"chil" poems
The clang of armour rings through the clamour
of our men screaming thy name.
Thy name that I bear, blazing bright
as these brazen greaves.
A-CHIL-LES.
It is not I that they know.
It is not my feet that are thus as swift as thine;
though they would believe it.
It is not my rough hands that are never wrong;
but that have rather slain Sarpedon, now.
It is not thy knees that quake at Hector's call; 'tis mine own.
A-CHIL-LES.
It is not thy eyes that water in fear,
it is not thy hands that grasp thy spear, 'tis mine own.
Never wrong. Never wrong. Never wrong.
It is not thy gold-spun curls that spill forth,
as thy helmet falls.
It is not thy blood that stains Hector's spear;
it is not thy chest that splinters, 'tis mine own.
The clang of spear piercing armour rings through the clamour
of our men screaming my name.
My name that I bear, blazing bright
as thy brazen greaves.
PA-TRO-CLUS.
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 4:48 PM UTC
_Spin me some velvet,
Scuff me over with gravel,
Pick me some bluesy strings;
Tie me a bunch of wildflower quavers,
Let’s hear how your phoney sax sings.
Dip me in treacle,
Needle me with soul,
Groove me some dirt and some bass;
Blow me your ***** devil’s pipe strong,
Let’s play us some bourbon and lace.
Spin me some velvet,
Scuff me over with gravel,
Lay me down in meadowsong;
Rent me a dime’s worth of old dust and daydreams,
Honey chil’, you cain’t do me no wrong._
Jul 3, 2019
Jul 3, 2019 at 9:13 PM UTC
Sit still, now, chil’,
While I untangle this mess -
You ain’t goin’ swimmin’
‘til it’s all in braids,
The mo’ naps you got,
The mo’ hair you lose,
I’m ti’ed of strugglin’
With this pick
And flat comb,
—
‘cause yo hair is too thick,
I’m at the enda mah wick,
And, mah grays are doin’
Anything -
But, fadin’.
Aug 3, 2011
Aug 3, 2011 at 9:04 PM UTC
there's this old crow,
comes around most mornings to perch in
the momma pine who
sowed her chil'ren
down slope.
The crow seems to speak through a bluetooth
of nature
he caws asif conversing, re-plying layers
of nuance on my mileau.
Listen, I say to him,
I want you to be my friend.
He sits, quiet.
Not disturbing my peace.
I take that for a yes.
Jul 28, 2019
Jul 28, 2019 at 2:17 PM UTC
From a distance I can see everything that happens around me
from up in my tower I sit so high feeling protected from your prying eye
I see things that make no sense children in chaos and parents with no power
the child is in charge and the parent quivers in fear of the government.
Yes the government who tells us what we can eat, how much we can drink and how we must raise the chil we gave birth to.
Long gone are the days of individual freedoms, for we all owe the piper a debt we will never pay. Tremble thats right tremble in fear for the direction we head is anything but clear. hold your family close and your guns closer, God protoect us as we try to achieve cotrol of our lives and our future's. May our children find the way to sanity and reality.
I wish for you all is to find peace and to no fall into the hole the government is digging for it looks like nothing more then a mass grave. this is dug by the greedy, corrupt and easily swayed from they're own convictions., selling our souls for a piece of the money.
We are ready to blame big buisiness and democrats and republican but we all are a part of this mess and must live with the fate we may not have wanted but sure as heel got. So to you crooked politicians and corrupt business men we know who you are and are watching your every move. and America all races, creeds, sexes and religous conviction grow some ***** stand for wht is right and dont sell your children and grand children out for a free T.V. and cell phone have some self respect.
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 4:09 PM UTC
South Carolina summers were hot,
They were long and dry,
And for Mama, they were lonley.
Mama lived at the very end of our street.
She lived alone,
No chil'ren and no Husban'
She spent her days makin' sweet tea
And leomonaide, and pound cake.
She'd sit on her ol' rockin' chair,
And she'd whistle.
Mama was the best whistler in town,
All the kids in the neighboorhood came by
To hear her whistle.
She'd watch over us,
Scold those in need of scoldin'
She'd tell us not to climb the big oak tree
But we still did.
I didn't know it then,
But those long summers
Were the best I ever had.
The ice in my glass of sweet tea
Shone like diamonds.
And Mama's song,
Still plays in my head.
South Carolina summer were hot,
And they were too short.
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 8:29 PM UTC
Now Chil the Kite brings home the night
That Mang the Bat sets free -----
The herds are shut in byre and hut,
For loosed till dawn are we.
This is the hour of pride and power,
Talon and **** and claw.
Oh hear the call! - Good hunting all
That keep the Jungle Law!
May 8, 2016
May 8, 2016 at 6:55 AM UTC
It has been said, by some,
by many, that in time the
hopes and dreams, the
pain, all cheap and chil-
dish loves, the aches of
their passing,
all will fade,
and become but photographs,
blurred memories, last,
of a bygone age,
remnants to be lost,
and forgotten, in
the passing of
Time.
Perhaps this is so.
But if truly there be
a thing called end,
a time called respite,
called peace...these
are to my mind more
to the like of fantasy,
of that which occurs in
others, and never in
oneself, than not.
But I will not give up my
Hope, nor lose utterly
that dream of Emptiness,
that Vision of Peace, held so,
there, in my heart.
For truth, in all times,
and for forever,
all hope is dream,
and all dream
possesses the power
to be called reality.
Oct 8, 2016
Oct 8, 2016 at 11:29 PM UTC