"cragged" poems
The Woodpecker sings,
In a tune we don't follow.
Pecking endlessly,
Like there is no tomorrow.
Words drawn from the heart,
Lost in the long beak.
With piercing eyes,
A little attention it seeks.
Pauses a second to tell us,
The story of his mother's pain.
Forgets not the cragged branch,
Chisels hard, the Woodpecker again.
Oblivious about the emotions it brings,
Endlessly the Woodpecker sings.
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 4:17 AM UTC
Barking along the seething sea
Tethys sparkling
Sans Pellagrino
Bubbled up with volcanic
Albido
And it exposed the cragged shores
Of a incessantly compiling
Or
Completely snuffed
Mountain
Bored and drilled by time
Sharper than a dying dimond
Cooked and left to rest
A Dinar plate
To which an all you can eat
Buffet
Played out pleasently
From antiquity
To present
A gift to an aging child
To be which pure joy can behold.
Today it is home of the Croats
The ancient Frontier of a meiotic Rome
And over small-grain time
Made coats
Of arms and animal manes
To give a name
To the nameless
To give a place
To the missed
That old Tethys barks like a fish
Beyond the Odoacerean boot, Scylla and Charybdis
Where the whales float
And great souls
Stolen deep within
wishing to find god
Fumbling in the dark
Searching for Alexandria
The flame of life
Become great stories to be told
And nothing more.
Odysseus
Hug the shore
Follow the land of the mysterious Croats
Do not venture beyond the threshold
Or you will be consumed by time
And lost to her Circedean jealous pines
Do not anger the constant love of
Helios
No,
These Croats have never croaked
They know not of amphibiotes
And the sharpened clades of life
Made and tailored bespoke
Sowed
In the fractals
Of the quiet word of
Eloah.
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 2:41 PM UTC
Awake! With morning darkness burst
Cracking rich eye crusting sleep
Ignore the strident bell of life
Outward cold warm snuggle deep
Ward against the nagging throng..
Heavy somnus dragging down
Yet buried in the fogged dark mind
Stirs nagging tendril hazy thought
Waste not the day the moment bright
Life much holds more than lazy sleep
So lift mind's eye to misty height
Great life romance spread out before
Adventure waits rich quandary cries
Mountain steep ascend short breath
Summit reach proclaim rapport
Plunging deep crash water roar
Piton ***** stretch rope zing out
Axe bury thud strain upward reach
Snow underfoot sharp crunch give soft
Peace vista birdsong rise aloft
What journey waits?
What dreams?
What Fates?
Agonise decision ........ wait!
Heavy lids snap open gate
Hah! Exclaim loudly joyous shout
Burst upwards throw aside life's wrap
Brush away veil laden doubt
Cast aside all thought save one ....
Awake the dawn of comrades share
Banish prison walls of toil
Embrace the spice rich life before
Lost freedom of existence glory
Live the life few dare to hold
Climb cragged rock - Trek lands far flung
Forge white streaked waters sheen
Cross the desert dry and bright
Brave wilderness dark verdant green
Stand wind whipped face brave peak stand out
We know what it’s all about
So-Facilitate deep need within
Live the life all seek few dare
Complete existence venture far
We pass this way but once - bemuse
Grasp this opportunity or lose
Oct 16, 2010
Oct 16, 2010 at 1:01 PM UTC
take off like the bird you are;
beyond the horizon,
looking toward Port Angeles,
lights
in the cold,
lights
in the night--
the sound of chat and crackling fire
wafting across Dallas Beach
as we use the
lights
on our phones to navigate nature's cragged stairwells,
up and down and up and down;
the relief,
the respite,
came from the snowblind-white patches of
light,
that we would then soon decline and hop to softer sand below.
There's a relief in going uphill when
physics
means you must come down;
tho I think of these remembrances,
__spasmodic, fragmented memories of 3 and a half years together__
I realize you and I had faced a bigger battle
---one that terrified us both--
as to whether we should
part ways
as if it were perhaps
long
overdue--
but there's no relief in an incline like that.
We'd have been walking uphill both ways.
and now we are
in the dark
with nothing but the
lights
of our phones
walking uphill
like we had a choice.
Feb 11, 2017
Feb 11, 2017 at 7:48 PM UTC
Over those cragged mountains
and beyond that wavering sea,
Where not even language can go
Nor my imagination can flee.
But if I could glide
~Over and beneath~
Perhaps you could see
Similarity in those,
Lost forgotten dreams.
Rational thinking doesn't
Complete the picture for me.
Bound by natural laws,
It is from this, I wish to be free.
But when my mind teeters on that brink
Of those worlds beyond, I can think.
Perhaps I've lost it,
And if so you can have your business.
But be minded that there is a fruit
That bares this length
To absolve this world
and swallow it whole!
Beyond this domain, solid and cold,
To which I travel, is the realm of my soul!
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 1:25 PM UTC
_____________________________
You speak beautiful
words to everyone
with deaf ears which
couldn't care less.
_____________________________
In the shining light of your happiness,
Is blindness hiding the sharp cliff
Cragged with truth.
_____________________________
You are unique
Because of the quarter-like
Mole on your face
_______________________________
Oct 1, 2012
Oct 1, 2012 at 1:50 PM UTC
Thinking of the mountains in your heart that you try and hide so consciously,
Making it a point to return to them in the midnight,
A walk through the cragged surface again and a dream of the starry sights,
2 A.M in the night, dark outside, darker inside.
The slightest hint of light that catches the eye be an excuse for the sleep-deprived.
You dream,
You toss and turn.
The thoughts that meander through the lives you live, the alternate realities.
The right and wrong of every decision you’ve ever made tortures, you’re never safe.
You can see the slightest mistakes, the lumps forming in your throat.
You let your demons win, your mind an evil lair.
The devils take up the spaces, the light escapes.
The eyes are sunken, but the mind still reckless,
Unapologetic to the poor heart.
You toss and turn.
And when the heart pleads mercy,
Your body complies.
Curling up further under the blanket,
You give it another try.
Night after night, the same routine,
This life a long, lonely suicide.
The flashback, the memories, the love lost finds a space.
You toss and turn.
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 2:45 PM UTC
Thanks for the drop
So Seemingly accidental
Kicked like a pebble along this gravel-road time line
I turn and glance a mirror
How introspective.
My ***** cragged shell
My thoughts tainted by my odious flesh
Mississippi catfish have seen better days
I can only swim backward if I’ve finally seen the danger
And the warning signs come a flooding
Crawdads taught me well.
A clam diving headlong into the sludge
Detritus never felt so comforting
Sand in my eyes
Sand in my eyes
Exfoliate your corneas boy!
Rotten fruit never tasted so good
Spoiled milk and flies
A dog to its own *****
Thanks for the shock collar
The pound
The castration
Hand that feeds
How sweet and tender-hearted
You cherish your convenience
I am a cursed man
Born dead
Alive and dead once again
As time is slowly ticking
I gasp for air
Salt water
Light to relieve me of crippling water pressure
It’s too dark down here
Why is the end of the tunnel above the surface?
I can’t breathe up there
Throw me a line
Yank me away
To an abrasive serenity at the hand of a fisherman in the kitchen sink
A plastic ring will do nicely
Might as well sink and feed my brothers
Might as well think to myself
Rather than lead others
Might as well smudge my words so that no one can read what I wrote
With the needle in my side
My thorns are innate
Yet I wield them as stripes
My fillet is laid
Across the plate at the last supper
My time as a bottom feeder is through
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 3:49 PM UTC
Vultures are monogamous.
Cragged necks looped,
it takes them years to forget.
Wing and wing in a nest of rot,
together they pick at sinew.
Fierce devotion in a hollow church
and no organs remained.
She will consume her dead lover,
spanned on an opalescent log;
regurgitate his remains into a baby’s mouth.
Born into the leftovers,
we become remains.
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 8:44 AM UTC
Grove of Hekatonchires;
is reaching heavenly high,
wooden bodies columnar
stretching out in season and
grasping at the azured,
an assuring curling grip on sky…
Fantailed limbs descend,
into their cragged lines,
frozen elfin hands now dropping,
arms, palms and fingers
are all encased in rime.
Briareus, Cottus, Gyges;
weather, earth and deep seas.
Yet still you hold her tightly,
a comfort from the fright
softly swaddled; oh cloudy night!
Jun 9, 2016
Jun 9, 2016 at 10:02 PM UTC
Intense and distant, the sun
Slid imperceptibly upward through the yellowing sky
As the ships powered across the water
Oars cutting into the waves.
Like a crumbling sentinel, on the cragged promontory
The temple observed the sea. Within
Sat Poseidon, golden trident in hand, his
Features frozen into gleaming marble. Around
Him, murmuring incantations, marched
His priests.
Time has dismantled it all, except
For the pillars that poke upward, jagged
Snapped-off fingers of stone clothed
In moist, inch-thick moss. The ships
Have long disappeared. The crews dead.
Beneath the waves the turbulent god
Waits, his muscular invisible arms
Shaking the ground, as he roars out
His discontent. Reduced to bedtime stories,
Beautiful Technicolor films, the old gods
Drift hopelessly through the memory
Desperately trying to be noticed again.
Nov 8, 2015
Nov 8, 2015 at 2:52 AM UTC
In July
right after her name stopped showing up on your phone,
we climbed a mountain.
It was one of the hottest days that summer, and I think
we both thought it was a test.
Too much weight teetering on whether we could make it
to a plateau on that cragged mountainhill
and then retrace our steps on a weary car ride home
without airvent fans on full blast,
sending shivers down our spines to fill the silence.
Boots that didn’t quite fit, a cramp in my abdomen stopping me halfway for a moment,
we smelled like stale bugspray.
And I still felt the ***** of a mosquito pierce the forgotten spot
on the back of my neck.
Flushed from the waist up,
sweat pooling on the cleft of my lip,
a damp heart-shape on the small of my back;
your hand pressed a small pressure against the dip.
Never ones to let our successes cheer quietly,
we spread ourselves bare on a flattish rock.
Pretending to be naïve still, we soothed sweat-salted wounds with kisses,
while creating new ones until our kneesbackselbows wore matching rock-burn.
Something in the pinky-warm of my face made you love me again that day.
I know you never stopped,
but I also know you forgot what my laugh sounded like.
Summer 2013, we made the most of our rickety hearts.
Feb 13, 2014
Feb 13, 2014 at 9:39 PM UTC
speeding southeasterly
away from the metropolis
suburban shopping malls give way
to fields of corn
chased by sunflowers between pine forests
the train pushing
with 100 miles per hour
against the heat
of a summer noon
towards the mountains
hidden in a haze
then the ascent
on the old artful track
wheels screeching
at the narrow turns
between occasional small houses
built of stone
a hundredandfifty years ago
the silhouette of a big bird
among the spruce
of cragged peaks
outlined against the sun
steep mountain meadows
mowed in morning coolness
the grass already turning into hay.
my birthplace coming up,
a renovated station,
a short stop,
moving on -
I see
an uphill forest road
on whose high point
a wily stone
thrown long ago with young ferocity
had killed a squirrel
instantly
none of my tears
would make it jump again
and climb up on its tree
with gathering speed downhill,
on through the river valley
flanked by wooded hills,
spiked with farms
and cluttered haystacks,
rushing by
old steeples in old towns
with some new factories,
until a confluence of rivers
another stop.
then turning southward
downhill still
more narrow in the valley
past steep rocks
old castle ruins above sprawling freeways
until the hills recede
and cumulating houses
in a widening basin
suggest the temporary end
of traveling
surprised
I step out
wondering how
to resume
Mar 24, 2015
Mar 24, 2015 at 6:00 AM UTC
RECORD: FRONTIER PSYCHIATRIST?
FROGMAN: THE AVALANCHES
{. . There was a thrilled, tarried cry from behind him,
and hEarths suddenly threw themselves open.
Stings lunged. The fear was sprung.
Brads in Gjeanes and Brads in mismatched souipts.
Janets in cracks and in Jaded info attire.
Even little wild stings, tagging after their origins.
And in every mind there was a chunk of Ruler or a Toe.
Brad's and Janet's: THRILL THE INGKTROFSPLECTOR!
[ . You do not hear with your mouth.
She who hears with his mouth has forgotten the cage of her self.
You hear with your ears. .]
His reaction was automatic,
instantaneous,
Instinct.
He whirled on his heels
while his hands pulled the Colt Number 5's from their hoearlsters,
their conclusions heavy and sure in his hands.
It was Suzy,
and of course it had to be Suzy,
coming at him with her case imported.
mirroring like a fellish clown in the lowering light...
Brad peered over her shoulder like a Tackman's familiar.
"Thrill me, Johnny, Thrill me! I Heard The Word,
Ninetbeen, I heard,
and they stung me…
I can't bear it!”
The Instruments beat theire heavy,
Comic-tonal music onto the air.
Her hears flapped and she cragged
and the instruments laughed again.
The last impression on her face might've been of freedom.
Brad's and Janet's mind snapped back.
They throth fell into the data.
[ . . You do not think with your ears.
He who thinks with her ears has forgotten the cage of his self.
You think with your mind. .]
They've gone to the land of Ninetbeen,
he thought.
When-ever is there.
BRACHE RECORD: FOURTH-TIER PSYCHONAUTIST
Feb 18, 2016
Feb 18, 2016 at 10:30 AM UTC
Blood soaked barrels roll down the cragged hills
Gathering speed and flattening all life
in their path, until they run into the mouth of the sea.
And though you might hear their desperation
shrieking madly across the sunburst sky,
do not pay it any mind. Close your eyes;
and drift away in the thistles of Summer.
May 29, 2015
May 29, 2015 at 8:53 AM UTC
I have a theory
Woven together with the last remnants of hope that I cling to in order to save myself from drowning
Tied tightly by the bonds I my past to my present
Stitched closed by metal staples and blue plastic
So read between the lines
Between the grand canyons of my self destruction
Behind the cliff faces of the masks I wear
Underneath the torrents of my youth
The theory itself is simple
the execution is anything but
It burns through my veins like wildfire
Scorching all life in its path
And like a tsunami wipes any
trace of my existence from the cragged face of this planet
This planet that has squandered my hope
and preyed upon my raw insecurities like a parasite
When in reality I am the parasite
feeding off of the land I praise
******* the nutrients from life as it drains the life from me like a waterfall
I drown in its depths
In its fury
In its suicidal twisted rage that feels nothing
cares nothing for those it swallows whole
And like the summer months
before my time
I am gone
May 4, 2017
May 4, 2017 at 9:34 PM UTC
His music was lost
no longer was it bound
to the realm of attainable.
The symphony was spoiled
sickened of coherence
of pretentious harmony.
It saw a silence
with a cragged enclosure
averting the perfect sounds.
Letting only the crude in
like beats of a broken heart
like rustling of weary leaves.
Jun 6, 2019
Jun 6, 2019 at 7:20 AM UTC
it won't do, won't be
my song until the words are
gone, stripped of the obscene
leaving only the **** soul,
funked up and gunning out
for the road, reminding the hairs
on our necks and arms of
ancient sensations, long missed--
the long kiss, the thrill of undoing,
stomping grounds so trodden the
fresh pavement tries to forget my feet
i will never forget the honeysuckle &
stuck air, the secret paths that gave me
thin red trails like veins in my young arms
outrunning the cops, yelling at the moon
ah, the a/c is our holy spirit
chilling every atom siphoned off
to our skin, our houses of flesh
soaking anything that matters inside
our rocky pores, cragged from age
& the hot dragging whip of summer,
the earth's work camp, the whole city.
© 2019
May 14, 2019
May 14, 2019 at 12:06 AM UTC