villager now, gripped by wonder.
All he could think of anyone
fitting in to such magnificence
was God Almighty,himself.
"How do you do God?" he stutters,
aware that in plankton filled darkness
the mighty man is at the mercy of
the behemoth, looming large above.
The phenomenon in question,
***** whale"as we know him,
smiles and burps happily "Fantastic"
then he dives 6000 feet down, looking
for a colossal squid, succulent to be sure
the whole reason for him to play God
at this depth for sea creatures that lose
bearing in the haze of challenging depths.
Mar 12, 2016
Mar 12, 2016 at 5:59 AM UTC
Is it greed, or just a deep sense of self hatred
That drives you
To punish your insides
In such a sadistic manner?
If the body is a temple, then god only knows
What kind of deity you worship.
And if suffering truly is the path to glory
Then your cirrhosed liver will deliver you, surely
To the land of Milk Duds and Honey-O's.
It is not a battle of good versus evil
But of man versus food;
Many are the casualties in this war –
Behold the fallen heroes,
Wearing their purple hardened arteries
Like badges of honour.
A triple heart bypass scar bears testament
To the bravery of these devotees
Who congregate daily at the All-You-Can-Eat.
We gather here today, in this cafeteria,
To witness this formidable challenge,
This ritual of self-desecration,
The stop-watch waiting
To count down the
Seconds
To your sweet salvation.
With eyes glazed over and bated breath
We will watch you eat yourself to death.
A celebration of gluttony,
The sacrificial lamb (and pork, and beef..)
Laid out before you, dripping
Hot sauce and melted mozzarella:
A 10 pound behemoth
That must be slain
In order to ensure victory
And bring you one step closer
To meeting your maker
Bon apetit
Jun 24, 2012
Jun 24, 2012 at 11:28 PM UTC
____I'LL NEVER FORGET "THAT-NIGHT"___ It was 8;00PM, a Thunder and Lightening storm had just begun and what seemed like thousands of BB sized HAIL WERE PELTING the roof, making it Hard to Hear the Ringing Phone ! ! I Barked OUT a "HELLO",,,the tearful, hesitant voice on the OTHER END....CRIED OUT... " Come over quickly" She pleaded and continued with "IT'S LIKE DEMONS Have CONTROL OF HER ! ! ! ,and SHE KEEPS CRYING OUT .. AUNT BEA,,, Aunt Bea... Over and over"_______ . This was going to require a SPECIAL-EXORCISM I Stated... "I'm ON MY WAY" ! Upon my Arrival , I was greeted by a trembling,sobbing LaCretia,,claiming, "HURRY to the Library Room.,Rochelle is waiting ! !" The repeating AUNT BEAS were spoken as if Gargling... "WHAT are her Symptoms " I Queried ? IN A VERY-SLOW Determined Voice, LaCretia detailed the following,,,, "She has the BLUES, She has the BLAHS, She has BLEMISHES, She has BOWEL Constriction, She has been BLASPHEMING, She has BUTTOCKS Wrinkles, She has BREAST quivers and has been having BELCHING FITS "! ! ! I THREW MYSELF ON THE FLOOR IN PRAYER...Asking for the strength to DEAL-WITH these DEMONS..._____** A N D **____Here's what CAME-OUT of ROCHELLE,,,, *(#1)=BREEZEWAY-LIPS= when encountering these rascals ,it's highly suggested that WE BE UNDER Proper Cover.. (#2)= BISTRO-BREATH-LEADER= Demons that emit SPECIAL AROMATICS into the air ,that keep screaming ,,"IT'S TIME TO EAT"....(#3)=BEHEMOTH -TESTER= Demon assigned to see how BIG OF A MONSTER he can turn you in to ....*( #4)=BRAZEN-FELLOWS= Demon who attempts to Get "YOU" TO **** INTO EVERYBODYS BUSINESS, and ruin their whole day & night...! ! ! I THEN SHOUTED OUT TO **ROCHELLE ** " ARE there any more " B " DEMONS IN there ??" Rochelle, collapsed to the floor,, I promptly RUBBED-IN the BROWN SHOE POLISH into the soles and heels of feet,,*** FOREVER-BLOCKING ***__" B " DEMONS , the ONLY-ENTRANCE to our BODIES .._______ Rochelle ,with a new found strength, lifted herself from the floor, Gingerly grasped my hand, Pulled me "VERY-CLOSE" . KISSED me with a FERVOR , THAT I CAN "TASTE" TO THIS very-day... I bid LaCretia and Rochelle "GOOD-NIGHT",, AND FOUND MYSELF "WHISTLING" and "THINKING" as I walked to my Vehicle.... "The Demons are increasing their activity ! ! I MUST "BE-PREPARED" for the NEXT-CALL_____PERHAPS FROM * Y O U * ??___
Nov 27, 2010
Nov 27, 2010 at 9:06 AM UTC
god stood by me, he hid in my pocket like a piece of amethyst
when i ran he turned into the forest to envelop me
his spirits became soft grasses, scented woods and colorful flower
The elderly woman in her garden in the early morning before the sun rises too high. She never sprays chemicals to get rid of the snails, instead she works and plants for and around them. This garden is to celebrate life, not to take it away. The wooden fence bordering her property is low and unoffensive enough to allow through woodland creatures who are never shooed away for taking a walk or a bite through the herbage. Perhaps she is atoning for a life of death and destruction. Or perhaps she is a saint.
They enjoyed things like making forts out of sticks and blankets and cardboard boxes and dressing up and going to the opera.
Memories, fresh like a wound.
Sometimes something so small. Going to the post office. A slideshow of post offices in my life. The disinfected paper smell, the lines of people waiting to mail a package, the solid colors of the interior, gray, black, white. A scrubby short haired black carpet, well worn.
I turned into a set of wings made out of crayon or colored pencil markings. As if pushed and pulled by the wind I stunned through the air, waving in the sunlight, pencil dashes of red and blue and purple. Like an animation from Reading Rainbow.
Thrown and tossed about like a lightweight wale in the sea. An enormous behemoth of grey and blue leaping like a kitten among the waves. It should be terrifying and would be if its teeth were any larger or sharper and if there was not such a happy gleam in its huge eye.
Mar 21, 2016
Mar 21, 2016 at 10:49 PM UTC
The feeling
Of connecting with the city on such a deep level
Sticking my hands through structures and pulling colored lines out
The rush that i get get is what it's all about
***** finger nails and stained clothes come with the territory
Nothing, and i mean nothing can compare to staring at the dim lit concrete behemoth from the seventh story
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 5:53 AM UTC
Imagine,
A slippery, charcoal, behemoth of a rock
Lying dormant, as if sleeping,
Under the comfort of a seabed.
Waves are crashing onto
The shoreline,
Rippling across the weightless,
Unblemished sand
As though it were hair
Gently being pushed across your face
The almost unnoticeable,
Yet constant breeze
Of the in and outs of your breath
Are the only constant left.
Small indents,
The size of dimples
Are the only remains visible
A last and final reminiscent memory
Of the grace that was once there.
An almost tranquil sendoff
As the water gets pulled back into the expanse
An expanse as deep and as beautiful
As the locks of your hair.
Unconscious thoughts dart through my mind
As quickly as the most nervous fish
Conjuring pictures and images
As vivid as Van Gogh’s
Streaked with lost and quickly forgotten words
Like a smoothed out seashell
Pulled under and out into the sea
To a place more wondrous than the eye will ever see
The shells float away,
Making one last attempt to stay above the water’s surface
To stay conscious.
But the smell of the air,
Mixed with the comfort of the water
Coaxes it back
Like a siren’s song.
Under those waves,
Beautiful waves,
The same everlasting and flowing haven I have fallen into
,
The endless,
unexplored, untouched,
Flawless shelter of your locks.
The ones that gently touch against my sand-colored skin
Lulling me and inviting me to drift away,
Away, back into the expanse of a dreamland
One almost as endless
As the ocean of us.
Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 1:48 AM UTC
She smiles
Like the sun kissed flowers
Staring up at the sky
On a field of never-ending blossoms in the summer’s light
But don’t be fooled
There’s a tempest brewing
The cumulonimbus clouds murk over her inner world
So deep into her immaculate soul it’s pursuing
She loves
Like the moon’s devotion
To the vault of heaven
On a glorious gloom
But don’t be fooled
Her darkness is the asphalt
On the terra firma
When the vale is most coruscating
She exposes
Her finest face
Like an overawed beau on the first night
Of **********
But don’t be fooled
Her behemoth lies slightly waken
In the depths of her muddled consciousness
Like a war solider awaiting command
She is two sides
Of the same coin
Tossing for heads or tails
Don’t be fooled
sa
13.09.18
Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 10:14 AM UTC
~I remember...
~For my two sisters
Future lovers
Are not knocking on my doors,
No line ups
Around the corner
Of my house;
The ladder to my window
Lies injured
On yellow
Lawn
Not nurtured,
Down bellow.
On the Queen Anne arm chair
Ashes of my
Fabulous years,
Wireless affairs,
No strings
Unattached
To my violin.
Sketches in the ****
Of lovers past
Are shivering,
Longing for my tapestries,
Trying, in vain, to hide
Under sad sepia.
Portraits, I promised
To paint
To Dorian Gray.
May still age
Given just a little
More time.
On the stage
I, Manon Lescaut, die,
Only sixteen -
Poor Knight De Grieux
Just another year,
please,
That I have not for sale
Anymore.
Pastels and aquarelles
Turned monochrome;
Chronos
Doesn't stop here
For a single moment -
Walks all over.
In the middle of my chaos
23/7
(What's an hour glass
Or more?),
Sleeps
Master Behemoth.
His fur coat
Once luxurious black
Has specks of grey,
One white whisker;
So are three of my hair.
Wise
Sybilla?
I don't think so.
It's not what
It used to be, my Master
Let's go out
To the open
Let's breathe,
Let's see new cats.
On the chopping block,
Let's lose our heads
Let's get lost.
Let's elope together
The weather
Should be
Just rainy-fine
For the Requiem,
For the funeral.
Tree Sisters gone
To the Cherry Orchard,
Uncle Vanya, again,
Left alone on the estate.
Seagull, before rain
Flies over my head
For the last time.
Author Notes
Two of my sisters are gone already.
Anton Pavlovich Chekhov's plays:
Three Sisters
Cherry Orchard
Uncle Vanya
Seagull
...To name just a few. Manon Lescaut by Abbe Prevost, two operas as well, one by Puccini, one by Esprit Auber. "A woman like Manon can have more than one lover." The Picture of Dorian Gray - Oscar Wilde
Oct 14, 2010
Oct 14, 2010 at 2:07 PM UTC
Bravely Burn Barbaric Books of Belief Belonging to Bad Bigots to Become the Bearer of the Bright-less Broken Banners of Both and Between Bruised and Betrayed Beleaguered Borders to Begin Benevolence Before the Beings Below Be Benumbed and go Berserk for Bloodshed .
Boldly Bestow the Blessing of Brotherhood to the Blind and Brutal Blood Beasts and the Bound Brethren of Brazen Ballads.
For a Bare Bundle of Burnt Books can Barricade a Braced Battalion of Bayonets, Block Beyond Billions of Battle Blades, Buffer a Bunch of Big Booming Bullets, Backfire Boorish Ballistae of Bribery and Bury the Barmy Bastard's Baleful Brusque Breathes that Brings Back the Bedeviled Beacon of Blame.
Feb 24, 2011
Feb 24, 2011 at 8:11 AM UTC
Topping a rise comes a knight,
armour soiled and stained;
weary yet elated
riding his black steed.
The Princess in her tower sees
and gives a delighted cry.
She leans out her window
and hails the knight:
"Ho!Brave knight!
Whence comest thou?
Tell me thou seeketh me
for I wait for thee."
"Truly",answered the knight
"It is for thee I am come
my fair lady
and to take thine hand."
"I've sailed the seven seas,
toiled through forests and mires,
traversed deserts and dunes
looking for thee".
"Oh the joy!"whispered the lady
and cried,"My brave knight,
glad am I to hear thee but
Didst thou slay the dragon?"
Answered the knight,
"My dearest lady,
I have fought the giants,
conquered the orcs
and tamed the lions."
"Oh brave art thou
my worthy knight.
But didst thou slay
the mighty dragon?"
"I have escaped from dungeons,
caverns with unnamed fears.
Scorpions and serpents
I have crushed to the earth."
"Wonderful art thou
my worthy knight.
But didst thou slay
the fearsome dragon?"
"I have ridden the behemoth,
subdued the depths,
searched the clouds and
fiddled with thunderbolts"
"Magnificent art thou
my worthy knight.
But didst thou slay
the red dragon?"
"Lady,you are besot
with the dumb worm!",he said.
"I wonder if she",he thought
"has been crazed in that tower"
Sighing forlornly,
said the princess
"I canst not leave here
till the dragon is dead."
As the knight turned away
to ride back,she asked
"Whither goest thou?
To slay the beast?"
"Nay lady,nay
I go to slay the dunce
who wrote you
into that tower."
"What meanest thou
my dear knight?!
There is another knight
who dabbles in magic?!"
"Nay lady,nay.
He is not a knight.
He uses his quill
to weave his musings."
Cried the princess
"Oh mighty sir,
Oh Weaver with the quill!
Canst thou hear me?"
"Yes dear lady,"said I,
"What do you desire?
What can I do
that will please you?"
"My dearest Sir!
Oh my bravest hope.
Slay the dragon
and make me thine."
"But my lady
as much as I desire to,
you should know there is
No dragon in the story"
(Silence pervades)
"Oh my dear knight!!"
cried the lady to the rider,
"Slay this goon
and we shall be one."
Uh-oh...Time to put down the pen and run.
Aug 30, 2013
Aug 30, 2013 at 11:38 AM UTC
December 19th
wet snow
and
church parking lot; let out a
sigh of relief
he prom-
ised
For days
Behemoth
size
elininating
our concerns
i
would be happy.
still
"experience"
involved *****
heavy, exhausting, loud
tradesman using
some of us.
together in
unison
pounding
away we filled the church basement
with sound
tempo and
beat.
Then it happened.
The angels were singing just
for us.
Dec 9, 2011
Dec 9, 2011 at 4:33 PM UTC
My ancestors (i hesitate to even call them such)
came to this land centuries ago
they came with nothing
hoping to start a new life
but this is not about my proud heritage
not about immigrants following the
American Dream (Nightmare would be more accurate)
No
my ancestors
my White Anglo Saxon Protestant ancestors
descended upon this pristine landmass
like so many parasitic WASPs
injecting their prey (the people, the land) with venom
laying their eggs that would **** the hosts upon hatching
No
my ancestors
who helped perpetrate an ethnic cleansing
the likes of which 20th century fascists could only dream of
did so under the title of Manifest Destiny
divine right
their religion masking opportunistic genocide
No
my ancestors
laid the foundation
for the greatest country in the world
where ALL (White, English, Heteronormative, Cisnormative, Land-owning, Slave-Owning, Women Hating , Native-American-Murdering, Capitalistic, Perverted) MEN are created equal
No
my ancestors
partook in genocide
condoned slavery
oppressed women (and every other divergent identity)
destroyed the environment
and did so with such arrogance
such unheard of righteousness
No
my ancestors
were the lifeblood of America
the lifeblood of oppression
and that blood runs through my veins
the screams of American-Indian Warriors
of African Slaves
of Women labeled Witches and Gays and People of Color and anyone who opposed the hideous behemoth, anyone who dared to be different
their screams echo in my head
and i am ashamed
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 12:11 PM UTC
Writhing, Choking
Stealing the life blood of this giant.
Suffocating, Strangling
We must fell this beast.
All but dead,
It holds on reaching upward
Roots tearing at the sodden earth.
Trying to **** what little can still
Be found there.
We can nearly hear it shrieking
The behemoth groans and creaks,
The battle is nearly won.
Victory will be bitter sweet.
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 10:12 AM UTC
Her chariot
glimmering off
feint blue dust.
Lighting up
dwarfish torches
in the night sky.
Selene rests above
in her crescendo;
shrouded by
a gentle
spectral shawl.
She watches me,
as my weary back
relaxes on
a lonesome headstone.
They keep me company.
Selene,
a silver flask,
and my revolver.
"What could I have done
to change this fate?"
Selene remained quiet,
and stared back at me.
"What is life's essence?"
In which, still,
she replied
with silence.
The bitter
winter zephyr
rustles against
my flowing locks.
She smiles at me.
She's beaming.
She basks me
with her radiant presence.
"How did you get up there?"
Her eyebrows
arched at me.
"How did you folks
become haughty
and powerful?"
In which, still,
she replied
with silence.
The gentle winds
turns into
a roaring behemoth.
Vehemently howling
amidst pine trees
which surrounds me.
I took the last sip
of bourbon
from the ol' tin.
"How could man
swim against
Chronos' current?
How could man
muster strength
against the Fates?"
For the nth time,
she replied
with silence.
The frigid muzzle
nips my forehead.
Sweat trickles
down my temples.
I could hear
my own heart
drumming.
My hands
are shaking---
almost vibrating.
My breath
releases
sullen spirits
from this
broken vessel.
Before I closed my eyes,
Selene gleamed at me,
before hiding behind
her faint shroud.
I bowed down,
said my final prayers,
and concentrated
on my friend's
farewell kiss.
"So, long, Selene.
When, I, wake, up,
I, wish, I, would,
reek, of, sunflowers."
---
---
---.
Aug 16, 2017
Aug 16, 2017 at 12:13 AM UTC
I keep on crawling
Bashing, walking, disappearing
Reappearing in your nightmares
I have not done anything but you distance yourself
Back out, Abort, Fight back, and ****
Inevitable.
My poison is pain
My poison is harm
My poison is death
It will do us apart
My insides break
You stepped on me
Crushed my soul
Yet I armed myself
Of pride, strength and independence
I am broken,
Arms shattered
Heart battered
Poisoned by my own toxins,
I altered myself
I hide in the dark
To be unknown
Leave reality
And weave my thoughts into a house
Then you break it,
Breaking, into useless strings
Spinning into infinity
Breaking from reality
Settling for disparity
I crash, unbridled
I sit between the lines
Keeping myself
From the light
The harm of the its shine
Triggering, Stunning my arms
As I embark life;
Discovering,
Living,
Dying.
Learning that everything will end.
Recovering, from the glass,
That demolished itself
Corrupted itself
And breaking into pieces
Stabbing me, bits by bits
Analyzing the blood
Flowing down my arms
Streaming down my cheeks
Setting up a castle
Lies and Lies and all those cries
I am mistaken
A behemoth,
Out of your fallen minds
Revealing darkness
Unveiling the pain
From life;
Tortured souls
Self harm
Suicidal tendencies
How we are today
The castle of fears and pains
Build, standing steadily
Yet at one angle
Breaking
Tears streamed
Will anyone see
Will anyone feel
Will anyone weave my house, my castle
Back to place
Let all the darkness disappear
And crush my pride then Call for;
H E L P.
-jnldm
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 5:13 AM UTC
Skin supplanted by steel,
As pigment falls to paint,
A hollow duralumin chariot,
Ridden by the affluent,
Fortuitous souls, borne to their heart's requests
Down from below, as antipodes clash,
The behemoth clamors, with metallic clangs,
Conflicting privileges, one invulnerable,
Touted lands turned to tarnished wastes,
With a destiny targeted at armageddon,
Humanity's fate glides, like the zeppelin.
Oct 6, 2020
Oct 6, 2020 at 12:36 AM UTC
using stalagmite icycles as tooth picks in between the crevices of my head
my brain is getting frostbite as if i ate too much ice cream at once, but this
sporadic heartbeat is going into myocardial infarction, and all at once, every
second goes into slow motion, a familiar stillness before the blast of powerful
dynamite, bats living inside me are vexatious inside my head, like a parasite,
you weren't even noticed until you completely wracked my helpless body
with worms and ticks, leaving me with some sense of how a sick dog feels,
a walking contradiction and an anti-compressive depression that leaves me
with nothing. you're a sea that keeps on growing, a forest that keeps on burning
and a fire that is everlasting and almost behemoth, i'm helpless
- kra
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 7:35 PM UTC
4:11 am - The nighthawks are starting to resemble pigeons.
Train station is deserted.
An employee checks the bins as the tunnel fills with the ringing of a distant bell, heralding the arrival of the morning train.
42 minutes till my train.
I can smell the acrid fumes of the Ferny Grove train.
The behemoth pulls away-
empty.
At least I'm not existential anymore.
There is an installation of a coffin made from old bits of railroad,
"Not everyone makes it across the tracks"
This reminder of mortality is strangely fitting in a place of transit.
The true face of memento mori is shown.
Remember that you too will die, and everything will come to pass.
It's times like this that make me wish 'The Sound of Silence" was never written.
For its perfection in this moment comes as a burst of pure divine bliss.
The kind you wish would never fade away. But inevitably does.
And all we are left with is a memory of that bliss,
everytime we hear the song (after the first time).
As if we are recalling the curves of an old lover from the shadow of yesterdays gone.
Dancing beneath our fingertips, always out of reach.
Memory is never as divine as the moment that burnt it in.
----
4:29 am - It was ephemeral.
The trainyard announcer has a cultured voice.
----
4:41 am - I fear the muse has left me, beauty fled.
DEAR GOD - PLEASE LET THERE BE A CAB AT THE STATION FOR ME.
Selection 11 gave me the water i desired.
11 minutes till the train.
D.O.B. 11/2
Aquarius, 11th sign of the Zodiac.
Will I see the dawn rise from the train?
There is no light at the end of the tunnel from where I sit.
Inexplicably: I recall the cool river air that bathed us as we lay naked in your apartment,
the smell of cigarettes on our skin, the evening peppered with
scurrying, fighting possums
that danced upon your balcony.
I recall being inside you.
(Then I imagined you being eaten out
by a woman
her lips inside yours,
her curled tongue
inside your hot, bald
golden ****
And I came.
Warm and glorious
my children of pleasure
caught in a latex coffin.
Your heaves of pleasure pushing against my chest
with the rhythm of waves.
----
4:46 am - On the train.
Fluorescent lighting is the devil.
Everything is garish yellow.
We pull up to the station near where you lived.
Your blue rose lives in a Chinese vase
and no longer smells
of Marlene Dietrich.
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 1:59 AM UTC
Somewhere in the star-brightened space -
An impossible depth away from green -
A hungry traveler ghosts between
Appetite and appetite, and place and place.
Out in the unfreezing lowest of degrees,
Some behemoth of infinite impunity
And infinitesimal size - a unity
In one point - eats, and hungers, and agrees
That, once, matter mattered more than a maw
Gaping impossibly small and wide.
(Better nature has collapsed inside,
And galaxies are cleaved as with a saw
In a Carpenter's hand.) However, simplicity
Is a muted charm in a bottomless pit.
When pressure's wake is a woodshop kit,
Survivors owe nothing to serendipity.
Dec 3, 2010
Dec 3, 2010 at 9:12 PM UTC
black carbon paper lips
peyote nothing to eat
lord made em sick
prayed to jesus in a backseat
after birth behemoth's armpit
the end.
the end
the end
the end is near
white flags folded in memoriam
klansmen's hoods
bartered goods for gunpowder
kinds who werent designed
for human eyes to see
cause see son
their light is blinding.
they sleep
when the sun is shining
lying in a field of drug flowers.
hugs for smokes & hot showers.
what's the headcount.
man I was done yesterday.
I'm sitting here suffocating
numb to the new world
attitude & outcome
smothered in
carnal crimson summer
not for money or love or
anything or anyone.
I'm just sitting here
burning under the moon
thinking about alpha omega
& who took it upon themselves
to leave out the in-betweens.
godless heathens.
screechy gospel
that goes on for days
straight trip no stops.
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 7:21 PM UTC
Wind torn sails
and old wives tales
both tell a certain truth
like sailors forlorn
'round the cape horn
drowned or frozen to death
The waves and the wind
punish for sins
that frequently go untold
dare to begin that voyage to win
bring in the most liquid gold
Whaling was the name
of this sailors game
learned from my pappy before
when the tall ships call
you'll answer for all
the misgivings that you ever did
Swabbing the decks
like a beer hall *****
sickly from waves and decay
this is the life
for months at a time
from New England
to the ports of Biscay
First sign of a blow
shouts to below
from where the watch sits above
The decks come alive
thar be the prize
the deadly game awaits
Set sails to the wind
and get that boat in
harpoons and crew await
haul on the ropes
or abandon all hopes
the behemoth will get away
Hearts pound like the oars
sending us forth
Oh, how our quarry evades
better keep your eyes peeled
or your fate is sealed
if she comes up underneath
With a mighty hurrah
the striker lets fly
the harpoon sinks deep in the whale
it plunges below
taking us under tow
blood staining the deep blue waves
I cry for this sin
as we haul the whale in
and cut up all it had been
trade a shilling in the purse
for a life long curse
never to sleep again
When I shut my eyes
I can still hear the cry
up from it's blowhole it came
shivers my spine,every time
I bolt upright wide awake
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 9:32 PM UTC
a refugee from wealth,
he and his Dartmouth degree found the spot
farthest from his New England roots, and the first roots
he saw there were those of a banyan tree, giant gray tentacles
piercing the Asian earth, imploring the black soil
for atonement, he thought
the natives said the tree was older than God
immortal, but cursed with some blight that bedeviled them
and that prudent pruning of ailing arms would be wise
the man had only a Swiss Army knife
with its minuscule saw, but soon he set about the task
of trimming the behemoth, one mad millimeter at a time,
and mad was all the natives saw
this white creature, high in the canopy,
often from dawn until the sun sank in the jungle behind him
sawing away, a half branch a day, treating the gargantuan arboreal
like a prize bonsai
villagers would come, hunker, watch in the shade of the tree
once in a great while, they would see a branch crash on the ground,
at which time they cheered the pitifully patient woodsman
many offered to help, some leaving bow saws,
axes at the banyans' base, but he would have none of that
over and over he received new red knives with their tiny saws
these parcels the only mail he got
even during monsoon rains,
the man's labors did not desist
though his audience waned
appearing to defy physics' uncertain laws
the tree was nearly felled, but the man disappeared
before his colossal task was done, the locals claiming he climbed
into the thinned canopy one day and never came down
not even a well worn blade was found
allowing the witnesses to aver he was yet high in the heavens
resting after love's labor had wearied his hands
but perchance healed his heart
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 2:46 PM UTC
Shaken, faulted core
smolders Martian red.
Simple kindred corps:
now dormant, fallen dead.
Endless chthonic shore,
this flaming plague will spread.
Crumbling hillsides roar,
****** echoes reflect dread.
Scent of creation,
of seared marrow bath.
A forlorn nation
razed by angel’s wrath.
Jagged forest
greets narrowed death,
splintered rest
and punctured breath.
O’er the loch,
swollen igneous rock:
the Behemoth slaughters the flock.
Jul 11, 2010
Jul 11, 2010 at 7:17 AM UTC