"beveled" poems
In times gone by, now recondite,
Neanderthal, ***** upright,
spoke softly, tones so lily-white,
and tried to put the world aright.
He taught us how the flame ignites
that wearing furs will warm the nights,
just why the rolling wheel excites,
and how the beveled flint stone bites.
Before the days of dynamite
he fought his foes with spit and spite,
and swung big sticks with all his might,
and rendered death with stones in flight.
Engaged in never-ending fight
(arenas were a global sight)
he forced his forces to unite
to sate his oily appetite.
To quell rude thoughts that may incite
he ruled the realm with fly-by-nights
and culled the winds of words in flight,
and darkened minds to anthracite.
With fairy tales of evil sprites
and how the fist of freedom smites,
he washed the world with flames alight
to vanquish hoards of parasites.
Each dawn the damage brought delight,
the foe was bent, a bit contrite…
yet battled on with no respite
until the dusk and evening light.
Encamped beside the firelight
Neanderthal, that shiny Knight,
awaited morn while sitting tight
assured the end would be alright.
Yes, conquest seemed his sacred right…
Forevermore?… well, no, not quite…
Neanderthal's extinct tonight
and lies beside the Trilobite…
MORAL
The Oreo is round, not bright:
while rolling near the candlelight
at first the searing seemed so slight,
the molten cream an oversight…
Apr 4, 2014
Apr 4, 2014 at 3:03 PM UTC
~
*Lipstick to void. She is a race against time. The beveled past a disruption in her lines of influence.
Travel is dangerous, and tonight it darkens the highway of blood vessels coursing through her extremities. She wants to be luminous and under the skin.
While Dorothy dreams of tornadoes in Kansas, she dreams of remote climbs in lesser Glasgow, of party drugs in Tokyo. How many lights does she see?
In her hair are sixty circuits. But she waits, religiously inclined on the hotel bed. She drove through ghosts to get here wearing nothing but Las Vegas.
So strange at this hour, in a city full of sleepwalkers for the taking, she now dreams she's a bulldozer, she now dreams she's alone in an empty field.*
~
Dec 26, 2022
Dec 26, 2022 at 4:36 PM UTC
I've bent my mouth up to my ear
Believing in the stuff belief is made of
Milk replaced by silky biers
Losing my fingers to the Barren Baron Dove
Hurts to admit I'm stealing away
A curly knife held to my ear
Simple, crimpled, waning days
Throw unto the heart of the pier
Lark and tumble
Bark and fumble
Still those tired eyes of dust
I have found the beveled rhythm
Among the pristine clouds of rust,
Entropy's daily rhythm
Wake away the roaring morning
Rising heat in waxing dawn
Spend the many days adorning
The beating pulse of the fawn
Stupefied, nullified
Numb and in crumbs
A stump to the vein
A lump of sweetened pain
Dec 23, 2018
Dec 23, 2018 at 1:18 PM UTC
The further in the reach will cry
To surface beveled wind and sky
Wade less in the pool of text
Encountering the dampest
Moments memories mind to feel
Things our tongues would test to say
To capture the appeal
Our questions answer paradox
As grapes did once conflict the fox
We hinder in the cold
As cinders dark behold
The beautiful unfolds
A hideaway foretold
Of fire and love consoled
Rescue now the winds of time
Along the waters level
Explanations taunt with the tides
Fleeting affection at shoreside
Ever push and pull we are
Fragile such as fading stars
In voice our chords have failed to brace
What lips would speak to chase and chase
New memories will we soon create
Our hideaway at sundown waits
Meet me before the dawn breaks free
Beneath sacred sycamore tree
Our great escape in midnight's cape
With Spirit resting peacefully
© tHE tERRY tREE
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 12:59 AM UTC
memory sleeps
beneath time’s blanket,
closes its eyes,
and disappears in dream.
life is leveled, edges beveled
smooth and regular.
days pass.
thirty-seven years later
a helicopter is shot down
in Afghanistan.
men are lost
and fear chokes me
again, high above hills and jungle,
taking fire from below,
a Chinook just like theirs,
frantic to fly
away.
Jan 29, 2010
Jan 29, 2010 at 6:34 AM UTC
It’s beneath daydreams You have heard it
The faint sound of wind chimes Not belonging to a tangible source
You blindly own it When your left thigh tingles
It’s the shape-shift powers
So please
Come down from your towers
It no longer makes sense An apparent pretense
Come down from your towers
Where the air whispers doubt Each time your heart shouts
Come down from your towers
Endemic eternal internal The cyclic encounters
Come down from your towers
It’s the unknown driver That wakes you when
Her hand is waving as The waters’ abating
Like a still frame / Not knowing why As you read through the lines
You belong In a parallel world
Where the sky’s painted By a gentle sun
The rock is beveled and smooth So that tumbled stones
Joined with dark cord Can roll and move
The victim and the perpetrator Hold interchangeable hands
Where you sleep Where you keep The spaces
Where the walk Steps heavy Voice distorts Breath ready
Here you stay Seized by false compartments
Buying into ulterior motives That choke your flowers
So please
Come down from your towers
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 12:59 AM UTC
she shines with beauty
like sunlight through beveled glass
igniting my heart
Feb 11, 2016
Feb 11, 2016 at 12:58 PM UTC
dog eared books stacked on dusty window sills with warm laughing light spilling through beveled glass a grandmother's plate of gooey cookies staining teeth and lips with sugar kisses and wrinkled feet from barefoot running in the streets sing me to sleep paint a picture of outer space make sure my star collides with yours so we become a blazoning life form of galactic fire
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 12:04 AM UTC
And you firm and buttressed gorgeous scarlet
your health,like venus i timid and glut upon,
is also a god. harder than smooth and softer
than rough. a cool like steam and hot like
summers wings. a bird, charming and immense
she's nothing compared to you noble
to you
t o you
there is nary a season more supple or lovely than the
undark shout of your plain and spectacular plume
of resolute arms
on your shoulders
on your bones
your muscles
on them
thy skin
who i dimple most commonly
on saturnday mornings
when you peak beveled luscious havoc
in my brave and capricious bed
and you tousle my senses
byTheFastStaggerOfYourMarvelous lips
bounding pink
and flush
madrigals in the infinite cavern of my
very
and very
smallest
h
e
a rt
Mar 2, 2011
Mar 2, 2011 at 9:40 AM UTC
I sink inside my head
and think about the things I said.
But I often find myself in bed,
catching a wink.
If the world really lies on a thin thread,
am I a fragile link?
If I blink,
will everything I love
and hold dear disappear?
Why do we use such an expression to perpetuate the fear of loss?
Here I thought I beveled and embossed
the impression but it’s just another load
of dross.
© Matthew Harlovic
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 1:45 PM UTC
Into nerves
and cleaning up
ever nerves Into as beveled as the digit, then burn.
with a new youth itch
I gotta read electric view down your spoons
one eye of a cross legged serpent
come grabbing hoping the badly or worse
got bathed, mother stuck them into two pieces,
There is a place i cannot go anymore.
A place where memory drives ten- ton trucks down the streets recklessly and with violent intent.
Run over in plain sight, bothered by smoke and cold with rain on-top.
Foggy and damp, with bright and sunny aperture.
There is a place i cannot walk anymore.
Sidewalks bent and twisted out of shape from people running away.
Streets too narrow and steep to breathe.
I cannot stand small talk,
I cannot stand memory,
I cannot stand so i'll lay down like everyone else here.
My mouth makes sounds like a firing range.
But instead of bullets there's spit and instead of fire there's just air.
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 9:01 PM UTC
i liked the night
a morsel of arguing light
with the morose chimney stacks
and gratuitous roofs
they wetted with creamy distilled lunar ****
and whisper beveled nothings
at the screaming silence
!
Oct 9, 2010
Oct 9, 2010 at 3:36 PM UTC
brief echoes of the past
arrange themselves in my present
like shadow puppets on the backs
of my eyelids while i sleep.
there is an uneven fulcrum
digging into my lower back no
matter how i turn my long
body.
my eyes open into
the same familiar room, with
the same familiar speckles on the
ceiling that they always do. the
shadows resume their innumerable
forms and i wake
to write another step towards
the beveled edge of immortality.
May 11, 2020
May 11, 2020 at 10:28 PM UTC
WALK THROUGH
Awake at 4 AM in a dark and silent house
There are ghosts and wraiths afoot in other rooms
And chimera dance across the walls.
Time has worn it’s foot steps into paths that lead the way
From one space where the sun shines morning rainbows
Through leaded beveled diamond glass
To rooms with shadows in the silent corners of regret
That fail to yield to hopes and promises of light.
Walls newly shorn of photographs and art
Stand in mute recrimination of the crime
That robbed them of the proof that people prospered here.
People blessed with messy lives that ricochetted like
Pinballs through the good times and disasters.
People who never learned to cheat but studied how to care,
Who gave a measure and a half for a quarter measure’s pay.
People who walked the narrow road until it ended in abyss
And now they have to find a way to to finish out life there.
The smell of tears still lingers in the lattice covered
Meditation bower in a corner of the garden
The little fountain proves unable to provide the only falling water
And the tiny pet grave markers remain resting there in peace
A bulky box with double doors commands most of the driveway
And things too valuable to leave are prisoners inside.
Clutter is trapped in cartons sealed with packing tape
Or hidden in the cupboards no one dares to open.
Untidyness moans softy in the newly emptied spaces
And the dust no longer has a place to land.
The winnowing is almost done and things will find new homes
In a sad bazaar of letting go the past
And turning to the East to meet the rising sun
Where somehow in a diferent place they all will learn to dance.
ljm
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 2:15 PM UTC
you were beveled glass
carved out of sunlight
and you burned into my irises
contracting against the intensity
of your presence.
sometimes it still gets like that.
brief moments where your beauty over powers
and in more ways than one
i'm lost in a temporary blindness.
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 2:28 PM UTC
i am beveled glass
without a setting
ragged edges
and no beginning
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 1:26 PM UTC
When I was a baby
They christened me with water
Mother said I screamed ****** ******
I must have thought that I was drowning
While they thought they saved my soul
The Sisters all wore golden crosses
Slapping us with wooden rulers
The beveled edges brought down hard
Bruising bleeding knotted knuckles
The day I first confessed my sins
To the Priest behind the screen
We children received holy cards
With glued on plastic crucifixes
That glowed when you turned out the light
Like Christ's eyes, always watching
The Sisters all wore golden crosses
And they said we were not worthy
On our knees in holy terror
We prayed in vain for our salvation
On my First Communion day
Jesus' body was a wafer
Dry as bone, thin as paper
Adhered to the roof of my mouth
My tongue dry as red hot sand
While I tried desperately to swallow
The Sisters all wore golden crosses
As they dispensed God's corporeal mercy
With a backhand to the head
And a black mark through the soul
All the children feared God's judgement
Certain we'd be cast to Satan
In His hell eternal burning
Our salvation lost forever
Plunging from eternal rapture
On paper wings alight with fire
The Sisters all wore golden crosses
Smacking us across our faces
Because of this I still remember
All the useless Latin verses
And their ugly, screaming curses
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 8:55 PM UTC
I am from chipped beveled glass
from hand-me-downs and prideful hearts
I am from the burning cities of Perth
where art is a way of life and beaches are home
I am from a peaceless nights' sleep
with covered ears and whimpering cries
I am from closet thoughts
from the "what ifs" and "could nevers"
I am from the empty holidays
with lonely living rooms and booked flights
Aug 24, 2020
Aug 24, 2020 at 11:56 AM UTC
Ooh...this... just an amazing grace note
recalling how I felt like an ***
and wanna toot 'bout me getting steered
(as a heavy metal kid Rocker)
toward befriending a brass
see gutsy, *****
and MainLine snooty upper class
action button down
(grace fully slick as vaseline), airily glinting
forcibly hawked, laundered, and pawned
by the instrumental
Mister Deangelo O'Donnell, High School
(mud flapping, ornery hearing,
and quid juicing Ska Welch ching)
music teacher oompah crass
tone deaf when aye trumpeted desire
to master the Coronet
analogous to pursing lips
blowing tightly held grass
blade between two abetted,
cinched fastened opposable thumbs,
which tooting a supposed aural aphrodisiac
to attract a zaftig well proportioned lass
(ideally shaped like a miniature Tuba)
with one steel funnel like mouthy mass
that probably explains, how such a gal
could easily emulate
****** pucker earning pass
to illustrious honorable first chair
and blasts gratitude akin
as Gabriel would declare
heavenly expressions conducting
angels thru atmospheric ether
alighting on mortal ushering melody
with rites of harkening
springtime Renaissance Faire
solar rays golden raiment
splays rainbow fragments off
beveled, bellowed, and
bedecked polished flare
audiological sound waves trick
saw toothed reflected
silhouetted orchestral shadows
to dance as conductor's baton gear
musicians horns ensemble
epochal feast to hear.
Jul 15, 2018
Jul 15, 2018 at 3:12 AM UTC
newly first pressing flesh
your firmly enamor
(thighs and cheeks)
you dangerous and
clean beveled dainty
stuff
you're the very
eatage o' devils and
god
Dec 12, 2011
Dec 12, 2011 at 3:02 AM UTC
By Arcassin B , soul S , Richard L.A
SS : Bars on windows ,Bars on doors
Metal ceilings ,Beveled floors
Come in folks!
There's lots of room!
It don't matter it's a tomb...
A prison cell of bone & hide
You won't know Til you're inside...
Here I am, I'm in the lobby
Locked within a broken body
Makes me want to scream & shout...
I'm just dying to get out!
There's the rub... just want to cry!
To get OUT I have to DIE.
There's just one way To be free.
But I don't want to die, you see.
I guess I'll stay & just be ME.
AB : To posses more ,empathy,
Weeping over dead bodies like the anniversary of
9/11, God bless each and every person in this world to
live long and prosper, this is hostile,
waiting on Jesus to descend to us and preach the gospel,
there's not enough empowerment to help the weak,
And there's not enough food here to feed the homeless,
Not even enough friends around your child to see her smile
and you always treat her like nothing so she thought her
life was worthless,
looked into the barrel of the gun And, POW!,
Didn't even say her last words , not even a letter,
you should have spoke to her,
could have been a better nurturer.
RLA : Living In the Projects. ...
I learnt my name.... I learnt my fame...
Living in the Projects....
Learnt how to skillfully write my name in lights.... All over the place. ...
I was living in my own mind when it happened....
You....
Happened to Me...
From where you came, I had No idea....
I was lifted up, above my feet...
Don't leave me hanging ......
Around for too long.....
Jul 11, 2017
Jul 11, 2017 at 10:30 AM UTC
.
(20 minute poetry)
What gives that we lack when we fall through the crack and I drop through the mirror again?
It must be he that I see stood back from the crack, the mirror just laughs or could that be me, each imperfection is magnified and the reflection dare I say it is sanctified or should that be mortified?
So I pick at it
kick at it
I am
altogether sick of it.
And if I squint at it or
add a tint or a hint of a smile to it,
It mocks me and
takes the mick'
It's level one,
out with the toe hold
and put a beveled edge
on it,
time to be bold.
Secret committees to squander,
the crack in which through falling I wander.
It doesn't make sense to me either
neither to you I suspect,
But
that's what gives when we
lack turn our back on the pack and introduce a joker to the deck.
So I pick at it
kick at it
I am
altogether sick of it.
And if I squint at it or
add a tint or a hint of a smile to it,
It mocks me and
takes the mick'
It's level one,
out with the toe hold
and put a beveled edge
on it,
time to be bold.
Secret committees to squander,
the crack in which through falling I wander.
It doesn't make sense to me either
neither to you I suspect,
But
that's what gives when we
lack turn our back on the pack and introduce a joker to the deck.
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 7:46 PM UTC
Do you ever imagine
you've lived this day
long ago
only under the beveled glass of a dream,
and now,
you're just going through
the motions using muscle memory?
Sep 17, 2020
Sep 17, 2020 at 12:15 PM UTC
This has potential. Hold the cup that isn't for drinking, that possesses endless points. Hand bridges one cliff hip to the next, space beneath feathery and somewhat beveled. No point, sum potential; luck 4 sale, keep on ice. This is me faking thrill at the top of a hill that is way below sea level; glaciers overtaking my liver. There are many who send help, but nobody can hear. There is a radio crackling years down the road and it drowns out everything for miles.
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 12:45 PM UTC
At night my eyes do bleed into the undercove
Such clouds of darkened ichor mask my vision
I saw the great respite wherein you bode
took hands upon your form and shouldered myriad of blight
Spat then a tongue into my mouth
though it was not your own
as your apparition, dense, did disappear
I came to know the truth with clarity
for you were never here
in that dream did I call dear
to your admittance lost
For she came to fill the void
in faces squat upon the isles
when I was sat there on the floor
only one was nearer to my truth
In the beveled floor
I saw motion
in the map of self
a shroud of stars
For what is worth beguiled?
For what is measure spent?
Beseech my innocence
nostalgic loss of breath
Love is not a thought
and not a dream
It is the sleeping mind’s
one haven in the dark
I woke
to you beside me
speaking cheerfully of days unworn
readily acceptable
there to be adorned
In our unity
a dance
which grants me levity
as we romance
an absence of the ****** past
as pains should die again
where we go forth
in union
with our star gate skies
not alien or human
having not a guise
simply We
Sep 9, 2019
Sep 9, 2019 at 6:51 PM UTC