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Chicken Mar 4
As I lace
my boots with
the fear flowing
from the
cavalrymen that draw near

I see your face and
no one else's.

This is their last resort.
One course only. Onwards.
Gabriel Bonney Oct 2018
I've never been one for conflict;
I'd even say I'm a chill dude.
But when I feel like someone's
blowing smoke between you
and me, I get a feeling I can't
describe, but all I know is if
they try something, I'll call in
the rest of our cavalry.
for my Kind and my Blood
Terry O'Leary Sep 2015
Though still within our infancy,
we strive to thrive, but woefully
we flash and flaunt our 'primacy',
display our trophies pridefully.

Our terra firma ecstasy
destroys survival's harmony,
lays waste to life on land and sea.
Mankind, thy name is vanity!

By doubting Nature's regnancy,
defying laws with levity,
we strain our spheroid's symmetry
(perhaps a fatal fallacy?)

for, swallowed in the 'world of we',
we feed on vain insanity
with thoughts beyond eternity -
so strange when looked at mortally.

No use to seek a remedy
ensconced in ancient prophecy
for if not handled skillfully,
as clay we'll pay the penalty.

The Moguls rule with cruel decree,
control the crowds like puppetry,
pursuing greed addictively
with no accountability.

The wind, it reeks of Royalty
(awash in waves of perfidy)
while blowing ’cross the peasantry
(eclipsed in clouds of treachery).

The Queen, well steeped in snobbery,
sits, preening proud Her pedigree,
on throne of sculpted ebony
while sipping Sect immodestly;

to sate Her Regal Majesty,
a caviar clad canapé
is served with golden cutlery
by maidens bent submissively.

The King is bailed from bankruptcy
by Knaves who hoodwink artfully
the down-and-outer evictee
who wallows in their lenity.

Forsooth, the Money Monarchy
exalts the dollar dynasty
engaged in highway robbery
by Peacocks plumed in finery.

Yes, Jesters and the Fools agree
to truckle to duplicity
and laugh about it witlessly.
Long live the peon's penury!

To champion an oddity
(like two times twelve is fifty three)  
one reaches to theology
through paths of circularity.

In bygone trials of travesty
the doubters, draped in blasphemy,
endured the pain and agony
inflicted by the papacy.

Inspired by the Trinity
fanatics bent cosmology
in geocentric fantasy
while Bruno burned for heresy;

and aged women, randomly
accused of wicked witchery
by justice framed in infamy,
were racked and shown no clemency

That epoch of credulity
(when savants fostered sorcery
and practiced ancient alchemy)
arose in dark age quackery

as clerics dripping piety
(while raging, raving rabidly)
pervaded thralled society
with callous inhumanity;

'repent', they bellowed, 'verily,
forsake the world's iniquity,
live lives of want and chastity,
and give your gelt to God through me'.

The Masters make a mockery
of freedom and democracy
by holding down the uppity,
released from shackled slavery,

now fettered in a factory
else strewn across the Bowery,
still chained in bonds of bigotry,
immersed in seas of poverty.

And colliers, tapping balefully
in sunken-mine solemnity,
yet thrum a mournful monody
some call the digger's elegy.

To children, pale and raggedy
(behind a day of drudgery),
the boss man, oh so gallantly,
bestows a penny, niggardly;

though some are fed (belatedly),
their eyes recede in apathy
while bellies bulge, inflatedly,
with mothers watching, wretchedly.

When met with health adversity
or broken bone infirmity,
the pauper dangles helplessly
with no insurance policy;

and those engulfed in lunacy
are ailing blobs left floating free
in ******-dream obscurity -
a mired madhouse odyssey.

Ignoring mankind's unity,
the rich and poor dichotomy
breeds dismal doomed finality,
eventual nihility.

Renewing days of chivalry,
wild warriors fighting valiantly
bring freedom neath the gallows tree
while blending blood and burgundy

to toast the slaughtered enemy,
and so convince the colony
to cede with smile on bended knee
and yield her diamonds, silk and tea.

At first they call the cavalry
and then again the infantry,
so proudly primped in panoply,
with arms from finest armory

(embraced in hands so tenderly
bestow benign atrocity) -
and soon atomic weaponry
will extirpate posterity.

Misusing high technology
(to feed the face of gluttony)
depletes our Rock of energy,
now slowly dying thermally.

Our gadgets breathing CFC
fuel ozone holes' immensity
while cloud bursts, raining acidly,
wilt woods in their entirety,

and rivers, tainted chemically,
polluted biologically,
refill our cups methodically
and drown our souls organically.

Adjusting genes mechanically
may well blot out the bumble bee
annulling fruits' fecundity,
but brings big bucks reliably.

We wager perpetuity
to revel momentarily
in shadow-like obscurity
ignoring the futility,

but if we bet unknowingly
on fickle fate's contingency
and thereby act haphazardly
we're doomed to lose the lottery.

The modern day bureaucracy
abuses trust egregiously ,
embeds itself in obloquy
and offers no apology.

It paints the past in reverie
to camouflage the tendency
to strip away our privacy
which paves the path to tyranny.

With earlobes lurking furtively
that listen surreptitiously,
and eyeballs peering piercingly
we've lost cerebral sovereignty,

and those who dare to disagree
must hide away in secrecy
else crowd a black facility
(with water board anxiety).

Yes, sans responsibility,
our marble in this galaxy
will crumble in catastrophe
ere ever reaching puberty…
Mary Velarde Jul 28
there's a cavalry
that gushes out like river water
when the wall tilts
a few staring games away
and yet its never a game
until it is--
a house of cards
and you,
a sweet nosedive.
sleeves long enough
to swallow hands that flinch
from careful collision
and i'll tell you my name
and maybe where i'm from
and maybe where i went to school
but i'll save the rest
like a maybe-midnight-snack.
i'll fold my body in half
'til you could only get past
the purgatory of where
i deem myself unbreakable.
i sometimes get cramps
from choosing to remain
a mystery
long enough to be a mystery to myself
so i apologize
if i sometimes mistake
the butterflies for wasps.
a mummy but in caution tapes,
anxiety like a badge of honor.
i guess what im trying to say is,
i swear,
i like you.
but the words
come out like bricks.
i am a poet and still
i can’t comprehend these symbols
these missing heartbeats
and hours spent counting thimbles
i am perplexed by love
shall we seek herbs and remedies
lose ourselves in cures and compounds
must our inner territories be colonized
while we remain captivated by inconvenient theories
struck down by doubt and insecurity
the mind wields no ammunition
and yet its cavalry has desecrated the land
without the slightest sign of inhibition
or a trace of empathy, justice or compassion
will we make a new peace treaty
will the blessed earth be forgiven
and can the sweet essence of her children
comprehend the innocence of spring
oh how our hearts yearn for dancing
still you spend your dollars and your pennies
but give your emptiness to the king
i eat oats and honey cooked upon the fire
while you distill golden nectar from the garden of desire
in the ancient inside-out alembic of your will
and imbibe spagyric liquid that eradicates all pride
and confers wisdom, truth, beauty and longevity
upon the already immortal nature of your mind
The Calm Sep 2018
aware of my depravity
pressed down by the gravity
kept down by the havoc it spills actually
it's sweet like a cavity
it'll confront you callously,
it'll tactically relieve you of your faculties

aware of my depravity
seeing how it got to me, seeing how it held hold of me
No plan of letting go of me, feeding me feelings of apathy
my demons parade me, pageantry , steal from me, give me fantasy
somebody send the cavalry, somebody take this pain from me
somebody save myself from me, give me back my captaincy.
Logan Robertson Jul 2018
Behind the eight ball
she sits.
From her ****'s
she's lead.
Deadweight, she feels
his ways and ills,
like cattle, that's branded.
Best she hustles,
or be backhanded.
Once molded,
she learns to light up
Big Daddy's cigar
and bring him his pie loaded.
More cabbage to fill his gold baggage.
Sometimes he spares a small leaf for her.
Though times she short, his fist takes sport.
And every night
she plays for the band
of her john's,
singing their song,
while a thousand ****** of light
inches along all wrong.
The nameless, faceless and most relentless
getting their fill.
A flower in her wails loves not fear.
However, Big Daddy's eyes are always near.
She knows better than to run
past the pasture gates
onto verdant fields,
free as a bird,
without a home, money or vocation
and ever so fearful of Big Daddy's gun.
A flower in her wails loves not fears.
As she remembers those first tears.
A Big Daddy's indoctrination.
It started off on social media,
a whim
a fantasy went wrong.
Three nights her body violated,
Big Daddy's cavalry,
descending on her picnic,
wax and whips,
a thousand ****** of might,
and the scream of the night.
Say hello to the new ******* the block.
A flower in her wails loves not fears.
Her youth robbed as the days morph into years.
Like a blur.
The guise, the lure, the drugs, the fear.
The trap.
Eighteen young became twenty-four old.
A lost puppy to her folks back home.
And every lost night
she struts her Prada dress a little higher
Big Daddy has a buyer.

Logan Robertson

To Desiree sixx  phoenix I read your poem, 304, regarding pimps. What strikes me are the 8.9k views and not one acknowledgment. How odd is that? I see shortly after, you quit writing here. I don't blame you.
annh May 26
Her thoughts, gathered on the in-breath, are misplaced on the out-.

As her memories float free of their moorings, ninety summers fill the late-afternoon room with a kaleidoscope of people and places: a young girl in a home-made dress plays tag with her brother in a Provençal orchard; a dark-haired teenager waits at a station fiddling with the yellow star pinned to her cardigan; a Milanese tailor embroiders freshwater pearls onto a snow white wedding bodice; and - over by the window - a dashing young cavalry officer, with eyes which reflect my own, stands in the shade of a blue jacaranda.

‘J'ai oublié,’ she whispers as I nuzzle her cheek goodbye.

You may have forgotten, Bubbe, but I have not the stories you have told me.

‘We are a kaleidoscope of complicated intricacies. A million different facets of light and darkness.’
- K. M. Keeton
SelinaSharday Aug 15
I'm guessing its time for me..
To be on free.
Looking like its time..
I have no friends of crystal beauties.

Nothings Controlling this beauty.
Soulful MAHOGANY bouncing freely.
My dynasty holding back vocal assurances.
Some kind of circumstances.
The Blocking of chances.
No One speaks...
As I deny anything that'll excite me.
People are Muted.
Emotions are flowing so diluted..
I don't want to Mingle, If I'm muted.
I'll go hide my fences ..I'll go build more fences.
I'll get lost in starry far away skies..
Catch tears should they fail from eyes.
No messages, no replies, no mascara smearing my eyes.
water colored surprise..
Open wide these eyes...
Look for me.. she's this confused brown beauty.
UnMute me.
whispered Prayers for me.
No cavalry seeks.
Wells rushing at my feet, dry land separates me.
I'll turn to my praying wall.
I don't want to cause a downfall.
People I've set free, Heaven sooth me...
I'll turn to my praying wall.
I'll return to my praying wall.
Nothing here for me..
Nothing Here for me..
Mute Me from Misery...
Unmute me for my chosen destiny.
Hurry and come find.
Behind all I've been hiding.
Is this all naturally me..Growing rationality.
If Not release me, UnMute Me..Bless my destiny.
I have tried to protect me for so long.. and finally I feel so secluded..I've tried to reach out, but now I feel just muted..
Julie Oct 2018
Time upon a once
In a very stranded place
A strange sound came 2 me
It sounded very high-pitched
It stayed 4ever in my heart
While I smelled the exotic fragrance
A song rose up from my mouth.
The words came by themselves
Spreading Love endlessly
With some nonchalance and cavalry.
My Purple host guided me
In his own **** way
2 his Purple Princedom.
Being a ****** 2 Faith and Prayers
Christianity itself excused my sudden integrity.
Back in the day, I can see clearly now
Why Purple is my favorite color.
I apologize 4 loving you so much.
4 acting like a real shrinking violet on our very first date.
Counting the days until our next close encounter.
When will you offer me Rainbow flowers?
I’m trying to mix Heaven and Hell...
But can’t quite make up my mind
Between Adam and Eve.
Maybe we should be having dinner back at Eden’s
Would you eat my apple first, baby?
Or is it strictly forbidden?

(copyright) All rights reserved Written by Julie -July Billong (Bezons- France)
convicted of a crime
one of being too fine.
with a cavalry of queens
she will bring you to your knees.
a queen in her right with
the throne in her sight.

Cafiifa Jeylani ©️
can't remember when I wrote this,
had this in the notebook and finally...
There will be days when the darkness will claim the right ,
of the day ,
to refuse it’s light ,
for in these times when our dying embers burn,
hold fast to love .

There will be days when our bodies ache with all the strains of worldly pain and dark days with all their pleasures are but nought ,
but for now ,
as for now ,
hold fast to love .

Then there are the darkest days in the battle fields the Spectors lies
Seem oh so real ,
you fall once again for his slithery hook ,
but still the cavelry marches on

And we play with sin with cupid  ***** like babies play
with rattlesnakes.

for us this cavalry marches on .
yet we see only ghost riders near when their horses nostrils flair ,
and a frost covers the icey air ,
hold fast to love .

for daylight is oh so near ,
beyond the black clouds that we hold so dear ,
our Cavelry marches on .

For you can’t see what has happened here ,
and all is black and filled with fear ,
you can see no sun ,
or silvey clouds above you’re hill ,
the sun moves ever on .
In your mind all you seek is rest ,
from the ghosts and Spectors you once called guests ,
run .
And so you hear the Cavelry charge ,
the clink of armour ,
the sword ,
the steel ,
50 ,000 angels near ,
In light the sun rises like a King ,
Sword held high ,
the spectors flee but only find light ,
Valor and entegrity rise above their defeated foe .
So as the sun rises to Colours that stretch out the land ,
to crimson blues and golds ,
Gods love marches ever on .
Inside the box of dreams contingent to divergent nightmares
In the confines of a large painting and solitude and suns
You smell the beauty of her soluble features in the eyes as one
Does it do to have a surplus of truth
The ego of driving id letting your inner self spasm without word's worth and worthiness
Relate to someone, whose heights you must torch and focus on oh so much
Buffering winds and engulfing flames, and paint of wolf and werewolves
The moist stench of inventiveness and red veritas of the current year, in the current art of the raw and cooked
Often, thousands of years could be prepared, before you learn a decade of failure, brewing strangely
Decadence doesn't exist in this defined structure wither the body withers in song and dance
Sundry and adamantine guillotines do sew her flesh in hatchets, axes, and bows
Arches and gallantry of cavalry in a dither and dearth dense censuring, of diseased purgatory
Looking at yourself beyond the riches, and rags to ditches.
So, this is a failure to communicate. Well, I'll take history any day.
Tipon Aug 17
Tessa V

Your talk is big when the axe has fallen. A cavalry blinded
by butterflies and empty eyes, never have seen a real vision.
My talk is small, low ineptitude, etude. I won't fly the skies,
empty or surging with endosperm. Tacit knowledge isn't that
hard for you, is it? Another name will descend in time, maybe

close enough to your century when I am gone and won't be
remembered through symphonies of your love. Human loving
from some other base unknown. Hacking in and out what was
destined for slaughter, which birthright? For less than a penny
to buy a prince or king, or strangeness coming from heaven.

Their talk is big, surprisingly. The hardest thing yet on earth,
was never a small thing for mankind. Easy firing shots, with-
out a warning sign language, I can feel your presence getting
hot again. What I have faced before is you, up close and dan-
gerous, and you know how I feel when unarmed. The end.  

Tessa VI

Trust or play simplicity, me or you. Eyes to uncover the deep,
dark mirrors. On account of many charges, this is extreme.
What is love to you? I see the barrel of a gun. The rabbit hole
is what you hate most. And I keep on trying, e.g. like this over-
bearing nerd. I am old, close to you. The pizza is turning cold.

Evenings are labelled, and your anger does not need any
more logs. In fact we have nothing in common, except when
it is bedtime and night matures inside your mind. Lightness of
fantasies, I can't stand it. Fork and knife feeling like a company
on the plate. One that you build, manage, and without me.

If you want the house, Citroen X, the e-motions, you will need
something beyond your own skin. Mediation through invest-
ments are stone and bricks to me. I rather be drunk all night.
Sometimes I wonder are you or are you not a general? I had
a simple dream yesterday, but now I am the jester. A smile...
I'm In Survival mode
Survival mode,  
Trying to thrive in a world
Where many men struggle to live
The Coldness is unforgiven,
Fridgit and Focused
I'm in survival mode

Sometimes your only option is to be strong look around if there's no cavalry for you in your current perdicliment it's time to tap into survival mode, to  Muster up strength to take the blows of life Wicked hands, durability in many circumstance here I stand a man on mission, this can't beat me This can't be how I end, I have too much dignity to be broken down so easily,

Built from material of life lessons not a weaken man my mindframe beefeed up, swallow my blood before let go my pride I'm unfraid to die I'm in the grind for mine I'll be fine, beliefs embodied by courage of path pavements trails of effort I'm a hungry beast prowling for Legacy to feast

Entering into my Predator mode a state where easy success chances are slim no room to pity in defeat, no matter how disappointed, frustrated, exhausted, I may be if I'm still able to breath and hold my own I Gotta keep fighting I have to tough through it ignore the fact I'm Hurting what I want out of life is worth it, my faith in GOD even when things ain't perfect patient for a victory that's well desrevant, that if I shall fail then I parish on my own terms facing these harsh conditions

I'm In Survival mode
Survival mode,
Trying to thrive in a world
Where many men struggle to live
The Coldness is unforgiven,
Fridgit and Focused
I'm in survival mode

© Copyright Reserved 2019 by ED RJ.
Robert C Ellis Oct 2018
B 6
B 12
serpentine skin hardening
whiskey beer whiskey turpentine
Throw alcohol at the void
I am conscience threatening
expressed molecules regretting
we are ideas flexing
I grab another high head beer
A-frame bridge, no.254.
Why did they send the cavalry of the Crown,
not a chef adept at jigsaws?
Ontologically opting out of the
Damocles' fleatouch 1st person pronoun.
Ache kind of socialow luckemia
has culminated in this reckoning,
this personal brevima, the scheduling
of my release from this 40-year-old-****** hellhole.
Milk slit strike at the coconut shy of souls.
From a brittly hylic, embittered high place,
velocity tenderises me once & forall outofplace.

Such a beautifulday I must be serious,
the sun
Pipistrelle Daddy Destro:
for a few seconds, equals. The News Of The World won,
David Scarboro.
To spite the 1 I pined for ad infinights,
outofhiding in my vespertalactite,
to go down cyancowled
l/ sunnier owls,
down down t'azure turnups o'er ******
sock clouds of birdman w/ deflated waterwings.

We're not talking flash-flight, falling w/ (sky's
cramped) style, Golden Gate weightlessness, wirefu
knotted matter maquettes in jazz gravity.
More SPLAT! l/ birdcrap or a crap bird,
claret scree, ****** mannequin. Blue
hamon of a sayonara
impales the seppuku diver upon
broadestsword, the East Anglian plateau alone.
Or fool's gold fall. Quadriplegic at end of the rainbow
(******* ineluctable rainbows).  

Join the fall & fall & noyade of lemmpires
on the mal voyage to clay again.
Out of der freie geist & into the fire
via impact, if we bolt this bottomless hollow
to be chastised by childabusers Charlemagne
chartered. But who's playing follow
the leperdoctrinist anymore?  I'll chin
the sun heavier than Hedd Wyn's
mourning cloaked Chair, as I take the earnest lemming way,
prince des nuees, rather than walkaway,
crippled for life.
Keep albatroshin'? Ol' bor, toss yourself off

a cliff rident that fits & locks clithridi-hate.
Or the Iron Bridge or some other local highledge
for the coming true of weight
when local legends exit cute.
Nice hand aids swigs for cynic the edge
hugs, but, lo, Green Hill Zone's killzone. Put
on a happyface l/ Spike at the asylum
or do it, dona nobis pacem.
Raspberry suicide notables,
gooseberry suicide notables,
for whom quiet
chap fallen finds his pizzazzphalt.

Fast brakes of champions prefer their egos sunnysideup,
but my last basket, she left w/ the very 1st *******.
Tell my mother it wasn't suicide: 'oops!'
Ego squeals creanced to a limping quacker,
human Kohoutek who fuzzily thuds
into circus teacup of Wensum, pate de parkour.
From a phrontistery
for emo dodos, sneerical bartizan,
I'll vertically powerflounce, pronk like Zebedee Zyban
at the speed of gary t'wards bananaskindeep peaceofmind
over precipice of all the cabinwalls I've feverishly climbed.

Tell my mum it wasn't suicide,
I was Brodie Fayed.
& that the Deep State was behind my head-
er off the Iron Bridge or some local highledge
(all the birdies flyed
from a beachy hedge).
had a nightmare I could fly.
The peace that passes all understanding
is not a soft landing.
Gravity, be
my supercomputer of mahasamadhi.

— The End —