"cankered" poems
Beware the bitter idiot--
That fellow with the sour
Mind,
Cankered by disillusion,
And feelings of
Left behind.
So life may not be everything
As planned--
It does, after all, arrive in
Installments called the day.
One of these is enough to try
To understand,
One enough for this thin
Vessel of stardust clay.
His voice is but a drone,
Nothing but rancor and filth
Ride upon his tongue.
Complaint the engine of his
Tone,
The wormwood ballad of
Pitiful woe he sings and has
Ever sung.
He will not be mistaken,
For the street tough is at his
Very core.
He will not allow to awaken
The malleable man of his
Youth and yore.
And so this fellow who has
Shut his soul off,
Stands in front of his mirror and cries.
He's too proud to unhand the
Lance of the scoff--
Boldness is his favorite lie.
Apr 19, 2018
Apr 19, 2018 at 10:08 PM UTC
Anigh, is the darkling of the effrontery eagle, effaced, replaced; it's worship towards the devil. Gallons of blood, used as cover, ash and mud; defiling of ****** mother's. Gallizing men drowned in sweetness of drunkened friends. Gamins created by cankered loot, oil fills the pockets; diamonds make slaves to. Gangrels run kingdom's from their ancestral hand-me-downs, gaolers imprison innocents, whilst thy rulers throw ****** for babes at compounds. Innovators; mocking God's name. Mixing men with robotics, keeping the pure obscured, locking animals in a cage. Inorbing creation with cameras as eyes, like rats they scurry, hide; when the truth is knocking. Like a drunkard; This circular hell shalt rock as a ship, many planet's art approaching, none help shalt thou get.
©Brandon nagley
©lonesome poet's poetry
©prophetic poetry.
Word meanings:
Anigh: near.
Darkling: growing darkness.
effrontery: shameless.
Eagle: the united states.
Effaced: erased, forgotten.
Gallizing: add water plus sugar to make stronger wine from grape juice.
Gamins: neglected boy left to the streets.
Gangrel: vagrant, loose built person.
Gaoler: jailer.
Whilst:while.
Thy:your.
Inorb: encircle, surround.
Circular hell: earth.
Art:are.
Feb 11, 2017
Feb 11, 2017 at 1:49 PM UTC
This Skeleton knived me a Painful Score
Yet poked my Penances cry out deny
Longing to tape those Cankered Wounds formore
In Prayer breathe out another Saint's sigh
My Founding Friends, heirs to my Salvation
One whose Resources I facelessly extract
The Other - blend Virtue - shook Obsession
Wasted my Traits from Loyalty and Tact
So then, wailing softly, my Bleeding Throat
Ask your Lord's Mercy to concile me then
As a Year and a Bone suffice your Gloat
And demote me less than those Honoured Men.
There is one Birth hence; And a Rebirth haste
To Breathe once more; And leave my Shell to paste.
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 4:00 AM UTC
Because of you, everything I touch,
Bleeds and turns to dust
I want to **** you first,
Because a broken blade singes, feels good with a ******
Against my wrist.
Your German tongue, I can't bare
Not a single word without a snare
Your Aryan sly,
Your black gutted soul.
Go away, I say
Go away,
You come as swiftly as you stay,
You bruited, withered man
I tried to burry you in the sand
With the Pacific ocean, we found sacred
Ah, to crush your brittle skull with my fair hands
The empty vessel that lies,
My brother's fears, my mother's tears
My sister's sorrow
Her disposition that fallows
Go away, I say
Go away, you shadow of a man
Your skin is already cankered
Your hair thin and gray
Spitting tobacco out the window
Passing by your old church
Your God you hold so sacred,
Hates what he sees naked.
How ironic,
As you fill your stomach, with gin and tonics
Your only son, drenched in your malice
His confused identity, at your callus
Your worst fear, your biggest secret
I see what you left behind, in his tender cries
Your drunk is merely a symptom.
My mother's wisdom
Trying to gather strength to circulate the essence
Of her household kingdom,
Yet, destroyed at the presence
You left her, pavement scratched.
Busted blood vessels, continuous contusions
Led to the comfort of capsules
Trying to mend the thrash
Laying in front of her children on the hard, wooden floors
You demon of destruction
With death in your demise,
How your lover's family feels
As you dragged her heals
Into her watery grave
For you, it's not a worry; you think your God will save
Now it is time.
Take your pride,
The evil you hide.
As your golden ticket to hell
Alas, you’re dead
No fragmented memories shrouding my brain
No more drugs, no more pain
FREE, of the demented ways
I am the murderer now
Mar 4, 2012
Mar 4, 2012 at 1:35 PM UTC
Like a giant Sequoia tree, well aged and outwardly still tall and firmly anchored
I proudly display, my outer senescent bark, but inside, I’m pitted and cankered
Still majestic and straight, branches spread, with fingered needles reaching for the sky
But at each limb joint, those cracks lay hidden; not yet visible, to the naked eye
Those blisters ravage and rage, at my inner trunk; but not, so you can clearly see
Hidden by the sap; like those morning rheum tears, which seep out and crust on me
I reach skyward, extend my branches to the sun; my sieve tubes there unplugged
But below, my veins congested, and my arteries full of sap, are fully clogged
And yet I stand, without an outward tremble; disguising well the tremors in my roots
With all my strength, I will them hold; do not cede, to the pain that in them shoots
I will perceiver; not able to bend with the wind, I stand firm still; until I break
Stiffen my resolve; until my fluids coagulate, and rigor mortise does me overtake
BOEMS BY JA 397
Sep 30, 2016
Sep 30, 2016 at 10:34 AM UTC
Before we read or speak or rest further,
you owe promise to a favor–
I want you to walk directly out of your door
during the most lucid scene of day,
or the most haunting moment of inner-night
Walk until your feet come to a
sudden
instinctive
halt
Listen to clamor, or
whatever surrounds you
Lift all volumes of your
puja
quietude
as a psalm
Focus on humanities scrapings
or the long graceful stroke of
matriarchal firman in her most
peculiar
stage
of cankered innocence
Lecture the calamity of her fictionless plot and
digest what the spiritually deaf cannot, and allow it to
find what triggers you the hardest
what
gouges
the prompts threadbare
It may be the indifferent hiss of cars passing
and it may be the expression plastering the jaw
of all of that unprocessed energy
ambling
on
by
It may even be the weather spilt
from her majesties
archaic entrails
Something will eventually do you in
but it ultimately
takes practice at varying degrees
I've done it when I was awake
I've done it in dreams
Either way
there's more mirrored in fragmented cohesion
than it
quite often
seems
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 9:22 PM UTC
The last time I saw Fred.....
On his last leg’s
zimmer- framed
& proudly vertical
The fist
of cankered gristle
removed
at a cost
but he
noble soldier
farmer
grand-father
man
was insistent
He would walk
with me
to the toilet
And he did
with dignity
a joke
& splendid bravery
Dec 21, 2011
Dec 21, 2011 at 9:26 AM UTC
Claret-stained kiss from maiden impure,
Cruel, burning pain, she craved more!
Hath taken my life from heaven’s eye,
Thy cankered night, in which I’ve died!
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 1:07 PM UTC
I once held a clutch of unhappiness,
in a field of corn flowers
as leaves blew cankered with rust,
if only Autumns white shadows
would cross the stubble fields
and by the morning light a wondrous hamlet
would be strolled upon
that would be reason enough
to dream into the realms of the possible
reinventing brightness unbowed.
Feb 22, 2014
Feb 22, 2014 at 8:10 AM UTC
Greenfield Village
Henry Ford looms large
The length of River Rouge
Lower and Middle and Upper and Rouge River proper
Abraded by scars
Mouth cankered and scowling
Zug Island wrenched
To a permanent sneer behind
The kid gloved hand of his beloved Fairlane
Wandering Potemkin near the end
Head an empty lot webbed
In figure eights of snowy plaque.
We walked down the lane
From Firestone Farm
Past stubble field
Late one winter afternoon
Searching for the rope swing
In the old chestnut tree
Ordered hung there perhaps
By the old man himself.
I raced twilight
Edges dissolving
Sent you higher and higher
Prayed you would catch a glimpse
Of abiding light that silvers
The edge the world.
Sep 26, 2016
Sep 26, 2016 at 7:33 AM UTC
In this cracked bower of dusted morn,
Under crinkled leaves of cankered scorn,
Thine promise hath ruptured in purulent bliss;
Innards devoured with one poisoned kiss!
In death’s cruel grasp, spring bid adieu,
Such an ill-fate bestowed upon thee so soon!
Writhing in the pain from this soiled vow,
Revenge is waiting, won’t thy surrender now?
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 2:36 PM UTC
At least in Kind your Warming Smile resign
Whilst holding your Excellent Pig unique
Though some in sense note One's Finger design
Cause such subtle but dastardly Technique
And Rage you caused; Though the Baby's Tears buy
Breach whatever Spending Frame you present
That Image - think of Valhalla's Dames sigh
Let much of your ******* to grin your Assent
And knowing indeed how Innocence bears
Which by your Labours allowed in your Growth
Raise with Prudence; Then quench your Partner's Fears
To let Vestal Virgins sleep on your Worth.
It would have been Brilliant your Foul Stokes indeed
Than wear Cankered Masks to infect your Seed.
Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 6:00 PM UTC
We came in through the undergrowth
To a patch of blasted trees,
Then checked the radiation that
Had brought earth to its knees,
The skyscrapers were gaunt and tall
They rose like a cankered cell,
Of shattered forms, all overgrown
With a **** spawned straight from hell.
Then Roach said that we should wait awhile,
Make sure it had stabilised,
We’d seen what happened to men before
When they glowed, before our eyes,
But that had been thirty years before,
When men had made mistakes,
We’d not seen a man since we began
Living on rats and snakes.
I vaguely recalled the woman thing
That had held me in her arms,
Who cooed and cried when the lightning died
And the bells shrieked in alarm,
But we hadn’t seen a woman thing
For years, for they all died out,
It was something to do with ovaries
And things we don’t know about.
We’d met as a pair of ragamuffins
Roaming over the plains,
Hiding under a hollow tree
To avoid the acid rains,
Our skin was scarred, and our life was hard
But we managed to survive,
And now, as far as we knew we were
The only men alive.
I knew she’d read from the Bible for
That was a woman thing,
She taught me plenty of words back then
And showed me scribbling,
So I read fragments to Roach who said
He’d had something called a sis,
I had a piece of a Bible, torn
That was just called Genesis.
We smiled at the thought of a world that was
Quite empty, just as now,
But set in a fabulous garden with
A God, we’d find somehow,
And in there was the name of a man
My woman thing gave to me,
And while he slept, the God man kept
A rib, and he called it Eve.
The city that lay before us may
Have well been Babylon,
But silent now and deserted with
Its ancient people gone,
We wandered into its cluttered streets
And we saw the things of men,
All scaled with rust and a loss of trust
It would never come again.
It was there that we found a woman thing
Who was scarred, and scared as well,
For she’d never seen a man before
And thought that we’d come from hell,
She sat, backed into a corner,
And begging us both to leave,
But I said I was known as Adam, so
She must have been known as Eve.
And then that night, we had a fight
I committed a mortal sin,
I killed my friend as he went to bend
Over the woman thing,
And God roared out with his thunder,
I would always be to blame,
And then decreed in my hour of need
I would call my first son Cain.
David Lewis Paget
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 2:29 AM UTC
cankered by self
centred bullseyes.
target
for arrows fledged
from dead wings.
love could be
nylon now.
sores do not
care if
instruments are false.
strung between the
hurt now and
some notion
of then words
flow.
do they salve
or do they
sear the flesh
stretched
weeping
consequence
of loving.
words if to sear
should find ear
who made one so ...
strange.
words if to salve
should not halve
loves joy into
loss.
love is purposed . true
to words that are not used
as whips or leashes.
no fertile ground
in words bound
to regret.
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 7:19 PM UTC