"craws" poems
So aye
We wir watchin
that David Attenborough
or tryin tae -
fower weans tearin up the joint,
an she's like,
See if youse dinny shut it...!
an aw that, ken -
You no gonny tell thum?
So ah'm like,
"Aye.
Wheesht, youse."
But it wis amazin, like.
These fish.
Years oot at sea.
Tiny wee at first,
dodgin sharks an jellyfish
an aw sorts,
awa oot, miles fae land.
(*God! Youse! Take it up the stair!
Tell thum, you!*
"Aye, boys. Listen tae yir ma.")
Then wan day, like
they get the urge, ken?
Got tae go.
An in they come,
surgin fae the sea,
these sleek, silver bullets
fat wi feedin.
(I'll no tell yis again!)
Nothin, an ah mean nothing
is gonny stop them.
Waterfalls? Nae bother.
Just pure hungry
fir the lassies, ken?
The boy Attenborough sais
they dinny even eat!
(*That's it! Ah tellt ye!
Here you! Take some responsibility,
wull ye?*
"Eh? Oh, aye.
Away tae yir rooms, boys -
yir ma tellt ye.")
These pure ***** divils
will loup up sheer cliffs,
baws burstin, bi the look ay it.
Poetry in motion, ken?
Like, ah dinny ken, pure water
brought tae life, an that.
Jist pure savage.
An then, haw -
they find the lassies!
An it's jist, like,
'splurge'!
Done the deed.
Gemme ower,
job done,
deid.
An there's this shot.
Ripplin shallows,
just fill ay the twitchin bodies.
Craws an bears an that,
queuin up fir the bonanza.
Jist, like,
totally
spent.
An she's aw,
*Here, is that no terrible?
Pair buggers!
Eifter aw that!*
An ah'm like,
"Aye."
But see inside,
ah'm thinkin,
"Lucky,
lucky ********
Mar 14, 2016
Mar 14, 2016 at 11:43 AM UTC
You sit gathered in
Robes wielding knives
From your sleeves;
How determined are you?
Did you agree this death
Behind closed doors?
Assassins in closets,
Knives in their craws,
A ****** of crows pecking
A dying wolf's paws.
How calm you lie
While you hide the knife
You used to slay me;
How calm and sure.
Did you hesitate
To put me in the ground?
Was it hard to push it in
Without a sound?
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 2:35 PM UTC
old habits die hard
and when he doesn't die
he craws up next to you at night
arm on your waist
voice in your ear
"why haven't i seen you lately
my dear"
old habits will be the death of me
every time i get free
he knocks me down
onto the floor
he screams just do it
old habits has opened his door
just complete the ritual
just do it
no one will know
it's our secret
old habits
please keep it
old habits, old prisons
old habits die hard
i thought it would be fine
i gave into his lies
just one more time
but this time
i thought i was dying
i felt like i was dying
hunched over crying
i knew he'd never let me free
old habits has enslaved me
Mar 16, 2019
Mar 16, 2019 at 7:52 PM UTC
I am in transition,
I speak to those who come after me,
I learn from those who come before me.
In trepidation and in fear,
I wait for the anticipation found only in her tears,
that when they bloom on the dry, thirsty wood,
marks the time to begin, I hear.
And in a whisper, a whimper, and shrill,
when cold leather makes a trail,
the heartbeat beats fainter still,
until that time when metal becomes a pill.
I make her back warm,
Melting Iron,
Smelting leather and skin,
Into leather again.
She is silent as a mouse. She sits,
remaining only a part of the beats, and his
expressed torturous tenderness.
Where consent meets fear and pain,
there is a shadowy still sadness that waits to be shown
in the light that is happiness and gain.
Some see a barbarous deceit,
in that which takes place,
but she only says,
Please.
Please.
As you wish.
I flail and flog at my own inexperience,
waiting to see,
if I make a mistake or three.
Til the time comes when she screams out loud,
I press on, deeper, deeper, until a chasm is found.
The afterglow of the torturous tenderness,
that illumines the heart and makes fuzzy the eyes,
is enough for me to see that consent remains.
I ask only the simplest questions,
Noting that she's infantile in emotions,
where high context rules,
and only those that know the code may endure.
She limps and lingers,
needing more than her fingers
as she craws safely into that safe place
called her spiritual chamber.
Having melted iron, leather and skin
been smelt into leather again,
I sigh at those wafers that cannot understand,
that the greatest of gifts is in a helping hand.
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 7:56 PM UTC
Time With My Girl
Your eyes twinkle with a love just for me
my skin craws with my souls deep desire
a love so pure that no one else can see
passion so great my heart burns like fire
our bodies fit together in every way
your angel face just barely touching mine
as if molded from the same piece of clay
I forget all else and lose track time
your soft and tender skin I do so miss
and how your gentle touch drives me insane
your perfect lips and a sweet loving kiss
our love is special and can't be explained.
When together all is right in the world
nothing is better than time with my girl.
© Hugh Tague 2013
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 9:39 AM UTC