"craw" poems
I Craw in the Urban Jungle night after night, making shadows my best friend
Because my pale skin would get sunburn in the day time.
Many of you have read about me on the internet,
But don't know if we exist like the Yeti or Bigfoot
Every now and then you see photos of me and hear stories about our existence
But here I am, White, Nerdy and…. Nerdy
Nerdy like the Nerds falling out of the box and skipping on the floor of my lair
(or my parents basement whatever you call it).
Some moments you will find me praying to my shrine for my savior, Weird Al Yankovic
Many of you may call us “ Losers”
But let me take a moment to tell you why you are wrong, in every way.
First off, We are not losers we just win at things that you don't care about
Like the Rubik's Cube, Dungeon and Dragons, and Larping
We don’t care about making friends, getting the poo tang, or getting high off of our *****
No we are too occupied trying to plan how we will survive the zombie apocalypse,
Or debating on if Star Wars is better than Star Track.
We are too busy reading comic books, Leveling up our one handedness
On Skyrim of course.
You think that we are hideous,
But in all reality, my acne improves my defenses against mother nature,
My braces are actually tools that government uses so they can reflect solar flares back to space
I'm ugly because god decided to make me pick up girls on ******** mode because before you Meet me it was way too easy.
Many of you think that we are weak
I may have spaghetti arms, no abs, but you know what, no problem,
Because if you look at my shadow, you see someone that 10 feet tall and bulletproof
I am a nerd, hear me roar.
My roar breaks your paper thin confidence
As it just floats in the wind like leaves, leaving the tree in October
My roar will rock your house with all of your friends leaving you alone because in the end, you May be popular but lets be honest, who are your real friends?
Call me weak, I dare you
Being a nerd has taught me many things
Like don't eat cake because it is deceiving
And that Neo should of taken the blue pill
Because that movie series was terrible.
And that DC Comics is the best, ***** Marvel
But the one thing it taught me the most is that be proud of myself.
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 10:03 PM UTC
my wriggling
dory in
nautical wine
that attested
my craw
with my
line high
now artistry
win a
bite-sized cling
that naturally
could sing
and dance
with the
air and
rhythm of
its strand
Nov 12, 2018
Nov 12, 2018 at 6:33 AM UTC
Like sugar from a shaker, snow falls on Saul the baker
delivering steamy biscuits from the shop he calls his home
to a drafty run down mansion where the princess on her pension
can be testy with her tension, hence she's living on her own.
Today he took her order, "One fresh bagel, for a quarter
'cause I haven't seen the likes of one since I left my childhood home".
Well he'd never baked a bagel, but he's not one to finagle
and wanting just to please her, finds a recipe from Rome.
And he's thinking to himself, "I must be way out of mind~
no woman's gonna want a baker's life"
but he carries deep inside his heart, the will to be a friend
hoping someday she will come around and one day be his wife.
So to win her deep affection he packs up his best confection
takes his chances on the back roads, now iced over in the storm.
Finds her waiting in the foyer with her thrifty 5 cent lawyer
complaining 'bout the day old bread and... "this bagel isn't warm!"
So..... he heats it on the fire, 'cause her heart is his desire
but she won't accept the bagel for it's not quite the right form
And he's thinking to himself, "I must be way out of mind
no woman gonna want a baker's life"
but he carries deep inside his heart, the will to be a friend
hoping someday she will come around and one day be his wife.
So he runs back to his bagel board and pounds the dough and rolls a cord
and shapes the perfect circle to a bagel lovers dream,
He boils and then he bakes it and to her mansion then he takes it
piping hot but now she wants it with churned butter from fresh cream!
Well he's starting to get antsy but he knows the farmer, Clancy
whose butter is fresh-churned and known by counties far and wide.
He heads out to the pasture and he buys what he is after
and returns to find, 'tis so unkind, the princess, she had died.
The baker in his stricken state swallows the bagel off the plate
he calls the cops, pulls out the stops and serves the day old bread.
He gives the details more than once of how he ate the evidence
and though he thought his story bought, they arrested him instead.
"Tis a likely story", was the only thing he heard
although they'd bought his baked goods, they could not buy his word.
"The Baker is a Butcher", is what the tabloid said,
"better to take your bagel cold than take it in the head."
But all was not as it appears, she owed the butcher in arrears
and when they went to check her craw they found a hunk of mutton.
It ended all without a trial, the butcher he did reconcile
and posted "Pay the butcher now and do not to be a glutton."
And Saul was thinking to himself, " I must be way out of mind",
no woman's gonna want a baker's life",
but he carried deep inside his heart the will to be a friend
and it turned rather nicely as she willed him in the end.
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 8:55 PM UTC
prey tracked
relentlessly pursued
mass of zebra
whacked
pulverized
to the ground
powerful jaws of lion
employed
in the gruesome ****
throat of prey
exposed
oozing scarlet ****
lion consumes
a bloating portion
for himself
deference shown to lion
an uninvited hyena
joins in
snarls and snappy retorts
go between the two
hyena knows
the borders
at nature's table
with
lion king
both delight
in the zebra's
ample flesh
and its sweet
warm entrails
they savor
every morsel
above in stark
glared filled skies
anticipating crows
circle
frenzy intense
hungering craw
needing
needing
squawking
to announce
arrival
descending in unison
blanketing the zebra's carcass
beaks tearing
the meager scraps
from the bones
welcome
sustenance
at natures
all too sparse table
each creature know its place
crow has a place reserved
scavenger on the rim
Oct 13, 2013
Oct 13, 2013 at 9:16 PM UTC
Aye think o this
When winter breezes blaws aroun'
whare silent thochts are filled wae gloom
and drifting words,they echo past
frae fearful man an fearful lass
In haunted hooses and misty lans
whare Ghosties an gobblins an unco bans
Pass atween this an theirs, that form
amidst tha thunders crashing storm.
Aye tucked up aroun yeer mithers apron
wae teeth a nashing an voices wailing
Fine ye ken this unhaly nicht
tis filled wae all unGodly licht
Craw tha Banshee frae tha Ben
like howlet song throughoot tha Glen.
Satan, Auld horney casts his lots
for innocent bairnies fresh frae their cots
An' ancient stories there arise an fly
Like shooting stars that fill tha sky
for here in tales tha croonies dae rattle
in haunting airs and fiendish battle
leagons arise tae tha masters calling
This nicht hell awakens, aahhh tha heevens are falling.
Here in blackened darkened skies
whare lichtning flashes weaves an cries
An mortal man fears fa his soul
against that heelish burning coal
Ministers intae their beds are fleeing
wae ranting verses fa all their Dealing.
Whare auld worn hags an witches cast
upon tha waters that blaw an blast
drooning mony tha ship an sailor
all fa tha glory O their Demonic tailor
when cauldrens stir in bubbling brews
An damnation demands its richtful dues
tha lan' it heaves and haws
devouring all within its jaws
A Blood red Moon casts her lot
whare evil men have Died an fought
tha Earth auld an worn frae tribulation
demands the blood of every nation.
Here within the fields o life
brither against brither in war an strife
hae released all this fiendish nightmare
fa all their guilt,fa all they share
Alisdaire O'Caoimph
Mar 21, 2011
Mar 21, 2011 at 8:05 AM UTC
Marble black bark grow bed sheets of parchment attached by
strings. Spillage of pink arises from the abdomen. Fused clothing fibers substitute layers of bark.........
The vivid aroma of rot and feasting maggots harmonize...............
A cadaver drilled by burrowing insects. Beetles, flies, pismires, and parallels. A carcass crammed with 200 seeds. Bulbous seeds in the nose. Deposited bulbs rooted in brain tissue. Thick specks of white nuzzle into flesh emerge. Squirm out of the cubicles. Insects feasting simultaneously............
A figure emerges from the edge of perception. Routinely gorging the cadavers vital delicacies. Amid spouts of fainting spells.......................
Grabbing lumps of brain matter. Shoveling it towards his gaping hole. Ravenously consuming the bland ashen chunks. Gripping the cranium and sipping the diluted ***
Sliding two slippery marbles into his gullet. Then suddenly publicizing his medals amid his fangs. Deteriorating into slush immediately........
Piercing the stationary ticker with talons. Shortly guzzling the dense scarlet metallic droplets. Promptly the sticky liquid cerise matter slithered into his craw. Hurling the white speckled rims simultaneously in glee. Than consuming the exterior synthetic.........
The corpse is convulsing..wheezing..........chest withering in pain. Man devours his own living corpse, neglecting to swallow his toes. A daily phenomenon……to devour yourself.
What of the toes? Looted by a motivated businessman the next day. “Oh the painstaking horror of humanities hunger,” the motivated businessman then asserted into thin air.
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 6:53 PM UTC
12 BARS
Twelve brazen bars, one frozen lock!
Confined, sublime, an ancient Roc
endures inside a barren cage,
her catacomb in sundown sage.
Of former days there is no trace
except displays of fallen grace –
Twelve dreams, abiding in her place,
are free, inhabit yawning space:
12 DREAMS
... of wings unfurled, and seething eyes
that dredge the depths of dawning skies,
devining clouds that cling below,
once ice, dissolved in morning’s glow;
... of clutching winds that carry free
above an anguished leaden sea,
dispersing dust of distant stars
midst chunks of chain in slave bazaars;
... of swooping to a silent shore
to perch beside the ocean’s roar,
at last to feel the sobbing breeze
message the leaves of rooted trees;
... of stalking strays and twilight tramps
within the fog of lighthouse lamps
that blink forlorn through caldron nights
in search of shades of errant Kites;
... of darkling vast deserted lands,
with shadowed stones on windswept sands,
where ghosts of Moorish maidens lost
disgorge faint groans in mourning frost;
... of blotting out the bloated moon
while feathers beat a banshee tune
and glimmers dance and prance aglow
upon a pearly pale plateau;
... of tasting cool torrential rains,
beyond the realm of binding chains,
and sipping freedom they exude
in quite drops of solitude;
... of vanquishing a galley crew
aboard a ship in midnight dew,
beneath the pierce of seagulls' screams
that mock the strands of scarlet streams;
... of sating once an aching craw
with tearing beak, with ripping claw,
and echoed by an eldritch screech
while feasting on abandoned beach;
... of restive thoughts and weary wings
that drift on haze in smoky rings,
obscured within the opal shroud
of her resemblance in the crowd;
... of croaking caws in broken rhyme
in winter woe, in summer clime,
while building nests of sundown sage
beyond outside a barren cage.
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 8:28 AM UTC
Transcendentally existential in-extremis extremity nuance. Vicinity victual vigilante villain. Propinquity habitation harbinger harangued. Clairaudience clairvoyance agilely dexterous acuity, tactile coordination. Feral phrenic frenzied **** Carousel ceaselessly ceremony chaos character charisma. 29th Psalm some holy spirit, the angel was a vision of resplendent beauty as it hovered in mid air above the knoll. Apex axis crux and citadel pinnacle's peak. And yet I would distance traveled time spent like to mitigate this of in to you. What then is the essence of metaphysical mystique. I say lets ethereally sublime be mesmerically enrapturing. Ecstatically euphoric and climactically ******** Let your vicarious recalcitrance revel in the prolific profuseness of my profundity as we lavish in our wanton abandon. Though paw flaw laws are to claws aimed craw, horsefeathers are more proficient and surreal on the salaciously seductive.
Sep 16, 2016
Sep 16, 2016 at 1:50 AM UTC
Got the brand new budget inspiration blues
I'm gonna spend my money any old way I choose
come the first I'll pay the rent
Lord knows that money's heaven sent
and anyway you add it up you just can't lose
when you're payin with the brand new budget Inspiration Blues...
Got into an accident last week
Bust my craw
wired my jaw
now I can hardly speak
I don't care about the wreck
I'm waitin on that insurance check
but that Chevy I plowed into
well...it ain't no hit and run
'cause I'll be payin out the yin yan till it's 1991.
Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 10:13 AM UTC
Beauty in all,
Her beauty in awe,
Angle with flaw.
Had me awe.
When words tend to stick right in my craw,
Failing to escape out of my jaw.
Glorious and raw,
Common law,
Lets get involved.
She got me hooked like a bra.
Lets run far
Get hitched,
Married by law.
She's a star.
So when we fall any wall, any stall, any crawl, any pause
Any scar, any flaw
You're my angle with flaw.
May 2, 2017
May 2, 2017 at 1:13 PM UTC
I look at the clock and i just want to craw under a rock but all i can here is tick tock. i get up from my seat all i can see is my feet. i go to school in fear as you can see my tear.i walk around the room waiting for my teacher to come to his seances and do his job.
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 12:16 AM UTC
Welcome to gorilla garden.
King Lions roam like lone wolves,
Some wolves are crowned like the head of their pride.
Few bears are curios, like your common cat.
Some giant killer kats are kind,
Some giant kats aren't killers.
A bear can sound like a dog barking, a cat purring, or you might barely hear a crow craw before you're mauled for being far to close to the cubs.
There's ants the size of pizza pockets.
And garfield hates lasanga because he got his name from never leaving the
feild he was born in; such a stubborn
Gar; born in a pond in the middle of a field, refusing to be carried to freshwaters in America.
Welcome to Gorilla Garden.
In here, family is king.
Not pride, not packs, not flocks no colonies.
Snakes are welcome, as long as they don't cause twinge.
Jul 9, 2017
Jul 9, 2017 at 12:02 PM UTC
In a nation torn with racial strife
Where killing seems a way of life
Where rappers hold the people’s court
And looting is a favorite sport
Where drugs and thugs, both black and white,
Govern day and rule the night
When Superman is fast asleep
And shadows o’er the addicts creep
And rain don’t wash away the smell
From where it comes it’s hard to tell
Cuz truth ain’t always what it seems
When judges judge and lawyers scream
At least two sides in every fight
And everybody knows what’s right
Cuz the FacebookYouTube miracle
Sends evidence empirical
Across the globe at speeds of light
While the real truth stays out of sight
Hidden by gray overcoats
While politicians gather votes
And make the nation safe again
For women, children, mortal men.
But there are heroes on the street
Men and women you don’t meet
Unless of course you break the law
And you know that sticks in your craw
When a thousand thoughts are in your head
And you don’t see the light turn red
Or you’re headed to a meeting-late
And you’re only going eighty-eight
And the State Cop says “The Law is Clear”
“The limit’s sixty-five right here”
You grumble but you pay the fine
And wonder why he wastes his time
But the Cop has seen a different view
He knows what eighty-eight can do
The mangled steel and shattered glass
Maybe he just saved your ***
In cities large and village small
Policemen answer every call
In every town and every city
Sometimes it ain’t very pretty
Protect and Serve when Hell breaks loose
Mere seconds, all they have to choose
What course of action they must take
And pray to God there’s no mistake
Cuz each Monday Morning Quarterback
Will pick a side and then attack
And argue based on “evidence”,
“What they would do”, and “common sense”
While sitting in an easy chair
So very thankful they weren’t there
And radicals from either side
Make threats and say the other lied
And which of us, if we weren’t there
Could ever judge a verdict fair?
Families grieve and loved ones cry
Both innocent and guilty die
Sometimes truth ain’t black or white
Only God knows wrong from right.
pwl 1/7/15
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 11:56 PM UTC
long after you’ve logged off,
the screen, now, just room temperature,
no longer warming plate hot, a good feeling lingers,
the glowing, slowing remains of our days first visitation,
reducing to a single dot, fading gunshot message, but unstated:
*”I was here, but moved on,
I am your first, yet you, are not mine...”*
the Dylanesque mystique, mystifying, mind-burring,
in the air hanging, those words sticky stuck in your craw,
ear worm ya, until, you utter rush, desperate to return,
shoot, what was that poem, its title, the author, ****
on what-was-that-poetry-site’s-name?
Hello Poetry! and now it’s too late, you’re not entranced,
no darling, you’re entrapped, fly glued to my sticky heart,
you, served raw, with the hook, line and sinker still attached,
you, my friend, are now my poet ****** my belonging, for
fourscore and evermore there is no cure, no cutoff, no resisting.
fresh meat for the poets beat, and you still have not even tasted
the salt water words, the rhymes that will tie up, and prolapse
your heart ******* in the love poems, ha, so when they ask what’s
the name of your new friend, the one that you are keeping so secret, tell them, shyly, bravely, whispering outstandingly, upright, shouting forthrightly: it’s me, Brandy Channing, and your soul is now mine to keep...for as long as deemed necessary to extract my ****** poems essence, so be my parasite and I will be you mistress, the mutual infection meaning but one thing! we, you and I, will live always apart, always together, yes darling, be distressed, you’re oh so blessed now, and
f o r e v e r....but tattoo these words upon your bicep lest one forget,
I am your first, you, are not mine
Jun 25, 2020
Jun 25, 2020 at 9:56 AM UTC
i have vivid visions always of birds with wings of glue.
whatever’s parasitic on me sticks to you:
you parrot back to me constantly, worms in your craw
with rhetoric unsightly and garishly raw
repeat the tele-v like a good birdie
does polly want a ******* have a drink on me
i pick your sort like dandelions puffed
ridiculously. i never really knew what death means
but i have an inkling
of a feeling
Jan 3, 2013
Jan 3, 2013 at 4:20 PM UTC
It is in our all for we are all and in a tunnel coiled
An entwining miasmic kaleidoscope we call our entirety
We are a collective phantasmagoria of escapeless toil
Lost in ourselves and forewent to society
The quark to the universe the everything to the quark
All beauty too big to look and too small to see
An everything of light yet we have sight only to the stark
Within the bleak there is only me for you and you for me
The god’s perform their song in the foundations of all formed
Waves sway and quaver thrumming from an insoluble craw
One note un-precise and we’re left ever so more deformed
Each of us hear it differently yet as you with mine all I can hear is yours
Sep 3, 2013
Sep 3, 2013 at 11:31 AM UTC
It started as a bit of grit stuck in an Oyster’s craw.
In time, through suffering, bit by bit it became the Pearl you saw.
Translucent pink, a perfect orb, no polishing required,
You alone possess this gem which many have desired.
It cost you dear, this perfect pearl, as the bid grew steadily higher.
You’d have gladly given all you had to possess its inner fire.
Time and suffering produced the Pearl, it is immutable law.
Forget that at your peril for the Pearl would be no more.
The Pearl is not a bauble meant to dazzle others’ eyes.
It, like wisdom borne of suffering, is its own reward and prize.
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 8:20 AM UTC
be gin and it seems there is so much time left / pro ceed ing and speed ing much fast er a gain / craw ling and march ing the mo ments count down / the tick ing grows loud er the se cond hand 's shou ting and fas ter yet slo wly i'm fro zen a sleep / i'm thin king in slo mo time's spee ding and surg ing a round de com pos ing and what do i mean ? what can i show for the min utes i'm was ting ? i need to be mov ing like there 's no time left / can i get some where make some thing be fore the end ? move me to trust you build some thing be cause I can 't / ev er y se cond i'm dying i need your breath /
May 13, 2018
May 13, 2018 at 5:16 PM UTC
*Therapeutic it may seem,
Illuminist assumptions claw
To recollections which allude
To that which was and is no more.
Gone is history’s clear blue mode
Associations lost to shade
In jaded hopes of eons past
To aspirant’s cold censored fade.
Germans clawed to **** shrine,
Eskimo’s to barren ice,
Russians wept in baritone.
Aspirations censored thrice.
Reaching back to jewelled thought
Dim as dust, as it may be,
Gossamers of shades of silk
All valuable as gold to me.
Now weeping in frustration’s craw
Extending out for tendrils thin,
Misting clouds in shrouded skies
But tantalizing taunts begin…
Fulfilment in a feather touch
Of fingers stretching into dark…
A trickle of a thread resumes
As fragrant ghosts of recall hark!*
M.
Auckland
17 October 2014
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 7:34 PM UTC
A nine-eleven call goes out at midnight,
It's serious: A writer of poems
At such and such street, has a word
Stuck in his throat.
Stuck in his craw; he can't get it out.
He can neither finish the poem or even
Make a lick of sense right now.
What to do?
The medical experts confer over the two-way:
I've seen this condition before, one says, wary,
I think I would use the jaws of life.
That takes too long, said another.
I have a carpenters saw in my bag
I keep on hand for just such occurrences.
Though rare, it does happen.
We will just remove the head, push the word
Out of the way and reattach the head.
Believe me it is much faster in the long run
Otherwise it could progress on to
Editors re-writes, poetry readings,
Deadlines, and who wants all that?
Poets really just want to write.
The others are in agreement.
Now they'll be able to get right to work
Without hesitating, which is the kiss of death
In crisis situations.
In asylums, they employ lobotomies
To the same result.
For the rest of us, there are the interminable
Religious sermons and services.
Mar 30, 2010
Mar 30, 2010 at 8:14 PM UTC
I am bored,
*
All that passed,
Did not leave even a scratch,
I was sure it will fade away, the illusion i was watching.
*
It was fruitfull that I kept swinging my hands in air,
I finally could stretch them through the mirror,
and there I grabbed the neck of reflection,
It died instantly.
*
Lust that was all apple-ish, levitated me,
I could catch all the speedy breaths,
Night was near to dawn,
and dawn was apple-ish,
and apple-ish was the lust, which levitated me.
*
That ****** craw made me mad,
I threw everything at it,
****** slipped away.
*
I am good at counting,
stars are falling one by one,
I will soon reach to 22.
*
And yes I am bored.
Mar 18, 2012
Mar 18, 2012 at 7:27 PM UTC
The melting sky waned
a mixed pallor of shy and silent
as the day settled in for night.
The softening light
reminded me of you;
the moon,
fractured,
fell into my lap.
A gasping craw gnawed agape,
the quickest glint of desperate:
the pit of my stomach sewed shut
into itself.
The echoing silence moved
from open
to empty.
Oct 13, 2013
Oct 13, 2013 at 12:42 AM UTC
slide slide look at that old slow snail
mentioned a worm on a fat pig's tail
i got a story it ain't fairytale
just a wife who's drunk from humming ale
moo moo what an ugly cow
mentioned a blood sucker on a hairy chow
calumnies marked to stick in one's craw
i guess no mirrors left in her walls
911 whats your emergency
police officer, its the security
an eye for an eye as my plea
not another cinderella story
a cage she said she was in for weeks 33
but i've never felt so **** free
i wonder if it's possible to steal prisoner's key
or my back to hurt the weapon she buried with
a year or two should be cool
the prize to lose a stubborn fool
i truly am an impatient sue
but who doesn't enjoy a buffoon
a year or two should be cool
as i sit on this old stool
a show has never been so delightful
drunk wife almost drown in her own pool
dance drunk wife , dance
dance foolishly
dance drunk wife , dance
a return for my insanity
Feb 12, 2015
Feb 12, 2015 at 1:07 AM UTC
Hair as dark as newly turned earth and the sass of an alligator. Barefoot she stands stirring a *** of Craw dad bisque. Working up a sweat making a meal for her man, she could charms the hiss out of a snake. Creole in her nature, with a touch of hot peppers, she has a flare for making a bow fiddle sing. She loves to dance from sunset to nearly dawn, give her a little moonshine and watch her spread her wings. All southern woman, a true swamp land child. A flame of Cajun fire that can only be loved but never tamed.
Mar 22, 2016
Mar 22, 2016 at 2:20 PM UTC