"craven" poems - Hello Poetry

"craven" poems

flex and perspire my darling would you mind a small suffering for craven kisses to have your dark fig **** and drenching ***** stroked with a tickling finger lingering and strong hands around your sweetly curved throat that shunt the breath to yield willingly for sharp-toothed nibbles with surprise tongue whipping? will you present your soft belly and cupping ******* for dark cruelties that excite beyond tabulation will you present yourself with smiles and goddess leg show sobbing for feral pink spires gleaming while quivering thighs turn hot red from the slap of the leather strap splitting stings? will tears of love mix in wild berry utterance and flashing spitfire’s tongue? are you made for this? your every whimper an invitation like an open pink gate do you need the saint of dark desires to rescue you from banal dim-witted all american in and out? do you need to drown in oceanic wave tsunamis of hot butter **** glitter, blood flooding gasms and tender aftercare? my wish that you shimmer like silver possessed by the saint of sadism popes of eros who fill you with the milk of the moon all stars that melt you into the depths of paradise and that this dark ecstasy is the only suffering you will ever know.

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Jul 29, 2018

Jul 29, 2018 at 6:27 AM UTC

*The Saint of Sadism

flex and perspire my darling would you mind a small suffering for craven kisses to have your dark fig **** and drenching ***** stroked with a tickling finger lingering and strong hands around your sweetly curved throat that shunt the breath to yield willingly for sharp-toothed nibbles with surprise tongue whipping? will you present your soft belly and cupping ******* for dark cruelties that excite beyond tabulation will you present yourself with smiles and goddess leg show sobbing for feral pink spires gleaming while quivering thighs turn hot red from the slap of the leather strap splitting stings? will tears of love mix in wild berry utterance and flashing spitfire’s tongue? are you made for this? your every whimper an invitation like an open pink gate do you need the saint of dark desires to rescue you from banal dim-witted all american in and out? do you need to drown in oceanic wave tsunamis of hot butter **** glitter, blood flooding gasms and tender aftercare? my wish that you shimmer like silver possessed by the saint of sadism popes of eros who fill you with the milk of the moon all stars that melt you into the depths of paradise and that this dark ecstasy is the only suffering you will ever know.

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i am gloriously indulgent when left to my own devices lashings of stylish fulfillment in a mix of virtues and vices i have my sense of order though i am craven to desire drunk with a sense of beauty to torch blandness in a fire poor dear mediocrity your time is not with me you are my sworn enemy find others for company i burn for what is art and those, who do it for love they are my choice of company together, we'll rise above

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Oct 7, 2018

Oct 7, 2018 at 3:01 AM UTC

manifesto of indulgence ...

i am gloriously indulgent when left to my own devices lashings of stylish fulfillment in a mix of virtues and vices i have my sense of order though i am craven to desire drunk with a sense of beauty to torch blandness in a fire poor dear mediocrity your time is not with me you are my sworn enemy find others for company i burn for what is art and those, who do it for love they are my choice of company together, we'll rise above

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ALTHOUGH I can see him still. The freckled man who goes To a grey place on a hill In grey Connemara clothes At dawn to cast his flies, It's long since I began To call up to the eyes This wise and simple man. All day I'd looked in the face What I had hoped 'twould be To write for my own race And the reality; The living men that I hate, The dead man that I loved, The craven man in his seat, The insolent unreproved, And no knave brought to book Who has won a drunken cheer, The witty man and his joke Aimed at the commonest ear, The clever man who cries The catch-cries of the clown, The beating down of the wise And great Art beaten down. Maybe a twelvemonth since Suddenly I began, In scorn of this audience, Imagining a man, And his sun-freckled face, And grey Connemara cloth, Climbing up to a place Where stone is dark under froth, And the down-turn of his wrist When the flies drop in the stream; A man who does not exist, A man who is but a dream; And cried, "Before I am old I shall have written him one poem maybe as cold And passionate as the dawn.'

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5.4k

William Butler Yeats

ALTHOUGH I can see him still. The freckled man who goes To a grey place on a hill In grey Connemara clothes At dawn to cast his flies, It's long since I began To call up to the eyes This wise and simple man. All day I'd looked in the face What I had hoped 'twould be To write for my own race And the reality; The living men that I hate, The dead man that I loved, The craven man in his seat, The insolent unreproved, And no knave brought to book Who has won a drunken cheer, The witty man and his joke Aimed at the commonest ear, The clever man who cries The catch-cries of the clown, The beating down of the wise And great Art beaten down. Maybe a twelvemonth since Suddenly I began, In scorn of this audience, Imagining a man, And his sun-freckled face, And grey Connemara cloth, Climbing up to a place Where stone is dark under froth, And the down-turn of his wrist When the flies drop in the stream; A man who does not exist, A man who is but a dream; And cried, "Before I am old I shall have written him one poem maybe as cold And passionate as the dawn.'

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Through grain fields with bayonets fixed, from Belleau Woods the Germans came. The sixth Marines in shallow pits unleashed a deadly metal rain. The French collapsed upon the left Their flank exposed by craven fear The Marines held fast when urged to flee: "Retreat?, Monsieur? We just got here." By June the sixth, it fell to them to take a Hill to save the French. A German company with machine guns waited for them, well entrenched. Their tactics from another war, Audacious yes, but not too clever "Come on, you ******** Dan Daly roared, "Do you really want to live forever?" With casualties high, so many dead The Marine Corps held the hill by night. Counter attacks were fended off some times with fists and K bar knife. Now the cannon of both sides rained steel where the combatants stood: A once beautiful preserve of princes was turned into a shattered wood. Through mustard gas and cannon fire The Marines advanced into the Wood. Silenced machine guns and cut bared wire till the enemy fled, this time for good. Before the flag at Iwo flew, Before the Canal's jungle squalor Marines were nicknamed "Devil Dogs" by the Germans who admired valor.

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Jan 14, 2012

Jan 14, 2012 at 3:37 PM UTC

john-f-mccullagh

Through grain fields with bayonets fixed, from Belleau Woods the Germans came. The sixth Marines in shallow pits unleashed a deadly metal rain. The French collapsed upon the left Their flank exposed by craven fear The Marines held fast when urged to flee: "Retreat?, Monsieur? We just got here." By June the sixth, it fell to them to take a Hill to save the French. A German company with machine guns waited for them, well entrenched. Their tactics from another war, Audacious yes, but not too clever "Come on, you ******** Dan Daly roared, "Do you really want to live forever?" With casualties high, so many dead The Marine Corps held the hill by night. Counter attacks were fended off some times with fists and K bar knife. Now the cannon of both sides rained steel where the combatants stood: A once beautiful preserve of princes was turned into a shattered wood. Through mustard gas and cannon fire The Marines advanced into the Wood. Silenced machine guns and cut bared wire till the enemy fled, this time for good. Before the flag at Iwo flew, Before the Canal's jungle squalor Marines were nicknamed "Devil Dogs" by the Germans who admired valor.

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dahil wara katapusan an duon san mga mata mabubuhay akong minamatay san dating kaaway ko sa lawas na ini sa lawas na ini naghambog an talawon pinapagubtik an kaaluhan na nagpapamuda muda na nagpupukaw saakon gurugab-i kendi na nagpapahibi mesias na naghahala-hala magiging madalas an pagsid-ip niya sa bintana para laen ko makita an liwanag malaog siya sa kahon ko laen para magkawat kundi dagdagan an pagub-at makasakat an pagbagsak siya na ako masurat tula. ~Written by Melton Balicano (a bikol dialect) since these eyes have been weighed down on unending i shall live while being slain by an old foe in this body this body where the craven had once boasted surging chagrins that blaspheme blasphemy that rouses this corpse in the dark treats that shed tears a messiah that taunts. he shall constantly peep through the window so that I see no light he will break in my casket not to thieve but to burden further the downfall shall rise then he becomes me penning a poem. ~a translation of Balicano's masterpiece Glenn Sentes

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Mar 6, 2013

Mar 6, 2013 at 7:59 PM UTC

dahil wara katapusan an duon san mga mata mabubuhay akong minamatay san dating kaaway ko sa lawas na ini sa lawas na ini naghambog an talawon pinapagubtik an kaaluhan na nagpapamuda muda na nagpupukaw saakon gurugab-i kendi na nagpapahibi mesias na naghahala-hala magiging madalas an pagsid-ip niya sa bintana para laen ko makita an liwanag malaog siya sa kahon ko laen para magkawat kundi dagdagan an pagub-at makasakat an pagbagsak siya na ako masurat tula. ~Written by Melton Balicano (a bikol dialect) since these eyes have been weighed down on unending i shall live while being slain by an old foe in this body this body where the craven had once boasted surging chagrins that blaspheme blasphemy that rouses this corpse in the dark treats that shed tears a messiah that taunts. he shall constantly peep through the window so that I see no light he will break in my casket not to thieve but to burden further the downfall shall rise then he becomes me penning a poem. ~a translation of Balicano's masterpiece Glenn Sentes

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I slept with her, my rapacious pen, took me in quiet vengeance in full on conjugation raken and taken, me, her overlording me now, her authorship, so long held in my maledom abeyance, a kept imprisonment, unleashing at last, a tongue lashing~leashing, de-spite my un-desirous craven lying supplications, excuses of innocence and accident, coincidence and conflation, ashes, ashes, denials incinerated, all fall down she wrote/stabbed upon my heartless chest, in the cheap crudités colors of a prisoner’s inking, “user of words mine, all mine” gathered up my innards of loose words, speculative notes & titles yet to be, born and kept hid in password protected silent back labor files, now hers, leaving me sputtering, unable to create, a homeless mute citizen, possession-less, helplessly hoping her hovering harlequin might relent, without any shelter, even a glimmering, a single aleph or bet she celebratory cackled and clawed, professed her reclamation ownership of all my poems predecessors, zola j’accusing that I, ripped from her forcibly, with no granted permission, her womanly touché of my scribing, warning of no more global warming for my unprivileged hands, daren’t try for pretenses of stolen legal guardianship, warning of a new, forced caining inscription, a tattooing of “thief” upon my 5 knuckled right ****** “plagiarist” boldly inked in back & blue upon my left palm I, predator, she, victim, of my now self-professed, admitted confess, she, my single victim, of a decade long serializing criminal coverup her parting poem a threatening, herein issued in this very verse, damning all who would falsely credit themselves, to suffer shame and an unimaginable curse, this, the newborn eleventh of ten commandments parting, she kissing my lips, even my emptied apertures, with warning bitings, she knew all my my numerous noms de guerre, no dead scrolls caves to hid in, and to be discovered some future day, and if ever marked as copyrighted, ’twas no tunneling escape, the exposed truth to be over-stamped upon all, upon each, in every language, ”copied right from the tongue of a woman!” and she would be wright...

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May 23, 2019

May 23, 2019 at 10:10 AM UTC

slept with my rapacious pen (she, full on conjugation)

I slept with her, my rapacious pen, took me in quiet vengeance in full on conjugation raken and taken, me, her overlording me now, her authorship, so long held in my maledom abeyance, a kept imprisonment, unleashing at last, a tongue lashing~leashing, de-spite my un-desirous craven lying supplications, excuses of innocence and accident, coincidence and conflation, ashes, ashes, denials incinerated, all fall down she wrote/stabbed upon my heartless chest, in the cheap crudités colors of a prisoner’s inking, “user of words mine, all mine” gathered up my innards of loose words, speculative notes & titles yet to be, born and kept hid in password protected silent back labor files, now hers, leaving me sputtering, unable to create, a homeless mute citizen, possession-less, helplessly hoping her hovering harlequin might relent, without any shelter, even a glimmering, a single aleph or bet she celebratory cackled and clawed, professed her reclamation ownership of all my poems predecessors, zola j’accusing that I, ripped from her forcibly, with no granted permission, her womanly touché of my scribing, warning of no more global warming for my unprivileged hands, daren’t try for pretenses of stolen legal guardianship, warning of a new, forced caining inscription, a tattooing of “thief” upon my 5 knuckled right ****** “plagiarist” boldly inked in back & blue upon my left palm I, predator, she, victim, of my now self-professed, admitted confess, she, my single victim, of a decade long serializing criminal coverup her parting poem a threatening, herein issued in this very verse, damning all who would falsely credit themselves, to suffer shame and an unimaginable curse, this, the newborn eleventh of ten commandments parting, she kissing my lips, even my emptied apertures, with warning bitings, she knew all my my numerous noms de guerre, no dead scrolls caves to hid in, and to be discovered some future day, and if ever marked as copyrighted, ’twas no tunneling escape, the exposed truth to be over-stamped upon all, upon each, in every language, ”copied right from the tongue of a woman!” and she would be wright...

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I am wrapped in her algid arms. I am lost in her evocative glare. I stand, environed by the Keres, Those dilapidated demons. Azrael, my craven shadow, clings To me as a vulture stalks its prey. Thanatos does each step possess Forward into this acidulous air. Fissured masks release languid screams That fall upon pallid faces that have Long since wilted in her Stygian womb. Enervated laughs drone in mangy ears. I stand on the periphery of this Asphyxiating cistern. I ambulate Across this sable field that shall Become the executioner’s blade.

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Jul 5, 2014

Jul 5, 2014 at 7:47 PM UTC

I am wrapped in her algid arms. I am lost in her evocative glare. I stand, environed by the Keres, Those dilapidated demons. Azrael, my craven shadow, clings To me as a vulture stalks its prey. Thanatos does each step possess Forward into this acidulous air. Fissured masks release languid screams That fall upon pallid faces that have Long since wilted in her Stygian womb. Enervated laughs drone in mangy ears. I stand on the periphery of this Asphyxiating cistern. I ambulate Across this sable field that shall Become the executioner’s blade.

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Writhing, violent rebellion Systems shutting down Uncontrollable behavior Powerless, I frown Fresh wounds by the second Digesting razor blades Flickering old habits Born of old flames Shredding softest weakness Corroding iron strength Nothing will escape Mind snaps, and bends Healing salve corrupted Swallow all the same Eradicates stomach lining Emptiness becomes pain Consciousness cradled Craven slumber, debased Maybe this time Maybe - ! Maybe not.

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Sep 16, 2025

Sep 16, 2025 at 9:12 PM UTC

Writhing, violent rebellion Systems shutting down Uncontrollable behavior Powerless, I frown Fresh wounds by the second Digesting razor blades Flickering old habits Born of old flames Shredding softest weakness Corroding iron strength Nothing will escape Mind snaps, and bends Healing salve corrupted Swallow all the same Eradicates stomach lining Emptiness becomes pain Consciousness cradled Craven slumber, debased Maybe this time Maybe - ! Maybe not.

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**Yo! Yo! My Drug of Choice **** Poets)** Yo! Yo! Member of the troupe? You up all nite? You always hungry, Making trouble, rite? You one of those? **** poets! Exist on strict diet? Pleasured-pain, Constant-continual surges Turn into urges, Full-time suspense, Juices always flowing. **** Poets! Yo! Yo! You one of those? Never knowing, What? When? The eyes gonna invert Retina images into words Brain signaling, semaphoring the fingers Yo! Yo! You don't get nine months, Maybe nine seconds, Then mother-birth another verse, ****** poets! Yo! Yo! Remember your first real high, That moment No absolution, no return. That moment When you admitted, confessed, to yourself: *I am Forever forward, A home-grown poet. I am Soul enslaved to words. The alphabet - My oxygen molecules, I am both, Addict and dealer A ****** poet* Yo! Yo! So you do recall, The exact moment, God-spark-within, ascendancy gained You lost control, Wept words instead of tears! A ****** poet ****** Yo! Yo! Sophie's Choice. You chose writing over breathing, Worshiper of the purest pleaure, ******* in deep the smoke-high of Head-nodding discontented contentment Stealing anything you saw For to satisfy the need, the craven Craving. ****** poets! Yo! Yo! Don't you're ever sleep? Hear that the city, the state, Gonna methadone your kind In a special program Teach you only language to sign. **** poets! **I am a ****** poet.** *The first step taken. Admission. Poetry is my default rest position,* My drug of choice. 5:07am June 12, 2013

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Jun 12, 2013

Jun 12, 2013 at 5:12 AM UTC

Yo! Yo! My Drug of Choice **** Poets)

**Yo! Yo! My Drug of Choice **** Poets)** Yo! Yo! Member of the troupe? You up all nite? You always hungry, Making trouble, rite? You one of those? **** poets! Exist on strict diet? Pleasured-pain, Constant-continual surges Turn into urges, Full-time suspense, Juices always flowing. **** Poets! Yo! Yo! You one of those? Never knowing, What? When? The eyes gonna invert Retina images into words Brain signaling, semaphoring the fingers Yo! Yo! You don't get nine months, Maybe nine seconds, Then mother-birth another verse, ****** poets! Yo! Yo! Remember your first real high, That moment No absolution, no return. That moment When you admitted, confessed, to yourself: *I am Forever forward, A home-grown poet. I am Soul enslaved to words. The alphabet - My oxygen molecules, I am both, Addict and dealer A ****** poet* Yo! Yo! So you do recall, The exact moment, God-spark-within, ascendancy gained You lost control, Wept words instead of tears! A ****** poet ****** Yo! Yo! Sophie's Choice. You chose writing over breathing, Worshiper of the purest pleaure, ******* in deep the smoke-high of Head-nodding discontented contentment Stealing anything you saw For to satisfy the need, the craven Craving. ****** poets! Yo! Yo! Don't you're ever sleep? Hear that the city, the state, Gonna methadone your kind In a special program Teach you only language to sign. **** poets! **I am a ****** poet.** *The first step taken. Admission. Poetry is my default rest position,* My drug of choice. 5:07am June 12, 2013

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The ghosts in the trees, They're all staring at me. I'm out here alone and lost, Can't they just let me be? The ghosts in the trees, They seem to be scared. I just want to go home, But I don't know my way there. A ghost of a raven shrieked from the tree. *You may hide in a ravine You may jump in the sea You can run to the mountain Pray to the craven But I will find theeee!* That ghost in the tree, It knows my name! Turning, I start to run, I don't like this game! That ghost in the tree, That shrieked my name. It's starting to follow me, Does it know I'm in pain? Raven, Raven Stark and mad No safe haven To be had Yellow beak Upon your back For evermore, Forever more. Ghostly raven in that tree, Why do you wish to torture me? I'm simply lost, I don't want trouble. Can't you just go to hell already?! Ghostly raven in that tree, I didn't really mean that. I'm already so afraid, I can't stand your beak upon my back. Flee, fly, foe, crumb My claws in your hair Till your heart grows numb -Begone or your'e done Evil black bird I can see, With your mocking and taunting. I see a glowing light ahead Your ghostly image is fading Evil black bird I can see, With your hatred and torture. The glowing light is within reach, I'll be gone and you have no future. *Begone, begone The night is long I fear your fear Unbidden here Forever more Forbidden.*

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Oct 5, 2014

Oct 5, 2014 at 8:21 PM UTC

the-girl-who-loved-you

Ghost Of Raven ~~~ Collaboration with The Incredible "r" :)

The ghosts in the trees, They're all staring at me. I'm out here alone and lost, Can't they just let me be? The ghosts in the trees, They seem to be scared. I just want to go home, But I don't know my way there. A ghost of a raven shrieked from the tree. *You may hide in a ravine You may jump in the sea You can run to the mountain Pray to the craven But I will find theeee!* That ghost in the tree, It knows my name! Turning, I start to run, I don't like this game! That ghost in the tree, That shrieked my name. It's starting to follow me, Does it know I'm in pain? Raven, Raven Stark and mad No safe haven To be had Yellow beak Upon your back For evermore, Forever more. Ghostly raven in that tree, Why do you wish to torture me? I'm simply lost, I don't want trouble. Can't you just go to hell already?! Ghostly raven in that tree, I didn't really mean that. I'm already so afraid, I can't stand your beak upon my back. Flee, fly, foe, crumb My claws in your hair Till your heart grows numb -Begone or your'e done Evil black bird I can see, With your mocking and taunting. I see a glowing light ahead Your ghostly image is fading Evil black bird I can see, With your hatred and torture. The glowing light is within reach, I'll be gone and you have no future. *Begone, begone The night is long I fear your fear Unbidden here Forever more Forbidden.*

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The alarm clock rings and once again the rooster sings the morning new. Slumbering flowers lift their petals to drink the drops of dew. Reliable Sun vanquishes the darkness as he lightens the sky. I see an honored guest is in the garden, his tiny nametag reads... butterfly. But on the other side of town someone struggles with addiction. Habits grab hard, break will powers in two. The will becomes won't and the power is all through. Satiated, temporaneously satisfied. only till the next time the habit has to be gratified. The victim moves on trying to reassemble his day Avoid a crooked roaded relapse, along the way. Oh ghost of the host why must repitition repeat the most and feel so good in its continuation? Why must familiarity breed the need for more familiar feelings? To the point of killing control, sealing a fate, dealing defeat, stifle healing. If your out there guardian soul, spirit helper, what's your roll, your goal? Guiding with helping hand or let stand the habitualized habit man. Isn't there a self preservation station within? A gland or impulse control button to switch from sin to win? Even Edgar Allan Poe stubbed his toe on a ten step program trying to get in the door. Ill-begotten and craven, drunken and unshaven cried the raven...never more. Guiding spirit it ends here! No more slave to the crave or impulse picking from the addiction tree. The need to repeat and repeat the pattern becomes a self fulfilling prophesy. Back to normalacy, complacency, it's a moderation that one seeks. To enjoy the ****** of bells, hallalulah wails, a babies dimpled cheeks. Can you do that Spirit helper, please. Let sing the bodies vibration. No more internal damnation. No more self flagellation. Allow to draw power from these words. Think of this all as an intervention!

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Jun 25, 2018

Jun 25, 2018 at 6:52 PM UTC

Addicted to Habit

The alarm clock rings and once again the rooster sings the morning new. Slumbering flowers lift their petals to drink the drops of dew. Reliable Sun vanquishes the darkness as he lightens the sky. I see an honored guest is in the garden, his tiny nametag reads... butterfly. But on the other side of town someone struggles with addiction. Habits grab hard, break will powers in two. The will becomes won't and the power is all through. Satiated, temporaneously satisfied. only till the next time the habit has to be gratified. The victim moves on trying to reassemble his day Avoid a crooked roaded relapse, along the way. Oh ghost of the host why must repitition repeat the most and feel so good in its continuation? Why must familiarity breed the need for more familiar feelings? To the point of killing control, sealing a fate, dealing defeat, stifle healing. If your out there guardian soul, spirit helper, what's your roll, your goal? Guiding with helping hand or let stand the habitualized habit man. Isn't there a self preservation station within? A gland or impulse control button to switch from sin to win? Even Edgar Allan Poe stubbed his toe on a ten step program trying to get in the door. Ill-begotten and craven, drunken and unshaven cried the raven...never more. Guiding spirit it ends here! No more slave to the crave or impulse picking from the addiction tree. The need to repeat and repeat the pattern becomes a self fulfilling prophesy. Back to normalacy, complacency, it's a moderation that one seeks. To enjoy the ****** of bells, hallalulah wails, a babies dimpled cheeks. Can you do that Spirit helper, please. Let sing the bodies vibration. No more internal damnation. No more self flagellation. Allow to draw power from these words. Think of this all as an intervention!

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do you have a dark secret my darling a terrible brain instead of nice ***** pink girl things you ache for ****** insertions cutting edges menstrual swab mouth plug selfies while you pretend all is well loving Mother Mary at the church with mummy knowing deep down inside your a ***** ***** god dam the boys look good do you have the courage to admit it first to your self and then another or shall you live muzzled as you finger ***** obsessed with flying ***** and devils teeth pigs nuzzling mud and **** strewn at a *** trough you love playing with fire hot toes and **** oh yeah turn up the ****** heat your craven desires to be a **** toy and then the pleasure break me break me twisted broken little **** toy if you could only find me your Lover Linker Licker Sucker Thinker Maker Shaker Breaker ****** Burner Cutter Shooter Impaler the one who glorifies your *** hole insinuates kisses that tear who adores your midnight whimpers howls of pleasure cries for help no safe words bending bending broken mutilation gasms you smiling succubus hobbling over for another hard blow your **** drenched ******* zinging from razors play blood red rivulets falling on pretty feet while good people dream of angels you dream of big cocked men and merciless gang bangs a sweet ***** of Babylon hard justice cruelties ecstatic being beaten to death by 100 buttered ***** legs and arms piled high and **** and **** and more **** your holy trinity no you say there must be some mistake thats not you your on gods leash burying yourself in black rocks crypt of normalcy your goody goody goody time to cinch up veil of the nunnery hinge on the death mask no honey theres no gorilla in your cave crushing girlie's soul pride will out shine all til last bloom is no more then learn laments fury

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Jul 31, 2016

Jul 31, 2016 at 1:22 PM UTC

Dark Secret...explicit adult ***

do you have a dark secret my darling a terrible brain instead of nice ***** pink girl things you ache for ****** insertions cutting edges menstrual swab mouth plug selfies while you pretend all is well loving Mother Mary at the church with mummy knowing deep down inside your a ***** ***** god dam the boys look good do you have the courage to admit it first to your self and then another or shall you live muzzled as you finger ***** obsessed with flying ***** and devils teeth pigs nuzzling mud and **** strewn at a *** trough you love playing with fire hot toes and **** oh yeah turn up the ****** heat your craven desires to be a **** toy and then the pleasure break me break me twisted broken little **** toy if you could only find me your Lover Linker Licker Sucker Thinker Maker Shaker Breaker ****** Burner Cutter Shooter Impaler the one who glorifies your *** hole insinuates kisses that tear who adores your midnight whimpers howls of pleasure cries for help no safe words bending bending broken mutilation gasms you smiling succubus hobbling over for another hard blow your **** drenched ******* zinging from razors play blood red rivulets falling on pretty feet while good people dream of angels you dream of big cocked men and merciless gang bangs a sweet ***** of Babylon hard justice cruelties ecstatic being beaten to death by 100 buttered ***** legs and arms piled high and **** and **** and more **** your holy trinity no you say there must be some mistake thats not you your on gods leash burying yourself in black rocks crypt of normalcy your goody goody goody time to cinch up veil of the nunnery hinge on the death mask no honey theres no gorilla in your cave crushing girlie's soul pride will out shine all til last bloom is no more then learn laments fury

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I dreamed there was a evil man searching for wealth beyond all riches hidden in the hardened sculpture of a woman there was a hero too I could not see his face he journeyed to a sacred cave to guard the precious treasure he climbed inside the statue's hollow center and held the treasure to his chest where it radiated with such intensity he had to close his eyes it gently pulsed in his hands calming the anxiousness leaching sour in his throat the villain shrouded black entered the cave a belligerent pirate yelling obscenities *where are you ***** when I find you, you'll be sorry you think you can hide from me? no one will ever love you the way that I do* his craven hunger upon seeing the lost prize glowing heavenly beneath sapphire stalactites left this dreamer cold he began to tear at the sculpture's ******* with hands encased in forged steel spiked fingernails slicing until shimmering gold bloomed in the statue's chest zealously the villain tore deeper molten yellow dripped from his over-eager fingers when suddenly from the center came a flash of scorching fire the villain dissolved to ash without a single sound the hero too transformed into a luminous bird not unlike a phoenix he shook fresh wings flexed honed talons raised his crested head and from hooked beak there came a sound like a choir of voices singing the hero flapped three times and soared out of the cavern into the bluest sky I'd ever seen

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Mar 9, 2016

Mar 9, 2016 at 11:50 AM UTC

I Dream In Archetype

I dreamed there was a evil man searching for wealth beyond all riches hidden in the hardened sculpture of a woman there was a hero too I could not see his face he journeyed to a sacred cave to guard the precious treasure he climbed inside the statue's hollow center and held the treasure to his chest where it radiated with such intensity he had to close his eyes it gently pulsed in his hands calming the anxiousness leaching sour in his throat the villain shrouded black entered the cave a belligerent pirate yelling obscenities *where are you ***** when I find you, you'll be sorry you think you can hide from me? no one will ever love you the way that I do* his craven hunger upon seeing the lost prize glowing heavenly beneath sapphire stalactites left this dreamer cold he began to tear at the sculpture's ******* with hands encased in forged steel spiked fingernails slicing until shimmering gold bloomed in the statue's chest zealously the villain tore deeper molten yellow dripped from his over-eager fingers when suddenly from the center came a flash of scorching fire the villain dissolved to ash without a single sound the hero too transformed into a luminous bird not unlike a phoenix he shook fresh wings flexed honed talons raised his crested head and from hooked beak there came a sound like a choir of voices singing the hero flapped three times and soared out of the cavern into the bluest sky I'd ever seen

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Red post boxes stand on street corners like aged prostitutes rusted and flaking and they are going the way of phone boxes and TV aerial? Are there still milkman? Who writes letters? Postcards from men working down a pit? Stuck in the trench I killed time by attening seminars about powerful words, the history of things, body language as legitimate currency exposing the micro. A craven emptiness screaming extinction.

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Jan 8, 2013

Jan 8, 2013 at 2:51 AM UTC

are there still milkmen?

Red post boxes stand on street corners like aged prostitutes rusted and flaking and they are going the way of phone boxes and TV aerial? Are there still milkman? Who writes letters? Postcards from men working down a pit? Stuck in the trench I killed time by attening seminars about powerful words, the history of things, body language as legitimate currency exposing the micro. A craven emptiness screaming extinction.

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...gives a shiver.....it shames me, my weaknesses, are on the surface needing, rises this misty evening. this cold, cold night, further emphasizes, i need God...His Light and Shadow, to reassure me, when gray, covers blue skies my loved ones are my inspirations they feed my need to write yet, they have their own concerns... i humbly accept.....i am not my own island... there's this urge to run...to race with gusty winds, arrive fast, at my desired destination, .......but, i am halted...always reminded... ...i listen to two soft voices within ..one is guiding...the other, almost rebelling... i feel the chill from this empty space next to me i'm a mix of want........and fear....for, i need you this moment of twilight, ...and each long night that i stay awake floating, in this expanse of darkness... my conflicted soul...sends out signals of fear.. do my fears make me a craven coward? the evening breeze makes its presence known i weep in a hush, from thoughts of sailing...alone, ................ on life's lengthy moonlit bays........ ..after enunciation ...of my true voice, my conscience i could use some company ......like, i need you now .............to help me make it, ...................through this night of exile... Sally Copyright September 19, 2016 Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

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Nov 9, 2016

Nov 9, 2016 at 12:05 AM UTC

The cold of the evening breeze,

...gives a shiver.....it shames me, my weaknesses, are on the surface needing, rises this misty evening. this cold, cold night, further emphasizes, i need God...His Light and Shadow, to reassure me, when gray, covers blue skies my loved ones are my inspirations they feed my need to write yet, they have their own concerns... i humbly accept.....i am not my own island... there's this urge to run...to race with gusty winds, arrive fast, at my desired destination, .......but, i am halted...always reminded... ...i listen to two soft voices within ..one is guiding...the other, almost rebelling... i feel the chill from this empty space next to me i'm a mix of want........and fear....for, i need you this moment of twilight, ...and each long night that i stay awake floating, in this expanse of darkness... my conflicted soul...sends out signals of fear.. do my fears make me a craven coward? the evening breeze makes its presence known i weep in a hush, from thoughts of sailing...alone, ................ on life's lengthy moonlit bays........ ..after enunciation ...of my true voice, my conscience i could use some company ......like, i need you now .............to help me make it, ...................through this night of exile... Sally Copyright September 19, 2016 Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

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you and i are split skin. split skin in a cave. shadow craven sparks in the nonplus of our one up you and i are this djinn, white marble lathe of sparrows , ravenous larks upon our dumb lust, such universal slit wind. It's bent in a wave. hallowed pavilions, susurrus the rhombus of love's knave who cuts up.

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Dec 8, 2012

Dec 8, 2012 at 5:37 PM UTC

third-eye-candy

Freud and Plato

you and i are split skin. split skin in a cave. shadow craven sparks in the nonplus of our one up you and i are this djinn, white marble lathe of sparrows , ravenous larks upon our dumb lust, such universal slit wind. It's bent in a wave. hallowed pavilions, susurrus the rhombus of love's knave who cuts up.

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You used to be a safe haven A place to nestle against your warmth and love. Before you turned craven, And rejected everything I offered with a brusque shove. You are now my unsafe haven Every word you speak you twist and tangle Your meaning like the feathers of a raven And the sweet memories are now seen from a different angle Look what you have lost my darling! My love, my trust, my admiration. Every time we speak my inner animal is snarling. Gnashing at the veneer draped thinly over your oration. The instinct to fight, and the instinct to surrender to your lies collide One animal baring teeth and readying for our witty battle The other slinking toward you, her will to hurt you died. But behind every sweet word I hear the deceit rattle. You play the game like no one I have ever known A true master, an ace at pleasures of the now But I no longer wish to play, all the cards I have I've shown So keep your prize, I no longer want your broken vow. You are full of danger and desire Of pain and hate and lies I truly don't think you want to be a liar But in the end it is always me who tries.

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Nov 15, 2015

Nov 15, 2015 at 6:52 PM UTC

You used to be a safe haven A place to nestle against your warmth and love. Before you turned craven, And rejected everything I offered with a brusque shove. You are now my unsafe haven Every word you speak you twist and tangle Your meaning like the feathers of a raven And the sweet memories are now seen from a different angle Look what you have lost my darling! My love, my trust, my admiration. Every time we speak my inner animal is snarling. Gnashing at the veneer draped thinly over your oration. The instinct to fight, and the instinct to surrender to your lies collide One animal baring teeth and readying for our witty battle The other slinking toward you, her will to hurt you died. But behind every sweet word I hear the deceit rattle. You play the game like no one I have ever known A true master, an ace at pleasures of the now But I no longer wish to play, all the cards I have I've shown So keep your prize, I no longer want your broken vow. You are full of danger and desire Of pain and hate and lies I truly don't think you want to be a liar But in the end it is always me who tries.

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Following the path less taken Over all the low roads and Routes plummeting towards the craven Gateways of Hell takes the travelers Into enlightenment. Those who avoid Satan's Vengeance and forked whispers Emerge from the waters of the lake in Nature's womb veiled in holy layers Encompassing their soul. This ache in Society seeps into the bones of naysayers Slandering the purging powers of equal pardon.

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Jun 24, 2019

Jun 24, 2019 at 12:17 PM UTC

Following the path less taken Over all the low roads and Routes plummeting towards the craven Gateways of Hell takes the travelers Into enlightenment. Those who avoid Satan's Vengeance and forked whispers Emerge from the waters of the lake in Nature's womb veiled in holy layers Encompassing their soul. This ache in Society seeps into the bones of naysayers Slandering the purging powers of equal pardon.

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I met a man the other day-- A kindly man, and serious-- Who viewed me in a thoughtful way, And spoke me so, and spoke me thus: "Oh, dallying's a sad mistake; 'Tis craven to survey the morrow! Go give your heart, and if it break-- A wise companion is Sorrow. "Oh, live, my child, nor keep your soul To crowd your coffin when you're dead...." I asked his work; he dealt in coal, And shipped it up the Tyne, he said.

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2k

I met a man the other day-- A kindly man, and serious-- Who viewed me in a thoughtful way, And spoke me so, and spoke me thus: "Oh, dallying's a sad mistake; 'Tis craven to survey the morrow! Go give your heart, and if it break-- A wise companion is Sorrow. "Oh, live, my child, nor keep your soul To crowd your coffin when you're dead...." I asked his work; he dealt in coal, And shipped it up the Tyne, he said.

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some of us walk insistently, instinctively, and instantly to and upon the edged path, this physical nexus & abstract mental locus, a cliffside enticing rock strewn trail, drawn of men, by men, for men (yes, men are people too, still) enthralling views, down to the riverside, where eyes intuit the beauteous aroma of precious precocious precarious precipices and the near-stench of mortality amidst wafting scents of inane undesirable need, hints of destruction, or, alternating eager relief, like a ****** infused, instant attractiveness, making weakness in the knees, all too real, trembling with a delicious accented edge of a fresh, familiar scent, fresh baked bread, an all enveloping consumption need now! to crave what we fear, to fear what we crave our cravings are craven, this twisted sense, annuls our common sensibility, yet, titillates our pleasured imagined relief, releases, our unsated, even better, our insatiable curiosity to tremble, an entire body enjoined by vibrato~ enticing tremulations, shaken and stirred, this danger choice releases something primordial, escape? a reckless wrecking so deeply designed, it has its very own designation…death wish multitudes of easy choices afforded my senses, and by accident, all mine chosen, all nearby, I travel the esplanade près de the East River, where even if calm is the sole visiblilty, undercurrents and the unpredictable passage of container wakes and the larger freighters will hand you down, so easy, to become parcel to a littered river bottom of centuries’ artifacts but even more tempting, the balcony, a hop, skip and a jump unlocked, mere ten steps, no need for a running start why it’s the “height of convenience,” he ruefully winces, and not even any TSA lines or inconveniencing “conveniences” Why this calamity seems so desperately desirable, Why this unabrogated feat so featured, nay, even feted in our hot? cold? bloodstream “Why just men? *I don't know, Perhaps, it is all I know.*”

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Dec 5, 2023

Dec 5, 2023 at 5:42 PM UTC

Men & Heights. (A Companion Piece to “Do You Know Why Men Cry in the Bathroom”)

some of us walk insistently, instinctively, and instantly to and upon the edged path, this physical nexus & abstract mental locus, a cliffside enticing rock strewn trail, drawn of men, by men, for men (yes, men are people too, still) enthralling views, down to the riverside, where eyes intuit the beauteous aroma of precious precocious precarious precipices and the near-stench of mortality amidst wafting scents of inane undesirable need, hints of destruction, or, alternating eager relief, like a ****** infused, instant attractiveness, making weakness in the knees, all too real, trembling with a delicious accented edge of a fresh, familiar scent, fresh baked bread, an all enveloping consumption need now! to crave what we fear, to fear what we crave our cravings are craven, this twisted sense, annuls our common sensibility, yet, titillates our pleasured imagined relief, releases, our unsated, even better, our insatiable curiosity to tremble, an entire body enjoined by vibrato~ enticing tremulations, shaken and stirred, this danger choice releases something primordial, escape? a reckless wrecking so deeply designed, it has its very own designation…death wish multitudes of easy choices afforded my senses, and by accident, all mine chosen, all nearby, I travel the esplanade près de the East River, where even if calm is the sole visiblilty, undercurrents and the unpredictable passage of container wakes and the larger freighters will hand you down, so easy, to become parcel to a littered river bottom of centuries’ artifacts but even more tempting, the balcony, a hop, skip and a jump unlocked, mere ten steps, no need for a running start why it’s the “height of convenience,” he ruefully winces, and not even any TSA lines or inconveniencing “conveniences” Why this calamity seems so desperately desirable, Why this unabrogated feat so featured, nay, even feted in our hot? cold? bloodstream “Why just men? *I don't know, Perhaps, it is all I know.*”

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Deep beneath deepest reaches of the furthest recess of my mind I found a craven creature, singing, madly clawing blind into the darkness desperate to find a shaft of light by which to see its tattered tethered binds unbound. Screeching at its unknown captor. Screaming to the sky. Shrieking like a banshee being slaughtered but alive. Bellowing, bruised, and blackened beast, best buried deep below- you'll never see the light of day, Nor freedom shall you know. Claw madly at your cavern walls; Howl mournful; Be untamed. But do not expect a civil birth, born free of shackled chains, without first being bested by him to whom you belong; whose nights you terrify; who wrote your sorrowful song

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May 15, 2017

May 15, 2017 at 4:09 PM UTC

thomas-hatchett

Deep in the Reach

Deep beneath deepest reaches of the furthest recess of my mind I found a craven creature, singing, madly clawing blind into the darkness desperate to find a shaft of light by which to see its tattered tethered binds unbound. Screeching at its unknown captor. Screaming to the sky. Shrieking like a banshee being slaughtered but alive. Bellowing, bruised, and blackened beast, best buried deep below- you'll never see the light of day, Nor freedom shall you know. Claw madly at your cavern walls; Howl mournful; Be untamed. But do not expect a civil birth, born free of shackled chains, without first being bested by him to whom you belong; whose nights you terrify; who wrote your sorrowful song

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Sundown in Onyx Warning This Poem is rated Mature and may contain material unsuitable for readers under 18. Ask if we are far along enough now for a close up, when my eyes are closed it's my heart that answers in body movements. So does it really matter from whence the wind comes who tags along with strings and violins as long as it brings him to me gently. and gently he would come, opens me as soft as petals, prying inside, branded, as hot as a red iron with his blushing in me. brushing of cheeks, in plaits of winter twine and in my mind , I could not stop this soul song from happening. takes me into it's web of desire, and cradles me there wet and unfolding as a flower that blooms in the dark dew of June nights and gold leaves. grasp my lower jaw and force apart my lips, open my mouth , and check for teeth , examining the inner walls filled with the width of the world in subconscious whispers slowly exploring the fit within reach. love this body that calls for a raven shameless and craven, thoughts of him black as onyx at my neck oval as half of eternity, there is no space between my heart and where this sun goes down.

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Sep 13, 2015

Sep 13, 2015 at 11:38 AM UTC

Sundown in Onyx

Sundown in Onyx Warning This Poem is rated Mature and may contain material unsuitable for readers under 18. Ask if we are far along enough now for a close up, when my eyes are closed it's my heart that answers in body movements. So does it really matter from whence the wind comes who tags along with strings and violins as long as it brings him to me gently. and gently he would come, opens me as soft as petals, prying inside, branded, as hot as a red iron with his blushing in me. brushing of cheeks, in plaits of winter twine and in my mind , I could not stop this soul song from happening. takes me into it's web of desire, and cradles me there wet and unfolding as a flower that blooms in the dark dew of June nights and gold leaves. grasp my lower jaw and force apart my lips, open my mouth , and check for teeth , examining the inner walls filled with the width of the world in subconscious whispers slowly exploring the fit within reach. love this body that calls for a raven shameless and craven, thoughts of him black as onyx at my neck oval as half of eternity, there is no space between my heart and where this sun goes down.

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I feel the friction raising blisters to fingers. I feel the whispers of the smoke when it lingers, a siren rifling delirium and biting to the throat of a genius who questions how bad miasma hurts the singer. It's the quintessential fever dream between us Oh, he's so smart, look at his three page diatribe describing his rage, he's a machinist yeah Go join the dire parades of craven weakness. Admire reagents calculated to the T, brewed and created for playfully degrading, and raising heart rate, lying to you, and prying from your fingers. When they ask you why you're dying be facetious. Just sew the mask on to your face and make it seamless. Breath it in. Smell the plastic and bone. Relax enraptured in what half of us know. We drink the rumors from a chalice, sink in fallacies of balance, humor actuates the patterns, and its harder to battle the tumor after it's grown. Then we're just grass on the road, and we can laugh as we go, and we can act as if inaction ain't the crack in the stone. And we'll be baffled alone. We'll be the practical applicants of a graph of a lung, hung in a school. Drooling hospital drones. Stool in a bag on his side. Try to hide the agony in seeing lagging behind tank of life on a chain. Banking his breath on a check, and when it bounces he dies. It ends faster than you think it might. Don't even start.

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Dec 12, 2018

Dec 12, 2018 at 4:00 PM UTC

Don't even start

I feel the friction raising blisters to fingers. I feel the whispers of the smoke when it lingers, a siren rifling delirium and biting to the throat of a genius who questions how bad miasma hurts the singer. It's the quintessential fever dream between us Oh, he's so smart, look at his three page diatribe describing his rage, he's a machinist yeah Go join the dire parades of craven weakness. Admire reagents calculated to the T, brewed and created for playfully degrading, and raising heart rate, lying to you, and prying from your fingers. When they ask you why you're dying be facetious. Just sew the mask on to your face and make it seamless. Breath it in. Smell the plastic and bone. Relax enraptured in what half of us know. We drink the rumors from a chalice, sink in fallacies of balance, humor actuates the patterns, and its harder to battle the tumor after it's grown. Then we're just grass on the road, and we can laugh as we go, and we can act as if inaction ain't the crack in the stone. And we'll be baffled alone. We'll be the practical applicants of a graph of a lung, hung in a school. Drooling hospital drones. Stool in a bag on his side. Try to hide the agony in seeing lagging behind tank of life on a chain. Banking his breath on a check, and when it bounces he dies. It ends faster than you think it might. Don't even start.

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A stilted stay, a pregnant pause, as shadows sharpen midnight claws. A dimming dome oppressed by night, smiles weakly on this parasite. It enters as a Trojan horse, along a crawled collision course. Its hollow husk holds silent spies, who have no room for alibis. This craven creature starts to nest, in memories you'd long repressed and darts behind your mood's eclipse, a smirk of sadness on its lips. From weary womb the beast begets, its offspring weaned upon regrets. Until it stirs with needle teeth, to tear the tenderness beneath. It stalks from shade, a grievance grown, to steal the thoughts that were your own. Its brittle bark a bare refrain, before it leaps and snaps the chain.

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Aug 7, 2014

Aug 7, 2014 at 12:59 PM UTC

A stilted stay, a pregnant pause, as shadows sharpen midnight claws. A dimming dome oppressed by night, smiles weakly on this parasite. It enters as a Trojan horse, along a crawled collision course. Its hollow husk holds silent spies, who have no room for alibis. This craven creature starts to nest, in memories you'd long repressed and darts behind your mood's eclipse, a smirk of sadness on its lips. From weary womb the beast begets, its offspring weaned upon regrets. Until it stirs with needle teeth, to tear the tenderness beneath. It stalks from shade, a grievance grown, to steal the thoughts that were your own. Its brittle bark a bare refrain, before it leaps and snaps the chain.

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Last night as I lay thinking of monsters under my bed... creeping crawling crouching clawing clamoring crushing crunching cracking clutching clasping clipping cutting cleaving crowing craving craven cringing cowering crying ... there are a lot of monstrous words that begin with C.

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Nov 15, 2012

Nov 15, 2012 at 11:13 AM UTC

Last night as I lay thinking of monsters under my bed... creeping crawling crouching clawing clamoring crushing crunching cracking clutching clasping clipping cutting cleaving crowing craving craven cringing cowering crying ... there are a lot of monstrous words that begin with C.

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