"bloodhounds" poems
Runaways hiding in the abandoned warehouse,
Teenagers stolen, unwitting spouse,
Gangs and violence all around,
People disappearing without a sound,
Blood and drugs and stolen girlfriends,
Turf wars and kidknappings, is there no end?,
People vanish and are never found,
People hunt them down, like bloodhounds,
A world with knives at every turn,
People who live to watch things burn,
They never think about the consequences of their actions,
Just watch the news for the family's reactions,
Shoot old friends in the head because of a debt,
Slit a strangers throat because you don't like their pet,
Lock ememies in your bathroom; release them for money,
Beat them inch away from death; 'till they're crying for their mummy,
Tie a stranger to a raft and watch them drift out to sea,
When are these people going to wake up and see,
It's time gang members had an epiphany,
You can't lock people up and cover them in wee,
Karma says that bad things happen to bad people like them,
Every mean thing they've done, to them we will condemn,
Relentless bullying towards your colleagues and your peers,
You've had your brutal fun; it's the Day of the Disappeared.
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 7:36 AM UTC
I look at those across from me - searching distant seas.
I guess what they say is true. When a harmful breeze
blows
we will all unite.
But yet when peace does come we search for a fight.
I know though that - no matter how good - corruption
will take root. Until destruction
turns good will into dust and hope into decay
And as we search these twisting allays
for answers
all we can say is pray....
but we will divide
because we all are fearful
and we will be cheerful
when the culprits are found
searching with trained bloodhounds
when it comes to hope
we'll pray with all our might
for their strength, families and fight
we will love for a moment each other
hand in hand with our brothers
Pray for Paris
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 11:30 AM UTC
The faint smell of the watery sugar
is barely noticed. The starfruit's fragrance
swept away into faint nothingness
at the hands of the tropical winds of Hawaii.
Hanging onto the tree, the fruit once sour and bitter
undergoes a seemingly emotional transformation.
The sun's sweet-tempered fingers are secretly and appealingly molding it.
It learns to be sweet instead of sour,
our taste buds tingling with the power to taste,
but being held closely like bloodhounds on a leash.
It brings an exotic originality to the table.
The Vietnamese fable, blah-blah-bitty-blah its unknown.
It's skin kissed by golden rays,
and the once green fades
into a sweet banana yellow.
on the inside, it still knows its roots,
it still knows the sliminess of negativity,
and on the inside it holds tan pellets shaped just like tear drops,
embraced within its boogers of its old bitter soul.
Droplets of water drip-drop down
off the waxy fruit, and it lays silently on a freckled
black marble counter. Sweating sickeningly after a cold shower,
its cool glistening skin signals its execution.
Soon enough the executioner arrives,
the sharp shining blade blinding
with bright lines of reflected light.
No, it wasn't nearly as crisp and sugary as an apple,
nor was it even as sweet and citrusy as an orange,
and yet, it was a little bit of both.
The little stars stuck somewhere in-between,
alone in the galaxy of oranges and apples.
Sep 12, 2012
Sep 12, 2012 at 2:58 AM UTC
Men are mad dogs,
women, finessed felines
we'd no sooner claw
your eyes out
than admit you're right,
we'll undoubtedly,
without hesitation - -
use our feminine wiles,
to get our own way,
and you bloodhounds
best get used to it
or no ***** for you
tonight, or any given day
We've got the upper paw...MEow
And, if you're a bird dog
well, that's a whole other story,
no telling what could happen
=^;^=
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 11:05 AM UTC
Bedlams rest within
these indigo walls;
the new age of senses
like bloodhounds, we scratch
and sniff the streets
for freedom;ambitious
we reach; we attempt
to clasp this distinguished
portrait as an escape route,
but we are met with misfortune
a ghost has traveled these woods
he has; his presence can be tasted
lurking within the breeze
the new age of senses unfolds
an awakening to behold
© 2012 (All rights reserved)
Mar 5, 2012
Mar 5, 2012 at 5:43 PM UTC
Majestic old moss covered lion
standing guard over the locus of a pagan soul
and hedonistic bloodhounds ready to pounce
their muscles stretched in anticipation of feasting
An ancient timekeeper drips eternity in pearly drops
over and above the city of omniscience…
chalky faces embedded in the century old walls
I wonder about their cloaked, clandestine lives
The lady in white lost in peaceful contemplation
demure head ensconced within her flowery crown
presiding goddess over a temple of busy-ness
devotees scurrying beneath her perennial sight
- Vijayalakshmi Harish
20/08/06
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
Aug 14, 2012
Aug 14, 2012 at 5:29 AM UTC
Advisers, confidants, close friends,
hear my beckoning.
So betrothed to the game i'm wondering
if you ears are turned red
from my constant berating of facts and formula
from my phone, from my bed.
From a far away place, listing all the times I've spit last week
they're all-seeing bloodhounds
trapping me in beloved rat race
Feb 6, 2019
Feb 6, 2019 at 5:20 PM UTC
My knees always ache when it rains. It feels like thunderstorms down there.
Imbriferous skies quake and pour. In rows of misery below, black umbrellas and grim faces held in raincoat hoods move up and down the hill slopes. Impluvious bodies move as a current – up and then down, up and then down – carving new streams of black into the long grass.
Officers clothed in raincoats and trash bags tug at the leashes of baying bloodhounds, slipping in the mud.
I sit in the spindrift – the icy pinprick of the heavy rain turning my face raw. Splashes of mud freckle my pink cheeks. The rain flogs every black umbrella to a monotonous rhythm. Thunder rolls like a rock avalanche into a mountain creek. Corn stalks and men alike are bent beneath sheets of rain. Flashes of light across the sky smell like Sulphur. The earth a deafening drone, continuous, never-ending, and in that drone swept the black umbrellas and raincoats, one by one, two by two, shifting, streaming, flowing stern-faced and wretched. From the top of the hills they pour, pooling and spreading out into the fields like a black river.
A river of desperate life, searching for the dead.
Aug 19, 2015
Aug 19, 2015 at 3:30 AM UTC
For God So Loved the World
that He gave his one and only begotten son
For God so loved the World
that He saw our sins and didn’t call it “done”
For God so loved the world
that He sent a lamb to be grown for slaughter
For God so loved the world
and we chose to hate us… harder and harder
The Heaven rejoices, the night’s stars delight
The night runs gleefully in a bright satin light
The people around me, scurry with the customs.
The people around me, quaff honey and merry
The people around me, buried in delicatessens
The world reminiscing in carols with cake ‘n wine
But remember Christmas, not for its colour and pop
‘Tis the dawn of our deliverance by Love from atop
For God So Loved the World
that He gave his one and only begotten son
For God so loved the World,
that He paid a price in blood for us, bloodhounds
For God so loved the World,
and we chose to gracelessly trample our brothers
For God so loved the World.
and we chose to hate our kin, harder and harder.
Harder and harder.
Dec 24, 2020
Dec 24, 2020 at 2:45 PM UTC
I got three.
Degrees.
One shy of a phd.
And I'm dusting shelves
At Walgreens.
Too young for ss;
Too old for bs.
And hr.
I fell in the black hole
A million times two.
Maybe the third
Million's the charm?
Ima keep clicking,
*** the fed got bloodhounds
On my cell.
Chasing that 55k
I can't pay.
Or won't...
In solidarity with
The underemployed...
Dusting shelves
At a Walgreens near you.
~ P
(#HRblues)
4/10/2014
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 1:49 AM UTC
So Tired in this world,
Full of fire,
Ready to burn down.
The flames die out,
But that was just the first round.
The evil,
The darkness,
The bloodhounds.
They howl in the night,
Such horrible sounds.
They ignite fear in the heart of children,
The devious clowns.
They'll set fire to your home,
And burn the whole town.
But at the end of it all,
I'll say "Who's Laughing Now?"
Dec 22, 2021
Dec 22, 2021 at 9:58 AM UTC
Under your door
While you crept
Toward the edge
Of consciousness
I hand delivered a message
Finely creased
Highest quality pulp
Atop which I wrote
"I love you."
I never signed it
It fact
It took me ten years
To climb the stairs
I hope it finds you grumpy
As you always are
When the sun is breaching
Our horizon
And you think
"what is this
Wonderful paper on my
GO AWAY mat?"
Coffee in hand
You unfold oragami love
Smile
Go back to bed
You'll find me though
Fingerprints
Bloodhounds
Private ****
Only to reply
With a knife
to my bare chest
"I hate your guts."
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 1:11 AM UTC
Blood rushing like wild crazed dogs
to the surface of my skin.
Placing a crimson attitude onto my face,
and a trembling hurricane to my voice.
The oxygen runs thin from my atmosphere,
is this real, or is this outer space?
Canines of the blackest exposure make their way
from my head, down my spine, through my extremities, to my feet.
Crushing eyes from around push me outwards
until I can no longer see what I'm running from.
Screeching, mocking barks echo from within
as prey is made of my insides.
Beneath the supernovas of happiness past
alone I await for the chimes of twelve.
I feel the hounds push against my skin once more,
they have not been fed for a while now.
The time has arrived and yet my sanity still has not;
shadows surround me and make it hard to breathe.
Laughter of hyenas, cries of bloodhounds, howls of wolves,
all disturb what is left of me right to the core.
Colourblind, yet with an eyesight set on the brightest hue of fire,
mongrels of most devilish influence impatiently scratch and claw.
Opening their kennels they climb over each other in a frenzy
down the road of scarlet.
Red sky at night, shepherd's delight? Well then, red sky in the morning
is a sign that the herding dogs from Hell shall give no warning.
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 9:37 AM UTC
Wet slush on serrated mountain crest
glimmers like a pearlescent gemstone
untouched by even the brave ones-
sword-wavers, chest-beaters, ski-maniacs,
gemhounds and bloodhounds
and even father sun
has stayed his hand
to drag a finger through that heavenly
mirror-tile's topcoat
for its unmarked face, streakless
and unpocked by avalanche
reveals no disturbance.
They say these are the steepest mountains on earth,
and it would be hard to disagree while looking at them
their upper edge against the equally spotless sky
is a perfect, continuous line
and the slopes, appearing near-vertical
create the illusion
that this miles-long ridge could split hairs like a hand-sharpened razor-
like a colossal, snowy
bowie knife.
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 4:05 PM UTC
Texarkana
Then the gun men come and then
The one in blonde fox
Clutching the Book of Ruin
In his clean white hands
From the barn I could see the star
Of his horse galloped toward us
In the, there was nothing
We could do
Just watch as an ocean of bloodhounds
Flood down the side of the mountain
Cynthia Cruz ---
The call of deaths retreat,
Blanketed in a vast ocean abound,
Calling you closer day by day,
Like snails moving across planes slowly,
Drift my dear love into the mysterious
Presence of pure peace and devotion
Again to sunset to sunder again
KRD--
May 2, 2015
May 2, 2015 at 10:02 PM UTC
When the recusants stand before the porcine boor in fetters ...
As the Fifth Estate is flat lining around us , the Constitution
twisted till it finally shatters ..
The Military in pursuit of its own , bestowal of civil liberties shot
full of machine gun rounds ...
Bloodhounds bay with the scent of dissidents , storm sewers turn into
raging red rivers ...
When martial law pulls the rug from beneath our feet ....
When broken glass covers every downtown street ....
I will pray for something to take you down !
I will long for someone to take you out !
Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 9:19 PM UTC
*A quarter till two , a distant siren wails ,
up from the bushes a peeping tom bails
A hushed night interrupted -
by a lone owl ,
Tonight a thief is on the prowl
Silence suddenly crushed by screaming air brakes ,
the thunder hides the sound of a rock through a
window pane , the cries of the homes occupants
are in vain , the Southern railway's aided and abetted burglary once again
Bloodhounds bray till morning light ,
not a trail in sight ,
The quarry has disappeared once again ,
rode the two a.m. to Montgomery like the
howling wind* ...
Mar 25, 2017
Mar 25, 2017 at 8:55 PM UTC
I look for you in the bustle of changing seasons--
the promise of eternal life is stashed
in evergreen front-door wreaths,
but outside dims quiet. The winds,
without leaves to stand in their way,
whip and slap winter chill straight to my bones.
old piano melodies whisper the familiar
beat of tradition. Memories and expectations
of what should be the same, and what
should always be, drive my search
for you this season. Choppers on mute
race packs of starving bloodhounds
with their mouths sewn shut.
I am determined to find you.
To sneak up behind you in white dusk
and with blindfolds for hands,
and eyes tattooed red, I'll growl,
Surprise. Merry Christmas.
Dec 4, 2016
Dec 4, 2016 at 5:17 PM UTC
*Dreaming in Black
Tonight I am am dreaming
But it's not a dream it's real.
I am black in America.
I drink wine in dark places
I kiss a black woman.
Hard on her lips
I want to get it on with her.
Even though she looks like
Every woman I have ever had.
I don't have time to spare.
I am black in America.
Death hides behind every door.
The color gunmetal blue
Explodes like fire.
This minute may be my last.
I know I am hunted
Black and hunted.
In the inner city schoolroom.
Baby black faces
look into my eyes.
They ask about
rough hewn slave boats.
Of peaceful villages
by the sea in the African sun.
Of freedom and equal rights.
Of black heroes.
I try to keep them alive
To pass on in future folklaw.
But I know they are unsure
If they exist in this moment.
I drink wine in dark places
I kiss a black woman
Hard on her lips
I just want to get it on with her.
My blood is in rage
It's hot and boiling.
Their bloodhounds can smell me.
I inow
I will be safe
If I do what they want.
If I don't slip up.
Make a mistake and
then the gunmetal will shine.
In seedy bar lights.
And it's flash will
have the sharp kiss
of oblivion.
I awaken from the dream.
In a panic.
But it's changed me.
It will not go away.
In my heart
I am still
Black in America*
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 5:10 AM UTC
As I sit beside the door,
a broken man; I weep no more.
I feel a wisp, a breath of air.
The taste of flesh is everywhere.
Looking up, the lights are dim,
a greener chalice, with broken rim,
A sumptuous tale with rings of red,
begins to fill my weary head.
Trees reach within a winding path,
they follow man with broken laugh,
They tell him with a swish of death,
that he has suffered his last breath.
Within a beat of punctured heart
they draw him in to be a start,
To join them where they stand and grow,
and tell men what they still should know.
A forest dark is not a place,
to stray within with lighted face,
On hallows eve the day of days
they are keen to capture sunborne rays.
They make the world a blacker void
to make it thus – a world destroyed,
Where life outside is bleak and grim
and fallen hounds, at just a whim,
Descend within a whirl of fog
and make foul the words a hallows dog.
To all the people looking through,
frosted windows, at dead anew.
They tell a tale of broken men,
with greener chalices and then,
A sumptuous tale with rings of red,
begins to fill each weary head ,
And as they look into the eyes
of greenest demon they surmise,
That weeping will not stop the whim,
of foulest bloodhounds dark and grim
Which then descend in whirl of fog
and make foul the words a hallows dog
And on the ground, with twisted song
the fog transpires. Each man is gone.
Jan 19, 2018
Jan 19, 2018 at 6:43 AM UTC
I'd always thought that my eyes were what I used to see everything around me- Narcissistic much- from the way flowers bow to the moon and look directly at the sun like it has no power... or how bloodhounds sniff seemingly aimless at trees while the tree bark stays tranquil. Though their silence does come at the cost of immobility.
What is it though we would be without movement? Vegetables. as if they don't receive power from the son, as if their roots don't go on a journey of immersion into the marrow of the earth, and the earth full of nutrition, doesn't provide it with the strength of the floor beneath us. Solid as rock.
Have you ever thought about it like this though? What if they are too busy listening to the tree that gives them life to blabber? They are so focused on hearing that they know not what speaking is.
It is not to their peril that they cannot move, for they live eternally in the silence of receiving from He who gives them life.
The arrogance of man has disintegrated his ability to stop and listen. His confidence in knowing has mystified God's Voice. Made it deep and loud and only heard by a selection of unblemished sheep.
It is this then that I wish for you and I humans alike, intelligent by nature of the tree. Prone to speak for the apple is intertwined with our larynx.
Let's
Tell another story, of the people who tamed their massive wildly lethal mouths, amputated their ears for satellites and sat down and listened. Simply. Sincerely.
May 1, 2017
May 1, 2017 at 4:41 AM UTC
I am broken and torn.
Left here on the cold floor...
Blood pouring from my inner wounds.
Killer thoughts like bloodhounds,
Ready to bring it all down,
All I see is red when I stand here...
**** it is so not fair.
Leave me be
Before you see
What holds me together
In my dark place I wither.
Useless from being so alone,
One day I will be gone,
Do I accept these things
Things, pain brings.
Swallow my pain
Staring at my mirrored insanity
Grinning oh so wicked
I am so sickened.
Black with disease
All I do is beg please
Turn your back and walk away
You do it every **** day.
As long as I am here
You do not care.
Throw me away
No longer play
With my shriveled heart
Which falls apart
slides through
Your hands, its true...
I died that day
So far away.
Will I ever return?
Or will my soul yearn
For what I cannot ever
No never ever
Be, whats so deep inside of me.
Locked so tight
My wings will one day take flight
You will have your fight
My pain is my might...
Over and over I stumble
My chest rumbles
Its all the same
I am the one to blame.
Why do I do this???
Did I miss...
Something along the way?
What can I say...
Here we go again
Do this, it must be a sin...
Save me
From me
I lost touch
With so much
I seem to not be able to get enough
Is it b/c I am so ****** tough?
I am sick of this
Stupid ignorant b/s.
Lead me on
Let the fun begone...
I am done...
Before I come undone.
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 5:28 PM UTC
CENTAUR
Hiding in the hay
me a terrified little boy
& my uncle like a terrified little boy
the voices in his head telling him to be afraid
of all strangers...changes.
He’s been like this
since the day his Dad
(my unknown grandfather)
died.
My Aunt’s voice
searching for us...searching us out.
Her shouts like bloodhounds
hunting us down
her words angry & cruel.
Her angry voice slurring us into:
“DonallSeanie! ”
as if we had fused into one being
a metamorphosis of us.
The hay cooks us
and we swelter in our hidey hole
A chicken sits on top
of my uncle’s cap
as if his mind had
materialised into this shape.
He rocks himself
and rocks me.
“Shhhh...boy...shhhh! ”
comforting both him & me.
“Don’t leave me! ”
he clucks
the words scattered around him
like newly laid eggs.
I settle into his silence.
My Aunt’s threats freezing us
in this terrible heat.
His chest hair
tickles my nose.
The cut on my left big toe
throbs through the open sandal.
My uncle cries in fear.
I wipe away the tear
with the ***** edge of my sleeve.
We escape to
the West field
me riding his shoulders
transformed into
a legendary creature
that only exists in myths
fleeing from the realness
...of reality.
Jun 1, 2018
Jun 1, 2018 at 7:14 PM UTC
You do not cut the heads off a hydra, lest they should split, and two strike in place of one, no, learn from Hercules.
You burn the body and salt the bones and tar the earth where it fell.
You hunt the monster as a hatchling, route it out with dogs like a boar from the thicket before it can mature.
And if those who are the evil, hiding behind less monstrous faces, have hidden the torches and salt, slain the bloodhounds?
If heroes have been outlawed, the knowledge of how to **** the monsters written out of history, truth become legend and legend lost?
A new generation of heroes will rise, from the most humble seeds, germinating under Promethean fire, and rediscover the old ways.
A maid will take her hair and braid it, cut if off and make it tinder for a torch, gather from her tears their salt, offer the strength of her arms.
An armorer, crippled, will limp on, and craft spears to heckle the beast, and a shepherd will make of the sheepdog a war hound to protect the flock.
Do you hear the earth pushing up, the shears and the lamentations, the blacksmith anvil ring, the baying on the moors?
You will.
Jan 1, 2020
Jan 1, 2020 at 2:09 AM UTC