"blunting" poems
an ancient lyric, come to haunt,
no longer a shield, now thinner,
of gossamer consistency,
a tissue-thin papyrus,
“my poetry to protect me”
the poem words always were
a clarinet reed, capable of singing,
a highest pitch voice for turning
blades of clean steel clean away,
now blunting paper bunting, penetrated.
re-formed my shield, re-purposed,
into a stabbing instrument offensive,
my poetry pricking tearings in my worn
thin fabric tapestry, woven from linen
excuses of why I can’t, why couldn’t I.
this is life. moats becoming drowning
pools, castle walls reversed to entrapments,
wrecking machines, boulders hurling,
medieval defenseless against modern rhymes
giving away to free verse horde onslaught.
too late to apologize to myself, alas, my words,
my protectorate, island redoubt, now ruined
by doubts treachery breech birthed from within,
these verses hollow point bullets engineered,
Caesar’s words clarified, you, et tu, are Brutus
too, two, for the price of one, betrayer and betrayed.
Jun 21, 2020
Jun 21, 2020 at 5:44 PM UTC
As the waves fall on stony shore
the sword just sits there,
blunting in the washing sea-foam.
England’s winds carry the sand
from England’s rock to the grazes
on our ankles, our feet and hands.
They from the toes of Cornwall to
rocky Dunnet head
will our courage forward
through the first crawl on cam-corder,
to the last drop to earth.
‘We all began at the seaside’
Though days are gone, we linger
snaking through London with those southern scrubbers,
those diamond white men,
the Caribbean accents, the Guajarati, the Jews -
‘A Coke is a Coke and no amount of money can get you a better one’
- we all patter round Oxford Circus and
climb aboard the number 9 bus.
‘Who so pulleth out this sword is trueborn King of all Britain’
And we watch the waves fall.
‘Hold very tight’
It’s there behind our ray-ban’s, our fake ray-ban’s,
their halcyon glint.
It’s the same secret, not one of us can keep -
*Under the setting sun between
England's canals and sheep
the living live, cry and sleep.*
-
It was London and my mother that
raised the muscles in my thighs to look firmly planted
and my face to look resolute when turned to the sun.
It was my mother and London.
They grew me up to look like I could pull out
Excaliber.
‘Lay me down trepanner man, but take the stories with you, if you can’.
So I, always King Arthur,
not a yank, not from Roehampton’s towers,
or Peckham. Not Tintagel, or Camelot,
escaped on an eddie to Manchester,
to bury stories with distance
and stare at cobwebs after rain.
'I’ll hear easy music, find out it’s easy, man.'
But in Manchester’s plastic, in Manchester’s rain
It ran all the same.
Of a blunting blade, I dreamt,
until the Phrenologist came
and I asked him if I was torn up by London grit,
London loves and London’s spit.
But he said no,
no matter where you go
there’s just one secret that you’ll never keep
*Under the setting sun between
England's canals and sheep
the living live, cry and sleep.*
-
The sword just sits there,
honest as a dog.
And the sun has more secrets than any man on earth.
my shadow scuttles through the suburbs,
the seaside, the city, sideways like a crab.
The sandy cuts on my toes, ankles and knees
are bleakly investigated by a fly.
Has anyone sat at the round table?
It’s out of reach of my skinny wrists.
*Lash me to a pole and wait for the Avalon tide
to slowly roll my English soul.*
I better keep on living.
All stories, tears and sleep.
We are all just the living secret,
that not one of us can keep.
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 6:19 PM UTC
Fried Turtles
The little dog chews on the blue wire
His sharp teeth need blunting
So he picked this bomb wire to gnaw
He likes biting and such like
One of his main interests
His master’s fingers and boots
Car tires on parked cars
And his Holy toys
The gold cross from the church
That’s totally ******
Just like the blue wire he has
Look it’s now severed
And the bomb will explode
Killing ten million Chinese
Flattening central Shanghai
Good job the dog and wire
Are ten miles away
He’ll still get a tan
And ten million turtles
Will be totally ******* fried
It was a Taiwanese bomb…
Oct 30, 2021
Oct 30, 2021 at 1:32 PM UTC
Hurrah for the General
He has won your vote
For the loser a funeral
For the victor a toast!
Celebrations will not be long
The music will not last
Soon will stop the victory's song
Your vote has been cast!
The changes you voted to bring
Will look like never there
No blunting of recession's sting
No ending of daily nightmare!
Life will go on as it had gone
Promises will just be a memory
Then there will be another one
Who you'll vote and repeat the story!
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 3:43 AM UTC
His Mother thinks her way is supreme So
another man arrested by hubris.
My gifts learned and honed in fire are
as useless to her as **** on a bull.
Unable to see the unseeable.
Hear the unhearable.
know the unknowable
Renders gender sense to the ash heap of
Pure Feelings.
Why not pluck the eyes
Cork the ears with molten lead.
Burn the olfactory to the ground.
Testosterone will dazzle and fling that yolk aside.
Mother nature has her place but
Father Time will bring all to balance.
If left to his devices.
A fathers gifts are underrated. A cultural
Blunting.
Sorry baby bunting.
Daddy can't go hunting.
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 3:28 AM UTC
Catching the smiles that
sound those three words
from your lips in our net
made of promises and truth that
makes my heart melt away,
blunting the razorblade of thought
that another hearbeat will
one day haunt me from your finger.
Aug 10, 2012
Aug 10, 2012 at 5:41 PM UTC
And in her eyes, reside starlight and fire,
A multitude of sparks against the dark of her pupil,
Shining through open windows of iris - showcasing soul.
And stars dance in her gaze, a mimickry of laughter on lips,
"Come share in this joy with me" they seem to say,
Projecting their thrall, compelling and enticing,
Bespelling like beings and light beings alike,
Drawing them nigh, to join in a ritual baring.
They envoke a sharing of spirits, inviting a marriage of ideas,
Consummating a journey of ties, unveiling unseen connections.
Cloaked in midnight, and still she is luminous,
Mysterious, yet, as precious and pure as genuine pearls -
Her glow resonating from subconscious through skin,
As moonlight in human form,
Her tendrils stealing into universe,
Shaping, adjusting, freeing.
Paying homage to the goddesses before her,
She calls the tides to her fists,
And beckons the raging winds to surrender to her will,
She commands the rains to cease, and the seas to still;
A reckoning force, blunting the force of storms,
She calms calamitous energies,
Standing fearless in the face of catastrophe,
Gargantuan, even to giants, overwhelming and limitless,
Black, and magic.
May 29, 2021
May 29, 2021 at 2:40 PM UTC
i'm losing myself in your hazel portal.
--------------------
fingernails, the endless target of fear, blunting the intensity of your golden-gate conscious,
bear enough of this weight to mortalize Atlas.
the pathetic, monotone static in my head is a train barreling towards an unfinished bridge,
my cynicism a pew destroyed by debris,
my outstretched hand a burning bible.
in my back-alley existence,
you are an ocean-wide coral reef of altruism and hope,
beaming with enough passionate hue to feed the starving.
i am twiddling my sprained, charcoal thumbs out of rhythm,
selfishly consuming your complexion like a leech
Aug 1, 2017
Aug 1, 2017 at 11:11 PM UTC
Catching the smiles that
sound those three words
from your lips
in our net made
of promises and truth
that makes my heart
melt away,
blunting the razor blade
of thought that
another heartbeat
will soon enough haunt you
from my finger.
Oct 5, 2012
Oct 5, 2012 at 6:58 AM UTC
With her jagged edges she stands,
gazing upon the connection between the well versed,
as her language remains misunderstood,
dark and chaotic.
Her edges are sharp,
and grooves are too deep.
The rhythm of her heart
& blood pulsation
feel out of orbit.
An outsider,
an outcast
trying to jam to fit in puzzles;
blunting her edges,
painting herself with different hues to blend.
Yet within she is out of tune.
Jul 24, 2019
Jul 24, 2019 at 3:51 PM UTC
So this is what it feels like winning?
Trumpets sound our victory
I cast out your Light-bringer
So what now
Becomes of me?
You said my name is as Justice
Dared me be worthy of such a charge
I believed a divine purpose
And yet I'm blunting my sword
Is mercy blasphemy?
I've given all I have to give
For Heaven's sake
I'm not seeking your forgiveness
I won't forgive this
I dont want to see you when I wake
You pitted us brother to brother
Tested each our loyalty
Again you do to your subjects
Claiming proof of faith and fealty
- "prove your worth to me"
How can you hold any guilty
When you are pulling all the strings
Strive, struggle, and suffer
Desperation begets rotten things
If this is what's to be heaven
I wont stomach it
I exile myself in shame
For the part I played in shaping this
And Father, you stopped list'ning
But the mortals beg for you to list
If you wont hear them beg salvation
Than Father,
You can take my wings
Oct 19, 2024
Oct 19, 2024 at 2:21 AM UTC
There must be a point to this,
this blunting of ?
so
go get the stiletto and pierce my skin,
if there's a point
let the thin end of it in.
I fray around the edges of hope or despair
not knowing or caring where
people stand staring,to
tuck myself into my chest and
fester.
The best of it is,
only yesterday, I was as sharp as a knife
had a life,now blunted they shunt me aside,
do not confide in me and
**** them,
they lied to me when they said,with a smile on their face,
'here is a good place,a safe place,
a work place to base your new life on'
go get the stiletto and make it a long one,
shove it in deep
let the hot blood seep as my faith bleeds away.
In the end there's no need to send an ambulance,
chances are
it's too late anyway and
that
is the point.
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 10:07 PM UTC
She dreams about me
Even when the reality
Stands in front of her
(and I go) blunting her
Brain full of large doses of toxins
Namely serotonin is boxed in
Her skull, leaking through eyes
She will always theorize
Romanticizing the next moment
What could it possibly be made of?
Doesn't see the chances are so thin,
Why I give her such a lame hug
My heart, stolen by Hebraic Italy
Hers, raptured; a martyr for me
Mine, 700 miles away
Hers, wishing I would stay
And positive pulls negative
Pulls positive pulls negative
And I am slain to go to Tally
And not give heed to her rally
Nov 13, 2018
Nov 13, 2018 at 9:18 PM UTC
On asking me why meeting you was best,
Naturally, it draws a laugh and a sigh -
So obvious my life with you is blessed,
But I will do my best with a reply:
You have given me hope about the world,
My heart has grown double because of you -
Falling in love with those two eyes impearled
With kindness and warmth and passion's there too.
You have made me want to better myself,
Given me strength and a new thirst for life
To better the world and better my health,
Which was dwindling like an old, blunting knife.
You've helped me fall in love again - a treat!
You brighten up my days and my dreams.
It was you who made me cut down on meat
(Arnie was just a good excuse it seems.)
And now that I have weighed up all of these,
I guess the next step's learning Portuguese.
Dec 15, 2016
Dec 15, 2016 at 11:38 AM UTC
It was a quarter after the clock striked 12mn
She decided to go wear her favorite dress tonight
She makes sure it hugs her body perfectly tight
But as she looks in the mirror, she sobs and thoroughly cried
It’s 1:30 am and she went for some drinks
At the club, she dances to brush of whatever she thinks
After a while, a man walked unto her after giving her a wink
Without knowing his name, they kissed relentlessly in just a blink
The clock ticked at 3:00 am and the man is now gone
Leaving her with some smudged lipstick and simply alone
She was smirking while in the thought of what happened
Someone noticed her and gave her the attention she needs
She drank a little more—no, she drank a lot
She continued drinking until she doesn’t feel anymore
She’s tipsy, she’s wasted, she can no longer take it
Still, she lits a cigar and whispered, **** it.”
It’s almost 4 am, she is starting to sober up
She just finished her 5th cigar and decided to leave the club
On her way to her place, she started grabbing and pulling her hair
Tears continuously flows from her eyes everywhere
She reached her condo, and started to unzip her dress
She then checked herself in the mirror blunting, “What a mess.”
She touches her naked body and examines it with disgust
She screams, she curses, and hurts herself like it is just
6:00 am, spaced out, she lies on a corner of the wall
Her alarm rang and unconsciously, she makes her way to the hall
She prepared herself as she goes off to work
She bangs closing the door, “I don’t want to be me anymore.”
May 12, 2018
May 12, 2018 at 6:16 PM UTC
There's a giant disparity
No economic parity
Or intellectual clarity
When they're scaring me
So I'll collapse invariably
Under coins they're barreling
They nickel and dime me
So I'm pinching for pennies
No peace I'm finding
Working at Wendy's
For the money lending
Capitalism bending
Sharks that are trending
We coin those with stacks of cash
As successes
Even if their heart's black as ash
It impresses
Money doesn't grow on trees
But it seems to float in the breeze
The direction these people please
Or happen to sneeze
I scrape
And claw
But those apes
Are frauds
Playing God
No sin absolved
Without their call
Because I don't put up with their torture
I haven't made a dime this quarter
Because of dollar hoarders
Ruling through law and order
Creating tribalistic borders
Nobody's paying my bailout
I'm too small to fail now
My life's become stale, how?
The **** of a male cow
I tear apart my only couch
Looking for a coin pouch
To get me out
Of this drought
I cut my fingers
And bruise my knuckles
My fatigue lingers
Until I buckle
My stock tumbles
As I scream uncle
We allocate all our resources to a few
While the rest of society turns into a zoo
Where people die to pay their dues
And are given a pocket of coins to use
Which ignites their fuse
But their obfuscated views
Are swayed by the news
Teaching trivial truths
Change starts jingling in my pocket
When I get on a revolutionary rocket
So they buy a gun and **** it
To preemptively block it
They use marketing to stop it
Like it's just another stock tip
They have the guns
They have the money
I have to run
If they start hunting
Because those that say something
Are the edges they're blunting
With coins they're dumping
To protect one thing:
The profit margin
Like social Darwins
They say the hard win
With unholy marred sin
By collecting the coins of their foes
To help economic hostility grow
Until coins are all we know
Sep 9, 2020
Sep 9, 2020 at 7:59 PM UTC
How deep was
the lake at sunset-
where my life trailed
from beach to beach?
My animal inside
was dead.
Do you believe in
reincarnation?
I will embrace the non-violent
palm.
It was the carnage
of moment. The brutality of
its strength casts spell.
There was a quick
about-face. Dark night
will paint your face
with stars.
Becoming a drunk
survivor of your grace
I am blunting
my pain.
Mar 17, 2019
Mar 17, 2019 at 9:24 PM UTC
Fluttering fingers flicking
the wisps,
Scattered particles helplessly
staring like zombie.
Denizen of dispersal !
Scattering without gathering ?
Littering innocent sleeping shore
with specks, refuse and
wastages,
Preventing the marine beings
from feasting on unsolicited
booties,
While reigning over the aquatics
casia.
Fishes glorying beneath your
stool,
Celebrating in their splendid
splendor,
Cherishing your inordinate
habitat encroachment,
Relishing the cool bustling
breeze,
Stuttering intermittently over
natural abuse while your
fingers beating the tombola
drum of indifference.
Legion of blue blunting busied
parading over the army of
the waterbeds,
Savouring the delights of your
majesty.
But why scattering the wisp
on the river bank?
Devouring the hearts of the clean
axis of the river bank.
Fresh air oozing from the gallery
of neighbouring vegetation
aromatized your bustling
breeze, refreshing hearts,
Clear away your stink.
Evacuate your nuisance.
Dec 19, 2018
Dec 19, 2018 at 2:36 AM UTC