"blighting" poems
They huddle in the cold damp darkness
grateful for the sheltering sandstone
shuddering at each echoing blast
a remorseless dull ache
like their meagre rations
eyelids shutting wrinkling between attacks
seeking peace and inner sleepless solace.
'Them docks is taking a pasting.'
'Me Dad works there.'
Another attack, tunnels rumble
evoking century old echoes
of rusty trundling drum-line wagons
bearing sandstone blocks to build the docks
now being blitzed blighting the night sky.
The morning brings a dusty disquiet.
Merseyside emerges curses soldiers on.
Nov 1, 2015
Nov 1, 2015 at 10:42 AM UTC
In the dunes, the dust raises a dirge
echoing in the nooks of Qardu:
prophet of the pasts, a ghoul
who led an arc on to the mountain
singed by the daystar where now,
men cut their hands to quench infant-thirsts.
And outraged women wail into the nights.
All for this? All for this? The anguished
song in the valley in an archaic tongue
that the Spirit stands surveying
that called out a fire off a bush, leading
a nation out of wilderness. Now, who
delight in murdering children.
The emperor of the world, is busy playing ball
offering the slaughtered heads to Quetzalcoatl,
and a beating heart plucked out
of a terrified infidel does not move him
as much as the stench of oil. Black
is the song of despair whispering in the smoke
blighting the reign of K'inich Ajaw,
all for this, Marya, all for this?
And the chief of Angles is dismayed, the
spoils of crusades blow back as young men
disappear from your homes, emerging
as butchers in black baying for slaughter,
journeying to the worlds end with
Gilgamesh along the Tigris.
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 5:51 PM UTC
I don't want to
forget any fragment
of your memory
Even when
I don't love you anymore.
I want it to stay as
A wish,
I wanted to be my destiny.
A happiness,
Once I Cherished.
A Pain,
That I overcome,
A path of blighting,
I should never walk in.
Jul 19, 2022
Jul 19, 2022 at 6:27 AM UTC
Immortal.
Oh, yes, he is immortal.
Immortal in his youthfulness indeed!
He shalt age and grow but never change;
he shalt wane and wither just in pain!
Just like a stubborn day rainfall-
ah! which remains a thick stifling veil
to our young sky, and its starlights-
like a loyal fence and its old window;
sitting and hoping that endings shalt never show
Yes, he shalt but still look the same tomorrow.
Ah! His eyes but a way down to my soul;
which I find lone but beguiling!
Pangs of endurance and blighting pain-
all vanish soon as I catch the sight of 'im again!
Oh! And with an indolent smile so comely;
he shalt answer up all my queries vividly!
Brilliance and height but with his tones;
but of a wit firm as an obedient stone-
he washes me of all my doubts,
fears, and worries of my small thoughts.
Amidst the decaying weary roses,
and those pallid old-time posters
he is but my friend, so jolly and bright like me.
He shalt stand there with shy feelings
next to the bustling stairs in the mornings.
And out doth I venture on errands-
so late that I need nearly run!
Greeting me there he smiles again-
and all day shalt his picture remain!
O, how I adore his cherry-like lips-
full of secrets, brave rays, and twists!
He is my immortal sun and star-
the flow that fills, and rises my heart.
He is my undying day and night-
to my thunder, he's brown starlight!
Ah! He is corrupting me again with love-
but in his eyes doth I find clarity!
Clarity, my dear, a bright tenderness and promise
that no other lover can surmise.
Oh, my whole sweetness-canst thou hear me
scream and pray for thee?
Ah, how that bunch of wordless gazes
brimming with startling eyelashes-
when thou peered into my moonless sun;
thrilled through me and proved us one.
And ah! My young sailor, be but my dawn to me-
when nights are lies and dusks are unfree.
Shield me on gray mountaintops-
hold my hand as I stroll amongst the shops.
Heap on me some flowers!
How betwixt those icy morning showers-
shalt thou retreat to my bower.
With a ring of blissful laughter-
and the joy of a new prudent lover;
shalt we entwine just together
and celebrate our glad encounter!
Meanwhile with conscience thy entreat-
that the vow of union I repeat-
and bringst thy heart which hast made me blind-
and knit thy pure love into mine.
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 5:15 PM UTC
You consumed me in your embrace
walls white egg shell
named your price
I stagger to the edge
I heard heart beat
calamity, industrial burst!
Acrid juice, your smile
foul beast, shameful lust;
an unjust feast...
you moaned your piece.
Lips bleed lies,
run down broken face...
those god ****** eyes,
black bags blighting the sky.
Thrashing, Slashing
memories...
giddy laughter,
pure evil,
freedom to smile perfectly,
crunchy shells under foot.
Mar 10, 2011
Mar 10, 2011 at 12:14 PM UTC
Dormant aspirations lie in winter's fallow ground
Burgeoning freedom furrowed in shallow soil; sovereign elements do pound
Infertile seeds in barren hearths tightly wound
A cold wind from on high scourges each, desolate mound
A dreary drizzle from hovering, satin crowns seeps deep; hopes are drowned
Nutrients for spawning growth are leached; blighting tentacles surround
Ambition suppressed, inactive period of malaise doth abound
In due season, warming rays of light shine thawing frozen hearts
Incubating innate desire to fulfill individual destinies, from chained depth departs
In destitute minds, a burgeoning sprout of liberty starts
Branching forth into fertile souls, intestinal fiber imparts
Taking root, it spreads deep, penetrating shielded ramparts
A fragile frond from each wavering limb darts
Triumphing in tyrannous environment, a fruitful future charts
Oct 7, 2011
Oct 7, 2011 at 6:33 AM UTC
Thou art th' love, that danceth through my veins
Thou art th' charm, that befriendeth my dreams
Thou art th' heart, that consoleth my pains-
'midst those torrents of greedy stains
and those wakeful, shattering rains.
Thou art th' walls, that bear my soul
The wondrous cells-within my arms, legs, and lungs.
Thou art th' bushes of my nature;
thy redness dark, but plain and pure!
Thou art th' gusts to my river;
that layeth awake in its daydreaming.
Thou releaseth it from its wan longing!
By thy fast speed, like a bird's wing!
Thou blusheth my cheeks and giveth me warmth;
but thou turneth mad at every harm!
Yet as I healeth thy bruise is gone;
thou greeteth my clouds, and praiseth my sun.
Thou art th' gold sands, to my pearls-
which free 'em from any hassles!
Thou bringst me strength in my rambles-
in my green lake, thou'rt brown ripples!
Thou remindeth me in solemn peace-
that lips areth for a sincere kiss!
Thou blest my life and happiness-
thou feedeth friendship and forgiveness!
Thou burst violent at my temper-
and sink my foul into disgrace!
In thy mind love is sweet laughter-
with no floods of cry or blighting haze.
Thou cheereth my joy and lifteth it up,
thou keepeth flowing and never stopeth!
Thou relieveth me on thy blessed shore-and aye!
Thou endeth my drought like no-'ne before.
Feb 6, 2013
Feb 6, 2013 at 7:32 PM UTC
Writing is not only an inspection of the world, it is the inspection of the self-contained world. The self realizing it's own purposelessness, and the seeming fruitlessness of the fight against the battering ram of its conclusions; so the self fights for freedom against this self-oppression, fights for a galvanizing truth with its self-contained ball of fire that burns weakly inside of it as the world outside goes bumping in the night blindly. Writing forces you more inward than outward. It is the inner world that re-lights the outer world; against all the blighting anvils in this tiny green universe.
Feb 28, 2012
Feb 28, 2012 at 10:12 PM UTC
if an incident is happening somewhere
you can be assured that the CIA are there
they have an extensive network all over the planet
embedding themselves in sands and in granite
a news item we'll hear sometime to-day
telling of violence and all sorts of divisive play
we'll be disturbed and so we should be
the CIA working unchecked and ever so free
read the literature that is online for sighting
and you'll discover that the CIA organization is somewhat blighting
the planets population should be fully aware
that operatives from the CIA are lurking everywhere
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 1:59 AM UTC
there are beasts inside me
with yellowed claws
and gaping, black pits
for mouths
who grin with sickly teeth
that are dripping
with the blood of
my past selves.
selves that they have carved
into shreds and chunks
until all that was left were black stumps,
ashes, and fragile bones
left to rot,
to poison the remaining
pure
pieces that remain.
and in the dark
i can feel them.
i can taste
the venom
pulsing through my translucent veins
as it slides through my system
effortlessly blighting my mind,
soul, and body
with twisted, dark thoughts
with loathing, weariness,
and with concepts that are rooted in truth.
they remind me that i have no place here,
that i do not deserve to waste
the precious oxygen
required to keep me alive,
nor am i worth contributing to
the depletion of natural resources
that will someday
run out.
a voice that once whispered seductively
from the outskirts of my dark,
tortured brain,
and trained me on ways to rip myself from life
with only a bottle of pills
or a blade,
now screams at me.
costantly reminding me that i am not good
enough
or that there is
nowhere
for me;
no matter how far i run,
my ghosts will follow.
as these ghosts are not the people
or this town
or even corpses that rot,
confined underground.
my ghosts are all the same,
and they are all
me.
i am the demon,
the murderer,
the ruination of my past,
my present
and, eventually,
my future.
i am the monster in the closet
beating against the doors
and pleading to be set free.
i am the behemoth who is suffocating,
forced to breathe in my own virulent air
and i am the demon
that i have battled,
the demon i have conquered
over and over again
if only for the time being.
the black war that
rages
inside of my mind
is the monster's fault
and by extension,
this battle -
all of these battles -
can only be solved by myself
and perhaps,
if i were a hero
i could win.
but i am just a mortal,
straining under the weight
of one fraction of
the world
and no mere mortal
has ever been
their own hero;
no mere mortal
will ever win
against
their shadow twin.
Oct 5, 2013
Oct 5, 2013 at 4:07 PM UTC
A mocking, a knocking, a rock at the sill
I untilled out the fill like mill undistilled
A swoon not too soon- at the moon's right prevail
A pail-friend, a trail end, and a heartfull of ale
A whiting, a blighting, a light-hollow place
Undisgraced I defaced the lying lier's place
A sweat-vine, a death mine, a whetted time, my beau!
In the shallow grave's hallowing, comforting bow
A mocking, a knocking, a rose on the sill
I lay his arm over me an pray I fall ill
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 8:37 PM UTC
The bell sounds for the loss of a soldier
killed in a boundless war!
One of numerous soul destroying conflicts
blighting a world of no peace!
Leaving a trail of eternal lonely despair
with only the emptiness there.
How can one imagine the inwardness of loss
families feel for their kin.
A son a daughter or grandchild in the war
the cycle rages on!
Soldiers dying in battles has always been
from a ball of fire to plains of green.
The forces of the crown and those for a cause
have fought to the end.
Pointless waste of life so much left behind
regret and memories instilled.
Into the fabric of our very own existence
the self destructive persistence!
The bell tolled for another lost soldier!
The Foureyed Poet.
Dec 8, 2011
Dec 8, 2011 at 10:27 PM UTC
I sit alone: the house is empty.
The drone of the radio
Sits in my ears. Solace.
Not alone, just lonely.
The cold blazes.
At last the sun will rise.
Morning has broken;
It is a day of rest
For some, but for me:
A day of solitary.
The day blares on,
Traffic allures the weary mind.
Am I busy?
Maybe one day…
The window is my friend;
My friend is blighting bliss.
Nov 24, 2018
Nov 24, 2018 at 5:41 PM UTC
It's not that I'm silent I'm, rather,
lost for words
Because this series of events are the worst I've heard,
In a minute.
this is more than simply "under the weather" because this is a divine tragedy.
A story ,of the battles, of vassals, retainers and traitors;
heavens tribulations and its resounding failures.
Shocked; What took days, now hours.
The pettiest wrath is one born from wanting, fraudulent men exhibiting the worst of fruedian plans
and add a Hate:
born from nations divided, in ways outsiders decided: for the pay;
to make use of the weak till this day,
I can't comprehend this.
It's like the collective consciousness has taken cyanid the: matricide, fratricide, parricide and pedicide; is this an attempt of suicide?
Can't imagine terras eyes, Being terrorized by the homies side
blighting it's own kin, queens and this King's pride.
Is this blaze worth it's years to come when you burn away the blood that flows through us all and purge the graces we won,blessed with a unity, cursed by sub division, the delusions they built dictate how we liv'in.
I can't lie, at times like these I can only try an fly
forced to contemplate the irreconcilable and the priceless how can I evaluate the hate when I know it's love that elevates, so...
how can I;
I'm on the hated and hatful side, oh my what a time, what a time, to be alive.
Sep 4, 2019
Sep 4, 2019 at 10:15 PM UTC
the search has earnestly begun
to find an effective treatment
that'll stymie the blighting torment
scientists are on a questing run
in pursuing a vaccine's whack
which shall cease the viral attack
our globe received a hard stun
as its contagion did spread far
striking many countries with a jar
the sooner the trialing is spun
its success shall uplift us all
from a world laden by a pall
future days will be lit in sun
on testing labs scotching the bug
that has been relentless of slug
the search has earnestly begun
scientists are on a questing run
our globe received a hard stun
the sooner the trialing is spun
future days will be lit in sun
Apr 12, 2020
Apr 12, 2020 at 9:07 AM UTC
There are no more flowers
To find in the grass and offer up
To you,
As if this land
Is already preparing for you to leave it,
Blighting any lingering blossoms
With lacy frost.
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 10:23 AM UTC
You thought I was your dog,
bound by a leash, but even
though it was tight, I knew,
that time is an eventual release.
Pulling on me, etching of
fingerprints collect on a throat,
A painting of painful worded hued
like the leash was cutting deeper.
But even though I never bit back,
I was blighting that which kept us close.
Every time you pulled that leash,
always a moment further away released.
Your love wasn't what it pertained to be,
I was leached from our first kiss.
But now I bark louder as our vows are
scratched out as I walk out unleashed.
I wear the scars of your keeping,
but I don't hide them, I wear them
in pride of never been restrained by
another's need to control my life again
Mar 23, 2018
Mar 23, 2018 at 9:51 AM UTC
The first pit is of meaningless
Corridors of faithlessness
Through lonely caverns wandering
A labyrinth of pondering
Then desire gathers squalls
Through restless halls and chamber walls
A tempest surge of carnal lust
Eroding true love's kiss to dust
I hunger for her poison bite
Insatiable my appetite
My penance now an icy rain
Frost-blighting teeth consume my pain
So I seek shelter from the cold
In hollow warmth of things I hold
Possessed by tangibility
Expended in a gilded sea
Poured as rivers fraught with anger
Selfish souls in warring clangor
Smote hath I, the ego lord
Now my wrath confronts the horde
As fires still rage disbelief
For lies that fuel my hellish grief
Let flames of truth incinerate
This cross of nails that seals my fate
An image dripping violent red
From severed head and children dead
So Christ's blood my sword will taste
Just one more body left disgraced
By holy water snake oils
Corrupted wretches reaping spoils
Countless lives they have destroyed
Such excess sin must share the void
But not with I, the pulse of Death
No treacheries could freeze my breath
Past Satan's frozen form descends
My consciousness to far worse ends
A tenth circle e'er to enclose
My wilting rose in starlit glows
No depths Dante would dare to go
Existence is my inferno
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 10:43 PM UTC