"caltrop" poems
Thou art not but a siren,
Singing thine song.
Thou do not but lure the hearts of men,
Into thine caltrop of a jaw.
Not devouring instantly,
But instead thou bides thine time.
Thou pleasures before thou feasts.
Thou waits until the opportune shade of sundial,
When the hearts of men art trustworthy.
Thou feeds upon them as if a beast.
But dost thou have beauty?
But dost thou have charm?
But dost thou have wit?
This is why thou cannot resist.
Jul 23, 2013
Jul 23, 2013 at 10:52 AM UTC
¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯
please
bear with me through
these turns,
for I believe it gets
much better..
i need help.
..much better than this
winding Caltrop
Way
please help me mind
these twists
no..
"not the TWISTS!
the twists betwixt
the ends gone
listing on
a list of modes or
measures—
lest my brooding
BOOM.
So vast,
and so cosmic,
so chasmic..
circumstasmic?
Could any of this be
happening?
Happenstance?
Perhaps a
dance—
a DANCE!
of eloquence enlisting—
of parables b'twixting
between..
..or was it betwixt?
betwixt!
the twist is
a'mix the
boundaries amidst
the sounding
absentees amiss
and all their revelries
gone missing,
they're so lost
among this misting lee."
**i came upon this sanity.
alas!
this simple explanation,
what has brought me
to my knees
at last—**
for
this hope so fixed
to kiss me,
as would bangles
on the wrist be,
then went
"begging and
dredging and
picking and *******
through grand affair in
blissful beds
of rose and posey petals
pushing hedgerows!!
more and more
a bushless exposé
as days count down—
a maze a'drowned
in *thornful
sortie*!!
scornful,
hastily adorned and full of
fate-encrusted memories
of a trustless
misgiving.
My sin has shone its boldness
and has left me living cold.
**please, god,
don't let me
die this way!"
this heart,
o lord,
it yearns
away..**
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 10:21 AM UTC
Not a Good Comrade
No man is free if he gives up himself
And disappears into sad howlingness
Subsumed in sinking, shrieking subservience
Thrall-teed in the overseer’s livery
A label on a shabby baseball cap
A programmed pixel smeared across a screen
A rusty caltrop cast into the road
A shifted pea under a shuffled thimble
As crowd, as mass, as demographic noise -
No man is free if he gives up himself
Nov 29, 2016
Nov 29, 2016 at 7:01 PM UTC