"cobwebbed" poems
Time is...
a gift, barely examined
a present, rarely opened
locked away in a strong box
its key cobwebbed under
the dust of procrastination.
In disbelief
we feign ignorance
mentally banking cheques
signed:'all the time in the world'
Yet we drink reflectively
from warm comforting
fragile glazed cups
filled with the brazen solution:
'no time like the present'.
Perhaps we all 'need a break'...
_________________________
'in a jiffy' may be too late.
© Qwey.ku
Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 3:22 PM UTC
a dark place,
dingy and cobwebbed:
the forlorn basement
below an unfinished house;
there is no hope
of an HGTV house-flip
or a makeover
or the sort of boring/heartwarming story
where some nice white family
—or conveniently diverse—
sets up shop,
smash-cuts through a renovation
and gets their dream home.
no,
the house will remain gloomy,
this basement filled with emptiness;
no one desires
to come through the door,
no one except the tweakers
and the vagabonds
and the runaways,
the ****** and the pimps,
the celebrities and psychiatrists,
the demons and the ghosts,
the preachers and their seething
congregations of judgmental ******
that live across the street,
and the ***** teenagers
hunting for a place to try out ***
no cleaning crew
or maid service
or organize-your-life guru
or even the most experienced
of all the world’s janitors
could enter this house and clean it
or beautify this basement
or disenfranchise the squatters within;
the neighbors just try
and demolish it
every chance they get,
to rid their sparkling, spotless community
of this disgusting eyesore.
Dec 5, 2018
Dec 5, 2018 at 10:15 AM UTC
**The allure of everything bad
The allure of vices that nullify circumstances which make living seem sad
The 'Hollywood' cigarette, the hard liquor... ******* crystal ****
All very romanticized but in reality, isn't that really just a self-induced slow death?
We don't talk about it, until we watch from the sidelines
If only for a second
When partaking one repeats quotes like 'it is what it is'
'I am not a quitter'
You've built up a tolerance for one, so you beckon
The bartender to pour you a second
Social trend like a hot topic on twitter
So now you want more
You ignorantly jab the needle inside you like you don't know what your signing up for
In a sense you don't, for you choose not to
Addiction entraps... but who?
Not you
And the moment you decide to go cold turkey
It appears more enticing in another movie, or in the hands of a fellow druggie
Impossible to reject
Relapse... rubber band effect
Yet even he that doesn't use gets a little curious
One day the stress becomes too much to handle, he's peeved
He's furious
He's heard of pills sold over the counter, and also of those available from dusty cobwebbed shelves
By dealers with hollowed out eyes, ghosts of their former selves
In an alternate reality
Where 'it's all good'
It's all about finding solace in one happy, high family... 'It's all hood'
A distorted image of zoned out smiling faces
Floating around in temporary elation
These vices have comforted and haunted many, way before our so called 'X-rated generation'
The druggie, the alcoholic or the *** addict you see... could be your's or someone else's dad
Or it could very well be you or me
Seduced by the allure of everything bad
I write this expecting it to be misunderstood by many...
For a judgement between bad and good
I myself could be affiliated to one of these vices... or many
Someone reading this may have already renamed it 'The allure of everything good'.**
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 4:01 AM UTC
his hobbies include
invisible girls
bubble wrapped
shielding their eyes from the sun
up the side of his mountain
holding fast to the cable
and the eventual terror of drawing
paper moons
framed a bit too
insular
binocular
funicular
vermicular
these out of sightlines
opaque and cobwebbed
screening off
his ***** little secrets
Jun 29, 2021
Jun 29, 2021 at 11:45 AM UTC
Bougainvillea flowers flutter
In the faint echos of the past.
For,
the artist's palette
fails to hold
the clandestine shades of the night sky
or
the embryonic legends earth camouflages...
Silent stars
still fall
where remaining fantasies
crumble.
An ancient verdict lasts,
cobwebbed and leather bound,
left in time's fraternity.
His verdict hazed, but bright:
It shall rain when April comes
and you will cast your mind upon
the flowers left in the dust.
Open your chest,
and I will greet your eyes
once again.
It's been long...
It's been long since you saw more
than a Bougainvillea flower's flutter.
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 8:55 PM UTC
I have enough treasures from the past
to last me longer than I need, or want.
You know as well as I . . . malevolent memory
won't let go of half of them:
a modest church, with its gold cupola
slightly askew; a harsh chorus
of crows; the whistle of a train;
a birch tree haggard in a field
as if it had just been sprung from jail;
a secret midnight conclave
of monumental Bible-oaks;
and a tiny rowboat that comes drifting out
of somebody's dreams, slowly foundering.
Winter has already loitered here,
lightly powdering these fields,
casting an impenetrable haze
that fills the world as far as the horizon.
I used to think that after we are gone
there's nothing, simply nothing at all.
Then who's that wandering by the porch
again and calling us by name?
Whose face is pressed against the frosted pane?
What hand out there is waving like a branch?
By way of reply, in that cobwebbed corner
a sunstruck tatter dances in the mirror.
Leningrad, 1960
3.5k
The horses feed on bat-moon meadow
their stone age stable now cobwebbed
hooves long rested from run
gone dusty by the wheels of metal
yet they paleolithic horses
graze in night’s paraffin-lit glow
smelling of stable and the wild run
and in the stillness finding
their world crumbled.
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 9:06 AM UTC
~
Creatively I died inside a butterfly’s wing
Buried in the womb of a bird’s song
Sing…
Elevation
Planted deep in a spiders imagination
Twisted, converted
Underneath a pyramid
Midriff monsoon
Against the red noon of the Moon’s
Lunar tunes
Nightmares growing from daydreams
Like weeds
Reflecting the soul as darkness gleams
Broken seeds
The eyes of the Owl see
As wisdom he reads
Turn green with greed
No longer wise as pride
Glides and rides
Across the deceit of his landslide
Crashing like a crystal avalanche
Crushing lives and habitats
See one choice can lead back to the beginning
Of the first inning of a sliver lining
That has become dull
Losing its shine and luster
Like a haunted hall
In a old mansion cobwebbed with fluster
Skeletons and ghost threaded in walls
Shredded inside papery calls
Peeling from the owners fall
I’ve died inside the butterfly’s wing
The wing carved on a wedding ring
Its circle symbolizes my cycle
A tilted infinity inside the curve of clarity
Of my fall
That became a papery call
While threaded in a skeleton wall
Cobwebbed with fluster
Like a haunted hall
That has lost its shine and luster
Which became dull
Like the first inning of the silver lining
This choice has led back to the beginning
Crushing lives and habitats
Like a crystal avalanche
Crashing across the deceit of this landslide
Which glides and rides
No longer wise as pride
Turns green with greed
As wisdom he reads
The eyes of the Owl see
Broken seeds
Reflecting the soul as darkness gleams
Like nightmare and weeds
Growing from daydreams
Lunar tunes of the Moon
Glowing against red noon midriff monsoon
Underneath a pyramid
Twisted, converted
Planted deep in a spiders imagination
Elevation
Buried in the womb of a bird’s song
Sing…
For I’ve creatively died inside the ink of a butterfly’s wing
Dripping from an alien’s pen-well
Melting like clear gel
Faded and blurred
Secretly grew in between each verb
Hid myself in sentences
Like parables in genesis
With glee…
I impregnated the meaning inside me
Then birthed surrealism
In a chaotic schism
Between the fifth and second chord
Of a poetic discord
~
Aug 8, 2015
Aug 8, 2015 at 2:40 AM UTC
i woke with a **** and
a windpipe full of butterflies, so i
swallowed them down to my chest
my stomach and below and
it was then that i realized
they weren't butterflies
but backward flies
that turn to maggots and
eat dead things
so it was then that i realized
i was dead, in between that
chasing-my-breath consciousness and
sepia splotched dream
which featured my favorite
human being
waking me, winding me
up...
hey saige, come on, so i
unlocked my eyes
even though i knew it was my
little brother
all along...
bright
cobwebbed windows at my
feet and
brighter fringe above me
brushing my forehead, like fingers
he leaned
over me, nudged me
hugged me, come on
saige...
i began to rise, which is why
he stopped me, that's when he
kissed me, and that's when i
forgave him
because i knew it was
an accident
except for, that was when
he did it
again...
my lips inside his, and
i kept my eyes
open
kept telling myself to
just kiss back, since we'd
already ruined everything, because
that was all he
wanted
because maybe
we could go back, maybe we'd still be
inseparable if
i hadn't screamed, enough!
maybe nightmares
are second chances at
being better
best friends...
i was torn
worn threadbare and i felt it
in every fiber of me
lying there, but i couldn't
pull away and i've
never wished to hurt him, so i
couldn't push, either
just clamped my eyes
shut, as he did the same
with his mouth...
and that was when
i woke
without a soul nor a shame
save for the maggots
in my veins
May 5, 2018
May 5, 2018 at 2:53 PM UTC
To strive, for recognition
An assembly point for thought
Triumphed within an open page
Paper evidence of unspoken verse
Retrieved from the place behind this heart
Do you mind?
Don’t look over my shoulder at my vulnerability
Private stance is mine
Do not mock as I turn the page
A personal preview of this unlocked memory
Back of my neck, prickling
Anticipating on the spot reaction
Young, ill at ease
Crying from the yard
Hiding the scars
Don’t rush away the memories, a deluge
When time was so limited
Become brave
Force open the private recess
Cobwebbed and masked by dust
Speak clearly, not from mumbling
Mouth, I need to………….. know
I am blemished
So glad to be alongside you
Reunited, forgotten, forgiven.....now ribbon tied
Can we bury?
It would seem not......but wait and remember
Deceived by the dark
Under dressed for the occasion
Battered suitcase dragged and kicked open
Essays of remembrance
Headlines screaming for discussion
Released for a while
Obeyed and tidied
Press down and close the rusty catches
My new day transcribed here
I don’t mind, lean on my shoulder
See my vulnerability
It makes me strong
Aug 20, 2012
Aug 20, 2012 at 6:29 AM UTC
My questions go unanswered.
My words ignored.
My presence overlooked.
Myself invisible to the eyes of others.
In a sty of stench.
In her own ***** she is drenched.
The reason I crossed two states borders.
Pack rat hoarder.
Without organization of order.
Out lived my heart hesitated.
My life dictated.
By a **** "mom" who dominates.
Controlling with my child as leverage.
She holds us hostage.
In her cobwebbed hellhole of dust.
Mold, ***** stench, mildew, & rust.
She is no one to ever trust.
I have alot to complain about & fuss.
Neglected, unprotected,& disrespected.
Taken for granted & unappreciated.
Unknown but senselessly hated.
For love or friendship I waited.
No one ever asked me to be dated.
My life I lived & created.
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 2:39 PM UTC
Lost in a big quilt
hot mug of coffee in her hands
She stares into a cobwebbed corner
as if it holds the secrets of the world.
Everyone has been wondering about her
She's been like that for a long time
no one knows why, or how she is still alive
once that shadow of a body was strong and active
now she's wasting away under a big quilt in her room
and the coffee is getting cold.
Nov 28, 2012
Nov 28, 2012 at 9:06 PM UTC
And there it was.
your toothbrush
still in its usual spot
the perfect epitomy
of what is left of
what I feel for you
it is the last of
all that you left behind
the proofs that you were once here
an item on display
the final thing to throw away
but I don’t do it.
dusty and morphed
it shows signs of use
yet being untouched for so long
sitting there and waiting
for nothing
a lonely cobwebbed fool
it reminded me of better days
of the closeness and the comfort
it hit me just like that
a glance and a notice
I was trapped in flashbacks
all from a **** toothbrush
there is little left of what I feel for you
yet there it still sits
a subconscious essence
and once it was acknowledged
it brought be back to our befores
when you used to use that toothbrush
Jan 6, 2017
Jan 6, 2017 at 5:33 AM UTC
how do i tell you?
how do i put into syllables the roaring of emotions i feel within?
the loneliness that plagues me
the regrets that haunt me
the ache in my chest
& the lack of air when i choke on all the words that are waiting behind my tongue to stumble out that i push back down so that i dont ruin the moment
how do i tell you i miss you?
without it sounding so desperate for connection?
how do i tell you i need you?
without causing you to worry that i should be hospitalized again?
how do i tell you how deeply i love you?
without suffocating you or making you assume it's romantic?
how do i tell you that i cry at your photos?
feeling left behind like a photograph of a memory you no longer have
i radiate with pride for how far you have come, for how beautiful your soul is
& slowly drips in the jealousy of a forgotten feeling, happiness
i can't remember the last time i woke up to feel content & secure within myself
i can't remember the last time i felt loved & grateful for more than a few fleeting seconds
before the imposter syndrome takes over to steal the moment away from me
somewhere deep in the cobwebbed hallways of my mind, i know
i know that you would care that im in pain
that im struggling to stay alive
somehow i know
& yet that very thought is exactly what prevents me from saying a word
you cannot know how hollow i've become
you cannot see the person you once knew wither away before your eyes
how do i tell you how ashamed i am of myself
falling back on all the bad habits you were once so proud i thought i had gotten past
falling victim to the same toxic love i barely escaped before
how do i tell you how desperately i cling to anything that can alleviate the pain for a single day
the food, the shopping, the desire to self destruct constantly looming over my existance
how do i tell you without being vulnerable
what joke could i tell that would reveal it all but keep me in the safety of my aloneness that i have grown to find comfort in
how do i tell you...
Aug 15, 2022
Aug 15, 2022 at 12:30 AM UTC
your pale smooth skin
slides under me
as we are more sweat
than bone
i suckle
your pink taut areolas
you clutch my hair
and my fingers spread
everywhere
you close your eyes
bite down your lips
shudder slightly
gasp
a low heavy breath
and it’s like
some shade in an inferno
opened a cobwebbed window
from the blackest molten bowels
to release the compressed
stagnate humid air
from your deepest self.
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 5:57 PM UTC
This door you might not open, and you did;
So enter now, and see for what slight thing
You are betrayed. . . . Here is no treasure hid,
No cauldron, no clear crystal mirroring
The sought-for truth, no heads of women slain
For greed like yours, no writhings of distress,
But only what you see. . . . Look yet again—
An empty room, cobwebbed and comfortless.
Yet this alone out of my life I kept
Unto myself, lest any know me quite;
And you did so profane me when you crept
Unto the threshold of this room to-night
That I must never more behold your face.
This now is yours. I seek another place.
1.7k
Spider
Walking into a corridor of neatly aligned cobwebs,
that have your history strewn across, like telephone wires
intertwining and intersecting,
Making all the conversations and voices interweave,
crossing paths - causing a disruption in the line,
the static disturbances echoing through the dark corridor
embellished with these cobwebs that have been lost in your mind.
The cobwebs speak like conversations
from broken telephone poles
that are overlapping and confusing the mind,
muddled and disarrayed, lacking any sense.
time has consumed these thoughts,
leaving bits and pieces,
that only mislead you
You swing across paving new paths with silken threads,
crisp and new, like adhesive,
glistening with prosperity.
Yet you keep these deep rooted cobwebbed memories
locked in your mind,
like Pandora’s box ready to unravel.
So just let them retire,
they have fallen and become undone,
and now they just collect
dust from your memories
Reminding you of thoughts,
that are specked and flecked
with dusty recollections.
Those worn out thoughts can no longer collect,
they only eject,
tangled stories confusing you
and bemusing you
So don’t collect
your abandoned webs,
like a memory book - they are no longer relevant,
they were just webs you wove to learn
how to weave the web you now conceive,
strong and secure,
fully capable to endure.
Dec 26, 2012
Dec 26, 2012 at 3:21 PM UTC
Death himself in the rain . . . death himself . . .
Death in the savage sunlight . . . skeletal death . . .
I hear the clack of his feet,
Clearly on stones, softly in dust;
He hurries among the trees
Whirling the leaves, tossing he hands from waves.
Listen! the immortal footsteps beat.
Death himself in the grass, death himself,
Gyrating invisibly in the sun,
Scatters the grass-blades, whips the wind,
Tears at boughs with malignant laughter:
On the long echoing air I hear him run.
Death himself in the dusk, gathering lilacs,
Breaking a white-fleshed bough,
Strewing purple on a cobwebbed lawn,
Dancing, dancing,
The long red sun-rays glancing
On flailing arms, skipping with hideous knees
Cavorting grotesque ecstasies:
I do not see him, but I see the lilacs fall,
I hear the scrape of knuckles against the wall,
The leaves are tossed and tremble where he plunges among them,
And I hear the sound of his breath,
Sharp and whistling, the rythm of death.
It is evening: the lights on a long street balance and sway.
In the purple ether they swing and silently sing,
The street is a gossamer swung in space,
And death himself in the wind comes dancing along it,
And the lights, like raindrops, tremble and swing.
Hurry, spider, and spread your glistening web,
For death approaches!
Hurry, rose, and open your heart to the bee,
For death approaches!
Maiden, let down your hair for the hands of your lover,
Comb it with moonlight and wreathe it with leaves,
For death approaches!
Death, huge in the star; small in the sand-grain;
Death himself in the rain,
Drawing the rain about him like a garment of jewels:
I hear the sound of his feet
On the stairs of the wind, in the sun,
In the forests of the sea . . .
Listen! the immortal footsteps beat!
1.6k
FFFFUUUUUCCCCKKKKKKKK
faded forlorn fractured fragmented
completely de-clinted
traded torn tossed to the trash
canceled check counterfeit cash
broken yet again
just another somewhen
except my fault this time
twas my non-rhyme
how do you go from happier
to happiest
to burst into the worst
have you ever felt the squeeze that crushes the heart of a star
been unable to breathe because of the death of all you are
how do you continue when what you knew isn't true
if love is rendered irrelevant then whatever do you do
scenery never seen
barely even imagined
suddenly miracled me
actually ******* happened
but it abandoned me soon thereafter
never to whisper another chapter
shhhhh don't listen to this
shut up your only kiss
for 7 months fate was my favorite writer
destiny my best-friend editor
then suddenly they were evil censors
love unlucked me faster
than I could even begin to breathe
luck unloved me farther
than even I could ever believe
my fingertips still feel Yur breast
my lingering lips tasting Yur heartbeat
I still feel Yur body pressed to my chest
Yur embrace keeping me safe in my sleep
now all around me
nothings surround me
i am the epitome of empty
cobwebbed memory
a soul's stifled breath
destined for dusty death
how do you exist in the happy happy joy joy world outside
when everything that matters has been crushed inside
how do you explain how everything is worthless
when you've never been worth less
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 11:29 PM UTC
What if I told you I love you?
What if the person inside me
saw the person inside you
and told you you were becoming
what you were meant to be?
Don't look into that shattered mirror again
It's only showing the outside man.
Come
Hold me from behind
Put your arms around me
Your hand in my trembling hand,
dark eyes cover blue eyes
Come try a glass of my perspective.
If you could see deep into your cobwebbed soul
Dare to step on broken pavement,
I would tell you fear is nothing but a barrier,
and you already know how to steeple.
Look
At your body on the table.
Open your ears to His fountain
Let me move into your scars and shine into your stars
Let it melt all the way,
haven't I told you I love the taste of chocolate?
Now we're going to go underground
test out your roots
knock on your core
count the rings of your forgiven sorrow
You know that your strength is unknown,
your enemy your own
Handsome hand
Trace the music and let Him free your impoverished soul.
Can I hold the dusty forbidden key?
Let your weight fall upon me
there's more than me holding you up
Follow my gaze
Don't turn away
For what if I told you
I only flutter for you
What if I told you you already know how to dance
our bodies in rhyme
our minds in time
Colors bleed from me to you,
Storms may pursue.
But what if I told you
I've grown up right next to you?
that I love your color blue
Yes I heard you when you told me
I drive you crazy and asked "can I keep you?"
Check your back pocket.
this is the receipt.
For I told you I'm holding hands with a man
and he's inside of you
I named him Beautiful.
May 12, 2012
May 12, 2012 at 8:58 PM UTC
you could start fires with the charcoal under my eyes
and i am so tired of telling people i’m tired
i’m exhausted
i barely get 3 hours of sleep
my mind is tangled with cobwebs that only seem to need dusting at night
i lay awake listening to the creaks of old aged furniture
and i sympathise
i know how that feels, buddy
my joints creak and they’re crisp as autumn leaves
i am surprised i haven’t broken any
alarm sounds at either 8 or 9
day starts an hour later
day continues
day persists until evening lets it rest
evening continues until their shift is over and
night falls
i’m so tired that my body has grown accustomed to it
i watch the time change and the clock tick;
i am so accustomed to it my heart has started following the same rhythm
night fell
a boulder on sunken shoulders
it is still falling and i am trying to carry such heavy weight
i think this is why our backs begin to curve as we grow older
we are crushed and crippled
does the sun still rise even if i don’t see it?
because all i ever seem to see is the darkness of night fall;
i wonder
who can love a clockwork heart?
tick, tock.
who can love a cobwebbed mind?
time to go and dust again.
Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 7:02 PM UTC
i sit across her
on the round table
i see her delicate hands
twirling on the spoon
on this ethereal summer noon
when she looks incredibly pretty
beneath the cobwebbed ceiling
amid the Doppler noise of the city
her eyes on the coffee
and mine on her.
Aug 31, 2015
Aug 31, 2015 at 11:39 AM UTC
"Tread with caution
Construction ahead"
The sign passes behind her
Lost to ecstasy and joy
She crashes through
Brush and thicket
On dream-paved paths
To where the little white cottage stands
Spit-cleaned and rag-polished
Waiting
"Caution-sinkholes
Beware fragile earth"
She slows her pace
Bouncing slightly
Till the ground caves in
She leaps as earth sinks at her heels
Consuming her spirit
Leaving dirt on her knees
And the little white cottage stands
Cobwebbed and dust-lined
Waiting
"Beware- cliff ahead
High tide, rough waters"
She approaches warily
The dirt still caked
To the soles of her shoes
But ignores the sign
Arrives unprepared
The cliff comes as sudden as a drop
Land to air in seconds split
Frozen water breaking her fall
And the little cottage stands
Stone-cracked and rain-streaked
Waiting
"Danger- falling rocks
Avalanche prone zone"
The water drags at her fingers
As she crawls to the shore
Huddled under the cliff
Overhang so close
She can smell the mossy wear
Water-clogged she fails to hear
The rumble of stones
Till they crash to the ground
And the little cottage stands
Foggy-black and death-caked
Waiting
"Construction Site-
Building in progress"
The stones crash against her
Down to the sand
She falls to her knees
Pinned by the boulders
With the weight on her shoulders
She remembers the signs
But wishes she remembered sooner
And the water takes her
As the little black cottage stands
Time-worn and wind-torn
Waiting for the future
Never to come
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 3:09 PM UTC
cobwebbed coffee mind, my cacophonous current,
oh, rusty heart you have played too long,
again to fall down the rabbit hole
in search of that brassy circumference
that governs your life and every breath that escapes your lips
propelled into the deep, dilation of your synaptic being.
Feb 7, 2012
Feb 7, 2012 at 12:26 AM UTC
and no you dont understand when i
tell you i want you to hold me a certain way it's not because
your elbow hits my
scapula in a way that makes it
impossible to sleep
and when i ask you to kiss me it's
not because i really need the
validation or
comfort of lips pressed hips ******
together and heartbeats
knocking like
opportunity at the door & my knees
and when i ask you
to make love to me it's not because i can't
take it ***** i mean you could just
shoehorn it in there but that's not the
point and what do you
get when you ask for
twenty pages of love notes and dust scribbles in cobwebbed
corners where you'll never look twice and
how do years curl up the way
pillbugs do when they die
accordions collapse and ribbons
lie shredded on sawdusted floors
above us you know lately i've been begging every man i meet to tell me fifteen stories
high on acid low on fuel
the fire when i knelt to feed it cedar explodes in embers writhing syllogisms of love
the way that moths feel like featherpaper shadows when you turn off the lights where do they go
on and on and on andon andonandon&onampersand;
storm and locust breeze might be the only thing we have to eat
until you can't stop
.
if i drive back to colorado tomorrow it's
not because i cant take the heat and lord
knows it's not the rain thats keeping me rooted
even if my
boots are covered in mud
it's because
right now i'm a little
fragile &
that doesnt mean dont
touch.
Sep 12, 2013
Sep 12, 2013 at 3:05 AM UTC