"crier" poems
The spider Queen, aloofly vain!
She rules a silent ruthless reign,
with black-bead eyes like pearls of rain
that damp the depths of her demesne.
.
.
.
A spider spins, with nimble feet,
a sticky web of grim deceit
that drapes the corners, dark, discreet,
in catacombs of her retreat.
Her jointed legs (in number, eight)
traverse the threads with stilted gait,
but often more she'll lie in wait
within the hub of her estate.
Shy spiders live their lives alone
ensconced within a silky throne;
unless a transient guest comes flown,
their lives bide empty, monotone.
.
.
Well, now and then, a sullen breeze
may twitch the toils, begin to tease –
yet nothing's caught and nothing pleas,
so patience's bid at times like these.
But then again, when stars ignite,
may maunder by a gnat, by night,
be taught a dance, a writhing rite,
within a lace of death, wrapped tight.
Sometimes a spider's in the mood
and waits awhile, whilst being wooed –
and then, to later feed her brood,
the widow slays her mate for food.
In time a spider dies, 'tis true,
bequeathing but a residue
entwined, devoid of retinue,
in fibers decked in silver dew.
.
.
.
One asks "What purpose serves the GNAT –
to feed and make the spider fat?
Well, 'tis perchance just naught but that
within a mindless habitat.
.
.
"Yet, what's the aim?” you may inquire,
“at the heart of MAN's desire.
To which goals should WE aspire
reaching high and reaching higher?"
We've, through the ages, left the mire,
trundling wheels and taming fire,
doing deeds that must inspire,
nursing needy, calming crier, …
Such things as these, most may admire:
- placid dove and war defier
(some are bolder, some are shyer)
- patience (mess-up mollifier);
- humankind (Life's justifier)
- charity (charmed self-denier)
- tolerance (proud pacifier )
- love of Life (folk unifier).
What more could we, as flesh, require?
Needless kneeling neath the spire?
Childish chanting in the choir?
Preaching hell's impending pyre?
No, Death's the only rectifier,
comes the instant we expire,
nothing after, sentience prior.
So, treasure Life and don't deny Her.
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 1:29 PM UTC
Tell me wistful wisteria,
Why do you shed those regal tears?
Is it for a fallen child,
A bud of love so dear?
Can you tell me violet crier,
Why flows your petaled pain?
Did you lose a lover?
Does it hurt to speak their name?
Or wisteria, darling tear stained one.
Is this glumness misconceived?
Does happiness reprieve just hold you,
and bring you to your wavering knees?
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 4:19 PM UTC
a virtual network is the perfect place
for an alien intelligence to infiltrate;
passing as any number of avatars &
spreading an anti-human philosophy
in the war between robots & aliens
w/ humanity no longer a factor, the
robots freely the pummel the aliens
w/ devastating laser precision; the
aliens retaliating w/ hot magnets to
heat the polymer machines to the
melting point; the aliens unaware of
the earth's default nuclear arsenal;
triggered to explode as a last resort;
mankind & machine joined as one &
as the aliens land their ground forces
a slight tremor becomes a supernova
& the entire alien fleet is blown out
of spacetime w/ such fiery havoc, the
never seen & long extinct mankind
becomes legendary for its viciousness
hav·oc/ˈhavək/noun
noun: havoc
1. widespread destruction. "the hurricane ripped through Florida,
causing havoc"
synonyms: devastation, destruction, damage,
desolation, ruination, ruin; disaster, catastrophe
"the hurricane caused havoc"
great confusion or disorder.
"schoolchildren wreaking havoc in the classroom"
synonyms: disorder, chaos, disruption,
mayhem, bedlam, pandemonium, turmoil,
tumult, uproar; commotion, furor, a three-ring circus; informal:
hullabaloo
"hyperactive children create havoc"
verb: archaic: havoc; 3rd person present: havocs;
past tense: havocked; past participle:
havocked; gerund or present participle:
havocking [ ]. ( )
1. lay waste to; devastate.
late Middle English: from Anglo-Norman
French havok, alteration of Old French
havot, of unknown origin; the word was
originally used in the phrase ‘cry havoc’;
(Old French crier havot ) ‘to give an army the order - havoc,’
the signal for plundering
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 8:04 PM UTC
I Know a Jew fish crier down on Maxwell Street with a
voice like a north wind blowing over corn stubble
in January.
He dangles herring before prospective customers evincing
a joy identical with that of Pavlowa dancing.
His face is that of a man terribly glad to be selling fish,
terribly glad that God made fish, and customers to
whom he may call his wares, from a pushcart.
2.7k
Lover
Linker
Licker
Killer
Thriller
Sucker
Thinker
Stinker
Maker
Shaker
Faker
Breaker
******
Burner
Crier
Cutter
Perforator
Shooter
Impaler
******
oh I forgot cannibal
and
I'd love to have you to dinner
.
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 2:01 PM UTC
Their lives bleed into mine
What am I becoming?
As long as I'm bleeding in line
I can hear war drums drumming
I feel my purity and youth leave me
As their lack of couth feeds me
And their sweet tooth bleeds me
Until eventually I too am greedy
In this ****** atmosphere
Our ***** past is clear
Inspiring future fears
And hardened tears
Drowned by beers
And empty cheers
Through the years
Until we're here
As a ****** stranger
Head banger
Teenager
In Jesus' manger
This blight
Of life
As a simulation
Of assimilation
Into a nation
Of incineration
In a ****** mire
Lit by the fire
Positioned higher
I call my sire
I fidget in the cage
Of this pivotal maze
Called the Digital Age
I'm in need of healing
From this dark feeling
That I'm an innocent child reading
A book about a grown man bleeding
Always met with a hateful greeting
While sympathy is fleeting
Being replaced by our own jadedness
After living with those who hated us
We develop defensive thorns
Resembling demonic horns
To match public scorns
My first love
Drew first blood
And I couldn't halt the blood loss
Exacerbated by the mud toss
Of the sinister town crier
Exposing my heart's desires
So I said never again
For the bleeding to stop
When dealing with men
Is like meeting the cops
Aware that I'm defenseless
They start beating me senseless
So I become a judge myself
Part of the sludge for my health
I won't budge unless it's for wealth
Accepting the cards I was dealt
They bled into me
Now red is all I see
No way to get free
So I follow their lead
And choose to bleed
As they pray and plead
It becomes my turn
To cause the burns
That I had learned
When I was spurned
And lost my purity
Now blood cures me
Jun 14, 2018
Jun 14, 2018 at 5:09 AM UTC
(i see) two scions dance in traffic: sun and moon,
sky and stars; God’s two heirs
dancing in traffic as if they weren’t demigods but
small maya birds - transfixed
mortals, fighting to keep away from the blinding
might their status affords them.
as His children their world and its light is for their taking,
of which they can feed - or not:
they go on instead like hungry wolves, next to I, rising
(sidelined, falling) flagging down jeeps
in the thick of the Vinzons Hall jeepney stop. They bark loud
and cheerily to keep idle; from unravelling
their wax-worn strings. They are birds guided by concrete routes,
those yearning to feel its bleakness
in each syllable creeping up their gold-and-marble throats:
the soft choke of exhaust smoke
and the rosiness of their gaunt in the face of all-knowing fate:
that of snatching from death
a world not theirs. They declare: “Perseus we are not, and
Janus we choose.” They shuttlling
commuters obscure and without fuss and without end
to and fro, where they come
they spit on the universe in baggy basketball shorts
Dec 4, 2016
Dec 4, 2016 at 10:42 AM UTC
When Dagobert adorned Franco caves,
Clovis iniquity built a realm portentous?
Ate fruit from olden, -licentious ways…
Portentous realm thus be-stow-ed,
No king in truth but a nave?
Nave only to a Catholic po-et.
Hearken crier old kingdom days,
Oh Franco brave!
Oh Franco brave!
Oh Franco brave!
Oh Franco brave!
In regret of Dagobert's disturb-ed grave.
Dec 24, 2016
Dec 24, 2016 at 3:17 PM UTC
29
If those I loved were lost
The Crier’s voice would tell me—
If those I loved were found
The bells of Ghent would ring—
Did those I loved repose
The Daisy would impel me.
Philip—when bewildered
Bore his riddle in!
2.1k
"You know, what the most annoying thing is?"
Stacking box, after box, after box
in her empty-floored home.
"What?"
"Knowing how," stack, "lost," stack, "I'll be."
She drops to a box, face in hands. ******* it."
What do you say
To the widow of an adulterer,
To the crier of sorrows
you've never known?
"I'm sorry."
******* it, you're sorry. Everyone's sorry."
What do you say to all the bitterness
of a woman stacking, stacking, stacking
The boxes of her new life?
I sit on the divan by the window. "What do you want
me to say?" I ask.
Naive.
**** I don't know." Sighing. "Say you know
He really loved me
And that even though I'm just your pain-in-the-ass
broken-hearted
and stupid older sister,
who's made too many mistakes to count,
and who's never ever been there when you need her
because she's too busy with her
piece-of-shit
******* accident
of a husband,
you really love me too."
Looking up at me
with tear-swimming
mascara-ringed green eyes
under a black fringe
of artistic bangs.
"Of course I really love you." The automaton of my voice.
"You're my only sister."
Tears falling onto
white velvet wrists.
"I really miss him.
That *******
If only
he hadn't been
the adulterer
With me.
Oct 22, 2011
Oct 22, 2011 at 10:41 AM UTC
by Roger Turner on Thursday, 5 July 2012 at 19:43 ·
In the year of our lord
Sixteen Hundred Fifty Four
There were no papers
delivered to our door
No radio, no TV
Media was rather slim
If you couldn't read or write
then your world was rather dim
One person brought the info
To the masses as he could
For he read out proclomations
Told the people, as he should
"Hear Ye, Hear Ye" he would yell
"Come gather, hear me speak"
"I have the words you need to hear"
"It's been a busy week"
The Crier came and took his stance
The crowd had come to hear
Their attention captured by his voice
And his bell rung oh so clear
"Oyez, Oyez praise the Lord
Today in the Town Square
An exhibition of archers skills
Take heed, now all be there"
"The King proclaims this Saturday"
"To be a day of feast for all"
"Prepare for this year's carnival"
"I am sure you'll have a ball"
The Crier held the crowd at hand
Dressed in the finest coat of silk
Green he was, from head to toe
With a belt as white as milk
For forty years he'd held this post
His father did before
He'd relay all the news there was
And all that had come before
His voice boomed out the words
That the people had to know
He was half a wealth of info
The other half was show
Until the mass production
Of papers and of books
This man was instrumental
In conveying what folks took
To be the truth not fiction
To stop rumours as they spread
To share important messages
From the peoples Royal head
Without the mighty Crier
People would not know just how
Their world around was changing
I think we all owe him a bow
500 years have passed since
The Town Crier is still here
And to most he's as important
As he was back in that year
They still make their proclomations
Still come forth and hold the crowd
Still yell out "Hear Ye, Hear Ye"
Still yell it mighty loud
Behold the Mighty Crier
Give him the praise that he has earned
For without those before him
Many people would not have learned
I dedicate this small verse
To a Crier for us all
He's the Town Crier For London
"I present to you Bill Paul"
Jul 5, 2012
Jul 5, 2012 at 7:51 PM UTC
My mom tells me it will be alright,
Yet I sit and cry about it day and night
As the people in my family become out of sight
It seems that the numbers get higher
I become not the only crier
Other parts of the world are crying too
My mom tells me it's like a flue
1 million are dying every year
My heart drops, for my moms time is near
So I began to pray
When evening comes around,
I began to frown
For my stomach groans
For within the day,
Their was nothing not even on the ground
But dead body's lying around
We bless them,
for in their afterlife,
Their will be grapes and veggies in sight
But for now the rest of us starve
Did you know 20,000 die every day
And that's just children
So we must pray
Pray for the ones that go to bed hungry every night,
Pray so in the morning there will be food in sight!
Apr 18, 2015
Apr 18, 2015 at 7:17 PM UTC
The moment I feel it
The point I've figured it out
Seconds away from being a whole
A mind in control
The walls,
The house,
My world
begins to sweat
Melting
Swelling
My heart feels irony in my soul dying
I run frantically
There's still time everyday
We scream and pray
Fixated on a break
To bad it's on fire
Others envy as you rise higher
If only they knew your heart was tired
Self-worth never acquired
Still we run
The winding path kissing your morning breath
Progress
Nothing changes
Time to admit
Your heart finally turned to charcoal
The darkness has no forgiveness
Somewhere in the middle section
Helpless
With a world full of alcohol, tears and desires
No one notice you were a crier
You sit in loneliness
Proving you're a ******* fighter
There is still life in the smoldering soul
One day the run won't be so tiring and old
Hope or bitterness hits and you die in emptiness
Cleanse me in a chlorine pool
My white dress floats
Eleganntly holding my figure together as my skin burns off
God screams
No one hears
I sit in a universe I only see
Mother Earth stop haunting me
A dream form made to torment her
Today we lay no longer breathing
Free is still currently a lie we put into our speech
I lay lifeless in a straight jacket built upon fear
Jul 26, 2016
Jul 26, 2016 at 9:13 PM UTC
a sad poem for my dinner
one gloomy for day meal
my smiles are getting thinner
dying my living will.
give me some fun write
am crying all the while
break me if you might
break me into smile.
a dark poem for my dinner
a crier for breakfast
my joys are getting thinner
sunshine is into rust.
make me one a fun read
a sparkler jolly bright
so joyous tears quickly roll
blur words from eyesight.
Oct 7, 2015
Oct 7, 2015 at 11:38 AM UTC
my mouth tastes like pennies and your hand is too warm on my thigh under your parents table and i wish you would move it and i know the way you squeeze softly would be attractive to other girls but i am not other girls
i used to read books out loud to you and when i stumbled over words you would stroke my hair and i don’t think you even heard a word i was saying
you say you love math because there is no uncertainty and i think about how i am never a fixed point and i wonder if this is why you’re not always there when i wake up
you tell me you know me better than myself
my face feels too tight and flushed and i am not a crier but i wish i was now
you like to control me and i like to control me and i feel guilty for this
her lips look very soft on your cheek and it’s been a few months but i remember you never let me kiss you in public. she has bigger eyes than me and i still think about you
there are 2 bottles of sleeping pills and my favorite knife and a pack of cigarettes under my bed and i kissed a boy whose name i don’t know last weekend and it felt good
i haven’t cried myself to sleep in three weeks
your hand is too high up on my leg and i want to go home
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 9:27 AM UTC
Gargoyles surround our city of masonry genius and a haunting practicality is displayed in its omen simplicity.
We know that fairgrounds can be fountains of doom – obscure environments where innocence may collide with strategic and predatory wiles.
So we must ring the bells in the high towers and allow the town-crier to proclaim his message without hindrance, from ancient waterspouts.
Close the gates of the country manor and focus upon the sophistication of the dance, where captivating etiquette conceals her heartfelt fornications. Will you approach and indulge yourself of that which is available? Come on. You know that you want to.
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 2:26 AM UTC
I know.
I know today is looming larger
Than the lump in your throat
That you swallowed last night as you
Stood in the shower,
Trying to wash away the feeling
Of everything-is-going-wrong
And replace it with whispers of
It's no big deal
You don't want them to know that
It hurts
Because then the questions will come
As you press your lips together
And blink back the tears that scream
I do not want to be here today.
But even louder is the whisper in your heart saying
You did this last week
You can do it again.
Maybe it's the dead of night right now and that's ok.
Because there is something beautiful
About the night sky
The infinite amount of stars
Match the amount of times you keep trying
The fact that it never ends
seems as impossible as making it through today
But here's a secret; you aren't alone.
You aren't the only shower-crier
Please stop for a second
Reach your hand through your warm skin
And find your heart, where it beats without question.
Tie the beats to your fingers so that you don't forget who you are.
You were created by the same man
Who made the stars.
Not cut from any pattern.
Made from the strongest materials.
Today is hard, I know.
But you can open your eyes.
The sun will rise soon enough, but you might as well stargaze while you're waiting.
I know you will be ok.
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 7:39 PM UTC
When I think of you I hear a baseball game.
Thousands screaming around us as the 2nd baseman gets the second out at the bottom of the 5th
Thousands of voice waves fill the stadium
For once my ADHD clogged mind is able to focus on one single thing
You.
When the thought of you crosses my mind
I remember car rides
Aimlessly driving
Like time, the car flys
Blurry lights
Red light
We blow through it
Your arm like a switch blade
Cuts aross my chest
Time slows and you say
"Sorry it's me being protective
I guess a force of habit."
When your name slides into my brain through one of the holes in my face
I am graced with the memory of silence
Silence at 4:03am in the morning
I learn you're a silent crier
If I ever glance at the clock at 5:13 in the morning
My photographic memory will play for me
That time of us laying under the trees
Watching the night fade
Then attempting to figure out
How to get me inside without waking up my parents
When you dwell in my head I remember a few lessons
You taught me patience
Patience is good for the young naive soul
6 months of silence and suddenly the memory is no longer sweet
I think of you less
I receive a letter every few weeks
You sign your name with a heart
PS a promise that you'll be coming home soon
6 months ago I promised I'd wait for you
Lover I am lonely
I crave your arms and only your arms to hold me
But it's been 26 weeks without you and my patience is growing ever so weak
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 6:25 PM UTC
The old songs don’t feel right
wrong key, out of tune
somebody wake Sinatra
reclaim these wayward melodies
*My Way, New York
New York*
seat of the Queen
a gilded new King
everything he touches
Gold
money equals tower
Freudian crystal skyscrapers
the fitting measure
of a brittle man
who has not strength
to speak the truth
recites instead from
a book of fables
the moral to every one
*those in glass houses
shouldn’t throw stones*
the town crier proclaims
the truth does not matter
no one cares
hold tight that red hat
lest it be snatched
by a rebellious wind
see it now, a symbol
framed in white and blue
rising above the crowd
boots on the ground speak
*shiny brass buttons
on a pert military coat
don’t a revolutionary make*
the peddler of lies is just
a liar once-removed
“alternative facts”
brash fabrications
with a fancy semantic bow
such a pretty package
such a pretty family
the biggest crowd
in all of history
let the whole world
Witness
this most
perfect union
Jan 27, 2017
Jan 27, 2017 at 9:16 AM UTC
And as he lit himself on fire
he though "you are all just liars"
And he knew deep in his heart
We wouldn't die for our beliefs
As the flames grew ever higher
and the man became a pyre
We realized right from the start
We were never really complete
And as we watched this martyr burn
Before us into ashes he did turn
We knew that he knew what it all really means
He would burn for his beliefs right out there on the street
For all of us to see he burned right in front of me
Sending a terrifying message with his manufactured scene
It is obscene, that we won't even stand up for our dreams
We get herded just like cattle to the end of everything
But that man, he went and chose a different way
He didn't want to be herded for another god **** day
I appreciated all his rage and his savage final play
And I think I understood right then what he was trying to say
Screams sounded out from the hollows in the daylight
As the people rushed towards ash and dust just so that they might
Help to save a poor depraved and crazed man with firm beliefs
It was at that moment that I felt like I could finally see
I doused myself and shouted out against the worlds injustice
I followed the example and led the most extreme of protests
I wept and screamed as my body burned, though I am not much of a crier
But sometimes in order to change the world you must set yourself on fire
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 9:57 AM UTC
“I’m an easy crier,
But sometimes I cry the hardest.
And my laugh doesn’t sound too pretty,
But I always laugh the loudest.
I’m a fast talker,
But I don’t lisp as much anymore.
I chew my lip,
I can’t tell you how many smiles
I’ve faked,
And if “I’m fine” is a lie
I’ve lost track
Of how many lies I’ve told.
Because I wear my heart on my sleeve,
I’ve earned quite a few battle scars,
But my heart’s always been for
The underdog.
I’m misunderstood,
Sometimes I laugh when I shouldn’t,
Sometimes I speak when I should only be seen.
I’m thin-skinned, not exactly loud-mouthed,
But if you gave me the choice
Of whether to whisper
Or shout,
I’d scream for all I’m worth.
I mess up,
I freak out,
I have nervous ticks,
Sometimes I use cop-outs.
I worry too much,
Sometimes I overthink,
Sometimes I don’t think enough.
I should be more careful,
I should be more selfless,
I need to practice grace,
Be less worried about my face.
But all these things
Make me
Me.
And yeah,
I need to be more selfless,
I need to not be vain,
But I’m going to have my struggles,
And someday they’ll be my past,
But I have good qualities too,
And they’ll always be part of me.”
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 5:57 PM UTC
she wears a set of keys
on a chain round her neck
one for each of the nights alone
unlock my heart with these she whispers as if it were obvious
but then she casts her love letters into the river
saying that nobody ever understands her point of view
so we might as well all be blind
there are no real desperate words
on her tragically trembling lips
but what dose come out jiggles like a carnival crier
to the harmonica players thoughtful song
she used to sing it in the coffee shop she loved
back in one of her yesterdays
now her days are an egg shell blue patchwork of plaster fixes that
define the destitute box and its failings at life's tiresome money game
its trail of paperwork attempts to find a prophet
who could give us a defining moment and photo op for time magazines cover
somebody to tell us that we are on the wrong road
she spends her days taking care of me and
sweeping up the dusts
of all our yesterdays
and neatening up the lines of mason jars
filled with jams and jellies
the sunlight falling through them makes a rainbow she smiles to me
as she settles into a cup of coffee to stare wistfully off into the morning
i ask what's shes thinking but she never dose say
she just runs a thin hand through her auburn hair
and laughs that its snowing somewhere far away
that some field in a distant wood is peaceful and filled with the grace of innocence
that one finds in the stillness of fresh snowfall
that one finds in a newborn child
or a newborn day
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 4:54 PM UTC
58
Delayed till she had ceased to know—
Delayed till in its vest of snow
Her loving ***** lay—
An hour behind the fleeting breath—
Later by just an hour than Death—
Oh lagging Yesterday!
Could she have guessed that it would be—
Could but a crier of the joy
Have climbed the distant hill—
Had not the bliss so slow a pace
Who knows but this surrendered face
Were undefeated still?
Oh if there may departing be
Any forgot by Victory
In her imperial round—
Show them this meek appareled thing
That could not stop to be a king—
Doubtful if it be crowned!
1.3k
baby, I’m a ********* for your love
baby, I’m a lover of your soul
baby, I’m a crawler to your door
baby, I’m a flier on your wings
I’m a crier of my tears
baby, I’m a sinner
I can’t win
baby, I’m addicted to your love
baby, I’m a lost soul
and baby, you’ve found me
baby, I’m an old woman
but baby, you know me
baby, I’m a crashed car
and baby, you’re my saving grace
I’m falling hard
and baby I’m hoping you’ll catch me
you already have a million times
Oct 11, 2011
Oct 11, 2011 at 12:55 AM UTC