"butting" poems
when you went away it was morning
(that is,big horses;light feeling up
streets;heels taking derbies (where?) a pup
hurriedly hunched over swill;one butting
trolley imposingly empty;snickering
shop doors unlocked by white-grub
faces) clothes in delicate hubbub
as you stood thinking of anything,
maybe the world….But i have wondered since
isn’t it odd of you really to lie
a sharp agreeable flower between my
amused legs
kissing with little dints
of april,making the obscene shy
******* tickle,laughing when i wilt and wince
15k
There's a private, invisible flock of comedians chanting soapbox knock-knocks in my parking lot
Noisy, clang, boom thingy aloft and clipping the air around the slimy snow
And why does ajax keep butting its nose into everything I’ve got?
They’re all just boom-lost facades in a canonical, sly-faced rant.
So slanted, frankly, and poised toward a milder pace that the clang clipped the frosty branches beneath a drunken frat-house party.
Ah, the dandy-clang : native to the sandy graves and morose olive branches.
But only on the night of the dandy-clang, candy dances
for the branches are not partial to missed solid caches
of want and woe
of tongue and toe
and seldom shaken beneath the overbearing heat of a white-faced predator
for times it was that here and now, because
the wind had bitten harder
What am I saying?
That if the dandy-clang came. And if it produced the branches of the dancing eve fame...
with but not together. The clouds up in the ether
that lake and earth should wither
May 31, 2012
May 31, 2012 at 7:10 PM UTC
The eyeless labourer in the night,
the selfless, shapeless seed I hold,
builds for its resurrection day---
silent and swift and deep from sight
foresees the unimagined light.
This is no child with a child's face;
this has no name to name it by;
yet you and I have known it well.
This is our hunter and our chase,
the third who lay in our embrace.
This is the strength that your arm knows,
the arc of flesh that is my breast,
the precise crystals of our eyes.
This is the blood's wild tree that grows
the intricate and folded rose.
This is the maker and the made;
this is the question and reply;
the blind head butting at the dark,
the blaze of light along the blade.
Oh hold me, for I am afraid.
4.1k
Evening was in the wood, louring with storm.
A time of drought had ****** the weedy pool
And baked the channels; birds had done with song.
Thirst was a dream of fountains in the moon,
Or willow-music blown across the water
Leisurely sliding on by weir and mill.
Uneasy was the man who wandered, brooding,
His face a little whiter than the dusk.
A drone of sultry wings flicker'd in his head.
The end of sunset burning thro' the boughs
Died in a smear of red; exhausted hours
Cumber'd, and ugly sorrows hemmed him in.
He thought: 'Somewhere there's thunder,' as he strove
To shake off dread; he dared not look behind him,
But stood, the sweat of horror on his face.
He blunder'd down a path, trampling on thistles,
In sudden race to leave the ghostly trees.
And: 'Soon I'll be in open fields,' he thought,
And half remembered starlight on the meadows,
Scent of mown grass and voices of tired men,
Fading along the field-paths; home and sleep
And cool-swept upland spaces, whispering leaves,
And far off the long churring night-jar's note.
But something in the wood, trying to daunt him,
Led him confused in circles through the thicket.
He was forgetting his old wretched folly,
And freedom was his need; his throat was choking.
Barbed brambles gripped and clawed him round his legs,
And he floundered over snags and hidden stumps.
Mumbling: 'I will get out! I must get out!'
Butting and thrusting up the baffling gloom,
Pausing to listen in a space 'twixt thorns,
He peers around with peering, frantic eyes.
An evil creature in the twilight looping,
Flapped blindly in his face. Beating it off,
He screeched in terror, and straightway something clambered
Heavily from an oak, and dropped, bent double,
To shamble at him zigzag, squat and *******
Headlong he charges down the wood, and falls
With roaring brain--agony--the snap't spark--
And blots of green and purple in his eyes.
Then the slow fingers groping on his neck,
And at his heart the strangling clasp of death.
3.6k
Acerbic antagonist alliterates agonizing accusations,
blasting ******* backbiter butting beautiful bombastic brainy blond bomb.
Cumulative cranial casualties cease caveman's cognitive coherence.
Doom digger derides Daddy's dangling dire dreary ****
Eclectic esoteric eccentric egotistical estranger;
Forthcoming fathoms fetch faithless fleeting father.
God given goblins gather gossamer ganglions;
Hell's hairy harlot harpies hover heeding Hyperion.
Ignatius imbibes irrevocably insisting,
"Jesus juggles justice's joy jarring jams."
Kindness kindles Kilimanjaro;
Malicious mountains melt, Mmm, morning marjoram.
Nothing negates Neanderthal ninnying.
Overt obsessions obfuscate original object of
purest passions, paltry past pinings,
quickly quieted, quelled,
resisted, relinquished, readily, ruefully, roundly
saturated, suffocated; surreptitiously silenced,
terribly torturing the thrashed tamed tormentor:
Ugly, ungrateful, unapologetic,
Vanity,
woefully wallowing, wailing, "Where's
Xanadu's
zeitgeist!?"
Jan 15, 2012
Jan 15, 2012 at 12:09 AM UTC
My ***** is at it again
drinking water from the toilet bowl
though I give him water every day
he has a preference for toilet water
Oh yes my ***** has been mischief
head butting doors to get in to see me
I say no ***** no
can't you see I am trying to write
But gosh ***** just rubs against my legs
and I feel warm inside and rub his head
I forgive him because I love him, you see
for he is my feline friend and naughty *****
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
By NeonSolaris
© 2013 NeonSolaris (All rights reserved)
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 10:43 AM UTC
I remember a boy,
he had blond hair and blue eyes.
When I was eleven,
heasked me to go on a date,
I had never been on a date before...
We went to the movies,
I dont remember much about it.
Only the feeling of nervousness
in my tummy.
It wasn't like the nervousness
I got when I was older though.
It was the blushing,
silly,
tripping over feet
and head butting each other when trying to kiss
kind of nervousness.
I think the movie we saw was Cars
and he may have tried to hold me hand once.
The part I remember the most,
was when we were in his room,
and my head was resting on his tummy,
and we were looking at eachother
with a fondness in our eyes
I have rarely seen,
maybe never.
And I could hear his tummy making noises,
and it sounded like
when you put your ears beneath the water in the bathtub,
and you hear everything that isn't normally there.
I started to fall asleep,
with my face still on his soft tummy,
and I think he was still looking at me.
My last thought before drifting off was;
'His tummy is kind of like mine,
bigger than most,
but really soft and comforting,
the perfect tummy to fall
asleep on.'
.................
I remembered you today,
boy with the blond hair and blue eyes.
I remembered how we went on a date,
my first date,
and how your tummy matched mine.
I remembered how my father said;
'*What a cute, fat little couple'*
And how I didn't know how to deal with that,
how I didn't know how to tell you,
so I didn't tell you anything...
I wonder how much would have changed,
if you would have been,
instead of him.
I even remembered your name today,
it was Jacob
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 12:31 AM UTC
My ***** is at it again
drinking water from the toilet bowl
though I give him water every day
he has a preference for toilet water
Oh yes my ***** has been mischief
head butting doors to get in to see me
I say no ***** no
can't you see I am trying to write
But gosh ***** just rubs against my legs
and I feel warm inside and rub his head
I forgive him because I love him, you see
for he is my feline friend and naughty *****
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
By NeonSolaris
© 2013 NeonSolaris (All rights reserved)
Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 4:55 PM UTC
I waited today for a freight train to pass.
Cattle cars with steers butting their horns against the
bars, went by.
And a half a dozen hoboes stood on bumpers between
cars.
Well, the cattle are respectable, I thought.
Every steer has its transportation paid for by the farmer
sending it to market,
While the hoboes are law-breakers in riding a railroad
train without a ticket.
It reminded me of ten days I spent in the Allegheny
County jail in Pittsburgh.
I got ten days even though I was a veteran of the
Spanish-American war.
Cooped in the same cell with me was an old man, a
bricklayer and a booze-fighter.
But it just happened he, too, was a veteran soldier, and
he had fought to preserve the Union and free the
*******
We were three in all, the other being a Lithuanian who
got drunk on pay day at the steel works and got to
fighting a policeman;
All the clothes he had was a shirt, pants and shoes--
somebody got his hat and coat and what money he
had left over when he got drunk.
2.4k
My home before the last was a hard place
I was in a hard place
You were in a hard place too
We've kind of always been similar in that way
Hell, we share a name
But similar isn't always a good thing
Head-butting was to be expected
With you having two
and mine having horns,
I'm surprised we didn't cause more damage
(We should have torn the roof off old Ward Street)
We were in a hard place
But you bought a hydrangea bush for me
and I... sung along to Dancing Queen
We made the best out of our hard place, Gemini
A basement cleared of cobwebs
Coffee after a hard day of nursing school
However, we also made that hard place
even worse for each other at times
and I'd like to apologize,
but I've never been good at showing weakness
My hands shake
and my eyes become lakes
I'd like to say I've forgiven everything
but this salt still burns
Sometimes, I remember the good before the bad
It feels like that hydrangea is blooming all over again
and I can hear your smile when ABBA plays
I think I'm on the right path,
but I've always been clumsy
So, if you've already made it through,
please be patient as I stumble.
And, hey,
maybe I'll forget what was so hard about that hard place.
Aug 20, 2015
Aug 20, 2015 at 6:34 PM UTC
Many, many times.
People dictate their ways.
And support the mistakes they've made.
But if you analyze them deeply.
You realize it quickly.
Those who have lost a love through foolish ways.
Seems to self reflect on mistakes they made.
A cheater that lost a good love.
Has regrets.
Some women/men can honestly confess this.
Listen closely to a personal love song.
And see the hurt/pain they seems to be going through.
It seems the creeping joy that they were experiencing.
Now, without that true love around has them reeling.
You have the second guessers always butting in.
Stating you should try to love them once again.
But it's the mistakes we make.
When we let our ways dictate our life.
It can leave you lonely.
Oct 14, 2012
Oct 14, 2012 at 9:03 AM UTC
I remember the way they used to hang their art so proudly with me. Messy crayon drawings of pure imagination. I saw them sneak popsicles from the freezer when no one was looking. I watched the plants on the windowsill grow, reaching for a sky on the other side of the pane. They cooked meals in that room and stained me with the flavor of bubbling tomato sauce, baked sourdough, and the gentle simmer of potpourri. There was magic sometimes, in the youthful grins over candles and the silent wishes they made. There were evenings of sharp, acidic vinegar and boiling eggs they dyed for Easter. There were arguments: yelling, screaming and crying—the growing pains of a family. There was violence too, tempers flaring, heads butting, and holes in the walls like black holes swallowing the light. There was a garden through the windows that grew with them—wild yet cultivated. This house was filled with their problems, with their love, with their lives. But, eventually, it emptied of them. Slowly, like an ancient lake dried up by the sun, they learned how to change to move on. They spread out like clouds across the sky and put me in a box. Now, I can’t help but wonder from my resting place: where have they drifted to, and how have they had to change to keep going?
Sep 15, 2025
Sep 15, 2025 at 10:06 AM UTC
Anger consumes my body, like fire from hell
My body keels over from lack of food
Food which I purposely neglected to provide
Hate, abuse, deceit and anger take over me
Pure ugliness, staring me in the face
People that are supposed to care, supposed to love
Who claim to care and claim to love
Yet seem to me as wolves in sheep’s clothing
Wanting to control me, dominate me, constrict me
Who crush me over and over again
And wonder why we are always butting heads
Sadness creeps in my heart, but it is not mine
And it saddens me more that I feel her hurt
My heart aches for love, for touch, for affection
It longs to love and to be loved
But all it receives is sadness and pain
Crying out for love, my body cries too
Not with tears, but with blood
A deep crimson red running out of me
Staining everything in its path
As this blood runs out of me, so does my strength, my energy
I am exhausted and long to sleep
But my mind is forever going, going, going …
Why? Why? Why? Why?
The question of a thousand why’s consumes me …
Threatening to crush my very soul.
May 25, 2013
May 25, 2013 at 8:56 PM UTC
Butting heads and jumping mountains,
Fiery ram am I
I have no wings or feathers but on swift hooves I can fly
I sometimes wish I wasn't burning,
but any cooler and I wouldn't be so bright
And my love'd be dying coals instead of an inferno of red light
Oh, I know I can be passionate, I know I sometimes look for fights,
I know that I am stubborn, strange and always must be in the right
But know I'll never hurt you, This fire can be soft and warm
And trust that I won't burn you
Even though this ram has horns
Oct 16, 2015
Oct 16, 2015 at 2:10 PM UTC
look at them
cattle being loaded in tricolor wagons
"Mind the closing doors"
the shepherd says
headless chickens trying to find a seat
bulls butting the walls
everyone is scared
they fear that the dog next to them
rips them inside out
so they just pretend it's fine
it's time to read the Evening Standard
let me show you my new iphone
I've been playing Candy Crush Saga
and I've become pretty good at it
you know?
The next station is Victoria
said Hall 9000
that's where I got off
and left the rest of my comrades
they are building a windmill in East London
and me?
I'm just a donkey
I don't really want to get involved
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 6:31 PM UTC
From pleasure of the bed,
Dull as a worm,
His rod and its butting head
Limp as a worm,
His spirit that has fled
Blind as a worm.
1.5k
darling, admittedly i love you
let me turn this lamp on
how antithetical to creeping
it is always done in the dark
isnt it?
this is your domain
not mine
did you see that one where
i was butting heads with galactic?
wowwsers
you creep so hard darling
you inspire deja vu
it requires me sitting down
to regain the notion
we cant be separated
i mean
you will stop holding my hand
when you relieve yourself
and ill stop holding you
when youre too raw to even think about
this isnt even a poem
its a rant
i should re-title
this ************
BLUE ***** the story of....
[puke]
this has turned to ****
i quit
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 2:09 AM UTC
What will I amount to
When I can’t take the heat
And crack under the pressure
Constantly haunted by preying eyes
Locked in on their target
A relentless weight
Seeping in every pore
And you are blind to it
Oblivious even
Perhaps it is imaginary
But it comes from all over
And it planted a seed
Which has grown into a weeping willow
Of soul breaking pressure
It is the barred door of my mental prison
The gravity to my butting wings
It is dragging me down
Whenever I try to fly
So tell me
How I can escape my prison
And defy gravity
Oct 17, 2021
Oct 17, 2021 at 7:19 PM UTC
Right now I'm
outside looking
up at the sky
and I'm tired
of trying to
rhyme all
the time
everyone's
always
butting
into my life
it's as if they
want me to
be upset all the time?
one day I'm happy
the next day I'm not
but you know what
never changes?
Their screams that
spout from hatred.
Whatever happened
to telling me I could
accomplish greatness?
Because I'm tired of
waiting and chasing
while I'm complaining
as I'm suffocating beneath
your demands ****
I wish I'd just stand-
up to you.
Dec 11, 2015
Dec 11, 2015 at 7:42 PM UTC
Greetings David,
I am employed by Fletchers Construction to be the Plant Coordinator at the Wellconnected Waterview Twin tunnel project underway beneath Sandringham in Auckland.
My wife is a hardworking Senior Nurse @ Ascot hospital in Greenlane.
For sanity, about six years ago, my wife and I bought a lifestyle block butting on to Egmont National Park @ 1250’ elevation. We built a beautiful alpine lodge, cut tracks down the heavily wooded escarpments, built bridges across two streams, reticulated roof water between tanks to a boulder built fishpond then to a shallow, stone rimmed lake which empties down an escarpment to the stream.
We have planted hundreds of trees and shrubs on this property, rhododendrons of beautiful form and colour, magnolias, a forest of silver birch, oaks, tulip trees and acers.
The property is a wonder of swooping hills and dips which, from it’s elevation, looks out over the grey Tasman sea toward Tasmania. Egmont looms in it’s white, pristine splendour over our left shoulder and the close, dark Puhakai range rears abruptly, spectacularly, betwixt the volcano and us.
Growth here is slow because of the climate, the 300 inches of annual rainfall, the short summers and the depleted volcanic ash soil.
I am 70 years old, my darling wife considerably younger….we both want to see our plantings grow to significance within our lifetime…
Thus my request for access to your wonderful fish fertilizer.
Respectfully
M.
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 3:18 PM UTC
In the midst of something crucial
diminutive But
butts in -
Oh, don't you hate that? -
just when evolution is expressing itself
and here's But to bring in devolution;
and so I told BUT recently:
But me no Buts
X me no Xs
Just **** off…
*But…
But…
But…*
Oh don't you know when you're not needed?
Look here - I'm in the midst of watching that
**** **** of that damsel across the green field
and here you come butting in
It's her swaying **** I'm watching;
now, you - flick off!
*But…
But…
But…*
And exasperated, I said:
OK - What?
*But that's not a woman's **** you're watching;
it's a bull across the green field -
put on your glasses, and you'll see what I mean*
And sure enough
with my glasses on I could see
But had a point -
still, But takes away our illusions
and so I vent my fury on But:
OK, wise guy - so I can see it's a bull;
Now get your bull off somewhere else
*But…
But…
But…*
Oh, the diminutive, persistent But -
it follows one like one's own ****
May 15, 2012
May 15, 2012 at 6:07 PM UTC
This is my American Spirit
Though I am loathe, but deserved to hear it
This is my generation in a long, sour drag:
Bohemes and hipsters, the self-important type
Self-serving directness with subtle insouciance
Self-righteous without e’er scents of conviction
Qualities, to all, vogue slimming befit
This, this is my American Spirit.
I’ll be the equalizer in a furtive game of chess
And acquaintance, its partner, arbitrating
I’ll wear the habit of means and humility
An ashen cherry, flicked, waiting to be
The pyrrhic finite ember and pastiche memory
Escape is apparent in discontinuity, my
Means to ravel a courser bond in someone,
As only a blush reminder only when they all clear it
Yes, this is my, my American Spirit.
We’ll have a game of butting desires
‘Tween all those appetites and some self-respect
Only, I know, to lose out in the end.
Is there a place for dignity to prevail
Or charm in an attempt likely to fail?
Can there be eyes open, minds or thought
To gentle pride its combatant ‘gainst
Unconscious abuses: yea or not?
But I will know irony as means to an end
Turned cheek from machination
That I can do, I can pretend
When the veil may be lifted—that I fear it
This, this is my American Spirit.
Of course I enable, for the cynosure, the dissonances
Supplant for fraternity fraternal-ligature
Too obvious is resolve ‘neath shaw of fleeting smoke
My own wants impeded, kept at a distance.
For, oh, Fortune! How you have written
Some conscience to mend it to others kept calm
A charity in practice as this cigarette is long
While vice, in all aspects, is the most correct wrong
But hummed out in truth as a fascist, he ought
I’ll turn to a tonic of strength to delude
That pretense and pride the conscience denude.
In some be it strong in others enthralled
Whilst ********* our prayer beads of looking-glass selves
Quietly burning the vestigial gods
That brought us a new light or perspective on things
And though we are loathe, we despise to hear it,
This, this is our American Spirit.
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 11:50 PM UTC
Back then
I thought the letter
you sent
was nothing more
than a kiss off
but today
twenty years later
sitting on Art Hill
ignoring
your ghost
down at the edge
of the pond
and loving and
understanding
the words you
once wrote
Art
soul
and appreciation
I am knowing that
this revelation
didn't didn't come with
age or through prayer
which begat wisdom
but from just
watching these
balloons launch
and soar higher
and higher
butting up against
the blue sky
and almost
breaking through
to the heavens
Sep 20, 2018
Sep 20, 2018 at 2:36 AM UTC
A personal protest,
A fight to forge an identity
And refuse all they think they know.
Butting heads against rams,
They wound but encase yourself with their fear
It hurts less when they attack it themselves.
Exist, create, destroy, love, hurt, ****** ******
Pre existing values that were pulled from the teeth of drunkards afraid of their own faces.
Shake free of shackles and swing them,
A personal protest.
A newly found revolution of a one man army.
I'd join you but I'm picketing my own funeral.
Stay fearless, stay unconformed, stay you,
Stay me, stay puppy.
A pat on the head from corporate junkies
As you march along side them
Licking their seeping fears for them
As they shake that ground you forgot to stand on.
The ground is not ours and
We are losing the fight against humanity,
We've lost our way.
They've lost their way.
Corporate monkeys ******* our brains,
******* their own egos.
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 7:29 AM UTC