"biter" poems
My heathen greeting for I am old now
Wildfowl whispered on marshland like maidens around burning fires,
The Norse winds breathing in my soul ‘Odin doth call’
Blood is the sweat of this iron sword; proud are war smiths
I watch the coal biter musing in blood damp earth,
Before a fire and smoke of tallow he dreams of war
Fill these horns to brim, for I shall drink to Odin’s law
And eat I this meal of bread oyster and mussel shell
I see heavens stained blood red clouds as we cross the rainbow crystal bridge, we shall enter Valhalla victorious once more,
Lo shall they bleed at shores blooded by iron the Saxons fall,
Raged fires shall consume their roof as thunder of north comes forth
You call us ****** that which pierces dark shadows,
We blow our horn in assembly before Odin warriors of the north
Settings suns shone red as quiet falls, serene I see Valhalla
the goat and mead hall, roasting beef and herring
I no longer fear drowning suns for the Valkyries sweet song I do hear
Freyja shall breathe my new reign at dawn
The old wars are over but our fight shall ne’er end,
─ Lo I see my father
ASPAR (Arnay Rumens) © 2013
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 7:40 AM UTC
Once upon a time, a long time ago
There was a little boy with a grimy flow
I used to hear him rap in Chicago everyday
And this is what I heard him say…….
He say **** like, he be like….
Ah! and I'm a *********** biter
The size of the incises inside ya might surprise ya
You might need rewind to decipher my cyphers
Ain't nothing on this world worth more than my saliva
I go so hard when I'm flowing
So cold my flows frozen
I'm a rowboat rowing in an open ocean
And I'm hoping, to blow up with no promotion
But dam, those explosions are so slow motion
So, I need some honey bees to pollinate my money trees
Cause fuckery of companies, accompanies that come between
A couple bucks and me, turned my orange juice to Sunny-D
Hide the cash for food stamps, no way i'm funded publicly
I'm hungry, but not for sandwiches I'm ambitious
A panhandler with gram plans and last wishes
Ask for the last table scraps you can't finish
Sell em back when you digest, and I repackage it
Abracadabra, I'm an alchemist, my magic tricks are acting as contaminates
I damage this establishment
They enacted bans on urban camping
If you ask them how they sleep at night the answer is
Happily on mattresses
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 12:43 AM UTC
The Nail-biter saw her as his saving grace from a life of lonesome worry
She saw him as a meal ticket and a free ride
He over looked her granny ash
He disregarded her speech impediment
Always holding his tongue when she stumbled on certain words because he loved her and all her imperfections
She had a bullet proof black hole heart and his common sense was stuck in a sound proof cell as they had what seemed to him to be, passionate ***
He worked day and night, coming home with dishpan hands
Saving up to buy her a bouquet of hydrangeas, tulips and baby's breath
She took them and said, "Wow, thank you you're such a good friend"
The Nail-biter left and drove his car into the nearest embankment
She did not attended the funeral, she was too busy having dinner with The man with OCD who didn't have tics but tocks
She knew the routine and loved every second of it
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 12:39 PM UTC
How does it taste
My hand...?
The hand that fed you...!
You have been chewing on it
Through and through
For a while now...
The hand that hurts
From providing...
So much
That it came close to breaking
Just to protect you
From starving
The hand that hurts
And shakes
So much
That I can't even eat with it anymore
And as such
Will remain
Hungry
And probably die
I'm angry
I am angry with you
But the worst thing is
That I can't hate you
Because hating somebody you love
Hurts even more
I am angry
Because in my core
I was sure that you would do that
And all I did was
Ignore...
And you thought I didn't have a clue?
I gave you the cue
For this to happen
And I didn't pull my hand
And accepted for it to remain soar
Full of marks from your bites
And the endless nights
Of providing..
For such a long time
Telling myself
It’s fine
Because the bite
Of somebody you love
Is sweet
As honey
But now you are full
And it doesn't matter if I pull
Or leave my hand there
For you to take a last bite
You are just waiting for the fight
So that you can run away
And never look at me again
How does it feel
To be a traiter
How does it taste?
Bitter?
Only my tongue
My hand is sweet
Hand biter...!
May 6, 2017
May 6, 2017 at 3:57 PM UTC
When you're a writer, you get invited to strange gigs
sometimes, where usually, the audience is arty farty
or even a bit precious and pretentious.
You know, the blue rinse set.
But I was once invited to recite poetry in a bar,
where I knew my audience might be ******
or maybe even abusive, and wouldn't give
a **** about writing.
Yeah? Well, I'm a bit of a word warrior, really,
so I didn't back off.
I stepped right in for the fight.
I said straight up that my poem was especially
for people like them who thought that writers are
wishy-washy, woffling, **** weak and luke-warm.
So then I said,
PPPHHHaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrtttttttt.
Very loud.
I told them this was some royal raspberry,
just for people like them,
who thought this was going to be another boring poem.
And then I threw in a few words like, ah, **** doggy fashion,
finger up the **** you know, just to liven things up.
I told them what I really thought.
***** You! Especially seeing as how you think poetry’s
some wimpy, bleeding heart, limp **** stuff. Right?
So let's get right down and ***** here.
Which is much more interesting, eh?
And do you know what that says about you?
No? You bleeding, blinkered, blind-as-bats
broomstick-up-the-arsed, boring, bonehead ********
So don't call this poet piss-weak any more
or I'll hit you bang between the eyes
and up between your thighs.
I've got some things to say you'd better not ignore.
When it comes to words, I'm a gouger and a biter.
I'm a brawling, hard-as-nails, no-holds-barred street fighter.
I'm a writer.
Yeah, well, no surprise here. That made them quieter.
I'd shut them up. So what did that prove?
I'd just abused and confused them.
It made me think, well, why did I bother?
Poems are for believers and lovers, aren’t they?
They don't need me to fight for them in bars.
Poems just are.
Yes,and some of them might live
as long as the stars.
Mike T Minehan
Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 9:56 PM UTC
Here's to the...
Calorie counter
Long sleeve wearer
Excessive water drinker
Mirror believer
Professional over-thinker
Clever liar
Hair puller
Tongue biter
Thigh hater
Toilet bowl hugger
Magazine lover
Belly fat ****
At home cryer
Bedroom hider
Internet follower
Social stink bug
One sided therapist
Friend loser
Terrifying truth
Reality dodger
Space-brained
Nicknamed
Love rejector
Anxiety collector
Roller coaster rider
Personal antagonist
Perfection chaser
Hopeless dreamer
Nothing achiever
Unnoticed angel
Silent rainbow
Blood seeker
Soul-searching rebel
Wilting rose
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 9:44 PM UTC
A Reading from the Book of Puppets
**Her
Ventriloquist venom is never ending
engineering every word I should say**
Pity me as her words drip down from my mouth
Look to me... my paralyzing awkwardness admonishes all attempts at paucity
the ***** of vernacular continues
Manifest as a million babble born words
look at her and you’ll know why
***Would you sell your soul
if you spoke staccato and she smiled sadistic?***
And when she’s not there
***I lay prostrate on the railroad tracks
of her impending presence***
restrained
and retrained in the tailisman rope of your arrival
Look there now, a Tongue tied in knots, a mind firing (shots)
I am reduced
she is labyrinthine, in both style, and substance,
a sapiosexual maze, a soothing syrup mixed with
biter bile
why then does
nothing feel better than to see her smile
Why validate her pleasure
with my defeats?
Stuck and ****** into a singular melodious smile, the tune of which I can’t help but dance to
Why? Because at the end of the day
your eyes jut out
candelabras in defiance the night
notifying the world
of all you want but have yet to receive
a shallow existence .... a marked man... a million morbid motifs
made of mucus and stuttered star beams
You are that rare being, a glimpse at myself both wretched and alluring
A soul already tainted::: still I seek to embrue, the boredom
I am voiceless
in this decaffinated life
a tendril of hair
a woman domestic
a shadowland chaser
a light that’s poetic
The addictive tape worm of my soul
cdh
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 1:15 AM UTC
Betty Botter bravely brought her
best out putting pen to paper
built a book both brave and brittle
based it on the bitter battle
she had fought to beat the bottle
blossomed bigger, better, brighter
got the right to be a writer
Brought the book to Bertie Baxter
Baxter's Bookstore's biggest buyer
but the buyer was no biter
he thought vampire books were better
Tried to bate her and berate her
and belittle Betty Botter
bad benighted ******* bade her
"Be more like the bigger hitters!"
Better bet your bottom dollar
Betty Botter's ****** bitter.
Nov 30, 2010
Nov 30, 2010 at 9:56 AM UTC
At eighteen I'm the scent of second-day hair with perfume in it
It smells like your bed, and my sweat, and your exhales, and my Juicy Couture Viva la Juicy . How middle school of me.
I'm the cool touch of unwashed sheets on bare skin because the thermostat is fussy and I like sleeping naked
Just me, you, and this body that I don't like so much right now, but I'm eighteen, and I'm working on that.
I'm leggings while they still pass for pants, and the chewed up ends of pens in twenty different colors
Chinese homework has really turned me into such a biter, and I claim to love all those darling pens equally, but I show my blue pens the most love
I've teethed them half to death
I'm not even close to halfway to death assuming things go well for me. Oh, please let things go well for me.
At eighteen I'm the taste of chai and menthol because that's what's **** these days
I'm all about what's **** these days. Apathy, really bad electronic music, bare midriffs.
Funny since at eighteen I don't want anyone to touch me
This body is my project, please don’t even look at me like this, all insecure and exposed. Please just let me curl up, and please let me be by myself.
I wish my mother were here to bring me a popsicle. My throat hurts from all the screaming I do these days.
At eighteen I guess I'm still a little angsty, but I just want you to love me
God, do I want you to love me.
I want you to patronize me with the warmth of your arms and undress me with strong, resolved hands
Don't touch me, just look at me and tell me that I'm perfect and naive because at eighteen I'm still milky white, soft, and broken
I'm a sight for sore eyes, a new sight, your sight
For god's sake
Just love me.
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 11:39 PM UTC
Two-tongued and long,
Slander and smooth,
Naked and wicked.
Moves hissing,
Delivers kisses of death,
With tongue flicking.
A revered reptile.
Lives in dead piles of woods
In trees, and deserts,
The cold earth's hugger
Crawls like nature's gymnast.
Never has he ever laughed
Never made any friends
Never trusted by anybody.
Sadly he has a king,
Black like me
But has no soul
he lives in Africa
And in parts of Asia
He bites and hisses
But I don't bite
only on my food
He doesn't chew.
I do, and I swallow.
Him, his preys whole
I despise him.
I have many reasons
He social-engineered his ways
Around Adam"s woman
One day, he ****** eve up
With smooth lies
What this even implies,
Empirically, logically,
I really don't know,
All I know, I was told!
Hold on, I know not
From whence it came,
Maybe from the good book,
That's a Long and twisted story.
It says he used his tongue
Not on her as a woman,
But to break her home.
Adam was a **** fool,
To leave that girl home alone.
Unannounced, he came in kool
Using his double tongues.
Was she kinda blind?
He isn't even cute.
This story I can't refute
Yet millions have concurred
I'm not a friend.
Not of the story.
Of him, the notorious,
The venomous
The infamous heel biter
Once again, I hate him
Never was a friend
Never will be,
Because of that poor woman.
He's the First home breaker,
Frickin' liar
Cursed by God
His head to be severed
Using a sword,
A stone or stick,
Day or night,
Right or wrong,
Because of poor little eve
Adam's kids will strike
At his tiny little head.
Death to the serpent!
Eternal condemnation
Even if he repents,
Strike his elongated body
With a double-edged cutlass.
Don't you ever feel sorry
For this sorry ***
Chinese add him cooked
segments by segments to curry.
He has no class
He Kills at will.
I hate him very much
And I do have my reasons.
He's the infamous snake
The symbol of evil
Father of confusion
With evil intention
Perpetual guide
To eternal hell
From the garden of Eden
Who gave Eve a heartbreak.
He's toxic and venomous.
©IvanBrooksPoetry
29/8/2018
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 3:25 AM UTC
I’ve drank ***** that tasted
better
than your biter heart
and smoked cigarettes that
smelled sweeter
than your gut wrenching pride,
glided razors across my body
that are softer than your
words
and swallowed pills that numb
me
more than this heartbreak.
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 4:56 PM UTC
slaves never owned the land nor themselves and its hard to imagin if we were free in every possible way.let me explain,master gave us a piece of land seeds and let us have credit at the corner store where our ious were accepted plus he owned the shanty that we used to fight off the wind rain snow such as it was.lest I forget to make it known master also took most of the crops when they came in which left only enough for our family to live on until the next crops came up. this happened year after year until the ious were taler than the trees that once hung us and let dangling like biter fruit thrown away with blood on the leaves running down to the roots.
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 8:07 PM UTC
Like a ***** looking for a fix, the unconscious man sticks his nose where it doesn't belong, looking for energetic salvation but he's going about it all wrong.
You are not the supplier, not even number 2, just a crack fiend for vibes, with your little ***** spoon.
Forever a user and always an abuser, your rotting discoteque of flesh bleeds at the sight of salvation, all the kids dressed up in love are aware of your eternal damnation.
It won't be until you sweat, puke and die a thousand deaths that you are set free, forever an energy vampire until you breathe, breathe, breathe.
(alt.1 where he can't afford rent)
Feb 2, 2013
Feb 2, 2013 at 7:46 PM UTC
*As photographers we see the world differently
We look around and see a beautiful picture
As a “regular” person we see drudging task of life
Photographers see a glistening meadow full of white
“Regular” people see a biter cold with biting wind
Photographers see the world through lenses that act as eyes
“Regular” people think all philosophically and scientifically
Photographers think what would look best
A black and white photograph
Or
A sketch that looks like a picture
Photographers are artist and nothing less
So don’t mistake them for “regular” people*
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 2:22 PM UTC
Are you clean?
I mean,
do you shave?
Please say
you don't consider
me too brave,
but is your ***** hair
trimmed
into the ace of spades?
Are you hygenic?
or
would I need to see
a clinic
in the morning?
Are you boring?
Do you have a habit
of snoring?
Are you allergic to chlorine?
If not,
let's take a skinny dip
Oh, and do you like
it
with chains and whips?
Are you a biter or
a leg-clencher?
Do you moan or do you whimper?
Have you been
with more losers or winners?
Which are you more afraid of
heights or snakes?
Which do you ride more on
bikes or lakes?
Which do you soar more on
blunts or planes?
Also, is anyone in your family criminally insane?
Please
tell me now if
you want me
to stop this
or
instead let me ask you
is it nice
when you're *******
Tell me now and tell me this:
what makes you frustrated
and
what gets you ******
Tell me also
what you hope for
and all that you hold dear
so that both of us can spare
each other
a tumultuous year.
Oct 16, 2011
Oct 16, 2011 at 7:03 AM UTC
Obiter Dictum,
swollen backlash in pursuit of a belt,
momma I swear I'll never sag my pants again.
Victim of a victor system I refuse to be a victim,
I'm on the guess list of an addict refusing treatment,
allow me to use a well spoken perspective,
Death, inspire your deadliest of boom foreal weapons,
a new clear-er suggestion,
seek and destroy tested,
a radiant child radiating at his best but at best still they detest,
chop and ***** your loose or luke troop,
holy war is clocked at 12 past noon,
O biter christian,
oh lord forgive you,
seventy seven times seven,
this clearly says not for human consumption or misuse,
a door with no hinge,
a room without a view,
introducing bedlam,
hell is just a match made in heaven,
how many more words do I have to use to prove to you bloated youth,
tactically destroy any skyscraper presented over you, fa5v_O, for the truth.
Sep 17, 2012
Sep 17, 2012 at 7:09 PM UTC
My lover of the night she was a biter,
what can I say I liked that way she
****** on parts other than my neck.
But I threw caution to the wind, I had
a cold, eating breaded mushrooms.
She was coming around as night fell.
Mouthwash not wanting my breath
to smell like the undead on her lips,
she is eternally flawless in moonlight.
I guide her downward towards my
stake, she can bite off more than she
chews, and then some more.
I tell her to take it in taking it all, but
then a scream as I expelled my life blood
as my fanged beauty turns to dust.
I wonder what happened no light or
garlic? then I read the empty wrapper
garlic mushrooms, this really *****
Apr 2, 2016
Apr 2, 2016 at 10:37 AM UTC
I’ve drank ***** that tasted
better
than your biter heart
and smoked cigarettes that
smelled sweeter
than your gut wrenching pride,
glided razors across my body
that are softer than your
words
and swallowed pills that numb
me
more than this heartbreak.
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 4:16 PM UTC
Dandelion spirit, and a thorny rose fighter.
You can't go carelessly picking up flowers without expecting one to be a biter.
For every petal that wilts, you'll get a sting.
Prickly thorns clinging to every single thing.
Nature can be soft and sweet, but in every beautiful landscape there is a nearby guarding beast.
You cannot deceive flowers, for you are already deceived.
The petals sheild a warrior, and their sword is hungry to feed.
May 11, 2017
May 11, 2017 at 5:02 PM UTC
i used to taste like finger nails,
ragged stumps refreshing
against my lips, like a sip
slaking thirst.
i proved my jaws powerful enemies
and de-clawed myself
to languish in
the burn of the quick.
when blood pumped to the furthest
reaches of my body,
my torn nails throbbed to the beat,
craving kisses.
my teeth were soft and
so was everything about me.
but strong enough
to be compared to steel.
i was powerful
when i made myself weak
because the universe
is hardly ever subtle.
now i taste like cigarettes,
the cheapest mint, and medicine
but my keys can open
thicker skins.
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 7:53 AM UTC
March has always been my bane
Tastes like steel and skin
The skies are just as cold
as the knife
twisting in my sin
I caught ahold of morning's sleet
You caught cold and died
Looking into the coffin's ward
You crossed
that great devide
The bottom of the red clay pit
gathered tears and falling rain
I never knew you long enough
to be dealt with so much pain
Bitter bites the chill when the ides of March arrive
Life felt cheap and nasty
under ***** dishwater skies
I kept hearing Eleanor Rigby
ricocheting off the wall
I just want to paint it black for those who had to run before they learned to crawl
No one was saved that day
No ! There was no one there at all
The old black men in yellow coats stood waiting for the call
I stood not far away
beneath the leafless tree
Watching the men with shovels in hand
Bury the last stop for memories
I found myself a muttering
Tinged and biter as the cold
It's good you died so young
before you died so old
Nov 11, 2018
Nov 11, 2018 at 2:52 AM UTC
do you fear fear
a nail biter? a bedwetter?
or are there other compulsions
you cling to
step out, from the stale shade of the dark
that consumed you
no longer does it
feel the warmth that the sun casts down
sometimes, it's all one can do to beat the blues
this road of life is rocky
and it sees us all stumble
you chart your course
stick to it
as a blade meeting grindstone
water's introduction to limestone
Feb 22, 2021
Feb 22, 2021 at 12:09 PM UTC
warm
spring day stroll
next to those
nearly naked trees
their tiny leaf buds
that flanks both
the creamy
cloud swirled
dreamy light blue sky
and the pebble strewn dirt
path
curving through
the local cemetery
not far from the railroad tracks
near the creek
with the squeaky metal bridge
my neighbor's leashed
fierce little ankle biter
marks his spots
between
the plots
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 11:38 PM UTC
Melancholia
is not mine
but a fruit that I chew upon
slowly at first
nippling the bud at the tip
******* the juice from the tip
baby,
just
a little bite
creating trenches
in skin, tiny crooked marks,
the footprints of the biter,
the mark of treasure hidden.
And you look so tangerine sour,
baby, doesn't matter
it's a dream of my own
mine only
and i'll watch as
salvia lingers off your skin
slathering upon the constellations on that that is lanky and pure
and the hairy forestation of your past discretions
stretching wide from fingertip to fingertop
see x marks the spot
that bitemark there--
is the foible my strength.
bootlegged and stolen through
a many tear ago.
just hoping to find
moon craters and lagan lollies
once again.
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 7:13 AM UTC
It’s a constant knot in my gut
And lump in my throat
,
I’m always stuck between the feeling
Of either bursting into tears or throwing up
.
And my chest feels like it’s either caving in
Or being torn apart
And I worry about the permanent damage
Left behind by the war between my head
And my heart.
I keep my hands balled into fists to keep anyone from seeing
My dull jagged nails and torn cuticles that never stop bleeding
Due to the hours I spend tearing at my skin.
Maybe I’ll rip enough away to let some of the sickness spill out
And the sunlight spill in.
The doctors called me a wolf biter, due the way that I chew and I tear
At the flesh that surrounds each of my fingernails.
The same way a wolf gnaws on the flesh of its prey
Using its nails and its teeth to shred the outer shell away.
I back myself into a corner and paralyze me with fear
Then turn around and destroy the body keeping me here.
Maybe soon I'll peel back all my skin
And make myself disappear.
A wolf biter, because I allow myself to simultaneously become
Both the hunted, running scared, and the hunter out for blood.
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 12:24 AM UTC