"clefts" poems
Clad in vinyl
Bound and gagged
My whip cracks
Cleave clefts of flesh
And the blood trickles
Lightly
Pain is pulsing
Penetrating prior unknowns
Chains and leather
Inclement weather
The pain and pleasure
A pinnacle of understanding
Transcending
Our reality
Like lsd
A mind ****
Of the brutal but beautiful
An ode to those beyond
Rather above the pale
I tie your hands
Bind your feet
Kiss your face
And release
The Master.
Aug 1, 2016
Aug 1, 2016 at 4:21 PM UTC
My sisters and I jest
That men never get over us.
We have been named
Muses, angels, succubi, leanan sidhe
But we are les belles dames avec merci
And that is their undoing.
Our breath has left them gasping
With unfilled lungs
We never meant to be their oxygen
But they drink us in like drowning men.
We didn’t ask for this,
But disarming, we are soft enough
For them to float in
Belly up, eyes to distant stars
Singing the sirens song that stirs in our veins.
Behind our teeth rests the love
The world has failed to give them till now
There are holds in the knowledge
that our fingertips find the hollowed spaces,
mother wounds, clefts where trust was carved out,
And they clutch our palms to staunch the bleeding.
We never asked for this,
They cherish the brittle changelings of us
until they are crushed in the coals of our eyes
Eggshell ideals, fragile as egos.
Blown by the sea wind in the strands of our hair
they are scattered, undone.
The distance drifts between, inevitable
And full they turn away to starve
We cut the mooring line
After one too many storms,
And search
For safer
Harbor.
Sep 29, 2021
Sep 29, 2021 at 9:54 AM UTC
What beauty shines in dappled light,
In misty morning air?
What beauty's cloaked in foggy mist,
Waiting to be shone?
The light it changes endlessly,
No view is ever twice,
Sun and rain and mist and fog,
The ever changing light.
The hills they roll in endless clefts,
Valleys and ridges roll,
Endless land that ever goes,
From dawn way out to dusk.
A home it is this peaceful place,
If only for a time,
The comfort of the love here found,
That makes a house a home.
Horses graze to their delight,
The moisture fine with them.
The rabbits hope, the birds all sing,
The magpie glides around.
Few have seen the morning light,
Out shining through the mist,
Few there are that know delight,
Of ranch's peacefulness.
Here I sit in morning light,
The peace it fills my soul.
Refreshing rain and my delight,
Out here far from home.
What beauty shines in dappled light,
In misty morning air?
What beauty's cloaked in foggy mist,
Waiting to be shone?
The light it changes endlessly,
No view is ever twice,
Sun and rain and mist and fog,
The ever changing light.
~Dappled Light by Bethany Davis, June 7, 2014
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 12:58 AM UTC
You have one headphone in the left,
the radio in the right
as a stranger drives measures in clefts of night.
Kiss him how your feet kiss sand or
a soloist breaks off from the band
until the pianist beckons him back,
tuning deft fingers to a single track.
Open your ears to sound’s wordless talk,
beats in a measure a half-step off.
Blue’s lips tactless, ******* you down,
Blue’s lips fastening ankles to ground.
Then sudden and brace;
a rock in the road,
an anchor thrown
as you're caught between verses and words you don’t know.
Then sudden, the break;
pianist's mistake.
Notes shift under toe as the ocean lets go.
May 17, 2018
May 17, 2018 at 6:53 AM UTC
stop
be still and listen
hear ye not
that soulful song
of endless motion
that tireless voice
of storm wracked potion
her swollen bosoms'
rising, falling
her shameless
cresting
foam flecked
devotion
pouring out
her effervescence
on lips that drink
her adoration
yet never taste
her vital essence
her drumming chorus
a roaring thunder
on rocky clefts
torn asunder
as mourning rays
of misty raining
her teardrops falling
gently tracing
our loves
our sorrows
engraved each day
on these
mortal paintings
on granite shoulders
her message beats
that pounding drum
of thunderous need
as she flings
her ageless
storm tossed beauty
onto granite arms
etched and fluted
from hollowed cheeks
her kisses pouring
as sea birds cry
on stiff winds soaring
and ever on
throughout the ages
enduring
her ravenous
inclinations
never wincing
from her brazen charms
her surging seduction's
voiceless call
immersed
within her warm caresses
glistening
in her wind tossed tresses
enfolding him
in her flowing graces
in dulcet tones
of annihilation
.
.
http://oi62.tinypic.com/vuya0.jpg
.
Feb 9, 2018
Feb 9, 2018 at 7:02 PM UTC
I apologize - I mean no love for you in this poem - **** you
I am vastly viewing the plains of my thoughts, alas, looking for a song to play.
I will sit in my chair, pondering the notes and clefts through the day.
The song I will play only for you and you only, as I search for the note or key that sounds.
I will frolic through the keys as I know that one key is important, within the mounds.
In harmony, I will play, to match my keys to the key of our heart, only for a smile.
If the key of the heart is touched by my keys, I will await for you to dial.
I'll sing to you, as you listen, however, off the notes are, I will fulfill the rhythm of your soul, by each stroke.
Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 1:55 AM UTC
WRITTEN FOR HIS MOTHER
Dame du ciel, regents terrienne,
Emperiere des infemaux palus....
Lady of Heaven and earth, and therewithal
Crowned Empress of the nether clefts of Hell,—
I, thy poor Christian, on thy name do call,
Commending me to thee, with thee to dwell,
Albeit in nought I be commendable.
But all mine undeserving may not mar
Such mercies as thy sovereign mercies are;
Without the which (as true words testify)
No soul can reach thy Heaven so fair and far.
Even in this faith I choose to live and die.
Unto thy Son say thou that I am His,
And to me graceless make Him gracious.
Said Mary of Egypt lacked not of that bliss,
Nor yet the sorrowful clerk Theopbilus,
Whose bitter sins were set aside even thus
Though to the Fiend his bounden service was.
Oh help me, lest in vain for me should pass
(Sweet ****** that shalt have no loss thereby!)
The blessed Host and sacring of the Mass
Even in this faith I choose to live and die.
A pitiful poor woman, shrunk and old,
I am, and nothing learn'd in letter-lore.
Within my parish-cloister I behold
A painted Heaven where harps and lutes adore,
And eke an Hell whose ****** folk seethe full sore:
One bringeth fear, the other joy to me.
That joy, great Goddess, make thou mine to be,—
Thou of whom all must ask it even as I;
And that which faith desires, that let it see.
For in this faith I choose to live and die.
O excellent ****** Princess! thou didst bear
King Jesus, the most excellent comforter,
Who even of this our weakness craved a share
And for our sake stooped to us from on high,
Offering to death His young life sweet and fair.
Such as He is, Our Lord, I Him declare,
And in this faith I choose to live and die.
Dante Gabriel Rossetti, trans.
3.1k
Walk under the trees,
Look up to see me
Clouds are majestic eye to eye,
But it feels better to stand tall
Look at the lines in your palms,
There is no adrenaline rush if you don't fall
I've got a dream to believe
Not treble clefts inked sleeves
Though I am someone you want to appease
You don't have dirt on your knees
Though I am everyone and everything
Alter egos exist
Choose me or find your name on my
On our
No, on his
On Lucifer's list
Jun 7, 2013
Jun 7, 2013 at 2:11 AM UTC
In the clefts of a mighty mountain, a single pebble lay. Held in place by only a few flecks of earth, quietly it sat until one warm day the sun melted the snow on top of a frozen peak. Slowly water dripped down and bit by bit it wore the earth away. Until finally after many seasons of melting snow, the pebble fell loose one day. Falling down the crack in the side of the mountain, the pebble struck a fragile ledge. The weight of the single stone was too much and the ledge gave way. Down it plummeted with it's brother the pebble, down into a ravine along the side of the mighty mountain, crashing with the sound of thunder went the pile of rocks shattering the peace of the whole mountain. Great was the shaking that rattled the mountain to it's core. Then back up the crack from which the pebble had fallen, the ripple caused a rift splitting the mountain asunder. Then what was once a single mountain was split in twain. Leaving twin peaks and a vast gap where a single pebble once had been.
Jan 1, 2017
Jan 1, 2017 at 9:15 AM UTC
Sleepless, lost and wandering
Wondering what it all means
Beg the heavens for an answer
But silence is the only response from an overcast sky
The chain slackens and the cage drops
Cerebral bars block the paths of elated reflection
Contentment occasionally slips through the clefts
But is instantly devoured by sharks of agony
Grief, heartache, passion and sorrow
The artists toolbox
Blood, sweat and tears (fears)
Causation of our desire to die
Is what gives our work life
Jul 23, 2016
Jul 23, 2016 at 7:50 PM UTC
Bowed as an elm under the weight of its beauty,
So earth is bowed, under her weight of splendor,
Molten sea, richness of leaves and the burnished
Bronze of sea-grasses.
Clefts in the cliff shelter the purple sand-peas
And chicory flowers bluer than the ocean
Flinging its foam high, white fire in sunshine,
Jewels of water.
Joyous thunder of blown waves on the ledges,
Make me forget war and the dark war-sorrow —
Against the sky a sentry paces the sea-cliff
Slim in his khaki.
2.1k
He would ride up to the field
God had lain so purposefully for him
Along the final bight of an earthen track.
Narrow, which climbed, as with him
It swerved. He believed in God then.
Fenced off, blades became thick as
A dare, a moment—before confession
Or asking out his girl, the one whose
Crescent eyes in smile moonlit clefts
In his time. He would see her moving
Her body like His girl, exhaling His
Name, as if He was her only breath.
Through oceanic grasses she would
Flow in his ear, all the warm hadal
Mist of her. Aging wood throbbing
From gusts of wind on the fence. Deep
Enclosure of slender stalks and stems
Swaying by the rhythm of an ancient
Reverie. Crickets and junebugs, early
Fireflies lilting, sung to him tunes of
Indecipherable freedom. But not once
Did he cross, not once did he ever
Disturb a nature obeying the music.
Only the torrid yearning he allowed
To slip through the separation, knowing
There it was reunited, home among
The barely heard hum of the grasses
Oneiric and bare. Years later, when
The fence had disappeared, he once
Walked through and was overcome
By an emptiness thrashing against
Emptiness. In a single gust, scented of
His desinence, those years passed again
And he thought. *Even if I’d crossed,
Had joined—not disturbed. Even if*.
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 8:23 PM UTC
I read a story to my son. Really,
I am composing it, off the cuff, but
there is no reason his mother should know.
One day, Elliott built a rocket ship.
His rocket ship was going to take him to the moon.
The boy sees nothing silly in this, and
for a second, I don't, either.
And every spare minute, Elliott worked on his rocket.
When he was at school, he drew out in
blue, and chalk-white, a dream for his rocket.
When his mother told him to do his homework,
he worked on his rocket.
When his mother left him
in the dining room to finish his carrots,
he worked on his rocket.
"I wish I could work on a rocket,
instead of eating vegetables."
Tonight, you won't have to.
One day, Elliott finished his rocket, and he went to the moon.
From the Moon, he heard the earth mumble.
From the moon, he saw the tide hug the shore,
and knock down his sister's sandcastle, left
on the beach from the summer before.
From the moon.
"He saw China!"
And Brazil. And India.
"And he got to see what his school looks like at night!"
He wouldn't know that, as a a boy, I went safely walking there,
and as a foulmouthed teen, I was drunk in the playground, at night.
That I looked down, from the hospital adjacent when my father was there.
He asks if, from the moon, you could see plain
the shadows of the craters on our planet, too broad
to behold, on sidewalks and soccerfields, during a game.
"You could. All the shadows, in the cities and the seas."
And his ruby face relaxes, deeply struck,
and musing, I think, that maybe
shadows aren't all bad.
Elliott came back, in time that his mother,
could wake him up, and he could loudly fake a snore.
And he righted his sister's sandcastle.
He went to Brazil.
He was drunk on playgrounds.
He saw shadows. They weren't so bad.
And often, when he would walk on the
sidewalk, his feet would feel light, like he
was on the moon again.
"Because the Moon has no gravity."
No gravity at all.
When I leave, and land beside my wife in bed,
I admire the helmet on my mantel,
I crumble old moondust in the paw of my suit,
I feel, still, the dimples of the sheets,
light, and shadowed, like the clefts of the moon.
Mar 8, 2010
Mar 8, 2010 at 6:48 AM UTC
There was time my mind was yours,
But my heart is yours regardless,
The beats defined a music sheet and you played me like a harpist.
The score settled like rose petals in the essence of the tarnished
The stems remained like overtures,
And that's where it all started.
You blossomed in the minus key,
Your golden touch was midas
The treasure crept in semi clefts,
The breath I took was harnessed.
I played the jester to your beat
And bowed to you my highness.
You took my crown and held me down
The curtains closed in darkness.
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 11:46 PM UTC
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, don't pretend the innocence when you know that evidence:]
you know I'm a forest a wild sent rule crucial
scars abandoned on attached feels I call brutal
on you a ceiling too high to reach
far from the abnormals we share we teach
my sick matches your sick
your sick matches mine
it collides it ticks
burrowed from the glares of a daemon monster flare
been sold to the harsh heads
been kept at stake
the stark of shame
glosses of unhealthy addiction of reigns
no one knows nor understands us our meaning
things we used years to strive hard to achieving
rotten wolves as in our animalistic
in search of prey
a hellish nature fevered burning hate of the realistic
remind my mental
were owned by devils
not sentiments not rental
pretend the innocence when the obvious seeps
let go of the hold to grip on the recklessness that creeps
bent beats of unmeasured clefts but for the darker not the tender
a dominant number on the silent hypnotizing hummer
i ravish skins when control is no more
its hunger
shot on veins killed
****** out of blood
same as ecstasy
same as adrenaline
still racing on a flood
------ravenfeels
Apr 1, 2021
Apr 1, 2021 at 3:58 PM UTC
I need you to leave my sin list,
Only one way to rid you out;
I'm not asking for much, I insist,
Just forgive me, don't cry or shout;
I can amend the past,
But I can't turn back time;
Please forgive me, this one's the last,
You're a sin I can't hold forever as mine.
You're happy though it was I who sinned,
I'm incomplete though it was you who left;
No time like now to revive my heart that's thinned,
Be fair and forgive me, it's my turn to widen my clefts.
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 11:15 PM UTC
When you reach the crossing of wane and wax
And turn left on the right hand road
A deaf man will be hearing birdsong
And a mute humming sweet song low
Their treble clefts will fill the air
And the sea witch cries of things she lacks
And monkeys swoop from gas lamps above
With treasure on their hairy backs
Ode to open season in the sea
Where mermaids swim to Galilee
Swift red orphans paint the gravel sidesteps
And tornados rip the sky
Shake the Earth like Nephalim
Sing, ye sweet Cherubim
Find tigers in your blind spots
From Bengal rugs and oriental pots
You will find at the market way
Fall deep in love with the sky above
And only whisper during May
The river doves are ripe as rush
The fly fish are all feathered
Come ye faithful denizens to
Discuss the imminent weather
Blithe as nail and smooth as tooth
The Cherokees sear the horse’s tether
And Poseidon’s monsters rush out like flu
To trample all of swan footed you
There is no promise in a word
But crystal chimes and charcoal blacks
So tell the sea witch what you want
When you reach the crossing of wane and wax
Apr 30, 2011
Apr 30, 2011 at 7:25 PM UTC
last night
while you were preparing your
ammunition, i felt you
tugging at the tips of my hair.
out of all the strings in all
the universes, ours shook with
the same vibration.
last night
while you were preparing your
self for death, i was talking
to eric (with a c) from
the suicide hotline in new
york city. he told me i am
bright and successful, i wish
he had said the same to you.
this morning
while i was swimming in trazedone
dreams of new york city, a
woman, not too far from there,
felt her womb close like a
wing. the energy and matter her
body lent to an extension of
her bloodline was returned into
the universe. it has become the
brightest star, it has bloomed from
a poppy flower bud on a rocky hillside.
this morning,
while i was deep inside the caves of
my soft synaptic clefts, a
woman risked her everything
for the breath of two young children.
somehow, in the deep wood of my
slumber, i finally forgave my vice
principle. i finally forgave the vices
of my father.
this mourning
did not begin at 9:40am, that is just
when it culminated. you cannot tell me that
you don't feel it too. the rocks falling from
the sky yesterday were an omen.
the transgendered youth taking their
own lives are an omen. the carbon becoming
the atmosphere, the oil engulfing
the salted seas, the corals dissolving
in acid baths are all a shouting omen.
when the mayans calculated
the cycle's ending, they gave us
the gift of the wheel. the nature of a
circle requires revolution, the presence of an
ending requires a beginning.
how do we honor the gift of the maya?
how do we create a cycle of light?
that pressure on your chest is a
fear that you cannot do this
alone, and i'm telling you
you can't. how lucky we are
to have each other. how lucky we are
to have a new moon, the universal connection
to all sentient beings, the snakes that
slide slowly down ancient aztec temples,
the star that rises without fail in
promise of new freedom.
how luck we are for the teachers
how lucky we are for the artists
how lucky we are for the martyrs
and murderers and storytellers
and the collective unconscious!
if every single hand picks up an ember
from this wreckage, the power of our muscles
will turn them into diamonds, the sparks
upon our fingertips will turn us into healers.
imagine what seven billion healers can cure.
Dec 14, 2012
Dec 14, 2012 at 4:33 PM UTC
The crippled bull has yet to live Another Day
It proudly ambles on Year to Year
Its discordant song
Triumphant
Is an iron sword that clefts, rips apart The Age
Four hundred and thirty-two thousand
Times over and over
Gutting the
Detested coward and honored brave alike
‘Tis the stench of war and of hot oil
Quickly seeping o’er the
Horizon
With the armies aflame and howling for battle
Crimson red bloodlust and scarlet wrath
‘Tis the jewels that adorn
The tyrant’s
Crown, gleaming and fiery with authority
‘Tis the wedding bed of the wretch’d *****
Defil’d, soil’d, forsook
No man can
Deny the captivating, luxurious tune
O mighty bull, your song may last from
age to age, and you may
Hobble on
your single leg
Bellowing
and roaring victory
and dominion o’er the nations
But even you must fall down, bow, and come to rest
At
the feet of
A humble
Lamb.
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 4:22 PM UTC
One morning you will wake,
find the mirror and discover
that your body is a gourd.
It's as I told you yesterday--
We live in the hollow of life,
within the skin,
in a husk of a home.
You dream of nests, caves,
clefts in the cliff, us kissing
on the floor of a kiva.
So tonight, when you lie beside me,
hidden in the dim, you will drift,
find us in the fold, pressed
against the breast of the valley, the lips
of the stream.
So you must trust me tomorrow
when I tell you--
I love you, but the flood will come.
The moon will mean more.
You'll see.
Tides are everything.
And my voice will sound round
when I say it:
This is the dark place
where you hid as a girl
Curled,
in the belly of the sink.
-km
Sep 16, 2012
Sep 16, 2012 at 12:49 PM UTC
From the Ankara of Augustus wandered,
east to the clefts of the Earth's breast:
at Shambhala i seek the tooth
from the maws of paradox,
a teaching from Lord Maitreya,
a stretching through the void of ascension.
In the cycling Kalachakra looping
step three, the divine is inside
and divides, as out so in.
As above, so below.
It claws through the pages to reach me,
and you, to strike the gong.
As within, so without.
Beyond you always,
eternally inside.
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 7:44 PM UTC
*Whence cometh these mournful euphonies?
Tis' the winds; the choir of sprights in the clefts
Or tis' the earth; the plight of her laboured back?
Whence cometh this flame dancing with our souls?
Tis' flicker of the nascent wings of love
Or tis' the pyre of rage that devours?
Tis' the dream of our blood, our death, our powers!*
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 11:30 AM UTC
watching smoke trails twist with the effect of my breath
as it gropes with the hopes tested by bass clefts
until it's there in the air destined never to rest
pumping like my chest
bumping with the best
it will rest in your hair and become a crest
there will never be more
nor ever will there be less
I saw your eyes through a door
and I have to confess
that fire flies could never compare
the fire cries
it will always be there
the fire cries
it will always be there
Jul 28, 2011
Jul 28, 2011 at 9:50 AM UTC
**Thus says the LORD GOD concerning Edom,
We have heard a report from the LORD,
and a messenger has been sent among the nations;
"Rise up! Let us rise against it for battle!"
I will surely make you least among the nations;
you shall be utterly despised .
Your proud heart has deceived you,
you that live in the clefts of the rock,
whose dwelling is in the heights.
You say in your heart ,
"Who will bring me down to the ground!"
Though you soar aloft like the eagle,
though your nest is set
among the stars
from there I will bring you down.
says the LORD.**
Feb 20, 2016
Feb 20, 2016 at 4:41 AM UTC
**The fig tree puts forth its
figs.
and the vines are in
blossom;
they give forth frag fragrance.
Arise ,my love , my fair one,
and come away.
O my dove , in the clefts of
the rock.
in the covert of the cliff,
let me see your face,
let me hear your voice;
for your voice is sweet ,
and your face is lovely.
Catch us the foxes,
the little foxes,
that ruin the vineyards-
for our vineyards are in blossom".
My beloved is mine and I am
his;
he pastures his flock
among the lilies.
Until the day breathes
and the shadows flee,
turn my beloved,be like a
gazelle.
or a young stag on the cleft
mountains."
**
Oct 6, 2015
Oct 6, 2015 at 5:27 AM UTC