"clambers" poems
In the wake of morning I am dying,
My child screaming,Happy Birthday, Dad.
I need my fire to stop the crying,
Purse my lips, the last cigarette I had.
She clambers into my smoke-gray walled room,
Innocence is a baby's white smile,
This contagious cancer is my gloom.
I am her murderer, still she would smile.
I often swore I would quit this **** thing,
For my daughter's sake, not my own **** life;
And always failed, this poison is my king.
It is her lungs that goes the smokey knife.
This selfish ****** turns my whole world gray.
Stupid. By my side, my daughter does stay.
Oct 8, 2011
Oct 8, 2011 at 3:06 PM UTC
The sea is flecked with bars of grey,
The dull dead wind is out of tune,
And like a withered leaf the moon
Is blown across the stormy bay.
Etched clear upon the pallid sand
Lies the black boat: a sailor boy
Clambers aboard in careless joy
With laughing face and gleaming hand.
And overhead the curlews cry,
Where through the dusky upland grass
The young brown-throated reapers pass,
Like silhouettes against the sky.
3.7k
stand(ing) here alone in the dark
like a head of tack pirouetting away
to no music - only acrid scruple
of this being with and not being with,
one is always alone.
space occupies the potteries in
the garden as a steady arm of light
stills in its mouth, a flowering dark.
it is only 3 o'clock in the morning
and the heat clambers the wall of
the vacuously atrabilious moment
of just plainly existing. the slender
harlequin of moon, like an old lover
having its own way with me, a child's
yelp coming home — the hermetic
air crushing the light, slivering it
revealing all the ensconced phantasms
too commonplace like a fork in the road
that i know, or the wayward metropolitan
that teems with a concatenation of roads
and gutters bilious with the squall of day.
a figure moves entering a warm miasma,
receiving the star of aloneness,
vacillating between
place and placelessness
telling this originary of repossessing
the moon with a hand in my hand,
pressing a question of where
have you been all the raging while.
Oct 8, 2015
Oct 8, 2015 at 3:52 PM UTC
There is a void outside my window.
Pitch cascading into itself.
No. I am mistaken.
It is just night.
Someone was knocking on my door at some point.
Nipah. Nipah.
Nevermind.
A curious hollow groan runs through the house.
Perhaps a tap is being turned.
Hiss.
A moth catches in a stream. Wet dust clambers for existence, affirmed in the moment of death.
Sometimes it escapes.
There is a glow.
A streetlamp lights up the void, strong enough to reveal a small part of the world, but too weak to remove the grain. The noise of existence.
Blood rushes through vessels. Neurons fire.
Silence is merely the body experiencing itself. The self subverted into the other.
Oh. I have slept through the day.
A train rumbles in the distance, sonorous and bleak.
A bird cries out into the void.
Nothing responds.
A miasma blankets the city.
The choke of lack.
Jan 23, 2016
Jan 23, 2016 at 12:15 PM UTC
Perched on top a sandcastle,
A ghost who rules the night.
In armour pale as soft moonshine,
And brandished sword of might.
From his high keep, he clambers down —
The shore his dark domain.
He stalks the tide’s retreating edge,
For spoils soon to be slain.
The scent of brine and drifting ****
Rides on the midnight air;
Now darting forth to strike his prey,
Swift-footed, keen, aware.
With sharpened blade, he rends the flesh —
His kingdom’s tribute claimed.
And casts aside the rest to rot,
Now that his hunger’s tamed.
Then strikes his armour with his sword —
It rings along the shore,
A haunting drum designed to fright
Subjects still seeking war.
Assured now that his realm is safe,
Sword sheathed with grim command,
He scuttles back to his fortress,
Across the warming sand.
The eastern sky grows light with fire;
The moon begins to fade.
The surf now hums a softer hymn,
The stars slip into shade.
He yields his crown to morning’s glow,
And burrows in his keep,
Where muffled tides and cooling walls
Enfold their king in sleep.
Aug 14, 2025
Aug 14, 2025 at 3:37 PM UTC
Mist today is effervescent
It lurks during the morn
This marks the end of renewal
And slowly tucks green to sleep
The Mist softly heralds in
A painted landscape
And the smell of falling blades
The straw now bowed
To the slight sent of cold
As the Mist clambers up and down
To bed in the deepest valleys
Finally blanketing
And settling on the landscape
Sep 10, 2012
Sep 10, 2012 at 2:11 PM UTC
Intrepidly neglected, of my lessened reasoning, I am dissected, of my insurrection, from the blessed beens of yesteryear's glints, dancing, parading, and burning, in layers, stages, and fazes, fading, and melting, the plastic faces into the smelting heap, that has come so far, just to inspire me.
Always.
Always you unto me, spiraling, indefinitely into the deep, where ceased is the times, with bloodied hands, and laugh lines, laughing one last time, while glancing toward my watch, under setting suns, and rising stars, smiling faces, and in tearful goodbyes, i realise
The sky's limitlessness
And in all the glory, and all the bliss, the eloquent stories, and the gentle drifts, my imagination uplifts, in wisps of gentleness, where i submit to reason.
Bless-ed be, the one who garners to my support, from a vortex of euphoric antidotes, of mindless quotes, and animated emotes, pulsed, from straight faces, and lost hope.
Ill tell the truth, you can go with nope, in whispered breaths of gun smoke, lathered in lith-dope.
Just trying to cope with the flow, until i crash upon the shores of nevermore, and, explore these holes in my soul intent, ascending from the contempt of bent perspectives, and twisted concepts, letting the blood of the peasant from my arms of harmony, trembling blankly to sleep.
To you a ***** to me tranquility, as i sink, into the world i knew, so that it may be seen, casing the well being, of all the things, and pixelated dreams, from a thieves keep.
Deep, down, below me, in obscurity, i seep, through the soil of my turmoil, until my hand reaches out, from beyond my doubts, and clambers from the shadows, outside of myself.
I am born, of mud, of muck, of the stuff, you're afraid of, and all i bare is love, love to shrug the shams astray, vacating the placation, and dichotomies, unifying light, into one me, shining in the rainy streets, of my deletion
Until my completion
Completely
Erases me.
Apr 13, 2013
Apr 13, 2013 at 1:41 AM UTC
Slumbering sunlight clambers through
The window in the morning,
Casting a perfect silhouette of a smiling you
On my half awake eyes.
A faint whiff of last night
In the recesses of your eyes
Enthralls me just as I try in vain
To wake up from heaven with you.
The caffeinated aroma of a kiss
Dyes the fabric of the day
As the smoke of my dreams recede
Into beautiful nothingness.
With a playful smile and
A flick of your hips, you help me
Get through the day, safe in the knowledge
That you'll be there when darkness comes.
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 11:52 PM UTC
a 'good' poem crumbles in your mouth. it doesn't
tell you, chiding, "this is how i should taste" -
instead decomposes into the loam of ages.
no single flavour is the same
to every person.
a 'good' poem forces open the jaw,
climbing in. it begs no hospitality -
it needs none. and as it clambers on your tongue
(trying to avoid incisors), only taste
keeps you chewing, rolling gobs of words over molars,
wondering when before you've felt them
without knowing.
sustaining life sustains a string of
otherwise insubstantial little letters no better
than ideograms, clicks and chirps
all ones and zeros, really.
we embroider and tack up that
which our minds give meaning to.
Mar 1, 2011
Mar 1, 2011 at 9:10 PM UTC
*Amongst folded hills
The forest ripples
Dripping
Down into the valleys,
Then
Clambers back up
Towards heaven
A Saxon Lord, a hunter
A top his white and noble steed
Kinsmen close behind him
Hounds baying at the Stag
They pursue
Charges through the sunlight
Dappled green
Painted on his brow
Concentrated on his quest
Divided from his clan
Appearing in his vision
A group of maidens
Dancing
In a glade of sheer luminance
In their midst, one
Exquisite in her artistry
Flowers embroidered in
Golden hair
Shimmering in Elfin melodies
Entrancing in its harmony
He stood
Drowning in her beauty
Bewitched
Knowing
Never again could he be
Without
His Fairy Queen*
(C) Pixievic 2016
Feb 18, 2016
Feb 18, 2016 at 4:06 PM UTC
Not mine in sleep,
In depths too deep.
He smiles closed eye,
with stretching love,
hand down covered chest,
unseen like dream,
under cover protected.
Back to me now,
in horizontal bow.
Mirrored actions,
from dream to me,
moaning to be free,
from sleep breathing shallow,
but still tightly under.
He doesn't smile like that at me.
Who does he see,
when he is with dream,
wandering through endless.
Fighting off monsters,
******* relentless.
It is the redhead-
**** of his dream,
demon of mine.
Voice betrayed.
You said her name,
in lustful wont.
You're ******* her.
You're ******* her?
breathing her name,
as sleep becomes distant,
dream moves away.
He looks my way,
and clambers on top.
007 him has more skill
more attractive women
but I will do, oh, already the spill,
sticky and wet,
not broken a sweat.
She laughs behind
my unseeing eyes,
licking his love off her fingers.
She has him every night now,
like he has her most mornings.
Instead of me.
Feb 20, 2011
Feb 20, 2011 at 2:51 AM UTC
'Look everybody, look at his eye!'
I look, at his face,
his contrived, forlorn expression.
Yet the class sees only the bruising.
'We don't hurt each other like this,
do we?' She looks at me.
Fire clambers up my neck,
****** my chin and
gathers, finally,
in the ***** of my cheeks,
where it blazes.
The mouth-shaped bruise
on my arm tingles,
teeth marks still ******
I roll down my sleeve,
too proud
to be considered a grass.
Later, she wants to talk,
but I can't for crying.
And I hate when she tells me,
'Just don't do it again.'
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 7:26 AM UTC
Stranger to myself
I wander through the maze of my thoughts
Star gazing upon a Milky Way of past promises and torn trust
Dreams scattered and lost upon winter's wistful winds.
And do you realize you are the best part of my mind?
A light warming the inner crevices and cavities of old sorrows, sore and exhausted from chewing away the years.
A heart to hold onto when mine is crawling away in agony,
Bursting at its seams, it groans
Too full of the world to be inside me.
Guide me when my eyes have turned inward to search for my wandering heart
It's in my stomach,
Pounding and wriggling, a mountain of worms eating my organs, swarming out my ears, too many to be contained.
Carry me when my legs complain that my heart is too heavy and go on strike,
They fold together quietly like the blanket at the end of my childhood bed.
Lend me your mouth when my body succumbs and refuses to get up.
Kiss me until you blow my heart to smithereens,
Kiss me until the worms come out in admiration to watch our lips writhe and twist,
Kiss me till my heart jumps back together and clambers back into my chest,
Kiss me till my eyes return, till I lift my weary head and collapse into your love for me.
Remind me of the flowers last spring.
The wildflowers after our cold dark winter.
Kiss my forehead and teach my legs to wrap around your hips again and again till we pound away the past
And my heart rejoices at being given a new perspective.
Remind my hands how to caress your cheeks,
My fingers are numb and frightened of hurting you
But they long to catch hold of your smile and hold onto its warmth forever.
You know me for what I am,
But I am a stranger to myself.
My body is searching for its parts, taking inventory of its functions.
And my mind is missing,
I lost it amidst a most busy crowd of no one.
I haven't found it since.
And do you know that you were the best part of my mind?
Jan 24, 2017
Jan 24, 2017 at 2:49 AM UTC
Slumbering sunlight clambers through
The window in the morning,
Casting a perfect silhouette of a smiling you
On my half awake eyes.
A faint whiff of last night
In the recesses of your eyes
Enthralls me just as I try in vain
To wake up from heaven with you.
The caffeinated aroma of a kiss
Dyes the fabric of the day
As the smoke of my dreams recede
Into beautiful nothingness.
With a playful smile and
A flick of your hips, you help me
Get through the day, safe in the knowledge
That you'll be there when darkness comes.
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 11:52 PM UTC
I know the eternity of midnight
where the days don't light the days and the night
stays tight against my wrinkling skin,and the only way out is the way you got in,but you can't find the way and you're lost,
so you stay.
And midnight never ends,this eternity wends its way slowly to your core,clambers clumsily in through each and every pore,and though you try to reach the sun,for some the sun will never come and here you stay,
Crumpled, where the night becomes the only way to live,
crumpled, where the night feeds on you,so you give,and
pleading silently for this eternity to end,
for one brief moment to pretend things will work out, but doubt assails you and you flail wildly,
childlike,sadly stuck
so you sit and **** your thumbs until eternity makes up its mind and comes,
whenever that may be.
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 7:26 PM UTC
Sitting in class, looking around,
I feel a little man climbing up my face by hair.
He has on tiny sharp shoes
And they dig into my skin
I wince as he clambers up my cheek
He rests only for a moment
Thinking.
He gets fistfuls of my eyelashes
Tugs & tugs & tugs
I feel the weight of him &
My eye closes gratefully
He moves to the other
Making a mirror action
And it's all gone from there
Now he dances in my dream
He might have climbed
Into my ear while I wasn’t looking
Jan 23, 2013
Jan 23, 2013 at 10:26 AM UTC
o, good lord of the streets
where a phantasmagoric sensurround
banishes the scream of youth –
a carburetor snarl taken
as unction of name. was it
your name that you whispered to my ear,
him dearth in the quietus.
first to go is grace,
what soon follows is bravery. a makeshift moon
of course, hanging by the earlobe of
her; I’ve been wanting to bite to break skin
her truly frightened symmetry
of a storm which is an onus of pain -
o, good lord
help me weave way later
when I’m down on my contrabass.
Scout Albano tonight’s a dark
expanse of regret
resonating a deep and hollow throb.
women on flay, cigars in mouths chucked
like busy streets on a noontime sun, the soot clambers
the billboards and their frozen, extant smiles
wring out the poison and drain:
we have no imposed god, an announcement to ear
shot into the flay of the bone that persistently
aches - like some unreal drumming of squalors.
we are ruined with echoes of many names that haunt us
with their gaping mouths
in frightful angles, but
when we’re drunk, Marc,
this will all be over.
Apr 2, 2016
Apr 2, 2016 at 1:28 AM UTC
Her muzzle shuffles, nudges, clambers
Through the blades of brown, dead grass
Her hairy, boney chin and wet, charcoal nose
Absorbing every sharp point and rough side
She lounges, rolling, crumbling to her belly
Massive, fur coat bleeding hose water
Massive, fur paws grinding out the ground
Elegant, almond eyes waning into black slits
She groans, a low, manly groan
And closes her eyes
The grass is rough, but her fur is thick and
The fall wind soon soothes her into slumber.
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 6:18 PM UTC
Clusters of afflictions drizzled with disarray ,twisting into the bitter earth
As the steps of earth splinter, the scars repent
Winds of sins circle the perimeter of faith
Sea sprayed lungs obliterate
Stars gravitate as the blackness clambers
The moonlight fractured and flawed
Howling obscurities beneath the derangement
As the flow of crimsons rush
I forbear my subsistence
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 2:24 AM UTC
There are far too many things which need to be done, and they are no closer to being done, not one bit. The dishes downstairs lay stacked upon the work surface in the kitchen, crumbs gather on the floor and dust accumulates on the carpet which has not been walked on by a foot other than my own in almost 3 weeks. The windows need cleaning as the sunlight can no longer find its way into the room I currently seek my refuge in, and it is a pitiful thing to have to watch as the sun clambers desperately in an attempt to claw it's way through to me. The notebooks littering my desk are all but half-full, with its paper coffee stained as mugs of rotting liquid gather beside them, one by one. There is a rather distinct stink of mouldering books, as my taste for fine reading has become belittled and seemingly extinct as of these recent days.
There are far too many things which need to be done, such as clambering my way out of this hell-hole and seeking a refuge in something other than the room in which I have imprisoned myself in. There are far too many things which need to be done, in terms of escaping and finding a way to crawl to you, even though you reside in a place which is out of my reach.
Sep 4, 2013
Sep 4, 2013 at 6:05 AM UTC
clambers thus far, the
small-clawed creature inside of
me now; in dreams said
she misses me, but dreams
are just that. classical
case. eyes untouched. gaze
unmet. notions uniformly
forgotten, or forgetting, at
least. the sun rises, the sun
rises oh, am i warm or just
asleep?
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 11:06 PM UTC
and it is certain, as certain as wisps of hope and grey smoky prayers can be
that although distance clambers before us, the moon as i see it is the same for you
the days and the nights and the schedules – to hell with them
for all i know we are breathing together, we are inhaling and exhaling as one
two bodies, as one in our mind’s eye
and i cannot help but to feel over every pore what it feels like when your hand flattens against my neck
it burns through my skin even as i sit here, eyes closed to a bright sphere which passed your vision hours earlier
i shudder as the sweet burn runs through me like honey straight from the jar
sugar travels fast and far, on the backs of trillions of ants like stars splayed across the earth
and the earth is just a canvas where we paint our struggles
though i hum at the bursting sparkles above many atmospheres
they do not keep an account of the way your tongue creeps past your lips and onto mine
only the earth knows the way our gaits come together and our bodies exist at the same level
stretched out between us, from one son’s antennae to another’s
the Queen entertains stories of those eyes that i miss, thick black crescents soft against my face
things immeasurable, things untold, things i do not own
you only share these with me but my access to the feelings they leave behind is limitless
the distances i would travel for you to remind me of what i already know, is something the moon understands
despite all else
it is heavy and slow but it always returns, waiting for the inevitable yet dynamic
if you tell me tomorrow what i want to hear today, i’ll get your message on time
just whisper it with those rosy lips of yours and my ears will open their arms to you
better yet, scream you love me into the quiet night sky and the sun will vibrate, causing the moon to chuckle
the ants will find me first
i sit here and i echo
i love you i love you i need you i’m with you i crave you every breath
until we breathe no longer i’ll say it and i’ll listen
we only speak it in breaths apart
i want those words, oh how i need to hear them in person
and i’ll swim oceans and levitate just to hear you again
tell me what i already know
i’m listening with my lungs
——-
Aug 12, 2017
Aug 12, 2017 at 6:50 PM UTC
A fierce tug awakens me from drunken stupor
My sheets tumble off the edge of the bed
He’s come, once again, for His meal
It is my sworn duty to tend to Him and his arcane needs
a result of purchasing Alveus Manor, my current home
Strangely, it has been many decades since
Yet, I do not age but for my mind
To maintain a sense of control on things, I ponder
Many hours have been spent toiling in reflection
forgotten lovers, forgotten names
They mean precious little now
There is a singular memory that screeches loudest
some deal sealed with incantations and blood
scars adorn my wrists in confirmation
This memory is certainly true
I set the bowl out near the darkest part of my manor
From the floor, a trapdoor creaks upwards
I see the sharp glint of some child’s eyes
They dart around on an elderly face
He snatches the bowl with pale claws and blinks expectantly
It is then that I remember the burning whims of my duty
With a dagger and a prayer, my wrist spurts
Red nutrition cakes into the container
Prize in hand, He scurries back underneath the floor
sounds of primal content slither along the walls
He clambers back up with satisfaction
I am to be rewarded
He holds the bowl as if praising Old Gods across our universe
Elixir jets past teeth that resemble those of an infant
Creamy white substance settles in the bowl
It seems the result of melted moons
I do as I have done since first moving into this cursed place
I drink the ghostly elixir without any extrinsic cause
He flashes blood-stained teeth and hobbles away
Instantly, my eyes brighten and my skin tightens
My name has long been struck from history as well
My purpose remains free of doubt or suspicion
I return to bed in morbid anticipation
Drifting into madness, I fall asleep
A fierce tug awakens me from drunken stupor
My sheets tumble off the edge of the bed
He’s come, once again, for his meal
Jun 15, 2017
Jun 15, 2017 at 1:22 AM UTC
I am with Janice
on a bomb site
off Harper Road,
climbing along
a narrow flooring
like two wire walkers,
hands outstretched,
balancing with
childlike skill.
Benny is it
safe to walk?
she says.
No,
but if you're careful
you won't fall,
I say,
moving slightly
more to one way.
There's the smell
of damp wood
and bricks
and *****
around us.
We reach the other side
of the bombed out room
and stand looking back
the way we'd come.
Rozzers,
a voice of a fellow kid
calls out,
he clambers off
and away.
Janice and I
climb down and out
and see the rozzer
standing with hands
on hips and helmet
pushed back
on his head.
Bomb sites
are out of bounds,
he says,
stern faced,
eyes staring.
Didn't know,
I say.
Janice large eyed
and fearful,
says nothing.
Well it is
out of bounds,
what's your names?
the rozzer says.
The other kid says,
Michael Mouse,
another says,
Daniel Dare,
and say,
I don't remember.
The rozzer slaps
my face and says,
what's your name?
Janice is tearful
and clutches her hands,
thinking if her gran
found out
her arse'd
be slapped.
Benny Beanpole,
I say,
trying to keep
a straight face,
cheek stinging,
eyes glaring.
The rozzer doesn't ask
Janice her name,
he stares at me
and the other kids
and says,
get off and sling
your hook.
We look at each other
and saunter off.
Janice grips my hand
as we walk off
the bombed out land.
Mar 2, 2016
Mar 2, 2016 at 3:13 AM UTC
Sorcery in her veins she drifts into the luminescence of fairy lights,
Her heart does not beat to the rhythm of her footsteps,
But she does not care,
No one's around.
She flings her flip flops and begins to sway,
She trips a little on the idea of 'herself'
but remembers she is dancing with no one around -
No one that cares.
Her hair gets fiery maroon as the fairy lights disperse through those messy locks.
She clambers on the insides of robust memories,
That shoot and decline
with frequencies of music; the frequencies within.
She is her own creation - no one to stop, no one to judge,
No one to spill the beans, no one to capture attention.
Her shadows now form unimaginable silhouettes on the walls,
Silhouettes of all the girls she is; all the women she can be.
With a shimmer of fairy lights her dreamy figures glimmer in the wake of her eyes,
She needs no one!
She has herself and them,
And the fairy lights and a heart that does not beat to the rhythm of her footsteps..
Believe me, there is no place better to be -
For a darkened heart, silence gleams.
Oct 19, 2018
Oct 19, 2018 at 9:42 AM UTC