"cloys" poems
A waxy, dimpled orb in my hand,
A tiny sunrise, sweet and sharp.
One nail-blade incision and the
Peel tears away when you find the foothold,
Then coursing acid fires through your cuts and bruises,
Burning and tasting wounds with sharp recoil taste,
An acerbic spark.
Pith lodges under my nails,
Tang cloys beneath my nose.
The fruit now pulled apart, the ceremony over,
Segments of the sun lie exposed.
Eat half and half a year you'll remain.
The stringy web of white
Latticing the fruit-flesh
Is a pain to unentwine
What with the juice.
An explosion when you pierce the pocket,
And the gamble of what the burst will be.
Hedge your bets by eating the tasteless ones too.
Then the bathos of a pip
(the pebble inside the fruit, too small to be a stone)
Punctuates the sweetness you'd been enjoying.
Now the fumbling spat to get it out.
And after all the effort it's flavourless,
And you ask was it worth it?
Wasn't even really orange.
May 26, 2016
May 26, 2016 at 4:22 PM UTC
I cry missing you, too, you know.
I never know how
To tell you.
Because it is always when you're
Happy
And I just
Can't
Ruin it.
It's when you're out somewhere laughing
And I wait for you to come back
That I feel how far away you are.
Or days
Just days when I am alone and silent
And maybe I just don't feel you through your words
Like I usually can.
And eventually I can't do it anymore
And I sit down
Head in hands
And cry because I can't touch you
Because I can't look at you.
It breaks my heart in a new way
One I've never felt before
And have never grown strong against.
My only real strength is in anger, and
There can be no anger in it
Because you are still mine, and I yours.
There is nothing to be strong against, just the waiting, and some days I can't bury it deep enough
And tears well up.
I miss your skin.
I miss your eyes and your soft hair.
I miss your voice in my ear.
I miss holding your hand.
And I don't hide it from you,
Far from, I tell you every day as you tell me.
But this...
This sadness.
I don't want it.
It cloys at me.
And I don't want it
Cloying at you.
And so sometimes I still sit in it and cry
Because you aren't angry with me
And you love me
And you speak to me every day
And you're the most wonderful person
I've ever met
And you're
So far
Away.
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 9:53 PM UTC
**Tears in a bucket, throughout the years
so bitter in taste that briny waste
rusting the seams to percolate
the rivers within, as they run out.
Spindrift from seas with passion erupts
stinging the eyes, pouring down cheeks
castles of sand, now all washed away
by oceans of tears that flow through the pail.
Tears in a bucket filled from above
blurring the vision in sorrowful eyes
spill their liquor as weeping clouds
precipitation from rain filled skys.
Ashes to ashes, rust to rust
more holes than whole, now interred with the trash
mud at the bottom still cloys to the soul
heartbreaks once caught in the bucket of tears.
All eyes water, where do tears go
when they're not weeping, what hides the flow
how do you catch them when they're unseen
now there's no bucket to hold back the stream.
In bravest of eyes, nothing restrains
the tears that flow from gutter to drain
subterranean dreams never forgotten
all flushed away, by rivers of waste.**
... ... ...
Apr 10, 2011
Apr 10, 2011 at 3:59 AM UTC
they sometimes say
yes the taste of
poison cloys
but in the end it kills its host
in wickedness
destroys
the sweet and saccharin flavor
that revenge imparts
is nothing to the honey
the milk of kindness
brings the
HEART
SoulSurvivor
2/3/2016
Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 8:09 AM UTC
Sentient beings, or puppets of fate
When, by free will or by command,
They- with vehement threads of hate-
Decant the numbness of my hand
To be Acheron's vicariates.
Black sentinels of my torment
They haunt every abode of rest
And flaunt their hoary adornement
Over the arch of my behest;
A crumbled wall of laments.
Giant companions by my side,
They shade the embers of joys
Of when I danced with Etesians' tide
And tasted the feeling that cloys,
In the garden of the Hesperides.
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 12:32 PM UTC
It is Power
Formed from the life essence of some beings dead and everywhere
So dark is this power it can make things mercury hot and afterwards turn everything it kissed into fine soft black powder
It’s power, no one man can wield; anytime someone tries to
It invites the evil of death, pain and agony along
Due to this it gets tainted with red
With many trying to hold on to it, it gets redder
It all seems buried in evil, but it’s really not; because it is treasure
Its other side is the trouble
The presence of its rotten half spreads like cancer
To be more specific ‘it’s’ is a she
She spreads into the heart of her master
Decays it no matter how pure or impure it was
Only a divine heart can repel her deceptive beauty
Long enough the pleasure cloys but her master notices not
It keeps fighting the next thing, its longtime friend turned enemy
The enemy is a huge glowing orb, the sun.
While she herself is a viscous fluid
She goes into hell
And comes out assuming many useful forms
She is called Black gold
Still stained with more red
Reddish black
Jul 20, 2013
Jul 20, 2013 at 5:01 PM UTC
Thyself it was to heal a heart distress'd,
Thine eyes were on me fixed to blow the pain,
When thou didst fill it lovingly, still ravaged,
Did I redeem the night of loving rain.
Those amative stares I can't recall,
believe me, for I've found my best choice.
Unhurt, a glance upon thee I stole,
For my belle, indeed me, with her love cloys.
She hath the pleasure to love me well enough,
Or a world of love she fostereth in her heart
For me; thou gavest of thine the gentlest bluff,
By playing with me with no fault on my part.
Thou cling'st to sheer agony day by day,
While seest my heart to her I gave away.
Aug 31, 2016
Aug 31, 2016 at 1:11 AM UTC
I see you dutifully down
Beaten up in rags
Coyly penitent
Now we can talk
Our teeth interlock
We sway and we rock
“Pry out your eyes” you say
“Pry out your eyes” you giggle
I scold “Once is fine but twice cloys”
Let's shore up our alibis
“Above the trolls” you whisper and point
“There runs the terror of the bridges”
Aug 10, 2012
Aug 10, 2012 at 3:38 AM UTC
Sanguine avengers descend
like self-righteous saints
who themselves orchestrated the disaster.
Rouged cheek,
blood coated lips,
Argonauts lost in a sargasso sea.
You and me,
separated at the tongue,
joined at the groin,
drowning together,
because neither will touch
the oxygen bottle.
Incense cloys,
around the edges of our history,
it's no mystery,
this cannot end well.
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 5:58 PM UTC
mother, your 8.48 touch cloys
and i shut the door on us.
it was never hard for me
to leave you in your lock-up.
behind the hardened walls
your third goblet of watered tears
slips down smooth and clean and you love it like you love to hurt.
you self sustain for the next slow day.
it helps you put on the creatress -
a black-curtained frenzy of contradiction.
you are yourself on yourself
the snake that bites its own tail.
but we dismiss the darkness of it
when what you produce is so bright.
when you beg the ugliness you **** you
the most beautiful flowers grow where you fell.
i put them in a vase on my mantlepiece
for guests to admire.
it is what you want.
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 5:22 AM UTC