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Obadiah Grey Dec 2013
Sphincter factor nine approaches
food for the fish n roaches
methinks its time for me perhaps
to open up the rearward *****.


------------------------------------
AAChoo !!

Oh, liddle sister, Josephine,
you sure don't keep your
nose real clean.
got stalactites
o' pure pea green
my infectious sibling
snot machine.
----------------------------------------
I thought that I might shoot the breeze
with God or Mephistopheles
and ask them please to ease my wheeze
of my bad back and dodgy knees
---------------------------
Croak with the raven
bluff with the crow
the urchin
the field mouse
beneath the hedgerow
in a flurry they scurry
away away go.
Yelp with the *****
howl with the hound
and bay at the moon
till the sun comes around.
------------------------------------------
Gino's bar and grill.

Away, away afore Bacchus
doles out befuddlement
and Morpheus has his way,
lest I awake to find myself
in the company of
sodamistic bedfellows
with buggery in mind.
---------------------------------
Harry Potter has grown a beard
he lives alone and turned out weird.
Dumbledore, Albus, no more
turned his toes and 'ad a snore,
Voldemort, who's *** is taut
has no nose with which to snort.
====================

Ahem !!

Behind two Lilies- sits Rose,
then Daisies
for two and a bit rows.
with Poppy, and *****
Petunia, Primrose.
and Bryony - who gets up
- my nose.
----------------------------------------------
Amen.
God bless the Cows - for beef burgers.
God bless the Pig - for their bacon.
God bless the wife n her sharp knife
for the slice of their **** she's taken.

-------------------------------------------------
We can, no more fetter the sea to the shore
nor the clouds to the sky
or tether the glint
in a lovers eye,
As sure the shore loves the sea
so shall I love thee, together,
together for eternity,

-----------------------------------

It bends for thee
sweet chevin,
the cane thats cleaved
by three,
wilt thou now
sweet chevin
yield, my friend ,
for me.
-------------------------------------------------
There's Marmalade then Marmite
and Jams thats jammed between
the buttered bread of bard-dom
a poets sweet cuisine.
---------------------------------------------
I took up campanology
and fired up my ****.
I rang that bell
to ******* hell
till the busies
came along.
--------------------------------------------
so, I've been whittling away
at a buoyant ****-
fashioned something approximating
a poo canoe-
in it, I intend to
surf the **** tsunami of old age
to-- death;
I have named it Public - Service - Pension.


----------------------------------------------

A surreptitious delightful tryst,
with my honey, my sebaceous cyst.
she's my pimple, my wart,
my gumboil consort.
she's the zip, in which
my *******, got caught.
--------------------------------------
Frayed at the bottoms
ripped at the knee.
baggy and saggy
big enough for three.
faded and jaded
and stained with ***
but I'm due for a new pair--
Yippeeeee!!

---------------------------------------

Ther­e's Cockerel in my ear
and he bills and coo's for you
whenever you are near
goes - **** a doodle doo !!!!!,,,,,,,,

---------------------------------------------

Oh,­ for the snap shut skin
in the blue twang of youth
and to un-crack the spine
on the book of love.
now the gulping years
have flown away
we take sips of the night
and are spoon fed the day.

-----------------------------

Zeus made the Moose to be somewhat obtuse,
a big deer- rather queer- I fear.
then God gave him the nod to look funny and odd
the spitting image of you - my dear !!!

---------------------------------------

Knobbly Nobby.

Nobby has a great big nose
a great big nose has he,
and nobby knows
that his big nose,
is big, as big can be,
nobby has two knobbly knees
two knobbly knees has he,
his knobbly knees,
are as knobely
as knobbly knees can be,
don’t pity dear old nobby
for soon it’s plain to see,
that nobby has a great big ****
as big, as big as three !
now nobbys **** is knobly,
as knobly as a **** can be,
so nose and knee and ****
make three,
and we - are ****- ely.

----------------------------------

The Woman that wouldn't eat meat,
had reeaally, reeaally big feet,
her **** was as big as an hermaphrodite brig
and her **** were as hard as concrete….


--------------------------------

Hearken the clarion call of the crows
afore the snow-
they caw,
hey, get your **** into gear lads-
we gotta feckin go !!!

-----------------------------

Gods pad

I took a peek within
your house
wherein on pew, I spied
a mouse,
and in his hand,
a Bible clasped,
and out his mouth,
a parable rasped,

---------------------

I'd say she had
a pigeon loft in
her eyes and
bluebells up
her nose.

But then again
I wear a flat cap

and stroll through meadows.

----------------------------

Would you care to buy our house?
It's minus Mouse n devoid o' Louse,!
Spiders, Roaches, Bugs or other,
have all been eaten by my brother,
snaffled up n swallowed down
then jus' crapped out a - yellowish brown.
so would you care to buy our house?
from an oddly pair -- devoid of nous

-------------------------

Though the Crows got her eyes
and the Worms got her gut.
comes as no surprise
death can't keep her mouth shut.

-------------------

Bevelled slick edges
and reeaal eeaasy slopes.
Chilli dip wedges
with fresh artichokes.
Wanton loose wenches
and swivel hipped ******
Daft dawgs and dentures
and granddad - who snores.

-------------------

Been whittling away at a buoyant ****
and fashioned something approximating a canoe,
in it, I intend to surf the **** tsunami of old age;
I named it, "Public service pension"

-------------------------------

.
Well,
     I could wax on the wings of a butterfly
but, I ain't that kind o' guy.
rather kick the nuts off ******* squirrels
pluck the wings off - blue assed fly.
I'm the stuff that flops off dog chops
when he's up for it and high.
an infection in your sphincter,
a well
that's jus' run dry.

----------------------------------------------

befeathered­ and bright scarlet
is my ladies bonnet,
jauntily askew and -
lilting on a paramours
grin.

"- Gladlaughffi -"

I'm reliably informed that dear ol' Muma
sported a goatee around his **** sphincter,
now, whilst this is merely educated speculation
from my esteemed friend his "groom of the stool" ! 
who was in fact required to wear a mask,
ear muffs and a blindfold whilst he went about his business,
He did possess reeaaally sensitive fingertips
somewhat akin to a blind man reading brail,,
and, swore blind that said "**** sphincter' spoke him in Arabic
and asked him for a quick trim, (short back and sides)
I myself being a practising proctologist of some repute
am inclined to believe my friend the "groom of the stool"
as I've come recognise -- Arsolian when I hear it !!!!!!!!
-------------------------------------

In a Belfast sink by the plughole
where hair and gum gunk meet
'erman the germ-man  and toe jam
bop the bacillus beat.

________

Doctor this I know as fact
that I have a blocked digestive tract,
I'm all bunged up and cannot go
my trump and pump is - somewhat slow.
I need unction jollop for junction wallop
some sorta lotion to give me motion.
If you could please just ease my wheeze
then I needn't grunt and push and squeeze.

-----------------------------

They are breaking out the thwacking sticks
and sparking Godly clogs
pulling tongues through narrowed lips
at the infidel yankee dogs.

------------------------------------

As a paid up member of the
lumpen bourgeoisie poetry appreciation society
I can confirm without fear of contradiction
that poetry is indeed baggy underwear
with ample ball room, voluminous in the extreme
and takes into account
the need for the free flow of flatulent gassiness
that is the want of a ****** up poet.

-----------------------------------------------

She's a rough hewn Trapezoidal gal
a gongoozler o' the ol' canal.
She's copper bottomed n fly boat Sal.

I'll have thee know that
that there hat
is a magic hat,
it renders me invisible
to the arty intelligentsia
and roots me firmly
in the lumpen proletariat .
-------------------------------------------------------
Said the sneaky Scotsman, Jim Blaik.
if the pension, you wish to partake,
bend over my son, lets get this thing done
and cop for this thick trouser snake !!

I met my uncle Albert,
down at Asda, in aisle three;
he got there in a Mazda,
jus' a smidgen after me,
said he'd traversed Sainsburys,
Tesco Liddle n the Spar,
but not one o' them flogged Caviar
Truffles or Foie gras.


He sidled past the pork pies
streaky bacon turkey thighs
a headin for the french fries
n forsaken knock down buys,
shimmied 'round the ankle biters;
expectant mums to be,
popin pills for bloated ills
in the haberdashery.

Fandango'd o'er the cornflakes
and the spillage in isle four

-----------------

I'm linier and analogue,
a ribbon microphone man
mired in the dust of the monochromatic,
the basement, the attic.

------------------------------

Simple simon met miss Tymon going to the fair,
said simple simon to miss Tymon - "pfhwarr what a luverly pair"
of silken thighs and big brown eyes and scrumptious wobbly bits,
Said simple Simon to miss Tymon---------- shame about you **** !!!

So sad sweet Shirl thought she'd give a whirl to clubbercise n pound

Squat, slightly,
tilt head 45°
and squint.
See the shimmering blurry
dot in the distance?
That, timorous ****,
is ME !
Fast twitching my
narrow white ****
to the pub.

There was a young lady named Sue.
whose ***** and **** was askew,
whilst taking a ****
she'd aim it and miss
and she lifted 'er hat when she blew.


Oh Mon Dieu !!

Obi.
Prabhu Iyer May 2013
I.

I knew she liked me much,
the way she blushed and
went cold, every
morning at my touch;
I love her too, my favourite
cereal bowl: she's
all ceramic, a queen
among bowls. So, I decided
to break ice and ask her,
this morning, when this space
is resonant in unusual
calm amid the buzz
of clumsy bikes, kitchen clanks
and crowbar knocks: tell me,
dear bowl, I say, tell me more
about yourself: I want to
know your story.

II.

She blushed again: really?
Why would you want to know
this my sad story?
Everyone I ever loved,
has been cleaved from me
and here I wait today,
polished and reflecting
the mad whirl of the tireless
fan every sombre morning.
Silence. I gave her a caress:
an empathetic, loving one,
and nudged her on.
She stuttered. I gazed intently
at my interested face
reflected off her beaming eyes.
Well, where shall I begin?

III.

I was the soft clay
lining the shore of this
beautiful lake, in some remote
haven untouched by betrayal:
a far off land, where
people just loved and expected
nothing back.
China? Mongolia?
I was about to ask, excited,
but then kept quiet,
how would a clump of clay
tell one country from another?

IV.

I loved her soft smile
rippling past me every morning
and deep night, and we
loved each other this way
in waves and caresses
for aeons, when one day
this menacing contraption
a monster, cleaved me off
and transported me
to a boiling cauldron. I wept
for pain and roiled on
until hardened and cast
into this shape.

V.

Earlier, my dear bowl,
still earlier I wish to know,
what were you, before
being the sand on the lake?
She got thoughtful for a while.
Well, I was the mountain
that fell in love with the sky.
O, her beauty that
came alive when she wore
a tunic adorned of twinkling
stars and the crescent moon
adorned her forehead; But,
the jealous winds
cleaved me off her: bit by bit
scraping me off they
deposited me by the lake.

VI.

Earlier, dear bowl, what
were you, before being the
mountain that loved the sky?
Now it seemed like I was
in communion with an ancient
deity: a being so vast, that
all existence was in her throb.
Ah, those searing depths
where I flowed simmering
by ragged channels, I was
the pain that the primordial
planet carried in her womb.
Before exploding over the land
and rising to the ashen skies.

VII.

I could not ask her more.
We both were lost in a
trance-like moment. I just
touched her and we felt
every event that pulsed in her.
The giant star that exploded;
Spreading gases and dust
all over vast distances.
Gathering together and
growing all over again, through
and through time, since
numberless cycles of creation.
Stardust. Here in my humble
bowl, is gathered,
the seed of all existence.
Another experiment here...do excuse the length!
DJ Thomas Jul 2010
Dead sold souls herd us
Lost mindless finger puppets
Vapid witless words

A large meat fed dog *OR
a bicycle riding Meathead
ARE more harmful to the environment THAN
a Vegan driving a four-by-four

Eating meat means death
more suffering then grieving.
Suicidal Meatheads
contracting breast cancer,
China’s rich women’s disease

Linked male disease
includes prostate cancer.
Early doddering
old age of the mind and body
Meathead fat minds and body flesh .

Grumbling guts of a -
selfish and cruel industry.
Cleaving and feeding
Meatheads taste for flesh and fat.
Growing numbers of pet dogs.

They, their butchering -
suppliers and the linked
blind politicians.
Hands ****** with world ecology
and mankind’s nearing suicide.

Barbecuing flesh
Burn’t species in rainforests.
Slash and burn farming
Busy Meathead industry
Gross greedy blood dripping heart

Detail is in the UN Food and Agriculture Organisation’s
REPORT Livestock’s Long Shadow

Hot warming dry world.
Slaughtered environment.
Acid rain is falling
in livestock’s long dead shadow.
Desertification breath.

Trumpeting slaughter
Our children, each child’s children
Dangerous future
Meatheads dead with Treehuggers
Planets species murdered

Meatheads, THEIR suppliers and producers of live and
cleaved flesh AND their greedy lawyer-ed politicians ARE
the primary cause of harmful greenhouse gasses

Growing and processing
Feeding livestock flatulence.
Living flesh movement
Frozen slaughtered cut flesh
Transported, sold chilled packs.

Land taken for grazing and feeding cattle flesh IS
destroying our rainforests, CAUSING desertification,
KILLING or DISPLACING millions of wild animals,
DRIVING species into extinction

A plant-based diet
efficiently providing
our nutrient need.
Land feeding just two Meatheads
will feed twenty four with grain.

Or more than sixty with soya - BUT bioengineering has targeted
AND taken control of soya, BY doing so they might purposely
be destroying the bees - THIS another long sad story

The flesh producers -
cause most the world’s pollution.
Consuming most our WATER.
Legislating against meat
New green taxation controls

A worldwide plant-based diet WOULD require less than a
quarter of the present agricultural land and COULD
feed the millions who currently live in starvation!

Bees disapearing
Biodiversity sold
Rainforest cinders


It would allow us to SHARE our planet with the other SPECIES
that are struggling to survive OUR greed and stupidity
and HELP our own possible survival

Fat shopaholics,
a deadly consumerism.
Cancers meat to eat


Meat consumption is increasing, USING-UP a sea of potable water,
burning forests & species... MEANING there has never been
a more urgent time to reconsider OUR eating habits!

Enculturation
Our sad indoctrination
Globalization
  

So MEATHEADS, are burgers, bangers and steak worth
the personal risk, YOUR children’s live’s AND the
approaching environmental catastrophe?*”
copyright©DJThomas@inbox.com 2010
Andrew Rueter Aug 2017
Religion is like wrestling when it was kayfabed
The kind of immersive storytelling that is A grade
We became trapped
In the Walls of Jericho
Separated on the map
From the fields of marigolds
Shinier things catch our eye
Like Goldust in the ring
Not of Mankind
But McMahon's kind
We start to see behind the Big Show
Until they introduce the Boogeyman
Manipulating until progress is slowed
All according to plan

Jake the Snake offers the apple to Eve
And into calamity we are cleaved
This was something I never agreed
But Christian pushes me to Edge
No room in discourse to hedge
Swanton bombs fall in cities
The Million Dollar Man cracks a smile
Unable to feel pity
The billions of bodies start to pile
And I haven't seen the Hart Foundation in a while

These ideas pin us down
And we can't kick out
We end up indifferently submitting
To the Big Boss Man
A legacy we're cementing
Like the Ku Klux ****

I'm from Kentucky
Where biology is taught in the context
Of where it fits in with Christianity's teachings
I wonder how many people this knowledge is reaching
When we're trapped in Wrestlemania
We cheer for the Undertaker's victory
Because we're constantly wrestling with demons
Transcendence is only something we can dream of
the divergence of roads
is an illusion
a myth perpetuated
by those who fear solitude
but one who has walked the lonely path
enjoyed all its sights, sounds and sceneries
rested in the shade of its motherly oaks
knows that at last
everything converges
every road, every fellow traveller
every other choice
meets at one
single brilliant point

- Vijayalakshmi Harish
   08.02.2013
  Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish,
I love how "cleaved" can mean both "split" and "linked". The word is its own opposite!
Jesse stillwater Nov 2018
The river forks at big stone eddy
rending currents meandering course,  
its silence speaks not with forked tongue
as kismet's swirling eddies abide
     as if time immemorial;
     a river naturally cleaved
in two separate distinct directions
befallen destiny  without a choice


Spinning round and round in big stone eddy,
time just drifting by in the throes
of doubt — high water rising
beyond the bounds of earth
taking drowning souls up to the sky


Choking on a mouthful of unanswered questions,
suffocating on the parting words left unsaid;
distilling life into poetry hew from being —
trickling out like the spilled out sky —
taken down to the empty riverbed
leave lay' til it's all washed away,
in the music of the pourin' down rain


Freedom embodies metaphysical incarnations
riding the prevailing currents it can't control
Gravity-gathered  down to the shoreline,
manifest reclamation after the deluge,
from somewhere far above the high-water mark


Swallowed by all the darkness woe betides,
thinking you carry such a weight to hold...
It seems all got a handful of sand to toss
up into the wind to seed the clouds
The totality of eclipsing silence grows
that rent the stillness of a dream
of peace on an eroding shoreline


In an Eddy of Expectations & Disappointment
dark waters will ebb and flow,
imponderable as drowning hope,
leaving it all out there to dry after the rain

       believing in your heart —
        the best is yet to come


  Jesse Stillwater ... November 2018
Thank you for reading
Stu Harley Aug 2013
today
i wrote
a letter
to the sky
soul against flesh
both you and i and
here we cleaved our nest
Bridget Lee May 2010
You found me staring, hair full of sand:
I had tried to embrace the water as my blood
and was reprimanded by a wave for my daring.
Around us the thick grass like palm-sunday fronds
and the path of boards lifted from a painting
dissolved into steel wool. The rest of the scene
has been redacted, smeared from my mind
with an inky thumb.

You found me between sleep. I am still
waiting to be returned to                       , or
wherever the quarter-light carved your back
into soft photograin beneath my childs hands.
You said, "                                    
                    ", words warming me
with the bloom of a chrysanthemum beneath my chest.
Does the crown of petals still ***** like the cigarettes
off that          balcony, overlooking          ?

I burned my body into your imagined contours.
The space between ours folded over and
again, an origami figure slowly taking on mass and attitude.
It sat on my shoulder, Incan headdress grown solid one day,
stock right foot the next. It cleaved and cleaved.
We joined at                 or maybe                 , in the rain.
Or was it? My face was wet, and hands or moths
fluttered against an aquarium window.
If dreaming, I awoke when                  : the train
flattened its memory like a penny.
Here it is, squashed between my fingers. The face pushed
like putty, smoothed like the faces of               and
              and of course                 , who remains
only as a scratchy, juvenile voice.
ShadowWisp Apr 2015
Burning from torment as I gaze to his eyes,
Piercing through his soul as I scan nothing but lies,
A total illusion which rendered me vulnerable,
Crimson betrayal let my heart dripped and drizzle.

Feeling the memories alone in the moonlight,
Reminisce the days when we first see at sight,
Such an ache in the heart to think you're not you,
But memories worth the living until you change on hue.

How ironic to think to be in desperate situation,
Seemingly thirst from bliss until the night breaks from dawn,
I spared life on a candle to prolonged it's happiness,
But regret remorse with me as it selfishly shade itself from total blackness.

Here in the plain vast wilderness of solitary,
Heart was throbbing in pain yelling for revenge endlessly,
Though tortured was my heart and silently cleaved,
But my sweetest revenge is just to forgive.
Why is someone so insecured with me?
harlon rivers Jun 2018
.
Red sky at morning ...  sailors take warning !!!
First dawn's light steals away over the towering Cascade Head.
A heavy autumn dew dripped from the Whaler's bow rails
as sun rays  flashed like beacons from rain-forest  headlands on high;
where Pacific Northwest rivers September equinox dawning ebb
pushed us mercifully unto the chilling stiff autumn sea breeze.
Dappled sun reigning through the pinkish purple morning sky,
patchy fog adorning the awakening inshore headlands atop the bay,
shining from the pearly gate’s mission bells higher ground ,
beckoning another fisherman lost and found at sea come home...

Heaven’s lighthouse alerts the celestial sky
of the impending eminent soul journey,
highlighting the distant horizon’s breaking swells
capped of white meringue  sea foam.
Sea gulls escort precious cargo's final voyage,
gliding gracefully in the shadows of the firmament,
our lungs filled , revitalized with the salty air's poignant elixir
Pelican vanguard's white light reflection guiding our vessel seaward ,
alone in a perfect storm...

Northwest gales standing up the ebbing tide’s uprising crescents,
waves pounding in rhythmic flow;
calling all angels!   ― my ruminating mantra and plead
The Clatsop Spit’s dangerous song resounds the stark reminder,
life's raucous changing seasons, prevailing winds beckon
with the allure of siren’s call,
that now is nearly here ...

The countenance of flowing salty tears liberating release ,  
vast ocean's raw sheets of saltwater spray would not hide .
He just sat and stared at the seaward horizon
while the telltale tears flowed,  perhaps an unspoken dream
of a merciful final surrender with eyes wide open,
love steering our vessel west where sun shines to set ;
now far beyond the visible ache,  for mine own eyes blur
trepidation teardrops rained as sheets of frothing sea.

The wordless conversation known,  the compass full circle drawn  
like the sacred salmon's cycle ends to nourish back ancient sage
unto its own mandala ―  forever beginning life,  eternally drawn
through river estuaries ― stirred by ebbing infinite tidal pull ...

There is an oppressive weight found within paternal understanding,
and yet,  as certain as the dawn promises the inevitable setting sun ;
all things must pass as sure as all things begin ,
someone you love most,  longest in short life ,
has come forth to break bread at sea as the torch is passed ,
sharing life for the last time comes too soon ― with little warning ...

There was an emotional unidentifiable hollow pang brooding ,
as if letting go gradually,  yet potentially instantly,
that drains every last drop of a breaking heart ache ;
waning strength swallows down hard ― stifled sighs ― lumps in throats, words better left unsaid ― only cleansing tears flow, knowing when they start to purge,  they might not want to stop again.

This moment's final autumn’s changing season’s waning ebb
That final riptide will forevermore change all other rivers’ flow
where oceans set mother earth's rivers free until the end of time ...

My father ― a man's man who seemed to find a peaceful Zen ;
an unfinished life was reborn that day to see it through
as my hands grasped the wheel , compass held steady.
The son to carry on the weight of love and compassionate understanding ;
love born in the blood inspired the fortitude to carry on.
As a life flashed before my eyes on that final raging Pacific sea,
instincts mused by ancient Tyees’ souls stirred drawning sun's
radiant rays of perception ;  accepting this life on earth
would never be the same but would just simply be ,
knowing this light's shine will never glow quite the same again ,
yet radiate a more deeply vivid luminosity...

We melded into that first day of Autumn,
falling silent , and yet our heads held high
There was nothing left to be done but pray with eyes wide open

“spirits of all oceans of mother earth …
show the sacred salmon's tragic heroism, the way back home to peaceful waters”

Few words were spoken as everything was silently said.

"To everything there is a season and a time to every purpose,
under Heaven"

The Outrage cleaved the surging Pacific's heave, knuckles white,
the wheel held sway,  climbing mountainous long ocean swells
breaching the south jetty's giant boulder walls ;
there rolls the mighty Columbia jaws,
where all Rivers suffuse with vast oceans, eternally free ...


.... Harlon Rivers    .... September 22nd . 2013
Post Script:
With fondest loving memories of my father's life and times shared~
So much of this day's memory is deeply repressed and each year I try to free a little bit more but each year passed has been privately circle filed, yet I try again to be set free..   Purging emotions so intense that they are nearly blacked out... I did not realize the basis of depth until later private moments... It was in fact the day of the Autumn Equinox a few years ago,  a final birthday celebration of sorts combined with bringing the Boston Whaler Outrage, home.   Dad passed 1 week later after this trip from Pancreatic cancer ...we spend the final 72 hours alone together at Hospice after his birthday..."Crossing Over"

Not unlike myself, there was an inherent restlessness to my father. We found a peace, unlike any other ― one with nature. He used to like to say he felt at home on the ocean. He went out as many as 30-40 miles alone on the rare occasion the Tuna came that close to the NW Oregon ― SW Washington coast...That may not seem like much in land miles, but you cannot see land from that distance and the Columbia River's confluence with the Pacific Ocean is known as one of the most dangerous bar crossings in the world. I thought Dad's life would have a very different ending...this one never crossed my mind, letting go is far more difficult than hanging on ― rivers


June 18th, 2017   Fragments of the Sea
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/1954243/fragments-of-the-sea/

June 12th, 2012:  Memories of My Father's Traces...
A tribute to my father ...  
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/1995383/traces-of-youa-fathers-tribute/

Thank you for reading ― have a great summer :)
When the fire grabbed his body, it didn't happen by degrees.
There was no burst of heat before,
or giant wave of smothering smoke
and the feeling of a spare room one wants to escape to.
The fire held him at once
—there are no metaphors for this—
it peeled off his clothes
cleaved to his flesh.
The skin nerves were the first to be touched.
The hair was consumed.
"God! They are burning!" he shouted.
And that is all he could do in self-defense.
The flesh was already burning between the shack's boards
that fed the fire in the first stage.
There was already no consciousness in him.
The fire burning his flesh
numbed his sense of future
and the memories of his family
and he had no more ties to his childhood
and he didn't ask for revenge, salvation,
or to see the dawn of the next day.
He just wanted to stop burning.
But his body supported the conflagration
and he was as if bound and fettered,
and of that too he did not think.
And he continued to burn by the power of his body
made of hair and wax and tendons.
And he burned a long time.
And from his throat inhuman voices issued
for many of his human functions had already ceased,
except for the pain the nerves transmitted
in electric impulses
to the pain center in the brain,
and that didn't last longer than a day.
And it was good that his soul was freed that day
because he deserved to rest.



Translated from the original Hebrew by Karen Alkalay-Gut.
Poetic T Aug 2016
I cleaved a fountain pen
into my throat and wrote
what my feeling truly felt.

As I bled profusely, my
thoughts haemorrhaged
and I was sweating then bleak.

My heart was limited in its
repercussions, as beats failed
upon my body and mind.

I shed my emotions in blood
and then I was still. As my
musing died so did my heart.
Poetic T Mar 2019
Malignant gazes warped the
the fabric of the air around me.
I couldn't do anything but tell
her that to wish upon a dying star
                          will never end well.

The atrocity that clung to the ships
hull, was no less human now than
    the artificial meat 3d printed..
It taste liked chicken,
but..
            there were no eggs in space.

Words like plasma cannons fired
around me bouncing off the walls.
Ok, ok listen I didn't do this to you!
Your the penny that could pay the price,
and this is your tarnished self pity.

I wasn't having any of her grief,
       though it could vacate me with ease.
Standing before her I said I could less
cure her than breath in space..

With that she raged in a language
of ferocious exasperation.
I knew that it was time to vacate her
need for some sort of vengeance.
I'd got the necklace on under my garments.

Pointing my pistol at her, she smirked,
             then a gargled laugh spat out.
That toy cant harm me, is this your last
stand what a pointless endeavour..

Now it was my turn to smirk,
        I don't know if it was panic
or confusion to why I was laughing.
            like a hyena knowing that the
pray had just cornered itself.

With that I shot past her, like a
random act, I still laughed loudly.
And then a buckling ache approached.
As the hull cleaved open like a piñata
hit feverishly by an excited child.  

As we where exhumed from our coffin,
suffocating in the emptiness of my actions.
I could see her fear, no matter her augmentations,
nothing could survive the vacuum of space.
I pressed upon my chest, my nanite suit
encompassing me.
            I was like a new born taking a first breath


Looking at this sorrowful figure, floating
in to the abyss. I knew I was partly to blame.
But now was not the time for respective thoughts.
This was about survival, and I used the small thrusters
to edge closely to the air lock.
                       Time to move on, time to breath deeply.
Sombro Sep 2015
The river valley was cleaved beneath the rushing horse’s hooves
As dragons beat against the sky, to roar, and so to prove
The might of beasts against the foe, this ‘mankind’ they oppose
But black the night was, truly so, Sir Crowshirron composed.

His lance flew banners, dark as jets, into the dragon’s keep
He split the fire with shield and steed in one almighty leap.
The castle stood of smelted glass as grey as stormy skies
Each tower stood as instrument to ring the dragon cries.

The sturdy gate split as a twig, weak to the black knight’s sword
And then the drawbridge split asunder, board by petty board.
Inside the court the black knight strode, cape flayed the dragon fire
Up marched the knight, dark steel alight up to its crooked spire.

There he saw the demon’s claw clutching ill-gained prize
A screaming child, from pastures wild, with terror in its eyes.
The Black Knight gave no motion and no outcry passed his helm
He stood up taller, prouder still and challenged the dragon’s realm.

They say that lightning split the sky about the battle field
And that after days of endless rage the knight refused to yield.
Down swooped the dragon, teeth and claws, to shower fire and rain
But still the knight would hold his sword and stand to fight again.

Until the moon propped up the sky and broke the dragon’s flight
The black beast  smashed into the keep, split by the black knight’s might
There it lay, curled in dismay, smote by mortal hand
He told the dragon, word and sword, to leave this fragile land.

But dying breaths of stricken foes stilled breathed their poisoned fire
The dragon’s head, eyes running red, made clear his cruel desire
‘Finish me whelp, lest you do, I’ll return and seek your defeat,
But if I die, know this, you shall not be thanked for this brave feat.

A black knight you are and so shall be until the end of days
For all will see a soulless husk, not worthy of their praise.
For dragonslayer you are within, a man with strength and might.

Yet your soul will know that they see only a Black Knight.
They’ll run you from their homes at dawn, they’ll make you see the light
For words from mouths as black as tar make weak the dragon’s bite.’


The Knight looked down upon the beast and ‘fore he stabbed his lance
He showed his smile unto the brute and broke the dragon trance
With floating heart he took the child back to her anxious town
He set her down in front of those who gave a blackened frown.

‘We cannot take this child again, her soul is sure corrupted
You and the beast, two monsters, have held her uninterrupted
For though we good folk try to live there are demons such as you
And now that you have seen her she is not the child we knew. ‘

The black knight took the child back to the shattered dragon’s keep
And seeing the slain corpse of the beast the child began to weep
‘He kept me here, with gifts and love and laughter for my heart
He told me he’d no family and now he had a start

‘Sweet daughter’ he would call to me, ‘I wish to see you please’
And still you slew him, seeing threat, not person, with great ease.
We are a kind, us three poor souls, not like the ‘normal’ men
we give ourselves to people who will ne’er love us again.’



There the knight stood, till the moon lit the sight
Of gentle dragon without his might
‘Family.’ He said softly, and shut his eyes tight,
‘I could have had a family.’ Wept the black, the broken knight.
A comment on prejudice and discrimination, not only based on physical attributes, but emotional as well.
zebra Jun 2017
how many ways may i undo you ...
each sublime
i crave your vermilion waters
copper gilded plush
falling to my hungry naked mouth
drug euphoria
drooling ***** toy
as i stroke your ankles
with tender fingers
and brush your delicate feet with my lips
before i lift you
floating girl
and you lose yourself
thanking God
for the inconceivable pleasure
of unbearable pain
as you are split and ruptured open
oh pink flowers splashing
in a stained tub
of
blood like a blotter

sanguine perfume
mouth melting kisses
heaping *****'s detonations
adorations petition

am i not vulturous
holding you in my warm arms
while i whisper in the caverns of your hollow breath
that you mean the world to me

i drink rain storming from torrid gates howling
from your cleaved ******* and unfurled belly
your eyes
moons trembling
immersed in your fathomless yawning soul
as you take your last breaths

tell me baby
is it tender cruel
are angels kissing you yet
are you caressed by powder pearlescent clouds
are you butter on the lips of God
while dark curtains flutter and shut
while i weep and convulse
in heaping waves of ecstasy

there is only you
like
heavens  thunder
traces of being Nov 2016
Too roughly hewn and cleaved around edges frayed
shaped and reshaped by these own calloused hands

I realize the shape of things ,... who I am ... who I've become ―
The sound of my own raw voice knows not convention ;
it was nothing more than words of fragmented tomes exposed

Only the broken wind covering footprints on the road not taken
on a never ending journey into a lonely abyss

These greatest fears I've come to know ;
my greatest weakness bared and borne
                                        broken dreams bought and sold,
                                        for less than they were worth.

In the chill of this winter darkness grown cold
a newly recurring silence echoes poignantly,.. 
                                                  ­             redux
                                                          f­orevermore
                                                           self-loathed
                                                               déjà vu ―
       
                                The only dream's fruition ever feared:

                     to walk alone at that predestined parting moment

                         within a stones throw of six feet underground ,...

                                 dropping to these knees at a threshold

                                              well-nigh left behind,

                            knocking at the door that leads beyond  ―  

                        never needing to know how to say goodbye …



                                 thinking out loud ... 11. 29. 2016
"saying goodbyes are the hardest words to say"

In a moment of deeply diminished confidence writ
It feels appropriate to give a nod to a real poet “Everbody knows”

“I have tried in my way to be free” ―  L.   Cohen   Bird on a Wire
.
Samantha Sep 2013
Outcasted kid with purple hair

Albeit not the kind of violet
That made your nostrils drip
With a watery ambrosia
Sugary enough to belong to a bee

And not the kind of
heavy, royal, omnipresent
contentment plum presents as a
molten lava
perfecting the pockmarks in the pie

My tendrils were not reminiscent of
home or
anything savoury so

I tangled them in tiaras
belonging to some Duchess' daughter or
one of Henry's wives or

Maybe twined them round
Frita's pallet and
Dyed my scalp a more pleasing hue or
Anything other than purple

Because purple was what I was not
Purple was Lilacs and
Pansies and Heliotropes and Tulips and
Lavender and

That little wild flower aforementioned

whose name I can't bare say
for the sake of
a humble beauty
such as hers

'twould be a shame to make comparable
To the wet-dog-fur look
Of my purple hair

And so I learned to get lost

In a past I always felt my own
Traveling continents and
Floating through eons

While my classmates  coloured in
British Columbia and
Where is Nunavut again?

Growing, I gained companions

A faery,
Athena,
Aslan and
Frodo, Einstein, Plato,
Theodore Geisel, Mahatma Ghandi
and Louis Leakey, Jamal Dewar,
Joan of Arc and John Lennon and
it all became
more complicated

Because my world was in flux
Oh it ebbed and it flowed and it expanded
Like the molten plum but this time
It really was more like lava

Assuredly you'll understand;
See the seams in our stitching!
Our Worlds are sewn together!

And as much as we would like
to cling to our
individualism

at some point we all must
accept that there is
but one

Intrinsic as our innards
Are our atoms and
Electrons and
mine are yours and
yours are hers and
ours together are all of the stars and
it really is
beautiful

At some point the twisting shroud
The squeezing and contracting -
of the world inside my head and
the world inside my eyes and
the world I was walking around in
and the world that I saw above me -
it tensed then halted
and became very dense
then melted

What a glorious
Ubiquitous, secure and everlasting amalgamation!
I opened my eyes
To find Van Goghs Scissors
All bloodied still and so
I cleaved my purple hair

But to find Hieronymus' oils and
watercolours so
I made my skin a hellish canvas
Painted all in yellows and blues
Without a hint of purple

Now from shoulders to forearm to wrist
from breast to navel to hip
from thigh to calf to foot
legible as anything are
lines that lilt and gleam
sighing songs of
devils and cherubs alike
and of sparrows and snakes

So after heaven is hell
and after hell is Nirvana
And Manna is as good as dirt
if Ambrosia is but
the spit of a bee

It all always works out
Because at the end comes
Death and after that
We don't know
But I do know that
I don't know
Much at all to begin with

Except for four things, almost assuredly:
1. Energy is all
2. I will never cease to find shouting at people from my bedroom or a car window amusing
3. My mother loves me more than anyone
4. Nothing is certain, except for uncertainty
I feel relieved of some burden wowza! Time to clean my room. Have a good day dearest readers and content skimmers.
Joseph S C Pope Nov 2013
“The curiosity of the city rings with the death deliverance of grieving mothers and drunk fathers and optimists who claim the world is made, of more than just those two people. This is the Republic and the gates are open for service. Comedians were once serious people like all the rest who were mocked and remained vigilant in the face of despair. Life and death are part of our lives, but not the entirety. Grave markers have no grace for that truth. Summing up our choices to dashes in metal or plastic. What about the singing in the shower? The embarrassing time we were caught ******* or with ****? The overall fear of death creeping over these moments. Where is the answer? I wish Philosophy had a wick, something tangible to grasp onto, but it is no different than alcohol or drugs. Even that is no different than the dash. It only sums up our existence in simplicity. Labels of any sort do no justice to the comedians, mothers, fathers, republics, cities, and or life. In short, this land is the Atlas-cyst.
I look up at the clouds and see the impression of silver cherubs sitting on  flying horses. If they were real, they'd stab the hearts out of lovers from their aluminum vessels.
We are kings and queens of too much.
How many people have died for something that was not the cause—martyrs labeled as abolitionists. But to the illiterate-pop culture they are the heroes. Zealous posters written by apathetic authors trying to call back to the glaciers till the chimes of apocalypse come. The sad songs are true. Pity is polio too sick to bend and too accustomed to power. More than anything it is the simple moments that make the best music."
I remember telling Kaitlyn all that after we had ***.
"Should I continue?" I asked.
"I guess. I do like listening to you." she said.
“Your name is a word, but I think it is a culture.”
“The dark is a force,” she said, “But it is a child  too.”

She was the first one that made me realize that romantic tendencies are as hollow as realistic ones.
She laughs and I laugh. We are slaves beyond truth and defiance.
I can almost hear the old people that were friends of my granddad saying, “Remember your path.”
A failed proverb. Now as my sneakers hit the black top at night I see a messy web in the gutter belonging to a black widow. Every town in America should have a street named after Leo Szilard, the idealist father of the atomic bomb. I wish the one I was walking down now was named after him, but instead it is named after Hemingway. Hemingway St.--
“Everything I want and I couldn't be happier.” Kaitlyn says as she rolls away from me. Almost in cinematic beauty.
Now Sedans pass by playing catchy music--reminding me of the same melody earlier in the day when we were on our date at a local pizza place. The waitress was late with our order and we were making fun of Communism and Southern women on verandas.
“Oh Charles, I don't know nothin' about birthin' no babies!” she impersonated.
I laugh, gather myself, and add, “frankly my dear, I don't give a ****!”
Our giggles and bursts of laughter spawned our waitress in record time.
Later in the night, a ***** sock is still on her door as I leave her apartment. There are things still to be done. We aren't married after all.
I hear sirens in the background, downtown and I laugh to myself.
“Avoid the police! Avoid the police!” I promise myself I'll tell her tomorrow.
As I cross the street and the stench of wet dog in the night becomes second nature to me I add a conclusion to the communist joke from earlier. Imagine nowadays walking around Moscow passing out pamphlets about Communism to Russian citizens. The punchline sets in as lame like a worn lobotomy—no one would get the joke or take it too seriously. It's one of the commodities of sanity.
“You're never angry with me and I like that about you.” I told her once our pizza was delivered to our table. That statement cleaved the conversation to a halt and all we did was eat for the rest of our date there. She is the perfect bride I may never marry—a wedding in a box. Other than that she brings  spinal traction in this rough world—I feel like a man.
3:55 am brings ego death from acid. Not a song for the kiddies, but it is a recycled song for the college kids down the street. Even though the closest college is two hundred miles away. I call Kaitlyn up, she too can't sleep.
“How many times can a woman scream after *******?” I ask.
She exhales heavy when she smiles. “As many as I can.”
I do the same when I smile.
I imagine it all again: “Being absent on death's radar for that one moment. Teenagers dream about it, preachers scold it, tv promotes it, children have no idea what it is.”
“You make it sound so bad. Like ****.”
“It's not bad. It's a faith in a white flag.” I say.
“Of surrender?”
“Yes.” I reply.

The next time I blink it's breakfast, over at her place.
“You have the most fantastic beard.”she says.
The compliment goes down good with eggs over-well, bacon still moist from grease, golden toast, sloppy grits, and hashbrowns flat like a sandwich. I need a cup of coffee to level out her perfume.

No one knows I'm unsure if I'm the one she wants. But I would want her, no breakfast, just her and her aroma steeping in my life till my body runs cold.

“I surrender.”
“What?” she asks.
A torn piece of white fabric lies on the table.


The wine still lingers in my throat an hour after New Year's. The burn creeping down my esophagus much slower than the glistening ball in New York on tv. I taste blood. I wonder if it will last the year. The white flag is now starboard. And there is an opera in my fingers.  That last sentence makes no sense.
I know I am a man with hairy feet, a bruised heart and young. As Ivy Compton-Burnett says, “Real life seems to have no plots.” But it does have star-crossed lovers stuffed in suitcases beside heels and breeches. Traveling along the serpentine east coast watching the world in anticipation. Death can wait. I wonder if the same two people can live in perpetual amazing-ness apart?
I don't know. I can't wait for the answer. I begin, end, and live my life around the words 'and' and 'more'.
She doesn't know I barely move from my bedroom.
Stu Harley Nov 2013
even though
we stand
in the mist
of a storm
locked
in each
other's
arms
both our souls
cleaved again
Tryst Jun 2015
Abandoning Medusa,
Four hundred boarded boat and raft
As angry storms abused her,
The sandbank held her firm and fast
And each fresh wave might be her last,
So each man went unto his craft
And headed out to sea

I watched her mass still gleaming
In moon's spotlight upon the rocks
And fading as to dreaming,
As oarsmen pulled with cursèd tongues
To take the strain and drag our throngs
That clung to life on floating stocks
Imprisoned by the sea

oh what a sight, to see our raft as laden down as she,
with little boats and fastened ropes to tow her o'er the sea


Men watched for signs of treason,
In fear of those who may decline
To see the light of reason,
And climbing off our haven perch
To strike toward the bobbing lurch
Of boats connected to the line
That towed us o'er the sea

A silver streak went flashing
As blade reflected of the moon
To hew the mooring's lashing;
No longer bound by fetid weight
The oarsmen pulled and with a great
Relief they moved away, and soon
Our raft was lost at sea

with cold dismay, we watched horizon swallow boats with glee,
when all were gone, we stood as one, abandoned to the sea


Clinging to the single mast
And each to each were firmly gripped
As sinking neath the living mass
The makeshift raft that floated free
Was covered by the foaming sea
And each man feared lest if he slipped
He's lost unto the sea

Water covered o'er our waists
And each with barely room to stand,
One hundred fifty doomed to fates
That ne'er a one could yet foresee
As each looked onwards helplessly
To glimpse the hope of promised land
Beyond the raging sea

has any scene more wretchèd been observed I ask of thee?
behold our sight and awful plight, held captive by the sea


For food one barrel only
Of biscuits that was tossed and thrown
Into the frigid roiling sea
And when we pulled it from the waves
Wet biscuits soaked to salted paste
Were swift devoured, and left with none
Our hunger cursed the sea

Our thirst became a torment
With only casks of wine to drink
And all the time to lament
The petty fight that caused the loss
Of all the water sadly tossed
Towards the edge and o'er the brink
Into the vasty sea

our sunburnt skins were blistered, we were hopeless as could be,
we prayed for night until the fright of darkness on the sea


Men turned upon their brothers,
Each fighting for an inch of space
And men screamed for their mothers,
As clubs were swung and axes heaved,
As bones were smashed and heads were cleaved,
And so began our human race
Surviving on the sea

The stench of early morning
Brought retching from the strongest tar
As light from a new dawning
Unveiled the carnage of the scene,
Men dead and dying, limbs hacked clean,
No time would heal the mental scar
Of those still trapped at sea

if you would listen further, I implore your eyes to see
the vision of our hopelessness upon the endless sea


One day passed to another
And every day more men were lost
To hunger or their brother,
And as our numbers swift declined
Starvation ruled most ev'ry mind,
And saw the thing we craved the most
Right there upon the sea

At first it started slowly,
One haggard man with wildling eyes
Took up a blade and boldly,
He carved a piece of rotting flesh
And to a man we held our breath
And watched as he devoured his prize
Upon the ghastly sea

With little hesitation
Some other men took up the lead
And with some trepidation,
I eyed the corpse and followed suit,
Slicing his leg above the boot,
And wolfed it down such was my need
Upon that evil sea

I ask not for forgiveness friend, I offer thee no plea,
You cannot know, you were not there upon that dreadful sea


Yet still my tale has sorrow,
That I have not the heart to tell
So courage I must borrow,
For all should know the tragic deeds
That show the truth, how man succeeds
When placed within the living hell
Of endless days at sea

One quarter turned to madness,
Where midnight waits with bloodied hands
To strike the screaming masses
And feast upon the sick and lame
With flesh prized higher than a name,
We turned with eyes like burning brands
And stared unto the sea

the weak were dead who still drew breath, they knew as well as we,
their lives were owed to pay our debt in homage to the sea


Some thirteen days we lived there
Before we caught the sight of sails
And rescued from our nightmare,
We crept away to wander home
But never can we be alone
Forever watched by wretchèd souls
We left upon the sea

So here my tale is ended,
One hundred fifty went aboard
And fifteen men descended,
Our raft was left to float away
And maybe still it floats today
With hungry souls forever moored
Upon the raging sea
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Raft_of_the_Medusa
Minuscule Ego Jun 2018
A low moan escapes her lips as the ****** hits
She lay basking with a sated feeling
The coverings all wet from perspiration
Believe me, this isn't an infantile conversation
He placed light kisses on her bare shoulders
She felt how intense he was against her thighs
And heard the testosterone's fueled manly claims
That came as a whisper for a magical scene
She’d realize he was not solely hers
So she just cleaved to enjoy the moment
Leaning crabwise, he slide within her fountain
They both cried with anticipation
The highest form of their admiration
Heavens’ gates unfurl
Times seems to halt for a second
There could have been an explosion
But he paused, new position.

He has never been interested in a single relationship
At least not anymore- promiscuity suits him just fine
With her curvy body, pumped breast and his small statue
They tangle together- entrapped within their own tier
Some call him a ****, although they be circus jokes
He be content and blue ***** free- shining bright for all to see
Letting em live their judging lives
And make those mistakes they thought he would make
He has never seen himself going without the white packet scenario
It’s all about self-importance
One that leads easily to pandemonium
But being promiscuous was assuring
The less you give- the less hurt you receive
Life is short, but there’s much to achieve
One cannot be caught slacking
Those hands are clocking
Day and night without cessation
He’s no expert
But I’m sure you admire his aversion
And believe it or not
The better our efforts- the wetter our treasures
A promise that our goals will exceed the ****** pleasures
Seeing that our thoughts recreates the Today
Let me redefine the topic.

He thinks of her as a pineapple
Chipping off her cries to reach the fountain
Till she openly veto yes! in all excitement
As he plunged in the deep of her mountain
Screaming twas some lustful announcement
That mimic a sedative smile, and a softer groaning
Activating him to go wild again tearing her lotus
She cries! He moans: “I’m just teaching a lesson”
His manly locus was indeed a blessing
Its thrusting brought out the louder racing
Making em both bobbed like a drum set
Nobbling feelings begun shaping within his breast
His noble ****** was moving towards the heavens
They were climbing the unobtainable heights
That could make their explosion vast
And leave her screaming his name
Like forever admiring his fame
He’d hoped to have done enough
But will hate to get deeply involved
For promiscuity was the affliction
That diseased him ages ago
And it met him just fine.



For an icon- Wale
“We are not perfect beings; we all evolved from our mistakes to make a better one.”
Bisho Dec 2012
I was deeply mesmerized, through her dull look I was incised;
Her eyes looked far beyond my world & all the memories I bore,
Her tears were suppressed in her captivating me with a stare,
Her lips would say the words on mine with each word I’m looking for,
Her breath would flow into my heart with each beat I’m dying for,
Still I sought her to the door.

Forever I chose to roam, everywhere with her is home;
She just lingered in my heart but I left my peace outdoor,
Winter was a time of sorrow, but we dreamt of new tomorrow,
But tomorrows came with terror, terror that did taste so sore,
But tomorrows were much painful than the days I lived before,
& she lingered than before.

My heart strings I tried to weave, with some threads of endless grief;
Searching for some face some trace, of her upon my memories floor,
Deep in me I tried to call, I found nothing can console,
Glimpsing her straying in some castle lain deep within my core,
She allured me to beguile me somewhere lost into my core,
Lost within forevermore…

In me a thousand demons weep, aching me in wake & sleep,
Scathed & scorched, seeking your smile that lulled their wicked hearts before,
Thousand raging mutineer, down the silver chandelier;
Those whom you once did inflict, & left their life in twitching war,
Those you provoked yesterday, & incensed their nocturnal war,
They are whom I’m dying for…

As I stood glimpsing you fleet, shadows smothered down my feet,
Fragile were my crisp heart beats, those beats that were solid in core,
Though I am the one you crave, you raised in my heart my grave,
Yearning was harrowing, severing, one can’t endure nor ignore,
My desire have seared my hearts with fires I cannot ignore,
& my fires taste so sore…

I’m condemned to watch you flee; it plucks feelings out of me;
While these voices stuttering muttering; voices I’ve not heard before,
Voices resonates in my veins, filled my heart with myriad stains,
Stains of noises of the voices of my bones & flesh & gore,
Stains of lovelorn lays & cold old days & my spilled livid gore,
Stains upon your castle door…

You were poising through each room, in fragrant feverous perfume,
Burning all my flames vehemently, surging all my beasts to roar,
Flaunting fluttering in each chamber, on the eve of deep December,
Tainting this untarnished heart that just sought you & nothing more,
Confounding that steadfast faith that believed you & nothing more,
Now faith won’t taste like before…

As I give up empty tries, your eyes kissed my bleak goodbyes,
Then you lurk behind the dungeons of my dreary darkling core,
Wicked me O wicked day, when I pursued you to stray,
But in straying I keep praying if you strayed it won’t feel sore;
I’ve strayed in much lonely nights, & lonely nights did taste so sore
Without you into my core…

As you stroll in me & breathe me, look beyond me gaze beneath me,
Look beyond your horrid world, the morbid heart apart you tore,
Now is fainting swooning searing, & your absence keeps on tearing,
Every shard of hope that lingered deep inside you fill with pore,
You severed my happy thoughts & happy thoughts are not galore,
Wish you were some place for more…

I’ve renounced every Love, & still you rove & still you rove,
Still the phoenix flame is aching, healing, waking me once more,
Thousand times your name I call, now there is no place to scrawl
Your name on the walls of my heart, upon which phoenix may soar,
set your luring eyes to my heart, upon which phoenix may soar,
Haul my heart unto the shore…

Shattered chastened, I am sitting, watching my cells as they’re splitting,
All my soul is torn asunder, falling under, horrid curses that I bore,
My fate is to stay awaking, tasting nightmares as I’m aching,
Scathed & bruised, the hells I cruised without you seems not like before,
Scathing breathing, grueling seething, senses I’ve not felt before,
Without you inside my core…

Stricken thrashed & Flayed & shattered, each shard in my heart is scattered,
Quavered fluttered, badly battered, almost dead at your front door,
My flesh is cleaved off my bones, drained in deep hazy unknowns,
Disassembled was my conscious, rapt & smitten was my core,
Insecure, no cure can take it what erodes me deep in core,
For you’re not here like before...

If you only chose to waive, come along & dig my grave,
Lest you watch each wave subduing me away far off your shore,
Swooning fading every night; choking, burying alive my light,
Out of anguish that you’re absence scourged & languished, twinged & tore,
Now it flays me mauls me impairs me feeding on my screams once more,
Those that rise far off my core…

My blood flows with fire surging, steadily emerging, steadily emerging,
They keep suffusing submerging in my heart as you ignore,
All your torment seems in vain, my soul’s liquored by my pain,
All my tears are blood that’s falling all like rains in days of yore,
Now I’m stewed by your long absence that I forgot days of yore,
When we used to sway & soar…

Nothing can ever awake me; you seize me as you forsake me,
You absorb me as you ache me; you possess me from the core,
Illude..Spirits..Opaque...Livid.. Once before words seemed so vivid;
Once before our Love was prancing, prancing as we used to soar,
Once before our hearts were fighting, side by side on Love’s vast war,
When you thrived deep in my core…

Now you’re presence irritates me,
It cleaves warmth off my embrace,
now your absence ghost still hates me,
You have left me abstract space,
Wicked, fallen, out of grace;
& I can’t hold on anymore…
Lovely Spring,
A brief sweet thing,
Is swift on the wing;
Gracious Summer,
A slow sweet comer,
Hastens past;
Autumn while sweet
Is all incomplete
With a moaning blast,--
Nothing can last,
Can be cleaved unto,
Can be dwelt upon;
It is hurried through,
It is come and gone,
Undone it cannot be done,
It is ever to do,
Ever old, ever new,
Ever waxing old
And lapsing to Winter cold.
Balaguer Dec 2013
There is a big difference,
the way,
my heart was broken,
to the way,
a heart would usually break.
This is not a crack,
or your average fissured.
An explanation,
of how did this start,
would be in demand,
if ever eyes,
lay upon,
my awful looking heart.
It has a devastation to live with,
my heart is split,
with countless amount of openings,
that I feel,
every single day,
when I first open my eyes,
every single night,
before the last shut,
of my eyes.
The person responsible,
cleaved it,
with all her rights.
My heart is beating,
only because of the Lords grace,
among me.
Among the many,
shattered parts of my heart,
lies a big,
sharp piece,
This piece has a certain name on it,
It's the piece the doctor says,
is irreplaceable,
Untouchable,
and will eventually,
**** me.
The doctor told me,
only once,
everyday when I wake up,
To remember,
that the piece,
is half an inch,
deeper,
than it was yesterday.
Inside,
my poor little heart,
the tiny,
edgy bits,
of my demolished heart,
cover the space,
surgeons need,
to remove,
the big sharp piece.
My heart,
is not a heart anymore,
but a beating muscle,
that looks like,
a dried up anthurium,
ready to fall.
It has the bottom opening,
of an old fashioned bleeding heart,
but no color.
The heart,
I carry with me,
is very weak,
and unstable,
like water.
It has a day,
where it try's,
it's very best,
to pace the torture,
I put it through,
but,
the majority of days,
it cannot bare
and stops,
to scare me.

®*K.S
Jo Jun 2014
I am one of three –
Shadow, skin, and light.
A triplet split from the same egg and *****.
**
Make it 3 and you’ll have me
Explicit.
It’s so ****,
Being cleaved into thirds.  
A ******* with myself –

The shadow is morose.
A needy, demanding *****
Begging to be cut up.
I want to,
So I can see the blood wring around my –
Her
Wrists like shackles pinning her
To my bed.
I know it’ll shut her up
But I can’t bring myself to do it.
I’m not that *****.  

The skin is boring.
A virginal flower
Dreaming of understanding.  
She’s too wholesome,
Always waiting for the right
Version of herself to come along.
Saving myself –
Herself
For the right time.
My tastes aren’t quite so
Vanilla.

The light is adventurous.
A psychotic, brilliant ****
******* herself into the ground.
Necrophilia just got a whole lot hotter,
Bodies piling up thanks to her STDs –
Stupid, thoughtless decisions.
Protection?  Ha!
That’s for normal people.
There’s no need for me –
Her
To slow down;
We like it fast.

The skin doesn’t participate.
The *****, virtuous ******
Fidgets as the others 69 –
A disgusting yin yang
Of low and high.
The shadow drinking downers
Until she can’t remember
All the bruises covering her heart,
Too distracted by the bile
Smeared across her lips.  
The light popping enough uppers
To strip herself of her
Consciousness,
Naked and raw
She often wakes bitter
Of her restored senses.  

This ******* takes place
In a womb,
An amniotic ocean
Swaying toward the shores
Of existence.
Two will drown –
Vanishing triplet syndrome.
Only one may be pulled from
Mental waters and placed on the sands of reality.

The labor takes 33 hours -
Finally I emerge.  
Who survived?
There is no way to tell.
I was a grovelling creature once,
And basely cleaved to earth:
I wanted spirit to renounce
The clod that gave me birth.

But God hath breathed upon a worm,
And sent me from above
Wings such as clothe an angel's form,
The wings of joy and love.

With these to Pisgah's top I fly
And there delighted stand,
To view, beneath a shining sky,
The spacious promised land.

The Lord of all the vast domain
Has promised it to me,
The length and breadth of all the plain
As far as faith can see.

How glorious is my privilege!
To Thee for help I call;
I stand upon a mountain's edge,
O save me, lest I fall!

Though much exalted in the Lord,
My strength is not my own;
Then let me tremble at His word,
And none shall cast me down.
sarrahvxlxr Aug 2014
She lived a selcouth life,
far too warped to be believed about,
amid her favorite symphonies
and spellbinding verses that never end,
mad about gritting chains of twisted worlds
as she painted oeuvre of art locked up in her core.

"It is but a tragedy to take wing in your flight of fancy.
Let me guide you to the world that you loathed to see,"
a melodious affliction I told her
as I sighted the glisten in her face shattering into ruins.
"Darling, look at all the beautiful people,
look at the horrible things they utter.
Why are you terrified of the piercing gunshots?
How is the aftertaste of blood
surging through the avenue of misguided folks?
I hope you are enjoying the show.
Come, let me bare to you a whole lot more."

And she wept, screamed at my face,
threw me strings of her innocent voice,
she choked and it cleaved me up inside.

What have I become?
A murderer of this child's peace?
Or a rescuer from her naïve make-believes?
rachel burch Feb 2010
Tavy CleaveWhen I walked along your leats;The hawk soared the sky,Singing it's song like prayer,Cutting through blue time.Round your corner of hill majesty,Tawny colours grew;Grass: dun as a horses back;Cleaved hills knitted my fissured flesh and heart.Empted I approached:The blue river of you flowed through me,Where echoed waterfalls reached deep pools,Sweet wild songs rose to the top of your granite shoulders.
Stu Harley Jul 2016
i
would
cut off
my right arm
to earn
your
sacred
love
understanding
and
forgiveness
when
we
cleaved our souls
at dawn
She couldn't express her grief
but knew this tangible loss,
felt affinity with old bones
a bond with lost loved ones.
She cleaved close to those,
it being in her very nature
a clan thing - family loyalty,
bridging a long span of years.
Her trunk trumpeted, mutely,
while lowering a sister's tusk
softly on the blanched shards
of the ancestor herds, tendered
in this final act of fellowship
from one gentle giant to another.
The sweet, honey colored love
that pours from every cut
every other girl made on you
You let me kiss it better
inhale its sweetness.
In turn, the salt that pours from my own wounds
from black eyes dealt
and flesh cleaved for the pleasure of greedy wolves
it mingles with your flavor
and I hope it sets you onto the same dazzling track that I find myself on.

I use the word 'fireworks'
'firecrackers'
those two words
they have leaked into everything I write
because it is just how I feel
How I used to hate dance music
and now my hips sway to a beat that you showed me
showed me to smile
and I showed you where to cry
right here, right with me

Those sparkling lights over the ground
blasting off in gold and white
burning and glowing
and not stopping
a constant barrage of color and splendor
We were buried up to our necks just before we dug out
and now we're here
barely missing the stars
holding hands
and becoming

Honey
and Salt
and Firecrackers
Brenten Hargrove Feb 2012
Me and Jagged Teeth usually dont take this path, but , it was an unusually hot day.
The shadows from the trees grew thick expelling most of the heat
She always had badluck , tripping on her own shoelaces , getting caught in every mischeveaous
act and even biting her own tongue as she spoke. there was a day unlike this one where she claimed dominion over
the forest we walked, only for  her to fall face flat from her throne , a trunk cleaved by lightning it seems,
and chipping her tooth on a very vicious rock.
forever since that day i've called her Jagged Teeth
"there it is" she spoke pointing towards the middle of the path.
A large filter of light from the sky fell upon the center ,
the sun seemed to have chosen this one spot where it would torture the wood.
"this is where the heart is"
she whispered. "they say if you make a wish here in the sunlight..."
"Who cares!!!" I yelled. It was beutiful enough without all of her fairy tales.
Never had i seen nature at peace with itself in such a way... No sound would echo
through except the chirping from the crickets and the buzzing from the gnats.
They did not swarm here or attack...Nature was at peace with herself.
"You dont belive me?" Jagged remarked
obviously not, i thought to myself . "How would she know"
"I'll show you then"
over where a patch of
flowers were swaying in the breeze she stumbled over a vine,
turning, to me and giggling at herself,
peculiar enough the flowers were taller than us
She moved them aside crawling on the soft
bed laden with petals and worms and other beuteous things.
She swept away some soil and dug her hand underneath  
and up she pulled a small white daisy, roots and all...She looked me in the eye
"Quick!, Before it dies"!!!
She bolts back out of the thicket of flowers i
stayed confused at how she knew so much about this,
from the corner of my eye , where she picked her treasue
a small snakes head rose up from the soil...
"Hurry" she exclaimed  i ran to her. "There was a-"
"SHH!"
Just watch!
slowly she walks to the heart of this  Oasis and holds the flower at eye level. Slowly picking each petal one after the other ...
"so what " I thought but then, the petals flitted in the wind like a tornado was around them and each white petal
burst with color into butterflies one red, one green, one blue, one yellow , one black and one white
They flew around us growing larger and larger until they burst into hundreds,
flew up into the sunlight and exploded into petals each a color of those butterflies
I could only smile. Magic before my eyes and Jagged was the one to show me.
"How did you know of this place, Jagged?"
she skipped towards me and smiled. " I saw it in my dreams." She explained "BUt hurry before the sun goes down!!!!" "Make your wish!!"
Excited i ran towards the flowers taller than my head. Leaping i fell on the bed to my knees and reached deep through
the soil of this hallowed ground. I felt the emptiness
of this space and reached deeper my hand grazed something soft and i grabbed and pulled it out
A low hiss and a stinging sensation was on my hand. "Benjamin!!!" cried Jagged
but before i could turn to her i fell darkness came over me like a thick shadow...
As Benjamin fell Jagged caught him in her arms he convulses and shivers.
"Help!" She Cried and begged and pleaded
"Help, I dont want him to-"
"Die?" muttered a soft deep voice
"N-No...I do'nt...Where are you??"
"Beneath you." It hissed and from below the snake transformed into a figure reminiscent of a human in a dark robe it dressed and spoke softly,confidently and quietly.
"What did you think the price of the young life you took was?"
"Young life?" she queried. "The Daisy...But i didnt know!!"
"NO ONE EVER KNOWS!! They Come and mutilate and ravage this land like savages and expect no retribution!!" He booms causing the infinite chirp of the crickets to cease, the sun to sink lower and the flowers wither deep into their bed.
Jagged Teeth cowered before it crying and sobbing silently , gripping Ben tighter.
"But I'm sorry..."
"Sorry will NOT bring back the life you took selfishly ,Child...Now leave him here, the poison in his veins will soon end him leaving  him to become part of the Oasis..."
"No!!!"she cried
"YES!"Declared the spectre
"Now leave this place, and the LIFE that is the cost..."
"Take me instead!" She begged
I've already done this deed little one. I cannot reverse this..."
"You lie!.." she retorted "If this wood can grant wishes I'm sure you could..."
The shadow leaned towards her Smiling widely, grimacing its teeth blindingly white but eye deep and black.
"You would give your life for his and the little sprite you took?"
She kisses benjamin on the forehead and lays him gently on the bed of the forest.
Standing sloely looking it boldy in the eyes;
"Yes..."
"FINE!" it hissed
Spininning the spectre turns bright white  and consumes Jagged Teeth...
*
"B e n j a m i n..."
I turn to see Jagged standing in the middle of the Oasis.
"J a g g e d!" I yelled runningtowards her.
I see behind her a figure ghastly grinning with darkened features...
I reach out towards  her and so does she.
The ground, thick like mud slowing me with every step. On my arm is a grasp cold and sharp. The figure is clutching
my wrist behind me but i keep running, the closer we get more of the spectres appear...closer and closer...until everything is black. The spectres ooze black liquid and i scratch to reach above them. I see Jaggeds limp hand and before i can clasp it in mine we are swept away by the black mass of the river...
"Jagged Teeth!"
I lurch forward and scream.
The room i awake in is white and a loud beep is blipping in and out. The door slams open
"Ben, Sweety its ok it was just a bad dream!"
"Where is  she mom, Where is Jagged!"
"Honey, Who?" she replied
My heart sinks into my chest and my head into her *****...
-
Behind her she closes the door. She did her best to calm him but he still seemed restless,distant even.
What was this Jagged toothed monster that haunted his dreams?
She motions herself around the corner and she sees through the window where her son is resting. The doctor is standing there looking confused with his charts mumbling about anomalies and other inconsistent data.

"Will he be ok?" asked bens mother
"Yes, But he seems rather Dillusional.."remarks the physician
"Its an act of God that we found him in time, the poison he was subjected to was more than three times the fatal dose...."
Bens mother clasps her purse and reaches into it to pull out a cigarette.
"Thank you doctor..."
She lights her cigarette and inhals the white fumes.
"When can we go home?"
"Well lets run a few more tests, I want to make sure he is ok, Physicallly and Emotionally."
"I understand.." She exhales violently
"Where was he found if you dont mind me asking...?"
"He was outside of the Forest, Hell i didnt know he was the adventuroud type...Hell inever even Knew that place existed until now..."
She drags one last time on her cigarette before ashing it in her hand
"Looks like he's been through hell."
Ashley Chapman Jan 2019
Unburied
tomorrow
from Christian metanarratives
the mid-winter solstice.
  
       December 21;
           the shortest day
       over the longest night.

Two lovers
               are by the Channel
                    divided
                         to different beds
                                to tongue tastes
                                        to timed beats
                                                     to unfamiliar scents
                                          as Yuletide days
                     burn twelfths to gray ash;
              their bodies
         are sea
cleaved.

Come!
cross the water
and release
with lively touch
tresses thick
and winter's dew,
unctuous upon the crag,
the timely solar orb
to stir the frozen ground
on our rocky shelves
and chopped bowels.

On 25th,
Christ's star is risen:
the king's light dispersed
   in lengthening days
   in opened flesh
   in loosening chords untied
   in sinews gnawed through
   in desire's wanting hotly flayed!

60 seconds were daily added,
to when
in the 100 Year Gallery,  
love to know,
would in solstice
ultimately lay.

For now as then,
our emboldened play
in days delayed
has been
love's lacerating torment!
In this poem the Christmas period is informed by a BBC Radio 4 programme on the mid-winter solstice. Two events are conflated, a lover's yearning to be with his absent lover and the solstice drawing out the long nights and lengthening days.
Day by day,
night by night,
such a cliche opening;

I hate it.

Usually,
I can sit & write unbounded
but recently my brain's been
cleaved into microscopic encryptions.

It seems almost impossible to
...elucidate my mental paradigm
...or maybe to accept it?

Sometimes...
I find myself
yearning to write about nature
but then I begin to cogitate on
how aesthetic nature is.

Trees and flowers.
"You and me.
K-I-S-S-I-N-G
..under the trees.
R-O-L-L-I-N-G
...in the flowers.
You and me."


****.

Don't get things misconstrued,
I just love,
writing about love.

There's a girl I've never met
but mentally it feels like,
we share telepathy.
I feel like
...within the distance between us,
there's this distinctive cryptic aura
and I yearn to decrypt it.

****.

...told you I just love writing about love.
Ironically though,
I'm far from ready for it.
                                                             ­        -d.b.d.
Stu Harley Jan 2017
today
i wrote
a letter
to the sky
soul against
our flesh
both
you
and
i
where
we
both
cleaved our nest

— The End —