"chocks" poems - Hello Poetry

Stamped, I said; don't you dare let go of my hand. Until the day my breath and your hair turn silver. Holding my jugular, I let you watch me undress daily My love for you was bulletproof, but you're the one who shot me What you don't know, is you missed the cavity I romanticised the cocking and pulling nightly, murdering beauty. I ran away from home, to sleep in a manger I ran from a man, a man I never knew Same genes, same jeans. Denim was my choice, and yours. Rotten, like and old pair. Chromosomes. I lay on your thick neck The weight of a field mouse, tiny bones, pulled, curled in the straw, invisible to everyone but you Your shoes always faced upwards Walking the line where the barbed wire tore your chest Your heart was a runway, our family horse, chocks away Twelve stitches, those same twelve stitches in my mother's neck, at twelve years old, Twelve years on and it's taking thirteen to heal I learnt how to pick locks at eight years old, A lost boy in the body of a girl, skin of a thistle, no **** Purple and armoured A chameleon soul, belonging to no one No compass due north, a ***** needle She said; 'Baby, you're like cyanide, and I liked you for that.' I believe in madness Holding your breath for sixty seconds, because you can Like a bird flying into a windscreen voluntarily Throw me into it, If i'm going, i'm going, Pull me down harder, bind my ankles to make a tail Hit me harder, hit me until I find it acceptable to hit back, No halves, of the halves that halve us in half I'm all

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Jul 16, 2013

Jul 16, 2013 at 11:46 AM UTC

dollypartings

***** Needle

Stamped, I said; don't you dare let go of my hand. Until the day my breath and your hair turn silver. Holding my jugular, I let you watch me undress daily My love for you was bulletproof, but you're the one who shot me What you don't know, is you missed the cavity I romanticised the cocking and pulling nightly, murdering beauty. I ran away from home, to sleep in a manger I ran from a man, a man I never knew Same genes, same jeans. Denim was my choice, and yours. Rotten, like and old pair. Chromosomes. I lay on your thick neck The weight of a field mouse, tiny bones, pulled, curled in the straw, invisible to everyone but you Your shoes always faced upwards Walking the line where the barbed wire tore your chest Your heart was a runway, our family horse, chocks away Twelve stitches, those same twelve stitches in my mother's neck, at twelve years old, Twelve years on and it's taking thirteen to heal I learnt how to pick locks at eight years old, A lost boy in the body of a girl, skin of a thistle, no **** Purple and armoured A chameleon soul, belonging to no one No compass due north, a ***** needle She said; 'Baby, you're like cyanide, and I liked you for that.' I believe in madness Holding your breath for sixty seconds, because you can Like a bird flying into a windscreen voluntarily Throw me into it, If i'm going, i'm going, Pull me down harder, bind my ankles to make a tail Hit me harder, hit me until I find it acceptable to hit back, No halves, of the halves that halve us in half I'm all

32

*I am friends with the Midnight Man Yes I am friends with he He holds me tight When the moon is lost in the dark of him And soothe my pain with petty lies of death* *I am friends with the Midnight Man But I never asked for he He chocks my throat When I wish to the sandman of dreams And punishes me with truth reaking of death* *I am friends with the Midnight Man Yes... I'm compelled to be friends with he...*

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Feb 22, 2016

Feb 22, 2016 at 6:26 PM UTC

WiltingMoon

Midnight Man...

*I am friends with the Midnight Man Yes I am friends with he He holds me tight When the moon is lost in the dark of him And soothe my pain with petty lies of death* *I am friends with the Midnight Man But I never asked for he He chocks my throat When I wish to the sandman of dreams And punishes me with truth reaking of death* *I am friends with the Midnight Man Yes... I'm compelled to be friends with he...*

13

Did you want to balance on the edge of a freshly sharpened knife, did you really want to spend your life afraid of being cut did you put the cutting blocks away? Good, then it's chocks away and engines gun,let's fly and meet the morning where we'll win the sun and lose the night, flying blind with eyes tight shut feels a bit like being cut,but no blood yet, no need to get upset we'll get there somewhere where the daring and disarming go and where existence seems to ebb in constant flowing ever knowing waves, and someone waves so far below where ants appear and everything is, although nothing seems clear. As we stand there on the edge and look, fear is written hurriedly in the pages of another book and we have flown,taken years and grown beyond the boundaries of man,scanned by few and those who new it never recognised, the eyes can see,the hands can touch, which doesn't mean so much when you don't know what you're leaning on or looking at. The world was flat,but blown up like a balloon it became that which we know it, a ball, though you can't throw it. Better to believe if you can that dancing on termite hills is all that is man,and all we will be are the ants that look up to see, a man in his plane doing the same thing over and over and over again.

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Oct 27, 2013

Oct 27, 2013 at 8:08 AM UTC

john-edward-smallshaw

All that there is

Did you want to balance on the edge of a freshly sharpened knife, did you really want to spend your life afraid of being cut did you put the cutting blocks away? Good, then it's chocks away and engines gun,let's fly and meet the morning where we'll win the sun and lose the night, flying blind with eyes tight shut feels a bit like being cut,but no blood yet, no need to get upset we'll get there somewhere where the daring and disarming go and where existence seems to ebb in constant flowing ever knowing waves, and someone waves so far below where ants appear and everything is, although nothing seems clear. As we stand there on the edge and look, fear is written hurriedly in the pages of another book and we have flown,taken years and grown beyond the boundaries of man,scanned by few and those who new it never recognised, the eyes can see,the hands can touch, which doesn't mean so much when you don't know what you're leaning on or looking at. The world was flat,but blown up like a balloon it became that which we know it, a ball, though you can't throw it. Better to believe if you can that dancing on termite hills is all that is man,and all we will be are the ants that look up to see, a man in his plane doing the same thing over and over and over again.

19

Under the night—there’s a lake beneath whose serene, silvery strands blooms a city so filled with buzz folks chock on it— In the coal-coated sky, planes flutter; billboards shine over gleaming malls reeking of marbles and crystals and wealth and little kings and queens prowl about— ants dressed in facies— and balloons breathe freedom as children’s distracted fingers let them go; blues and yellows—neons and pinks and greys. and overflowing pavements cuddle into the hysteric roads winking cars, cursing vans— honking and screeching and scratching and laughing and— Screaming? Shrieking! Crying blood! Crunching metal! A mother covers her toddler’s eyes as pieces of flesh scatter around like confetti A crowd gathers about what’s left of the— human. —ants before a rotten grape. kings and queens with their buggies and guards tiaras and lockets— arrows and darts and the lights still smile, adds still run and so does the blood— and so does the dog with a missing limb and so does the car that never stopped Nothing remains of the flower, nothing of the bee Statures jump out of ringing vans men in suits— men too late. They collect the pieces of steaks and the dog’s leg and take them away. and a slim lady cries, melting her smooth skin A child, gawking, lets go his balloon, A teen chocks on her wine— footprints engrave in the clotting blood Through the clouds, flies up the balloon carrying the first scream, the first screech, the panic of the driver who vanished, the frenzy of city still as a corpse— up, up into the breathing water — another prince screams under his trembling crown and in a wounded street far away, whimper crawls out of a ravaged girl, grubby boy weeps for his stollen rug a woman curses, a girl trembles, a guy laughs, a man sleeps, a lady paints herself, a cat dies, a trigger is pulled, a cigarette is lit, a bottle breaks open a leg, a wolf howls, a boy weeps in his bed —a little whimper for each. and little bubbles wade in her delicate waves, the air pops those pomegranates open as tongueless stories disperse around— silent on her glossy lips. and over her, the night sky yawns as I crawl under her layers, and close my eyes, listening to the sloshing waters, the owls far away— begging for the bubbles to stop the screaming.

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Nov 6, 2020

Nov 6, 2020 at 2:55 PM UTC

Ayesha

Under her waves

Under the night—there’s a lake beneath whose serene, silvery strands blooms a city so filled with buzz folks chock on it— In the coal-coated sky, planes flutter; billboards shine over gleaming malls reeking of marbles and crystals and wealth and little kings and queens prowl about— ants dressed in facies— and balloons breathe freedom as children’s distracted fingers let them go; blues and yellows—neons and pinks and greys. and overflowing pavements cuddle into the hysteric roads winking cars, cursing vans— honking and screeching and scratching and laughing and— Screaming? Shrieking! Crying blood! Crunching metal! A mother covers her toddler’s eyes as pieces of flesh scatter around like confetti A crowd gathers about what’s left of the— human. —ants before a rotten grape. kings and queens with their buggies and guards tiaras and lockets— arrows and darts and the lights still smile, adds still run and so does the blood— and so does the dog with a missing limb and so does the car that never stopped Nothing remains of the flower, nothing of the bee Statures jump out of ringing vans men in suits— men too late. They collect the pieces of steaks and the dog’s leg and take them away. and a slim lady cries, melting her smooth skin A child, gawking, lets go his balloon, A teen chocks on her wine— footprints engrave in the clotting blood Through the clouds, flies up the balloon carrying the first scream, the first screech, the panic of the driver who vanished, the frenzy of city still as a corpse— up, up into the breathing water — another prince screams under his trembling crown and in a wounded street far away, whimper crawls out of a ravaged girl, grubby boy weeps for his stollen rug a woman curses, a girl trembles, a guy laughs, a man sleeps, a lady paints herself, a cat dies, a trigger is pulled, a cigarette is lit, a bottle breaks open a leg, a wolf howls, a boy weeps in his bed —a little whimper for each. and little bubbles wade in her delicate waves, the air pops those pomegranates open as tongueless stories disperse around— silent on her glossy lips. and over her, the night sky yawns as I crawl under her layers, and close my eyes, listening to the sloshing waters, the owls far away— begging for the bubbles to stop the screaming.

61

Do the stones ever grow to be a rock? Will my heart ever mend by your mock? So many questions rushing at once Prescriptions come in dragging over months It's you who has driven me insane All these injections and drugs, O'tis pain **** me at once so all that I feel disappears Insomnia chocks me, as if laid on bed of spears Why do you visit me everyday? Aren't you satisfied to see me this way If revenge is what you seek, Why don't you open up and speak? I know deep down in a corner of your heart You have pushed me and locked me in the dark I can see it through your sunken eyes That what you tell me is a pack of white lies Why are you suffering?, its me who is dying On these white sheets, day and night laying But before I die, let me tell you this It's you whom I love(d) and thus I will miss Be sure, not to wet your lashes But promise me, you will wash away my ashes In my lone long journey to the spirit world Tonight is my turn, when I will be called... ©sim

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Oct 7, 2017

Oct 7, 2017 at 7:17 AM UTC

Seema

Existing In A Dark Corner

Do the stones ever grow to be a rock? Will my heart ever mend by your mock? So many questions rushing at once Prescriptions come in dragging over months It's you who has driven me insane All these injections and drugs, O'tis pain **** me at once so all that I feel disappears Insomnia chocks me, as if laid on bed of spears Why do you visit me everyday? Aren't you satisfied to see me this way If revenge is what you seek, Why don't you open up and speak? I know deep down in a corner of your heart You have pushed me and locked me in the dark I can see it through your sunken eyes That what you tell me is a pack of white lies Why are you suffering?, its me who is dying On these white sheets, day and night laying But before I die, let me tell you this It's you whom I love(d) and thus I will miss Be sure, not to wet your lashes But promise me, you will wash away my ashes In my lone long journey to the spirit world Tonight is my turn, when I will be called... ©sim

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