"carrion" poems
(1)
The day she visited the dissecting room
They had four men laid out, black as burnt turkey,
Already half unstrung. A vinegary fume
Of the death vats clung to them;
The white-smocked boys started working.
The head of his cadaver had caved in,
And she could scarcely make out anything
In that rubble of skull plates and old leather.
A sallow piece of string held it together.
In their jars the snail-nosed babies moon and glow.
He hands her the cut-out heart like a cracked heirloom.
(2)
In Brueghel's panorama of smoke and slaughter
Two people only are blind to the carrion army:
He, afloat in the sea of her blue satin
Skirts, sings in the direction
Of her bare shoulder, while she bends,
Finger a leaflet of music, over him,
Both of them deaf to the fiddle in the hands
Of the death's-head shadowing their song.
These Flemish lovers flourish;not for long.
Yet desolation, stalled in paint, spares the little country
Foolish, delicate, in the lower right hand corner.
6.7k
How long the day,
Delivering letters to friends,
And cranky, bald dog feeders. Home
Is forward, past those poplars.
Always I’ve been in love with
Their almond scent, just as I catch
Past, dragging feet and who knows
How many heartfelt "Thank-you's".
Home is... where the wife is sitting.
She's not keen on laundry, but,
I’m an exception.
Always are my blue shirts blue,
She likes to make sure. Just in case I meet
With him; that carrion shaker,
Mr. Reaper.
“Hello.” I'd say, and tip my cap,
Along my silent nightly rounds;
Perhaps he'd humour me, if he could
See me. He's searching. For me? No.
That’s not right.
The lamps are thickest
In the dark, and that's just how
he likes it.
Even if I tip-toe, tip-toe, tip-toe around
Him, he'll still turn his hood toward me.
A courteous, creaking greeting.
That chill I get.
Matches only the fear
From losing fingers, as I push envelopes,
Catalogues, and restless dreams
Through many metal slats.
But even I, can't quite see,
When the sky turns milky-grey...
That perching, questioning hand
Placed gently on my shoulder;
Pushing down as I bend my back,
Kicking over milk-bottles, sometimes
accidentally. I shake it off.
Get to bed! I say to myself, mostly
Always, to myself.
Slap on some cream
And
Get to bed.
Jan 15, 2012
Jan 15, 2012 at 5:56 AM UTC
i.
Atop the glass
Of the mindanao sea;
Me and mine lass
Went down both sinking.
ii.
Ourn vessel capsized
Mine queen was going under;
The blue sink needed a sacrifice
Yet mine Jane was to heavenly and pure, God's wonder.
iii.
As mine reyna was drowning
I Gaveth the deep mine carrion baggage;
Tis the abyss was satisfied
And mine body part's were shark ravaged.
iv.
Mine Filipino rose
Made it back to shore;
She prayed for mine presence daily
Just wanting back her truest amour'.
v.
As tis through death's wormhole
I travelled distant galaxy's;
For mine wraith to visit mine sweet Jane
Mine wife, Earl Jane nagley.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane nagley dedication
Aug 23, 2015
Aug 23, 2015 at 7:54 PM UTC
Tonight I learned what it means to be mortal. To have a fifteen year dream crushed publicly. To smile and be the man that lies, “it’s ok, God has better plans and I trust that.” Tonight my wings were clipped and I was sentenced to a life of soil and toil, forever forced to watch the eagles in orange soar in the clouds and sky that I know I was created to own. I love this place because it is more of a home than I have ever known. It is pure and navy and orange and majestic. I wanted to serve it and glorify my king and this institution. Alas, no. Not I but the vultures. How is it that carrion dominate? How is it that prestige trumps passion? How is it that title and gold trump heart and integrity? I lost respect for my home. I feel as if a stranger in my own walls. I gave more than sweat and blood and tears yet they were swept under the carpet to rot. Fester and rot. I hope my passion and time as leader was well spent, it was and always was for you, tiger, not me! Always! I sharpened your claws and defended your teeth until they ****** me. Why. This is not how it is supposed to be. I pray this love and three year passion was not for non. Not for me, not for nametags or orange jackets, not for titles or for comfort but for passion and unbridled love of the institution which ****** me have I served. I have yet to work through what I’ve learned through this but tonight I know a chapter has ended and it hurts. It’s not that the chapter ended and a period was placed and the next began, it’s the end of the climactical chapter and the next pages are blank. Existent, yes. But blank. And the white on the page pales in comparison to orange and blue. I hate white and it’s idle uncertainty. I hold the pen but tonight my hand was severed, my limbs they rot, and my heart is numb. I am jello and I am free. And I hate, with every inth of my fibrous being, this freedom. I miss my chains.
Aug 27, 2012
Aug 27, 2012 at 12:28 PM UTC
writing with a broken pencil
how pointless
when the only connection I had on Valentine's
was wi-fi
and don't the vultures in this airport know
only one carrion allowed?
and no fresh fruit - so no pairs.
it's terrible, I know
but puns are my coping device
and you [every bloke in my youth] should never have tried to juggle
when you had no *****
but you left
so I'm all right now
and I amused myself
with silly strings of homophony
until I found someone
whose puns are even worse
than me
because you can't take a joke
that doesn't belong to you
it's all mind.
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 12:24 PM UTC
Caucasian cadaver in the windless woods.
Carelessly hanging from a tree.
Colorless face looking down.
Carrion yet to be seen.
Creation of an evil man.
Displaying his departed art.
Completed, his compelling plan.
Of helping death do its part.
Few colors, fewer sounds.
White skin contrasts the black dress.
Faded yellow floating all around.
Splatters of red fill the rest.
A frightful figure that overwhelms.
Above the confused and thorny trails.
All the shallow know themselves.
At the sight of this female.
Breathless before being dangled.
Dead before being displayed.
Beautiful body, cold and mangled.
Death magnificently portrayed.
Multiple stab wounds in your back.
Added to the smell of war.
Mind immersed in barren black.
Gnawed eyes to watch and adore.
Dripping, dim and dreadful.
The portrait he wanted to smear.
Your future as empty as your words.
Your hollowness shown clear.
You don't know what you're missing.
Elders still die, the young still grow.
The leaves below are hissing.
At the corpse of a girl I used to know.
Dec 10, 2016
Dec 10, 2016 at 11:37 AM UTC
I pursued my disease
With a virulent persistence
Like the plague
Or your pestilence
I fed upon your opulence
Walking red death
I marked your flesh
The whooping cough
The symptoms most forgot
Dreaming darkly
Poets cry sadly
Artists die crying
As the fever kept eating
All of their sanity
Inch by inch I crept
Awake while you slept
Burning holes in your brain
Until nothing of you remained
Just a cold cart to carry
The carrion left behind
But I still miss
That delicious mind
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 7:08 AM UTC
the land very well of my tongue but I was asked to know the tongue of my land in the tongue of my land. doc the veterinarian hired me anyway. I was to myself in the dog cages and in their runs I would kneel and let the hose seize with water. I was to myself in the sick and brick room fearful the slow cat would rent with its curl my stomach. I was to myself when the parrot so parrot told me in so many words separated partially its upper bill on purpose. was I dumped the dogs full asleep and half from a wheelbarrow into a pit and I in trouble doing it when we were busy. was I would basket my arms upside down above three dogs a day at most while the needle made sometimes the back of my hand and somehow on that four dog day my chin such that it got me my funny talk and fired and I had to tell my home early dad.
Jul 13, 2012
Jul 13, 2012 at 1:15 PM UTC
Try as I might
Only see things
In black and white
Really black spreading carrion bird
Vulture wings to pick clean to bone
No friend just a fake toothache smile
Who wants something
Too bad too late all used up
Throw away mate
Past best before date
Rotten meat parasite infested
Inevitable buried garbage pit fate
Dig it just big enough for
A dead little Elliot me
Be my Big Sur Billie
And ******* bury me
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 5:01 PM UTC
HOW UNPLEASANT TO KNOW MR. CROW
"Hello!" said the crow.
"Hello?" I answered
thinking: ("Talking to crows
is a bit of a no-no?")
"Do I know you?"
I asked politely.
"I'm Ted Hughes' CROW
....you know!"
"I didn't know that!
I admitted.
"You look like every other crow there is to know."
I impolitely pointed out.
"Every crow is CROW!"
it pointedly pointed out.
"Say...something Ted Hughes-ish then!"
I challenged it.
"In the beginning was..."
"...scream!" crow screamed
and then a load of begatting
to give the Bible a run for its money.
Nothing and Never both begatted
to make crow.
It made me remember the only time
I had been in Mr. Hughes' presence.
One shift leading into another shift and yet another shift so that
it was falling with tiredness I was.
Was it on Thursday I was
to meet the girlfriend
on Friday Street or
Friday I...just didn't know no more.
Ted grasped the podium
with crooked hands
as if he were Tennyson's EAGLE
or a Heathcliff grown old.
He glared down on me.
I trying not to fall asleep.
He like a cliff come alive
as if rocks could talk.
His words....CROW'S words.
Ted now
merging into the crow
gazing upon me as if
I were carrion.
Crow now losing his human voice.
His raucous caw
echoing inside my head
as he takes to the skies.
I should have listened to
what my mum said.
"Don't talk to strange corvids!"
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 3:35 AM UTC
My Dearest Black Dahlia
Stumbling in these neon streets
Waiting to be torn in two
Be my carrion pin up model
Adorned in imprinted diamonds
With porcelain skin icy stale
Murderous glamor
Gleaming and serene
Posing like a minx
Half here and half there
A hauntingly mesmerizing woman
Should I be fearful
Or should I be in love
I suppose this is maddening
But I am smiling all the while
Bright and all Irish
Welcome to Hollywood
My Dearest Black Dahlia
Aug 29, 2016
Aug 29, 2016 at 11:35 AM UTC
a ****** of crows gathers
over Hamburg, carrion carrying on
with business as usual.
feeding on the festered flesh
of a gentrified populace.
in private jets coughing carbon
they fly from the west on turbine wings,
engines screaming as they dive towards a nation
secured by razor-wound walls
and barb-wire borders.
they pitched a battle in Germany,
convinced that austerity
would ******* the resistance
and give justification to premeditated violence.
but the tables have turned on the thieves again.
we are the end result of your failed policies,
globalization has destroyed our homes.
if your cabal rallies like a kettle of vultures,
you will do so behind closed doors,
cowering in your fortress' halls.
you shall not pass. watch as the power shifts
like the melting gears of torched BMWs.
we will tear the vestiges of your authority down.
we will black out your surveillance cameras,
smash your windows, and block your limos. no pasaran.
flee, while you can still run. this city belongs
to the wild ones, a black bloc, thousands strong,
dancing amidst the tear gas, tossing molotovs.
marching to liberty's sturdy drum,
equal in our solidarity song.
Jul 8, 2017
Jul 8, 2017 at 12:14 PM UTC
I'm the pi diameter,
walking razor bladed edge.
Eternally flying the circle
like a great carrion bird
living on half rotten throw away filth.
Make me your center,
the main point in your graph,
diameter divided by two.
Enfold me completely with your area
and I'll wrap you as well.
But I'm the pi diameter,
bound to follow the path
that is furthest away.
May 20, 2012
May 20, 2012 at 1:21 AM UTC
The carrion that swarm
The veil upon my eyes
Grief of god keep me warm
Victim of needless "why's?"
Truth without a trace
Entropy with a face
I am the length the bullet travels
I am the shadow of the sun
I am the voice that is broken
I am the hand that holds none
I am the true lie that unravels
I am resolve that remains unspoken
The crux of the mile
Every shattered smile
Sic Semper Tryanus
Flies forced upon us
The last nihl
That's finally worthwhile
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 1:49 AM UTC
Needle in the hay stack
The spin of the weather vane
I took a drink of you
And felt heavy to the touch
With my last bit of strength
I split the seed coat
Topsoil coaxing me
*Come here, young one
Come here*
Blue
The first color I have ever known
In awe I watch as birds fly over
Like painted die-cast wind-up toys
The warmth fills me to the brim
Free among unbroken hills
Neither late nor early
But still
On time with the cosmic dance of fire color rain
Earthquake Heartache Lust and pitty
I took a drink of you and blooms sprout from my chest cavity
Sunlight flooding protons upon the hillside
Into my eyes smiling
*A nap on the grass until half-past two
As if I don't have work to do
Important things come and go
They melt away as winter snow
Drink you deeply from life's river
Not even death can make it bitter
**** Erectus
In three piece suit
Dead in a box
Maggot food
A veritable
Carrion drive thru
Just as fate would have it
Do you need
Some
Ketchup packets?*
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 3:13 PM UTC
gulls cawed, so loud their calls
echoed off the cliffs behind us, a ghost flock answering,
though not shrill enough to rouse us
they flew crisscross patterns
and dove into the surf, but not one landed
on the carrion strewn across the sands
not like the vultures of my youth,
ravenous black hawks that began their devouring
at the first scent of death, or a moment before
no, these creatures merely called
to one another, a curious conversing
about the carnage below
perhaps their strange song
our dirge, as they swooped to and fro, wings
slicing currents carrying our souls
Omaha Beach, June 6, 1944
Sep 25, 2016
Sep 25, 2016 at 11:45 AM UTC
This is not atrocity
This is the basement
This is the sea receding like lips to reveal tooth-like shells
Amongst the bullet casings and corpses felled leaving the boats
This is the sand like an inverted moat around the
Kingdom at sea, and this is the Remainder.
Yet they remain jubilantly-
Is this what being jubilant means?
Chamomile anklets adorning a hanged child.
This is not atrocity,
Ignorance wielding pitchforks and fire.
Anger alight and hostility riled
This is not atrocity.
This is not far from this reality;
Remember this child-
And the mob piled like tinder on themselves
Convincing carrion feeders
And unimpeded breeders that
Halt the march of science that
This is not atrocity.
The certain hot song by which Earth is greeted
Has an immediately recognizable tune.
And
This is not atrocity;
It sounds more like ****** ******
But I can't hear it
And I have no fear anymore
I open my eyes to another routine killing, and I know-
This is atrocity-
But a necessary one.
It's hardly enough to stay alive
And as I and we strive for
Money and coffee and love,
I and we let
atrocity
enter us.
Climb into us like a hand does a glove,
or a puppet.
It is not nature;
Nor fate;
And one needn't be dead
to appreciate the ability to open the senses
and actually sense.
And this,
I am certain,
Is not an atrocity
May 21, 2010
May 21, 2010 at 8:30 PM UTC
each kiss had me soaring higher
blinded by the sweetness of the sun
my name on your lips
just as holy as any sermon
they say falling feels alot like flying
until you hit the ground
but as the wax from my wings melted
sticky and red
i decided it was worth it
to be close to you
c l o s e s t to you
for even a moment.
Nov 23, 2023
Nov 23, 2023 at 4:44 PM UTC
A fluff of feathers
Black and white,
Hide the scrawny scavenger
Whose "Rick, Rick, Rick!"
Identify some place of death,
This careful bandit's visiting.
He leaves outright robbery
To his cousin jay,
And flits,
One disaster to the next,
To see how he may capitalize.
Dead carrion, his usual fodder...
Yet one subzero winter day
I saw a magpie perched
Upon a shivering cow
Belly deep in snow, and
Chilled in minus 30 air,
Peck-scratching through a healing scab
And pulling living flesh away.
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 8:19 AM UTC
If the Tiber floods and the Nile fails to
If the overflowing mouth of Tamesis runs dry
If the weeping willow withers as the blackthorn breaks
And the regal golden eagle fails to climb in the sky
If the dried-up land yields a drought so parching
That the overarching urge is to drink yourself drowed
If the Dead Sea waters lose their saline flotation
And the carrion-grabbing vultures wheel in from miles around
Then Gethsemane's gates will crack open just a little
And the flowers of the garden will give off a sour scent
As their brazen roots recall the night when they were fed with blood
Dripping softly on the hallowed ground of dying man's lament
If the water rises slowly and yet still without abating
If it swallows up the chariots of sun and man and steed
If the kings step out and stumble to the grave, their destination
Will be broken, bold and cheerless: will be harrowing indeed.
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 12:30 PM UTC
Three dead birds on highway squashed,
Roadway washed with corpses discarded as carrion,
To be chewed upon by companions in a world of brothers,
In a world of blood and guts,
A lone magpie was seen,
A sure purveyor of doom,
Gloom and sorrow,
For birdies splattered,
No tomorrow,
Perhaps they saw him too,
Didn't show him due respect,
They'll never know if they had regrets!
Livvi Kent 09/06/2013
Jun 9, 2013
Jun 9, 2013 at 3:10 PM UTC
The cockroaches surrounded but one
Fair
Maiden;
Seeking Singapore and suns absent the, “other.”
I kicked one, her infernal and insect aside, oh
Fair
Maiden;
Fleeing his promise and same mistake I’d made prior.
So to, the unspoken alliance ensues, both sought and awry, our –
Recounted
Freedoms
Born the dogs that are kicked and the dogs bite back.
Veil and anew, below and bellied-up bugs;
Fair
Maiden
Conquered, “yes,” but, agreed, our ulterior master born body.
We no longer fear and be gone the spiny legs,
Fair
Maiden;
For carrion’s a distance and the fruit’s now atop nose;
We’ve learned to love again.
Note - Smog-soaked sunsets at, "Rebel Rebel," in Guangzhou used to make for the greatest shards of diary I've ever encountered. In this case, she was running away from him and I was running away from her - we'd the same story, the same drink, and soon the same table. I should visit again, someday.
Jul 5, 2015
Jul 5, 2015 at 10:37 AM UTC
There's a place between society and the wild
Where aimless bodies are piled
We call it the Wastelands
All creatures die of old age
Or hunger inside this cage
The deer are never hit by cars
For they never travel that far
The Wastelands use fear
That's what keeps them here
The Wastelands are a scary place
It's horrifying how nothing happens
It becomes too much to face
So we hide under satin
To provide comfortable resting
And avoid Wastelands testing
The Wastelands are a barren environment
Solitary coyotes learn from the cacti
Who soak up meager moisture
And become prickly to protect it
Never knowing if nourishment was near
They grew prickly because of their fear
We inhabit the Wastelands
We're trapped here
Where the walls of the city
Seem to mirror
The walls of the wilderness
So it's here we build our nest
But surviving is a constant test
Because we have useless hands
Here in the Wastelands
Wastelands
Interaction
Is reaction
Create a faction
And never leave
Even if love cleaves
It lies behind ramparts of containment
And the fear of society's arraignment
Even if peace calls
It stays behind walls
Of trees hiding predators
That keep us embedded here
So we ***** barriers to protect us
From the barriers surrounding us
We find our connections through hatred
And build teams around it
We made foolish deals with Satan
This is what we're amounted
Scavengers from both worlds encroach the Wastelands
Journalists and artists mine our souls
Vultures mine our flesh like gold
Taking what they need and going home
Our rabid mouths begin to show foam
From the frustration of loss
But inactivity is our cross
While we watch carrion feeders
Carry on eating
Our friends
Until we turn and look away
Knowing that'll be us one day
Because in the Wastelands
Friends are just creatures who are near
There are no animals to hold dear
We're afraid to lend an ear
When Wastelands use fear
The Wastelands are hell
Dry river beds tell of a time
When the rain fell
But now we're plagued by drought
You can tell by looking at the trout
They flop on the ground
Wondering where to wander for water
The cacti remain still
It's the Wastelands will
In the Wastelands we wait to die
Although we really want to fly
We're just afraid of heights
Which impedes our sight
Where we can't view over our own barricades
It's fear that prohibits our ability to elevate
And we see that the order is too tall
Back into the Wastelands we fall
Sep 12, 2017
Sep 12, 2017 at 9:30 AM UTC
SANDMAN
Can you see them?-lookin' for me to be them,
lookin' for my warmth to breath life to them,
the hollow men,yes men,fallow men,come follow men,
no heart no mind-mindsick and eyeblind,
sheep talkin' like wolves that I find,
most despicable-Dis-gusting unpredictable,
following the wind as it blows on their wick they're all
candles in the strong wind gutterin',
snipes from a distance yeah they're all utterin'
Great threats from great hollow chests,
that up close-don't stand inspection,
empty vessels-makin great noise,
hard men behind keyboards hands -poised,
with the poisoned pen ready to dip in the deep well,
of hatred they bring from deep hell's,
inside,a void,avoid if you can please employ-
aversion tactics needed,don't need it,
vampyres that need pyres,yellow they bleed it
Yellow right down to the backbone believe it...
CHORUS
*the hollow men,yes men,fallow men,come follow men,
Yes men Hollow men come follow men
Yes Men-Shallow men come follow men, the hollow men,
The hollow men,yes men,fallow men,come follow men,
Yes men Fallow men come follow men
Yes Men-Shallow men come follow then
while I tell you bout the Hollow men*
JAY
Yeah, **** right I can see them.
Trolls in holes. I'm willin' to bleed 'em.
Society's detritis,
..delighted by the slightest sign of weakness.
Bleakness of their lives underlined by the lies they employ..
.. in their contrived..
..cyber sphere.
Scavengin' on carrion.
Peckin' at the carcass. Behind the veil of anonymity.
Sit in darkness as they hammer out calamity.
No nobility or amity. Cyber-highway poison.
I got the remedy.
Hollow husks skulk and lust..
..for coat-tails to ride on. Soon turn to dust.
Rusting hulks their disgusting bulk decaying on the shore.
Soon to be forgotten.
The Yes Men, the Hollow Men, the fallow men.
The everything is borrowed men.
The no tomorrow men.
The follow slowly to the gallows men.
*The Hollow Men, Yes men, fallow men, come follow men.
Yes men, shallow men, come follow men.
Yes men, Hollow Men.
Never follow them. The Hollow Men.
The Hollow Men, Yes men, fallow men, come follow men.
Yes men, shallow men, deal in sorrow men.
Yes men. Don't ever follow them.
A fool strolls to the gallows man.*
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 2:15 PM UTC
*I see from the third floor windows,
Sparrows gathering around the post feeder.
Crows, ravens, and an occasional stray Jackdaw,
Gather around, waiting to feast upon fresh carrion.
A thousand blackbirds, with their red wing patch,
Swoop down into the gardens by the fountain.
I stare out the window watching the sights,
Never being disturbed in tranquility.
-M.H.-*
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 2:12 PM UTC