"boars" poems
The wheel of the quivering meat
conception
Turns in the void expelling human beings,
Pigs, turtles, frogs, insects, nits,
Mice, lice, lizards, rats, roan
Racinghorses, poxy bucolic pigtics,
Horrible unnameable lice of vultures,
Murderous attacking dog-armies
Of Africa, Rhinos roaming in the
jungle,
Vast boars and huge gigantic bull
Elephants, rams, eagles, condors,
Pones and Porcupines and Pills-
All the endless conception of living
beings
Gnashing everywhere in Consciousness
Throughout the ten directions of space
Occupying all the quarters in & out,
From supermicroscopic no-bug
To huge Galaxy Lightyear Bowell
Illuminating the sky of one Mind-
Poor!
I wish I was free
of that slaving meat wheel
and safe in heaven dead.
7k
Being lonely
He beats the gong again
The guard of kabiya.
* kabiya: cabin in which kabi (fire to frighten noxious animals like stags and wild boars) is made in autumn.
6.2k
Snorers all
scattered world-wide
in offices and homes
in boardrooms
and bedrooms;
O Snorers all
loud and clear
low and shrill -
listen ye
to the loud wake-up call
as from Rip Van Winkle's Snore
stand up united
and drown the howl of protests
against snoring that is surely no less divine
than the Chorus of Angels in Heaven -
for the great God who made the Aurora
no doubt also conceived of the Divine Snore!
and so, stand up, ye sonorous Snorers!
unite! I call unto ye!
unite against the detractors
and the critics
and the complainants
and those of low culture
who cannot
lie still and listen to Snoring
as one rightly would at a concert hall
listening to the delightful play
of a quartet of violins
O how long will you take it lying down,
ye blessed Snorers of the World?
let the world know
the first divine music was indeed the Snore;
and the very height of human communication
is the unabashed snore
for all other modes of communication
lead to mis-communication
but the language of the snore is always exact and crisp!
the message of the Snore always precise!
the meaning always loud and clear!
and the very height of the snore
(let us declare to the world)
is the couple in bed
snoring away together
beside each other
making such divine music
making love with the rolling thunder of snores
so that one might say:
*do we have a couple of wild boars
copulating in the next room?*
stand up, O Snorers of the World -
and defy the mockers
and those who seek divorce
on grounds of insufferable Snoring;
stand up against those who sue
for loss of sleep from
friendly, neighborly Snorers;
stand up now
against these losers, these whingeing nags
uncouth and untutored
in the mysteries of the art of the Snore!
stand up and with one loud blast of
a universal Snore,
with one melodious Snore
let us
drown their dissenting voices,
their unprovoked cacophonous complaints!
stand up, Snorers young and old!
unite, Snorers black, white and gold!
defy the world! O ye Snorers
of quite nights and of lazy days:
let us overwhelm the world
with the pleasing symphony of Snores;
let us bless the ears of the world
with the dulcet streams of varied notes and arias!
stand up! unite! - O much-maligned Snorers of the World!
with one voice raised
in a triumphant Snore
let us declare:
*No longer will we be silent!
Our voices will be heard!*
Oct 22, 2010
Oct 22, 2010 at 7:21 PM UTC
Our ashes have settled on the cliff of pride
while the seed of today sprouts your frailty beginning.
We have at last seen the face of our god
which you have not even learned to utter
or never will at all.
Your intelligence gave you power that
failed the comprehension of our yesterfathers.
You built humans in just a sprinkle of *****
on to the skin of alligators and ants
on to the stem of a bee and the sting of a plant.
And you called them your sons
And you called them your kind.
The burrowed earths have no more riches
and they are left unpalatable to worms,
no more worms even
for even these decomposers
learn to tire feeding on your greed
no more shades of blue in the putrid waters
to which this bottle was thrown,
to which this letter longed to swim with your same species
that can never be in our family tree
for it has grown dead atop the impotent soil.
How we wished that your sons wished they
were with us in the time when
sparrows roared in the Kamagong tree when
wild boars chirped in the dancing bamboos when
the snow-like smokes breathed in the cone of Mayon when
the bangus and tilapia worshipped the nets of the singing fishermen.
How we wished they wished they knew.
How we wished they wished they saw.
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 7:36 AM UTC
*hey, before kung fu fighting
was kung fu ***
emperors practiced it and
would have lived to be Immortals
if not for the darned traitors and assassins*
Crane sees Phoenix
and in Plum Tree Garden of Scents
Plum Tree Arms
Encircle Double Mountains;
Pine Reaches for the Skies
Drunken Monkey Jumps
and Pheasant Sings
and White Pearl Slips;
Dogs Unite and Clouds Merge
Tiger Bites and Lion Roars
Grand Dragon Withholds
Jade Gate Opens
Jade Stem enters
Wild Boars stampede
and Cherry Blossoms Fall
Drunken Monkey Sleeps
White Pearl Smiles
Drunken Monkey Awakes
and Blue Pearl Awaits -
and again Serpent on Rock hisses;
Wheels of Legs Rotate
*hey, before kung fu fighting
was kung fu ***
emperors practiced it and
would have lived to be Immortals
if not for the darned traitors and assassins*
Jul 30, 2011
Jul 30, 2011 at 4:26 AM UTC
Chains on your door
Rabid rabbits that are biting at your core
A second sentence notice waiting on the floor
In the eyes of the gods you feel like a cheeky *****
Sometimes you want to see
Without sailing
To breathe
In the presence of crashing boars
Fire fire raging on the shore
The tips of your finger calloused and sore
Take a flight to the next big war
So you can find something or someone to answer for
The words look at you
They're not smooth jokers anymore
The notes they sneer and rage at you
While you're still next to the second notice on the wooden tiled floor
On the lit streets you find the gravel and all the other things
And the city like a midnight jungle in full swing
Like a speechless parrot you try and sing
While not minding the other things
**** the other things
When you know that life burns like the shore you once slept on
It cradles you and your books like kings
Then sneers like the music that you once thought grafted butterfly wings
Don't look too far, the gravel is the king of things
***** is a feeling akin to literary spark
You drink from the cups of beggars in the Rimbaudian park
And upon your grand tombstone is a question mark
Where was he when they needed him?
If they knew of the evil sin
Of the city jungle
And the things and whims
They would've clenched their fists
And held their breath
Found the cave where triangles are circles
And circles mean death
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 5:49 PM UTC
Where's your lady?
asked the chimpanzee
the bear looked askance
the tiger growled
zebras rolled
macaws looked in trance.
Where's she
your lady pretty
queried the lone rhino
it's not good
this solitude
roared the lion with raised eyebrow.
Did you lose your way
this November day
when the sky's blazing blue
this fair weather
you aren't together
how come asked the shrew.
Your face it shows
shouted hippos
this fine day of November
boars did grunt
scowled elephant
you're lost without her.
They were so true
alone at the zoo
emptiness surrounded me
daylight though gold
sky blue bold
I roamed unhappily.
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 9:13 AM UTC
By the run of wine, by Champagne's flow,
Swine did dine and watch the show,
'tween Squelch and Squeal, they Screamed, "Bravo!"
As merry went, did jolly go,
They drink their drinks, they oinked along,
To cabarets enchanting song,
So hypnotized, it won't be long,
'til Something goes horribly wrong....
For how were the jolly hogs to know
That butchers sat in the fifth row?
As blades grew sharp, their haste did grow,
Impatient to get on the go,
The sows were deafened by the tune,
The boars blinded by drunkards view,
But tact is what the butchers do,
But time at hand is profit due...
So nice the price of pork these days,
And chops and ribs are all the craze,
A roast in beer with honey glaze...
Makes fortunes for the butchers blades.
Had the swine been wise, for moments thought,
To greed they are cash to caught,
They could have run, they could have fought
And not been swine to the onslaught,
But they danced and sang, stupid and heavy
As butchers killed the swine of many,
That now sit in pieces, at a deli,
Their wage in wallet, meat in belly.
Sep 15, 2012
Sep 15, 2012 at 7:36 AM UTC
I kiss the fresh breeze as
The rainforest canopy embraces me.
I still my spirit
And tune my heart
To the natural symphony:
Wind whistling
Brook bubbling
River rushing
Branches creaking
Leaves rustling
Twigs snapping
Owls hooting
Birds singing
Monkeys chattering
Bats screeching
Frogs croaking
Fish blubbing
Deer belling
Snakes hissing
Boars grunting
Crocs roaring
Bees buzzing
Crickets chirping
Beetles humming
And then there is me
Dancing
To the beat and melody
Of the simple
Yet glorious masterpiece.
(How could something so wild
Tame me?)
Listen very closely as
Man and nature
Enjoy each other's
company and
Love one another
In unity.
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 4:53 AM UTC
The Wild Hunt
by Michael R. Burch
Near Devon, the hunters appear in the sky
with Artur and Bedwyr sounding the call;
and the others, laughing, go dashing by.
They only appear when the moon is full:
Valerin, the King of the Tangled Wood,
and Valynt, the goodly King of Wales,
Gawain and Owain and the hearty men
who live on in many minstrels’ tales.
They seek the white stag on a moonlit moor,
or Torc Triath, the fabled boar,
or Ysgithyrwyn, or Twrch Trwyth,
the other mighty boars of myth.
They appear, sometimes, on Halloween
to chase the moon across the green,
then fade into the shadowed hills
where memory alone prevails.
Published by Celtic Twilight, Celtic Lifestyles, Boston Poetry and Auldwicce. Few legends have inspired more poetry than those of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. These legends have their roots in a far older Celtic mythology than many realize. Here the names are ancient and compelling. Arthur becomes Artur or Artos, “the bear.” Bedivere becomes Bedwyr. Lancelot is Llenlleawc, Llwch Lleminiawg or Lluch Llauynnauc. Merlin is Myrddin. And there is an curious intermingling of Welsh and Irish names within these legends, indicating that some tales (and the names of the heroes and villains) were in all probability “borrowed” by one Celtic tribe from another. For instance, in the Welsh poem “Pa gur,” the Welsh Manawydan son of Llyr is clearly equivalent to the Irish Mannanan mac Lir. Keywords/Tags: King Arthur, wild hunt, Halloween, Artur, Bedwyr, Valerin, Valynt, Gawain, Owain, Devon, Wales
Apr 18, 2020
Apr 18, 2020 at 12:18 AM UTC
I had a zoo
Where the monkeys went boo
The giraffes were short and
Pigs looked like boars
I had a zoo
Where the grass was pink
And the popcorn was blue
The animals fed the zoo keepers
And they fed the kids too
I had a zoo
Where the lions were cats
And the penguins wore hats
I had a zoo
It was in galabazoo
It was in my head
And drawn with lead
Now it hangs in my room
With all the things that are different too
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 11:12 PM UTC
Through untamed shadows and blurred silhouettes
The moon remembers what the night forgets
it was a time before all, before the time we met
the form of a shadow and my love's silhouette
Gathering darkness of the collective noir
the hellish display of Satan's bazaar.
The passively insane, jokers and boars
of Victorian plays and Spanish guitars!
The view from here is lovely indeed
the vantage point of insanity.
A suit of skin is miraculous, I see
The stunning cloth of evil dreams
My, my, what a treat
ah,Visitors we see
all waiting to share
a shallow moment of care
Please show us, what's new
in the world of the living, this paradigm stew
A dance on the roof summons suspicion
from the mess below of ugly submission
I plead, I implore, abandon all tradition!
Before you pummel down the world's attrition...
I have seen the wonders of the other side.
Where mass ballrooms of dead reside
all swooping, crying, laughing with pride
While the they truly live and you surely die.
The fires of madness, the abundant endeavor
strikes a chord with those, whomever,
enjoy such masked adventures, whichever
Such with Boris, Phil, Julie and Trevor.
beating pain out from the brim
Retching blood and bile from within
Yes, of course I'll obey
Please...could you stay?
Yes my lover, my illustrious shadow tamer
the other that is here but only I can see, my sane reclaimer....
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 1:42 PM UTC
how did it begin anyway
this love of sound and words and rhythm
and word-painting?
did a bunch of perhaps thirteen men and women
gather one night
under the star-covered trees
and eat pizzas and say:
*tonight we'll all not drink sake
or soma
and we'll not have ***
or argue about swines and politics and metaphysics;
we'll not drink wine or breathe in fumes
that make minds gallop like wild boars
but, tonight, we'll drink words instead*?
Oct 22, 2010
Oct 22, 2010 at 2:08 AM UTC
Until you pulled
the trigger you
knew nothing
of wild boars
except tales
your father told
you as a child,
but suddenly
there it was
fierce and feral,
yellowed tusks
flying at you—
the tall novitiate.
So when you
raised the rifle
to your eye
and fired,
your mastery
of boars burst
over African
grassland,
splattered
in a grisly shower
of comprehension:
red words
splashed
on knee-high grass,
paragraphs hashed
out in final breaths,
until the depleted
subject of your study—
tumescent body
and stiff squat legs—
lay dead in African
savanna, the obsolete
entry you never read
in your Encyclopedia Britannica.
Nov 8, 2016
Nov 8, 2016 at 11:15 AM UTC
*Marmalade skies making love to a ball of fiery mass
led to part swiftly from his maiden’s *****
fertile with the fawn of the trees.
Buoyant as the winds waltzing along the sea
the sparrows poured forth the blue stretch
familiar in their parade, uncertain in their path.
Clinging to infant evergreens
the morning’s dews slid past the satin beds
and into the dreaming earth,
shut and hidden as pearls.
The fortnight’s show of drizzle
hung limply in the nipping air, here to stay for
a bracing encore, wild violets gathering
tribute upon its gray curtains.
Soldier bees on their march
far, far away from the six-eyed castle
buzzing until the forest falls into song
of the sleepful, the land of talking boars
and maidens with golden braids for days
I stand in the midst of all
dazed as an infant
eyes flutter like fans
in the heat of visions
seen but shrouded
solitary but shared.
Beholding in my finite eyes
the horizons echoed my sunken soliloquies
like an imagined memory coming to life.
I was quite absolute then
that I, before what could be
the tricks of the mind
or the dreams of the heart,
am just a split second in an
everlasting expanse
of space and time.*
Mar 4, 2016
Mar 4, 2016 at 9:37 PM UTC
The world is filled with swine in suits and ties,
hogging down and ******** out lies,
stopping here and there,
to trim their tusks and tame each others hair,
for appearance certainly is a must,
when you're a creature none should trust.
Sludge and slop goes to the top,
to feed the greedy boars.
The filthy ****** spread their legs from shore to shore
always wanting and demanding more and more.
From behind a locked door,
somewhere on an eighteenth floor,
you can hear their squealing cries,
smell their wretched sties,
and feel the hate that pours,
from their blackened beady eyes.
Use caution where you tread,
and think before you fill your head.
Be careful with which words you choose to believe,
for not everyone is who they seem to be.
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 11:40 AM UTC
1. How Can a Moon Make a Shadow from a Boar's Body in a Forest Feeling The Entire Night?
2. Is the River in The Forest Choosing Himself Where He Was Turning or He Should Ask the Wild Boar Frequently Crossing It?
3. How Many Wild Boars in The Forest Have Ever Realized That There is Always a Moon-shaped Shadow from its Body?
4. If the Boar is Dead, Is the Shadow Dead or Staying and Hiding in The Shadow of The Forest?
5. Has The Wild Boar Ever Thinking That Moon Is a Boar Stuck at the Elevation Then Slept and Sleep Is On?
6. Is the Forest to Which There is No Boar Still Worthy to be Called Forest? Why No Boar Moon? Night Boar?
7. Can Later When I Die and Bury in the Forest, Then from My Grave Go Out a Wild Boar Without Shadow?
Jul 12, 2017
Jul 12, 2017 at 10:03 PM UTC
On, Wisconsin! On, Wisconsin! Plunge right through that line!
Forward to ridgeline, a victory sure this time.
On, Wisconsin! On, Wisconsin! Fight on for your name,
Fight! Boars! Fight! Fight, fight, live up to MacArthur's fame.
On, Wisconsin! On, Wisconsin! Stand up, regiment sing!
'Forward' in the campaign spirit Union soldiers ring.
On Wisconsin! On, Wisconsin! Plant it with a jag
Stand, party, let us now behold this flag
Oct 10, 2019
Oct 10, 2019 at 9:58 PM UTC
I began my humble journey
At the peak of a mighty slope
Dropped by a humble poet
Making his long walk home
As I started my wis'ning voyage
I spied the miserly rich man
Counting his weekly excess
Money, gold, silver, land
His heart, consumed with greed for his gains
Was too focused on his returns
To care for a common penny
So on I went, for a home, my heart, it yearned.
As I passed through the place
Where daily, business was done
Buildings, structures that scraped the sky
Blocked the sun, where once it shone.
My passage continued through the city
To the crowded shopkeepers' stores
A wonderful place of smells and sights
Cooked goose, cattle, and boars!
But the keepers' minds were distracted
With the day's stresses and concerns
To notice what was around them
So on I went, for a home, my heart, it yearned.
Then I came to the ghetto,
That horrible, wretched place
With hovels and shanties and shacks
Loan sharks and gangsters and snakes
The people there were fearful
Of what, I could not tell
For it was more than thugs
It was their hate; love was encased in shells
Then something that I saw made me stop,
A family of five, happy and alive
Their love for another was stronger than fear
So on I went, toward home, I would strive
Until I was taken by the lowly thief
Looking to pay for his next meal
He dropped me when he was arrested
For as you know, thieves, they steal.
I stopped at the bottom of the slope
Where hill turned into rolling plains
I thought there I would rust forever.
Until I saw the humble poet, flesh & veins.
He picked me up and told me of his day
And how he had followed me, a mere penny
For I was important to him, special.
He put me in his pocket, with my family to join!
So there I stayed, returning home,
Recounting my tale to the rest.
How he had found me when all hope had been lost
And my excitement for new journeys, and what would come next.
Oct 3, 2012
Oct 3, 2012 at 2:02 AM UTC
1995: year the weather broke,
year Grandfather died, year Mother
& Father got into their first
argument: these days: Mother is always
jealous of Father: these days: Father tells more jokes,
makes more people laugh. 1995: year
I fell through Mother’s ****** blood circling
my scalp. 1995: year we all became planets.
You were born the same day as I was, only far across
the city. Your body wrinkled like the balding heads
of uncles. Your mother was not mine, but they sounded
the same when they screamed. Your father was not mine,
but they both had stomachs that looked
more like boys drowning in lakes than anything else.
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 1:58 PM UTC
I love this searing pain
that boars through my veins
along with this pain
comes the magical realese
of blood
nothing can cure my
loneliness, numbness and hatred
like this razor can
all i have to do is push and slice
and everything fades away
the blood pools under me
I smile at that feeling
of nothing but pain
kiss me goodbye for
this is it
im fading into
nothingness
where my words go
where my obvious screams for help
are lost
in the abyss of darkness
you caused
Oct 31, 2011
Oct 31, 2011 at 11:14 AM UTC
Ken Almond loves to push people down to little young dude status
You Ken Almond was a really tough guy who loves to bully people
He loves to first of all get the kids to play cool for the family
And after that, he wants them to muck around at night with them
And Ken Almond wasn't sympatic, no he would push little cool kids down
And tell them you ain't like us, now and forever
And each kid said, I hate you, I hate you all
And also each kid also said, ****** oathe I am a boy
You see he gets these weird voices which are destroying his friendship
With people,,so what he does is tease and rib him
Like he is a real fucken crazy person
Who has a lot of ****** problems
And ken will take these kids out and give them a bit of a rib
And then hand them back to their parents
And then after that ken will play the all innocent act on them
Then each time, he sees these Kids, he will do the same
And act the same, and both be as stupid as a pack of wild boars
You see, to lure them in, he says that he is one of the young dudes
And will muck with then in little baby groups
And then when he gets with some cool people
He will rib them like nothing else, mind you, the kids ****** hate it
And then after that, Ken would take these kids home
And then play happy families with him and his folks
He will do anything to make these kids see that they aren't ever going to be cool kids
even if he one day has to kidnap them to tease them, and make them feel fucken awful
After that Ken. Decided to head to the pub and emuck with all the men
And actually he has a great time at the club
And also after that he'll talk to a lot of adults
And ***** about them all day
Ken is having a great time teasing these kids
Then as he enjoys doing anything around the house
He treats him like a little young dude and ribs
Him away from the adult life, and into mucking with the proper adults
And Ken after that says, let's party, like we are going to party all night
And then once he has the young dudes to stay up all night with him
He will say to them, that he is still too shy to be like us
He is still a cool kid, nothing bad will happen while you stay with us
And if you want to be like us, mate you have to prove yourself, dude
Then when his family comes over to talk with him
Ken will muck shy with him and say, I am like them you shy boy
And I am smarter than you anyday, you are still a koomarri man
And you are not a normal person man, but the little young dudes say
Yes, I am.cool, you guys and I will teaee all the babies in the street
And, then after that, Ken will say, hey
And you say straight back to him
Hey is in the paddock where the horses are
And then you will say again, hey is in the paddock where the horses are
And then you will say, hey is in the paddock where the horses are
And after that, he will say, you are cool
And don't forget what I taught ya, have a great life, dude
Ken will come back to the young dudes and sit with them
And say, get ****** buddy, get ****** buddy, get ****** buddy
And as he says it, he'll say, he'll move backwards away from him
Ken will say, hey dudes , I am so cool
And I am playing cool, and saying hey to each little young dude
Just to improve my mojo
And the young dudes say, hey is in the paddock where the horses are
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 5:59 PM UTC
The tenor man restricts his artistic fix
Atop His dusty maple mantle piece
His lesson sent His love away
His passion was his dagger play
Upset from the form that was not his own
His soul He saw could hold no bones
As if speaking to oneself were half that fun
As if the falling rain hit no sleeping drunk ***
Practice makes perfect because work is precious
Precious reason to go on and on and on
Precious reason precious reason
That reason which was not clear and quick to sway
The battle cry from throats tired off the boat
Boars bend their weary cracked aged' spines
A memory fades pixilated back into the mist
A ball is tighter when gripped like a fist
Wheezing women wretch whimpering for internet love
How is nature going to handle any of this?
Any of this
Any of us
Any of this nonsense we believe is supposed love
I am sick I am tired I am falling from grace
One day
At a
Time
Soon sorrowful laments will ring from the church bells which I have never visited
They are quite pretty
Quite pretty
But the popping up of ancient ghosts lined with ******* crumbs
Feeling dumb
Feeling oh so dumb with a thumb pressed against a glass at full mast
At half
At half
At half
Mast.
Jul 26, 2011
Jul 26, 2011 at 8:55 PM UTC
I know that this is hard on you
I really feel your pain
Not physically or mentally but
through the inking you paint
on that page of your mistreatings,
of what this species did to your
Innocent and beauty being.
I'm truly cut deep by this and I,
know it's most probably an infinite nightmare and
I'm quite scared for the, future if this is how some men view a
woman and think they can run free and do a re-fvck up
I'm really disgusted with dudes who reveal colours that
paint the world unsafe for our only hope of a loved one .
Man, **** 'em , but it really should be taught to all the lot
That it's okay sometimes to not know and learn from those who've got
knowledge on the thing , and not just push and shove 'em like a box
it's scary how the man has had this illusion that he's superior
now this same illusion is making hard headed animals
Loud nothings upon their heads ringing like alarms in mid
Dream sequence and these issues are just like a parable they knock
Out of the way and make no mistake, they take this thing little a lot
But what do I know. I just want change for our kings and queens
so godly they are hybrids and carry their dreams
in face of more adversity than we could ever endure
I'd to say, from deep inside my core of cores, on behalf of all the boars
that I truly apologize and prayers for y'all are more.
and that's just the two cents from your boy.
Aug 12, 2016
Aug 12, 2016 at 3:52 AM UTC