"crabtree" poems
There once was a wicked Warlock
Who lived on Crabtree Hill,
He lured the Witch of the Morning there
Who was my mother still,
My father, he was the patient type
Said, ‘Son, she’s just a witch,
And she’ll be back in the morning, once
That Warlock’s scratched her itch.
I didn’t know what he meant just then,
I was far too young to know,
What people did in the darkness once
Their feelings overflowed,
But I was forever curious
And suppose that I am still,
I wanted to know, so had to go
On a trek up Crabtree Hill.
The Warlock lived in a copse of trees
In a tiny little shack,
A goat’s head hung up above his door
I remember, looking back,
A window covered in mud and dust
Was the way I looked inside,
To see my mother down on her knees
Like a nasty Warlock bride.
I knew that I shouldn’t be looking
Then she turned, and saw my face,
And stopped just what she was doing
Though I’d seen her loss of grace,
I turned to run, then I heard his voice
As he called my mother, ‘Cath!’
Then caught me running off through the trees
As he stood, and blocked my path.
The man was a massive mountain,
And he wore a hat with horns,
His arms like a pair of Christmas hams
As he called, ‘This one of yours?’
I fought and struggled and kicked like mad
As he took me into his shack,
While ever the Witch of the Morning smiled
And said, ‘He’s just my Jack.’
‘I think we should cook him up for tea,’
Said the Warlock, with a wink,
And Cath, my mother said, ‘Let me see,
I must have a little think.
I hope that he didn’t see the act
Of love that I did for you,’
Then took my hand and opened the door
And motioned me out, said, ‘Shoo.’
Now I’m a man, and I think on back
To that day on Crabtree Hill,
And just like the Warlock, I will stand
In front of my darling Jill,
While she gets down on her knees for me
On the floor, without a stitch,
To show me the love she has for me,
Just like the Morning Witch.
David Lewis Paget
Jan 12, 2017
Jan 12, 2017 at 2:34 AM UTC
Maybe I'm alive
Maybe I'm a lie
Maybe I'ma die
Maybe I'ma dive
Off the deep end
Well that depends
How deep your sins
Sew
Hold em close
Theyll never know
If you never tell them so
They'll never grow
If you never let them go
Like dandelions shuffle through gusts
A man behind a lie ruffles up husks
Like a bull with no tusks
Who could give a ****
Honestly I.
Work, sweat, bleed and cry.
Lost track of why
Probably cause it is I is who I lie beside
Haa this guy ^
Is who I try to hide
But it's dark inside
Wish I could dance like the raindrops
On your window that wiggle light
When you giggle I just might
Fall back in ____
Better to die within
Than to have my heart broken again
So hey, I smile and I joke
Drift home to find
There's no love in this dope
A few know this false hope
Is sometimes the only cope
In mechanisms ambition burns
Turning talent into ashes
Can't tell you what I'm askin
Just please don't stop answerin
I'm just a lonely cancer and
This is how I feel.
Too much.
Sep 20, 2018
Sep 20, 2018 at 6:49 PM UTC
"I'm the best corner in the game. When you try me with a sorry receiver like Crabtree, that's the result you going to get. Don’t you EVER talk about me.
Crabtree. Don’t you open your mouth about the best. Or I’m gonna shut it for you real quick. L-O-B.” -Richard Sherman
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 10:51 AM UTC
It's quiet now.
The crabtree slumped and it's shadow staggered across the broken dirt and cement that now seem mute in his years as a man.
Beaten down by the world.
Only a young boy paid any mind.
He once tried to eat the fruit it had to offer.
It was so sour and angry he spit the pulp to the ground.
He liked this.
The way it's **** flesh dried his taste buds like sidewalk chalk.
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 8:40 PM UTC