"clouted" poems
Draped in boundless pride
she strolled along the streets,
the town's flamboyant prima ballerina.
Still little did the debaucher know her.
Defenceless she laid
as he spanked and clouted her,
Her vehement howling and wailing couldn't stop
the yanking of clothes.
Motionless, emotionless she laid
while he plundered and mutilated her body.
Vandalised by an uninvited visitor,
Incapable of moving her body
the ravishing ballerina reclined.
The scars he made was not on her body but deep in her soul.
That gloomy night whistled away
for the sun to flare its first ray.
'18 year old violently molested and deceased'.
Hence the prima ballerina became a mere newspaper headline.
Jan 8, 2019
Jan 8, 2019 at 12:50 AM UTC
Can you feel the rumble?
Gathering force in the close distance?
Feel the power of uneasiness coursing,
pulsing
rushing through the very bones of the humble.
Minding the madness in the foreboding future,
do you fear the coming rain?
insane
In vain, in vein is where the worry does bumble.
Or do you stare in wonder of the flashing awe?
Where lightning strikes across the face of clouded,
shrouded
clouted minds of awe-struck and stumble.
These are forces of the fearful foes
striking iron with lighting flashes,
clashes
stashes of memories induced by the low grumble.
But I, For I, Because I am brave and I am strong
I do not fear the thunder but long for its embracing,
retracing,
re-placing my woes and all of my troubles
with brave courage and a strong spirit
and imbuing its strength into my Heart
Mind
Soul
And with a flex of my muscle, let the rumble
Roar across the land, across the sands,
Mountains and valleys, oceans and lakes,
Let my fury strike with the speed of light
and let my courage rain into your soul.
For I, I am the coming storm.
Feb 20, 2011
Feb 20, 2011 at 6:40 PM UTC
The living legend is ****** into a rut of pining for his splendid playwright
She was his everything
A new breed of woman
No societal entourage could compare
No jovial jubilee could top her
Her humongous measure of perplexity
Her grace
Her charm
Her mystery
He now despises himself for this moment of nostalgic weeping
The mucus makes it hard for him to breathe with his deviated septum
He looks for something to alleviate his sniffling
And eviscerate all his emotional anguish
Nasal spray and bourbon
He can breathe but the alcohol only exacerbates the visceral issue
And dampens his already flaccid spirit
Clouted with the disheartening reminder that it wasn't all her fault
He fumbles with the bottle while retracing the event in his mind
"It was the golden age of bronze metals"
"She was asked to do as she was told"
"A white lie"
"A foul up"
"An accusation"
"An accessory to ******
"Madcap ad libbed alibis and recounts verbatim"
"She turned on them, they killed her"
The bourbon was gone, his nose was stuffed again
Wheezing, gagging, crying
What's the word for when a living legend wants to die?
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 3:53 PM UTC
life is vaporous
life is sleep and within life vapour I take a slumber
limbered keen and nimble I kip travels
unraveling lumber
the annual rings a lolling carpet
life is but a pencil sharpener
at my shoulder
a nap sacked boulder
peppered quartz for schemes
as an investor in dreams
i am larval
mumbling some verse nonsense
gavel for gorge
clouted by The Greats
the knowers who silk spin
the freedom of sleep and the imagination
into rule and bard
the thirsty claws of the snared dream
the shared laws that barter with hurt
even as though we know ;
'ignorance is no excuse for the law'
seesaw
we ****** not forward with our 'self'
we have a trust of 'no confidence'
and an obedience to follow
i am some frown of traveller
and a knowledge trawler
self-made unaware
an incomplete idiot with a knot of care
life is sleep and within that sleep i take my life
and with it
any the fool that follows
Apr 24, 2022
Apr 24, 2022 at 9:46 AM UTC
Enid told me
about the chair.
Just an ordinary
chair; wooden chair
with open spaces
at the back. Made
marks on her back
where he'd made her
sit so long and where
she leaned back. So
what did your old man
keep you in the chair
for so long for? I asked
as we stood by the metal
green painted fence
surrounding the grass
outside Banks House.
Cross examination,
she said, looking away
from me, her eyes behind
her thick lens glasses
gazing at the fresh fish
shop across the road.
What was he cross
examining you about?
Someone took money
from the money teapot:
15/- it was, so he said.
And he thought you
took it? She nodded
her head. Wasn't me,
I never took it. Who
did? No idea; my big
brother maybe, he
needs it, not me. I
looked at her standing
beside me by the fence,
our feet on the space
of pavement. Did he
hurt you? She bit her
lower lip. He kept me
in the chair. He said
he was keeping me in
the chair until I owned up.
And did you? I didn't take
the money. I thought he'd
give up once he realized
I never took the money
and let me go, but he
didn't, he walked around
me, hands behind his back,
asking me questions. And
where was your mother in
all this? She sat on the sofa
chewing on her handkerchief
saying: tell him the truth
Enid, tell him the truth.
Enid sat by the fence,
hands each side of her.
So what happened? I asked,
looking for signs of bruises
and such. He walked round
me and said: I'm not letting
you go until you tell the truth.
I said I didn't take the money.
He clouted me about the head
after ten minutes. You'll not
get off this time, he said.
My head spun. My mum
left the room. He told her
go get some tea on. I looked
at him, but only as he passed
in front of me, not all the
way round so sometimes he
was out of sight and I didn't
know what he was going to
do next. He hurt you after that?
I asked. He dragged me off
the chair and sat down himself
and gripped my wrist tight.
He made me stand there for
ages, him griping my wrist,
talking, talking. My legs ached.
Wanted to sit on the chair. She
was silent; looked at the fresh
fish shop. Then he dragged me
over, and hit me until I said
I had the money. And did you?
I asked. I knew she had.
The face told me. The eyes
behind her thick lens glasses
told me. She nodded, looked
away. A horse drawn coal
wagon went by along
Rockingham Street, the coal
man sitting on the sack cloth
seat dour faced. How about
some chips from Neptune's?
I said, looking at her, at her
grey faded flower dress and
the dull green cardigan, her
hair pinned back by two metal
hair grips at the side. I didn't
have it, didn't have the money,
she said, just said it because
of him hurting me. I know,
I said, don't talk of it again.
She nodded and we walked
up Meadow Row, in the slow
beginning coming down rain.
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 2:26 AM UTC
On the first day of the last week
A girl wrapped in gold did appear
She whispered to the people of the land
Who knew their ending was near
She softly uttered these words:
"This can all be avoided still
The destruction, the chaos
The end all be all"
The people shouted and cursed
Throwing rocks and casting stones
They all wanted to just return home
Each worldly word fell on deaf ears
For the rocks and stones clouted
The girl of gold with fear
On the second day of the final week
A boy clothed in silver did appear
He spoke to the people of the land
For he knew of the crimes they committed the day before
"You can repair the damages done
But only within one last day
You still somehow have hope"
The mayor of these people
Stepped forth and pleaded with
His kin, his brethren
But his words fell on deaf ears
For he and the boy of silver
Were slaughtered by once innocent people
On the third day of the final week
A screaming light tried to save them
But the darkness of the hearts of the land
Swallowed the light without thought
Days later
On the final day of the final week
The world was visited by the four who died
Each voice was powerful
Each voice was echoing
The people had been warned
But now their choices came back for hauntings
Each rush of negativity ever uttered
On the now barren earth
Fueled the four deities who had tried to help
And their great power
Engulfed the world in flames
On the first day of the first week after the final week
The grass was replenished
The sky was once again clear
The poison that rushed through the veins of those people
Finally eradicated
A new race emerged slowly
To repopulate the world
But they had not yet been created
So all that rested on the
First day of the first week after the final day of the final week
On a perfect green hill
Under a perfect blue sky
Grew a single flower
Seven petals
One for each day of the week
Jul 6, 2016
Jul 6, 2016 at 11:39 PM UTC
Scraped knees and torn clothes
Her little child is home
Done playing with his chums
Say to his mommy
Mommy, I am avidly hungry
Mommy unblemished his make up
Dirt from the barren ground
May find its way up
Caressing his face
With a dismal voice
She slowly says
Daddy will be home soon
Soon we will know our fortune
He sat outside the shack
The lost puppy found him
And started to wag
Gazing at his little friend he shouted
Mommy feed him he is clouted
Seeing him sad mommy couldn't cope
Even though did not want to give him unrealistic hope
Said daddy won't take long
Take him in your arms, keep him warm
His stomach rumbled as he glanced at the sky
Wishing his father comes as he sighed
Mommy just desired she could do something
For his child so frail and pale
And save him from this dusk
And give him a bail.
After a forever, daddy came
He was tired lifting the world
And burning in flames
His hands were wounded
But his feet were strong
He builds the world
But for them he doesn't belong
He said the universe hasn't been fair
To them he had his blood to share.
And today too
They had to sleep
With rumbling stomach and nothing to eat
His mommy held him close
And felt every bone
And his daddy will again wake up tomorrow
To feed his child
Earn, steal or borrow.
Nov 23, 2019
Nov 23, 2019 at 7:15 AM UTC
the penters brutal militia
now marches
scopic
through a portal truncated
pass...
In unailing sleep
i taunt the spheres
and demand the negatives
scream out elements
strike runted ire
at the worlds great forgeries
dream #1
an ancient cottage is clouted to the ground
paff !
borned
a charred magician trick
rapid sporing
inflating to a build
then pressure cooked
packed with smoke
compounded by fire
in a quenched **** of energy
a construction
beams and rocks
a hearth is hearted
a mantle mounted
feasted together
and clenched in a furious shrine
i emaciate in the quiet storm of collected electric
i must test this unruin
i put an assertive foot over the threshold and...
i am pulled to the lovers
an attention away from here
downed on the bedroom floor
ridiculous pillow strapped to my ridiculous head
i stand
stammer frustrations
and running on an internal gut of turbulence
i slam home back through bed
dream #2
my burnt match form
all fours on a beach
my spiny digits plugged under the baking sand
straining the salt and murky charity
darkening the sand with impurities
and forgiving the sea
a pure revealing clarity
the formal sun
now casts without interruption
(just a little refractive kink)
water cleared
blinding the blind of the ocean floor
all Eves and Adams startled by
their **** branded world
shamed traffic
of disorientated prehistoric sealife
batting about in the garish aftermath
i resolve to the lovers
face down
******* huffs against the mattress
i flip over and zip back in
hands clamped
dream #3
simple streets and the bedside knife
i greet and greet
the first is a nop
the second a lancing wound
the wound takes a lacing
a bled string
and they are gratefully hauled
with grace to the sky
as though plucked by weather balloon
i am busy
in distribution of the lovers
dishonestly forecast to a haven in grave
i'll wake
work satifified
but both revved and worn
Jul 17, 2021
Jul 17, 2021 at 12:40 AM UTC