"caries" poems
1
The chards rising. Am I the praying bird?
In the gleaming sun my bones are negative,
My flesh a cypher walking through the plains
As ghost I move, my dark lord, above me
Flocks swirl and spike. I stand accused,
Your pointed face divining oblivion,
And no redemption in the rains of my
Cliff walk days.
2
I see my shroud pinning on the wires
His legs are razored forks spinning my
Compass from True North. Your dark brush-
Fire wings, the swept wind, wheels and strings
My fate. Such black rhetoric in a burn,
Your caws, loosed perches, on the stakes, picks
My crowning grave. Black dove, your feathers finger
As they slice.
3
Smoke, the cardinal blood caries my teething
Bone, spades my hand without a flight.
Taut, the pulled noose my hooded one
I see my scarecrow’s reflexion, the scar,
Let blood, the seeded droppings end trailed
To my door. Feathers, ferry to carry on
Dowsing downward, black knight of down, to sticks
On extended wings.
Jun 11, 2012
Jun 11, 2012 at 8:38 PM UTC
I'm not religious.
I'm not even spiritual.
I'm just a cold, soft Vulcan.
The system of the down
has isolated me here
to think, which is what a Vulcan
does all the time.
It's really pointless.
It is desert, hot and cold
served in deprivation,
meditation, and
solitude.
The system has been doing
this for eons.
It's called increasing
systemic risk when stressed.
I make a cognitive chunk
for you to cogitate
over coffee.
Picture this.
Wandering Boy Scouts (BS)
in their pickup trucks,
helpful, strong,
vicious when aimless,
efficiently cruel,
mechanized abattoir makers
mass pit diggers,
merit badge takers.
Smell the BS.
It all goes into baking
gooey brownie BS,
repugnantly pungent,
and redolent of sweet
burning flesh.
Stressed, the down system
spits BS out
randomly to nucleate,
and procreate if possible.
Breeding a new Brand,
with Cult leader Classes
and all the -isms.
Visionaries with their caries;
Pushers with agendas hidden;
Leaders steadfast in conviction,
taking a nation, against
all odds, in Battling Bulges,
****** lines hidden
within clean, pleated
leather skirts
that still reveal penciled
seams up straight
shaved bare legs.
This is how the system
shakes itself; auto
****** asphyxiation.
Vulcan's never shake
the bars of their cells
because there's no barring
except Great Walls
forbidding, with a wink,
killing each other.
To be thy Greek brother's keeper,
is to cut not that brother man,
but the other brother man
down with BS fervor and S&M;
madness, before bondaging
his wounds in mummified
State, taped shut
with a healing kiss.
To have dominion
over the animals
means a bludgeoned
pleasure, or
transplanted
desire.
Dominion to exploit
blunted, unconditional,
emotional resources,
until the system
gels again, vaginally
or astrolly whole.
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 11:11 PM UTC
1
The chards rising. Am I the praying bird?
In the gleaming sun my bones are negative,
My flesh a cypher walking through the plains
As ghost I move, my dark lord, above me
Flocks swirl and spike. I stand accused,
Your pointed face divining oblivion,
And no redemption in the rains of my
Cliff walk days.
2
I see my shroud pinning on the wires
His legs are razored forks spinning my
Compass from True North. Your dark brush-
Fire wings, the swept wind, wheels and strings
My fate. Such black rhetoric in a burn,
Your caws, loosed perches, on the stakes, picks
My crowning grave. Black dove, your feathers finger
As they slice.
3
Smoke, the cardinal blood caries my teething
Bone, spades my hand without a flight.
Taut, the pulled noose my hooded one
I see my scarecrow’s reflexion, the scar,
Let blood, the seeded droppings end trailed
To my door. Feathers, ferry to carry on
Dowsing downward, black knight of down, to sticks
On extended wings.
Oct 2, 2012
Oct 2, 2012 at 12:14 PM UTC
It is Ponnaiyar
Flowing to the Bay Bengal
and carries all dire rumour
Make everything fine and fertile!
This is our sprawling land
Our father painted on it with their soul and blood,
There was a time,
When their crop field remain pour.....
without our slog.....
Over the years .......
Many water flows through Ponnaiyar......
Now they don’t called us
to transplant their paddy ..
Now they don’t called us
to harvest their paddy....
Now they don’t called us
to harvest their Sugarcane......
Now they love their machine,
Over the years ....
Many water flows through Ponnaiyar.......
My mother once asked ‘who develop machine?’
I replied, ‘Scientist ‘..........
She said ‘they are selfish’.............
Over the years
Many water flows through Ponnaiyar..........
Now we travel around,
and hunt for living..............
Ponnaiyar still flowing to the Bay of Bengal
and caries the memo of our grief and struggle.....
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 3:10 AM UTC
Haze of cloud, light rain dropping cauls—
And nowhere is betraying sun to be seen,
Drowned streets, are pathways of shawl,
Low scapes of shun— wind caries a keen.
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 2:17 PM UTC
Spry distractions loaf on lithe intent,
men waking, wishing, trying,
b’lieving, doing, buying -inging time rather than be-,
results in salt-work, sprawling like the C
in coldness: callous spray
that dampens your New Canvas Day.
Pixels splat and reek of pure demise,
wine trauma met with whys
fires livid earth from foil-pressed crumbs
from which your towers rise. You miss
the point of -ing;
the shape you’re in’s an -e-d thing
writ past because of practice;
timed it slow, fixed solemn bets
all rife with catty pugil,
ribbons placed on “I-got-tīme-in” *******
that gleam too brightly
for the lover’s open eye. Youriyese
in grace, ingratiated by devices
(rueful caries)
shelter you from toil’s ten-thousand days.
You see them, they see you whilst print-ing,
comb-ing over, feel-ing joy anew: such sugar lines
the bottom
of a borrowed cup of time.
White hues direct-ing -ingots in a line
totally gold
and pin “pathetic” on your chest,
their best not forged in -ing or be-
(like they would want you to be) -lieve,
but rather hey! and halt!
The hollow points of discord,
blood of victims be- -in’ salt.
Aug 31, 2018
Aug 31, 2018 at 2:46 PM UTC
Haze of cloud, light rain dropping cauls—
And nowhere is betraying sun to be seen,
Drowned streets, are pathways of shawl,
Low scapes of shun— wind caries a keen.
Jun 3, 2013
Jun 3, 2013 at 12:21 PM UTC
1
The chards rising. Am I the praying bird?
In the gleaming sun my bones are negative,
My flesh a cypher walking through the plains
As ghost I move, my dark lord, above me
Flocks swirl and spike. I stand accused,
Your pointed face divining oblivion,
And no redemption in the rains of my
Cliff walk days.
2
I see my shroud pinning on the wires
His legs are razored forks spinning my
Compass from True North. Your dark brush-
Fire wings, the swept wind, wheels and strings
My fate. Such black rhetoric in a burn,
Your caws, loosed perches, on the stakes, picks
My crowning grave. Black dove, your feathers finger
As they slice.
3
Smoke, the cardinal blood caries my teething
Bone, spades my hand without a flight.
Taut, the pulled noose my hooded one
I see my scarecrow’s reflexion, the scar,
Let blood, the seeded droppings end trailed
To my door. Feathers, ferry to carry on
Dowsing downward, black knight of down, to sticks
On extended wings.
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 2:24 PM UTC
.
Haze of cloud, light rain dropping cauls—
And nowhere is betraying sun to be seen,
Drowned streets, are pathways of shawl,
Low scapes of shun— wind caries a keen.
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 12:48 PM UTC
1
The chards rising. Am I the praying bird?
In the gleaming sun my bones are negative,
My flesh a cypher walking through the plains
As ghost I move, my dark lord, above me
Flocks swirl and spike. I stand accused,
Your pointed face divining oblivion,
And no redemption in the rains of my
Cliff walk days.
2
I see my shroud pinning on the wires
His legs are razored forks spinning my
Compass from True North. Your dark brush-
Fire wings, the swept wind, wheels and strings
My fate. Such black rhetoric in a burn,
Your caws, loosed perches, on the stakes, picks
My crowning grave. Black dove, your feathers finger
As they slice.
3
Smoke, the cardinal blood caries my teething
Bone, spades my hand without a flight.
Taut, the pulled noose my hooded one
I see my scarecrow’s reflexion, the scar,
Let blood, the seeded droppings end trailed
To my door. Feathers, ferry to carry on
Dowsing downward, black knight of down, to sticks
On extended wings.
Feb 16, 2013
Feb 16, 2013 at 11:45 AM UTC
*You paid me a most humble courtesy
Ingratiating my own imagination’s sensuality.
It ‘tis one of those quiet thinking moments
Where for a time – mere moments – one’s spirit bows
Down with the body telling the mind a beautiful story.
But the body does so much more than just tell it.
So as I remember it, your mind does replay it.
The pleasure – as if it were greater than an actual
Remembrance of any true physical event.
What does this mean? you ask.
My feelings – my dear – would not be worth a penny
If I had not given these memories along with it.
Within ecstasy's imagination you will always remember me.
Whatever comes of it will make you the better for it.
What is imagination but a prelude to creation?
With the creation of anything – its being reclaims the imagined.
Imagined – created – imagined – created –
It goes round – n – round making of itself
A flavored reality sprinkled with the sweetest of all that is.
The sprinkles you feel are the effect of the seventy five
Percent water that we all truly are.
What can you imagine would happen if our memory
Awakened with this capability while holding hands?
My love, I can see the innocence in us both.
Innocence does not mean that we have not known life.
Innocence means that we are not guilty of failing our love.
If you are affected by these words or by any of my others,
May all of them be received with an equaling retort.
Upon each turn, each ascent and descent – they all are but
Road signs marking out our journey.
The safety that I afford you is as real as my memories.
Let my memories wash you clean of the evil
That you endure daily – repairing all that is damaged.
Absorb my imagination in word, in song and visually
As you feel yourself evolve.
Isn’t it sweet to feel these sweet threads spun in love
Mixed with the colors of our affections?
You have never touched me before -
But you have haven’t you?
We have all by ourselves, with a liberating simplicity,
Coupled our minds which must prove that love
Can be out of our heads and for my part in it
I cannot help but have these convictions.
All I ask in return is that you wear this love
As if it were a coat of arms letting my
Imagination free you from any evil harm.
For my kiss caries within it an Apostle’s heart.
If evil should continue to stand in our way
I shall imagine that evil’s demise.
Casting out the demons with nothing more
Than the warmest of all kisses.
Can you not feel them cower now?
That is the power of the imagination my dear.
For what is imagination if it is not a wish?
And is not a wish a prayer?
And is not a prayer Divine Ecstasy?
Let this be our truth!
Oh Lord hear my plea, I imagine ….*
Jun 20, 2017
Jun 20, 2017 at 12:05 AM UTC
1
The chards rising. Am I the praying bird?
In the gleaming sun my bones are negative,
My flesh a cypher walking through the plains
As ghost I move, my dark lord, above me
Flocks swirl and spike. I stand accused,
Your pointed face divining oblivion,
And no redemption in the rains of my
Cliff walk days.
2
I see my shroud pinning on the wires
His legs are razored forks spinning my
Compass from True North. Your dark brush-
Fire wings, the swept wind, wheels and strings
My fate. Such black rhetoric in a burn,
Your caws, loosed perches, on the stakes, picks
My crowning grave. Black dove, your feathers finger
As they slice.
3
Smoke, the cardinal blood caries my teething
Bone, spades my hand without a flight.
Taut, the pulled noose my hooded one
I see my scarecrow’s reflexion, the scar,
Let blood, the seeded droppings end trailed
To my door. Feathers, ferry to carry on
Dowsing downward, black knight of down, to sticks
On extended wings.
Jul 1, 2013
Jul 1, 2013 at 2:50 PM UTC
Fear of failure had me slogging
Constructing these walls of limits around me
And I’ve been confined in this prison for decades now
Consumed by my own self-made leviathan
Seeking for perfection, which smells not in this world
Procrastination, had me shackled on the same level
Letting time passing by, wasted
Assuming what the world may assume if may I fall
I may sleep in disgrace with fear,
Walking on the prickly path, away from your gashing eyes
I may drown in your scornful laughter, a stagnant pond
Of discourage for men
Whilst ageing not to be young no more
We grow naive with poor minds, weary souls
Thus age caries no wisdom nor oomph
To rectify errs of the past, though far ahead still glows
The lit of hope, the spirit to rise from the dust
To release my soul free and disrobe the coat of fear
To stand tall and soar above the horizon and reach the stars in the sky
Though I may never catch the time I let to flew away
Jul 28, 2016
Jul 28, 2016 at 5:05 AM UTC
Haze of cloud, light rain dropping cauls—
And nowhere is betraying sun to be seen,
Drowned streets, are pathways of shawl,
Low scapes of shun— wind caries a keen.
Dec 1, 2012
Dec 1, 2012 at 6:51 PM UTC
Haze of cloud, light rain dropping cauls—
And nowhere is betraying sun to be seen,
Drowned streets, are pathways of shawl,
Low scapes of shun— wind caries a keen.
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 12:41 PM UTC
The soft invisible weaves that
caries our souls to places
more beautiful that we could
ever dream of.
Sometimes the wind is angry
because there are no souls to carry.
So it destroys and break things.
Just because the wind doesn't
want to be alone while it travels.
Dec 27, 2018
Dec 27, 2018 at 10:53 AM UTC
The Midnight Cries
Oh, how the false face must hind,
How it mocks my life;
I hear the sound in the night
like caries of an ancient time,
I could see the mighty light shine on in,
While others are on hands and knees
begging please not me,
that old September wind
made its way back again,
in the silence of the night
I can hear the cries,
they get closer and closer with time,
it is messing with my mind,
Oh, why do they cry?
I could almost hear trumpets
from far away;
what does this mean? when it comes
to me in darken dreams,
It sounds like a mighty earthquake
Where lives are about to end;
on blood stained sand
someone is about to take a stand,
while deadly flowers are in a cup
when a voice would say
come and drink.
It will end quickly you will see
changes will be made for you and me,
at the end of the mighty cry
when it hits midnight,
so, look around me dear queen,
tell me what it is you see,
I had no words to say to he
The one who haunts me
In darken dreams;
Then he would say to me again,
Moonlight tell me what you see,
So, I opened my mouth with would
Like thunder and said;
I see prophecies are being fulfilled,
tears are flowing out on the seas,
songs are being song,
And yet; death is being done,
Slaves do appear to hear the words
I must say; flowers are falling from the sky
while another has died;
Horror and pain come the mighty rain;
In deep emotions, they do fall;
I hear words of sorrow
knocking at the doors of the poor,
while a noble slave, tries to shine faith their way.
Poetic Judy Emery © 2017
The Queen Of Darken Dreams Poetic Lilly Emery
Feb 27, 2017
Feb 27, 2017 at 3:28 PM UTC
.
1
The charred rising. Am I the praying bird?
In the gleaming sun my bones are negative,
My flesh a cypher walking through the plains
As ghost I move, my dark lord, above me
Flocks swirl and spike. I stand accused,
Your pointed face divining oblivion,
And no redemption in the rains of my
Cliff walk days.
2
I see my shroud pinning on the wires
His legs are razored forks spinning my
Compass from True North. Your dark brush-
Fire wings, the swept wind, wheels and strings
My fate. Such black rhetoric in a burn,
Your caws, loosed perches, on the stakes, picks
My crowning grave. Black dove, your feathers finger
As they slice.
3
Smoke, the cardinal blood caries my teething
Bone, spades my hand without a flight.
Taut, the pulled noose my hooded one
I see my scarecrow’s reflexion, the scar,
Let blood, the seeded droppings end trailed
To my door. Feathers, ferry to carry on
Dowsing downward, black knight of down, to sticks
On extended wings.
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 2:00 PM UTC
With sterile thank you's we say our goodbyes and set fire to our feet as we walk. Illuminating the opposite directions we now travel.
A hollow end to a race that never truly started because neither of us really know how to run. Though I would definitely like to pretend that I can, boasting of my previous wins and marathons, urging you to the start line as I stand next to you unable to move myself.
I am a masked hollow giving advice that I want to hear, obsessed with finish lines with no plan put into the journey, no realistic way to go. Moving not an inch while I stand still at the start.
I am ambitious beyond myself, I'll peddle fanciful tales of my dreams and the life we could lead, shadow checks that I have no intent of paying out.
My feet are on fire now but through no will of my own. I run in the opposite way using someone else's flames to push motivation into my legs. It will maybe get me halfway, if I'm lucky, before I stand around waiting for another tourist who will be easily manipulated into believing my fantasies and selfish promises.
I am a salesman masquerading as a running partner, with no intension of making it through the race.
You were right to say goodbye, never fooled by my disguise. You escaped before my faulty products and cheap knock offs poisoned your soul.
I hope your fire caries you to the finish line you run towards, leave the merchant's at the start before you go.
Aug 14, 2017
Aug 14, 2017 at 8:24 PM UTC
She caries it around with her every where she goes.
It bungees from her mind to her heart, lungs and even her stomach.
It curdles her thoughts until it is the only truth she can fathom.
It ****** her dry
like the sun does a desert mud hole,
and her soul cracked from the drought.
Try as she might she couldn't leave it behind
because the darkness was always there when she closed her eyes.
It bore a stinging sensation of what had become familiar,
like the scent of a childhood home.
She dwells there
scared to venture elsewhere.
The risk of leaving behind
the only thing that had always been with her loyally her entire life
was greater than the chance of running far enough to escape it.
And its hidden in darkness that she learned the greatest skill she would ever possess. Forgery.
Deceit.
Each success,
each smile and friendship was formed to help conceal the evil she hid away.
Don't let them see.
Don't let them see.
Feb 17, 2014
Feb 17, 2014 at 8:00 PM UTC
The one that caries all that is deep and warm within me
She flows like a golden river from limb to limb
Always searching for a way out of my body to be heard
But only seldom finds an exit from my exoskeleton
Leaking out from my fingertips
Or the corner of my lips
Like another soul speaking wisdom to my kin
As well as to my own ears
So that I may cary on another day
So that I can feel her warmth keeping my heart beating
Jan 12, 2012
Jan 12, 2012 at 1:30 AM UTC
Oh, you beautiful escape...
You reckon me back to life
Your sway echoes along the drafts
I'm complete when you're falling.
Each drop that falls,
Is a calling back to reality.
Witch stroke of wind,
Supports my dreams and caries my hopes.
Oh, you beautiful landscape...
Bring me into normality,
Shake my foundations,
make me smile through hard days.
Your images afloat my horizon,
And It's easier everyday,
Cause everything will get better,
When nature is pure and touchable.
Oh, you beautiful world...
Don't you ever change,
Keep holding hands, hold unto sacred love.
Live between solidary and reality.
Preserve humanity as the last resource,
To keep escapes and landscapes alive.
Jun 9, 2016
Jun 9, 2016 at 7:00 AM UTC
I was practicing a filling technique
(I'm a dentist so it's okay)
And it got me thinking about you
A T R A U M A T I C
It certainly doesn't hurt now, does it?
R E S T O R A T I V E
I definitely packed all the material in, didn't I?
T R E A T M E N T
Oops... I can still see the caries. And I think I filled it with trash.
well,
I'm not a good dentist anyway.
Maybe I should fill the void by writing?
Sep 24, 2017
Sep 24, 2017 at 8:57 AM UTC
Alone the black sheep caries his thorns,
Through thick thickets thin skin is torn,
The hooded king garbed in golden rings,
Wears his hood to hide his horns,
The quick snip of sharpened scissors,
No more sheep are to be born,
One quick flick of the match,
Candle burning furiously,
One cloud of smoke vapor swirling in the air turbulent,
One moment and misty spark fades into empty space,
Wind blows through new time is here you are quickly replaced,
Left now but empty sketches on an ancient pad,
You are too quickly erased
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 10:20 AM UTC
Half moon high
In a deepening sky
The clouds like spider cotton,
Like blue ivory husks betwixt
Umber grey misty fog,
The diablerie of dusk
Dark sky and stars
The streets flooded,
a river of headlights, flashlights,
Sidewalks’ pedestrian traffic,
An Armada of munchkins, crowds
Strolling by Chinatown’s
Crisp neon plazas,
A necropolis bright with
Cartoon sharp signage
Accessorizing restaurants with
Jade And gold, foot spas
And red doors…
Horrors of hangings
Roast ducks and pigs decapitated…
Yet the evening is dressed finely still
All eyes lurking
Shadows floating by
Not to be forgotten tonight
Dias de las Muertos
En espanol…
While down the road
Neighborhood way
Skitters Lilliputian creatures
In shells of Saver’s costumes
As squeals of laughter festoons
Boulevard life with
Tiny tintinnabulations
Like baby rattlers
Against the dark
(Maracas for chupacabras)
Timorous parent folk
Encouragement as company,
They Scurry past
Down dim spatial street
In demand of what is given freely
From each and every door
Treat and sweets
Caries galore
All their tricks cached in grins
Of baby teeth
turn candy corn…
Mischievously the meek milk
All Hallows' Eve For
Hallowed be the glee
Even tho' beneath
The web of grey cloudy sky
Life is precious
To deny
The thirsty as it rains
Misery’s loss deep dismal graves,
We should live in celebration
Childlike everyday
Sing and dance
In the October rain
In this wonder
Like rattlers against the dark
Far from wastes of
Hollow wind and pain,
Chilling cries, bleeding eyes,
Undead the unseen
From this cirque city of sins
Offsprings on the strip
Fearless on the boulevard
Treating & tricking
With ole candied lies…
All done up in bright disguise
Happy Halloween.
Oct 24, 2019
Oct 24, 2019 at 10:29 PM UTC