Brutishly poems on Hello Poetry

PMc Oct 2018

SWEATERS ON – SWEATERS OFF

Sitting board-room style for hours on end, her sweater on – sweater off
at times too cool to concentrate,
        other times not wanting to perspire
they both thought it a shame to waste such a lovely day indoors
at times staring out the window trash blustered along the street,
at times watching her, sweater on – sweater off

He was happy to buy lunch hoping they could leave office confines
      even for an hour
the sun and the brisk walk for sandwiches and tea
       would warm them sufficiently
to inevitably leave off, the sweater off that afternoon

He admired her – not just to look at - but appreciate
the nape of her neck, soft smooth shoulders giving way
        to the work-out bicepts
it was inconceivable that a man in his right mind
would cast such treasures aside
smallish ******* still-firm protruding from the blouse
        beneath the off-sweater
breathing in – breathing out

He knew so very little about female biology,
        being a man was difficult enough
curious to learn more about her “change of life”
almost apologetic about her wrestling with
         sweater on – sweater off
yet wise enough to steer clear, leaving such questions unasked.

The distraction for him was much more approval, than gawk
wondering whether she would quietly smile
during the occasional too long glare
or would she alley-slap him silly for being so brutishly insensitive
ogling while she struggled with sweater on – sweater off

Pen in hand, head down, back-to-work, such questions left unasked
                              although the appreciation continues.......

Based on a true story. It was hard to concentrate - and not only because the woman was a lovely character. For some reason I took notice of her struggle. I've seen it before but never to the extent I did that day. Lovely moments.

Onoma May 2018

Rounded the Plate

scowling brutishly, while
being walked by mind--
punitive tugs left out of joint.
failed and failing wildly
along the ground's satisfactory
conduct.
snapping a leash or two, to
dig under--crater a moon dragging
a fence of sunlight.
to and fro, fro and to--the nubs of
bones exposed, chewed and licked to
see straight through obedience.
was that you I saw then, in an
****** spell of light--a mask of
terrible figuring?
i tried it on, and pointed to myself--
then gave it back to you.
weariness played with the holes
on my back, and the kisses on my
cheeks.
with a directness that galavanized
my humanity, rounded the plate
of a home cooked meal before me.
i drooled and teared at once, how
curious a bashful animal--first, second
and third person trinitized.
fully accepting, that all we do is eat
from each others hands.

Alfred Jacob Mohan Oct 2020

YAAKOV AND INGRID

The ravaging beasts of the folds of south
Once marred, Yaakov, the man out of them.
For his kinnor sang a thousand vibrant sonnets
And the muttering arachnids of the north
Once defied, Ingrid, the woman out of them.
For her visage was a thousand radiant sunsets

In the midst of the luscious green grasslands
Was their bleak prison of grey, still and stale
In that chasm, she was shrouded from the light
In that chasm, he was girdled taut by that light

Amidst their floundering souls, was an iron veil
‘Twas a bleak wall, seeking his absolution from them
I saw him ‘n her, in dreary and stale, weary and pale
But I felt their hands caressing me, the iron veil

Those ravaging beasts, brutishly, gnawed his fingers off him
In envy, those arachnids ravished her joy and youth from her.
The blood-red moon, wept rivers of lamentations, for him
In shame, the blue sun hid himself in light, far... away from her
Thirsting for his marrow, those beasts, foully, scourged him
In vain, those arachnids gnashed their sickening fangs over her
I stood there, as a frigid shoulder to rest on for them
In pain, I urged the skies, “Strike me down!” for them

As Ingrid searched for him, she held on to me
As Yaakov stumbled for her, he leaned on me
In silence, I heard their hearts pacifying the other
In shame, I saw their voice bleeding for the other
In sorrow, I saw their scars salving together
I saw the locks of her hair, yearning his kiss
I saw his weary spirits yearning her warmth
I saw their cinders yearning to become one.

Despite, me, the unfortunate accursed iron veil
I saw her palms drying Yaakov’s tears away
I saw his arms caressing Ingrid’s fears away
Despite, me, the unfortunate accursed iron veil
I saw the brightest light in their teary smile
I saw my prison, be the Eden for their love

The austere bricks in me have finally seen a crack
I see Yaakov’s Ingrid and Ingrid’s Yaakov beside me
Never had the air smelt sweeter in this grassy sea
I now see a waltz after four scores of… lamenting
I now see a solace from the pounding pulse in me
But for my absolution, I pray “Strike me down!”

Strike me down, O agents of the heavens above
Flood me down, O seas of this broken paradise.
Tear me asunder, O lamenting winds of the sky
Have you, all-righteous hosts gone to slumber?
Why do you hide yourself, the all-righteous sun,
When the filth rejoices, the paradise cries pain?
Ah, Daphne, do you see this unsettling… silence?
Despite my cries to unbind us from our torment?

Behind her wrinkled, pale, cold face was that radiant sun
Behind his tremoring strained voice was that sonnet sung
Unchain my heart and free us I implore you, righteous fires.
Unchain their love, even the distant stars heard their sorrow
Let there never be another harrowing and writhing adagio
Let there never be another Yaakov and Ingrid in torment
Let there never be arachnids, muttering in viscous vanity
Let there never be beasts, lusting their blood and marrow
Set me free, let me return to my eternal slumber in solace
Set us free, Strike me down for their love… my absolution

This is another one of my poems which took me a lot to write because it was pretty painful for me to dream this over and over till I got this out. I hope you enjoy this.

#love #waltz #wall #sorrow #yaakov #ingrid #torment #beasts #arachnids #alfredjacobmohan

Thisis A Pseudonym Oct 2018

Calling Sol and loving Luna

Sol oh paniter of visions, curator of those under your light. Your passion is easily confused with fury and your momentary absences are known to be a time of danger and chaos
Basting the blessed and decimateing the ******,a infernal bliss.
General of the soil, those born from it follow your call under you they toil. maestro of the bloom and birds their harmonious notes in the air ,smelled and heard, from the plains to the berg but at the coast is when that celestial sovereignty ends.

Enters,a vision, Oh Luna; soft yellow dipped and dyed in the honeied hues of the horizon or a radiant alabaster, stark and chilled. cut from the heavens, apart of the city resting on that which scratches the sky but only visitors in the sights, you Nobly looking over. Teach me as you are, not as they say ,cold but ever observing seen every day.
You the Choreographer of the waves they dance by your direction, beautifully and brutishly birthing rainbows from their violate bombardments, for the birth of Brilliant ideas they have been the midwife.we lose and find ourselves in your teachings

Raising higher as you we age, as one should, on the path of the sage.

Stayed by the sea for a few days and got to know sun and moon a little better

#moon #sun #nature #disprove #art #knowledge #beauty

Star Gazer Jun 2016

Bullies [Incomplete]

You and your kind
Infested the school halls
Crushed souls with dodge *****
Cheered on blood and bruises
Silenced what the heart chooses
By brutishly brandishing names like ******
As though following love made people psychopathic,
You never understood the pain

You built bridges out of our hurt emotions
And told us to cross them
As though underneath our feet weren’t deep oceans
Of pain and tears
That we bled by bleeding our eyes dry.

Poemasabi Aug 2017

A Newer Colossus

Not unlike that famed giant of ancient Greek fame
but fatter and orange and blowing hot air
is a stupid and hateful fat elf with faked hair
So the beckoning torch woman snuffs out her flame
As the elf king through policy blots out her name
one pudgy small hand throws her crown to the surf
while the other one brutishly grabs through her skirt
While forgetting from whence his own ancestors came

"Pushed from my pedestal" in anguish cries she
Then sobs , "Keep safe the tired and poor
the non-white masses yearning safe to be
the suff'ring children washed up on the shore
save them as then the whole wide world will see
My light is gone thus slams the golden door."

The Guardian has posted a poetry piece on Lazarus' poem The New Colossus part of which is on a plaque at the base of The Statue of Liberty in New York Harbor.

This is my 2017 re-do of that poem based on our current state of affairs.

James Dye Apr 2020

1

A drastic blast of synaptic feedback pushing through I'll just hide it in this ***** knapsack, filled with stressors , triggers, and all my depressive rock tracks.

I'll lyricize my faults and sing them to you, and you'll be surprised at the lack of care as tears well up in your eyes, to hear all these thoughts, scenarios; this faculty of lies pulsing in my brain prying and supplying a fuselage of broken memories, and half truths whose roots brutishly dig deep.

You want me to be yours to keep but I just lie and form the echos of my mind into words you'll understand an when this all comes out they'll say I was deep, but they misunderstand, I'm not deep, this black ichor that seeps deep and won't let me sleep, those thoughts that keep the dreams from forming beams of hope.

so I just lay there, trying to find some semblance of hope, this trope they call a living nightmare this disease of such unease keeps calling, and I can't stop myself from answering

Dan Hess Nov 2021

07

Tremors

Every sound is a pin *****
 forcing itself under my skin 
injecting me with living
 squirming irritant  

It feels hopeless 
I can’t focus on anything 
and this rage is an infection
 spreading through my veins  

I want to bury myself
 sleep in the peace of a silence
 far away from the world  
which shakes my bones 
and rattles my brain  

Where does the chaos come from? 
Where did the gentle warmth go? 
Why is everything an unbridled explosion 
of motion without reason?  

I’m a sensitive being
 keen to every tick and pitch 
every vibration and interference
 but I am not weak for feeling  

I am a gaping skull and a plume of smoke
 that swirls in clouds and blocks out the sun 
and the earth quakes beneath my hovering body 
rocking me without melody

  Subtlety is enchanting, 
the music of magic enraptures me
 in times of peace, when only the wind breaks silence 
and the mind is melding with arrays of light

  But between every wind chime’s song 
this fool is bashing a *** with a hammer 
brutishly begging attention bestowed:
 the tumultuous, trembling ego

  Be alive with me, you fleeting thing 
stop clinging to your suffering 
the haste of your anxiety
 is cause for your inner churning

  When every glance is full of hate
 and the speed of your step seeks to separate 
I’d always wish to ease into the earth 
find solitude and with it, mirth  

So let me go, to fly upon the wind 
let the breeze consume me, breathe me in 
perhaps in our return to this union 
you’ll find your peace of mind restored again

— The End —