"crossbow" poems
Evil & crime so predictable & stale.
Stupid how arrested suspects get bail.
Convicted when their victims tell.
Prison is where some stay & are jailed.
They have to communicate by mail.
Sometimes their focus goes in another direction.
Where probation happens after correction.
Child & spousal abuse, drug use, & rehab that is no use.
History repeats
Wives & children still get beat.
Their isn't always a Superman or Batman to be your hero.
With a sword or crossbow.
Details of armed robbery , drug dealing & smuggling.
Stabbings & muggings.
On the inside homosexual love with cuddling.
Human trafficking & prostitution.
Violating amendments & constitutions.
They are how they are from how they were raised.
If their victims could speak from the grave
Or had they been saved.
They could explain & describe how their rapists & killers behaved.
Male & females do their time.
Years in custody for their crimes.
Seriousness of their offenses vary.
Some educate, get jobs, or marry.
Behind bars is where violence belongs.
To be punished for all that they did wrong.
Some from death row are now dead.
Similar to the wildlife in a zoo behind bars they get fed.
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 11:11 PM UTC
even teddy said i got the sickest tricks brah.
like my abilities source from some kinda legendary liquid
/ praise the lord /
monster energy should sponsor me.
a kickflip over the king’s *** hole
& a halfcab for the looky-loos.
i feel so tall when i climb that heap of asphalt trimmings
& see clear from the water tower to the bluffs.
gimme a good day, any day at the bluffs,
bottlerockets & girly birds.
her body brings a swarm of worms.
decomp,
said the f.b.i. men one by one with tweezers.
not quite the homecoming queen, still
wrapped in plastic.
look up.
see that great mess of wires, nest of powerlines and owl bones?
it crackles and croons its electro-spectral purr
all night and day.
new neck tat &
cody spends his paycheck on a crossbow.
we target practice on a bull skull.
wet cigarettes and turpentine-soaked socks for a good huff
in the dry of the roofline as it dumps.
there’s that little boy in a ghost mask again, tap-dancing
in puddles below the streetlamp,
& oversized shoes.
his grandmoms always be watchin’ from the window.
[whispers] she’s teaching him magic.
lucky unit 19: where our young dead damsel once dolled
herself up, you see
men and headlights would roll thru thrice nightly,
maybe more.
& i remember her punch red lips &
big whicker hat; while she weeded and watered her garden of begonias.
the sheriff’s deputy, hart? hicks? hogan? well he loved her a bunch.
stole her clothes in the middle of the night,
& sat beside the river sobbing into clumped fists
of bra and blouse.
i bought ******* from that guy once or twice.
harold? howard?
guess who showed his face today?
josiah, from unit 08.
since the incident with molly’s beagle, he’s been rarely seen.
took a bee line straight for the mailbox.
a package. a prize. a decoder ring/secret map sweepstakes
to be seen and deciphered.
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 1:44 AM UTC
Flip the pillow, the cold brings comfort
The air sticks to the wall, you turn away
Shattered night sky, restless thunder
A bow shaped cloud ignites, luminous
blue fissures weld a crossbow of bolts.
Flash, the night sky glows, white hot
subconscious blink, the room lights up.
Fall back exhausted as storm breezes cleanse.
Rainwater Winds and pockets of pressure,
Under the blanket, the mercury measures
Eighty degrees, your skin starts to sizzle,
Rain pounds the glass, gusts cool the air.
Rest those tired eyes, shut yourself in
Storms will retreat, serenity will win.
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 3:56 PM UTC
This is the year I'll try
to be brave
and stop running
I can't guarantee it'll work
I won't promise that I will
but I'll try
Try to let a boy in
I know it sounds cliché
but I need to let someone figure me out
A cold sore and a box of tampons
On the eve of new year's eve
Was my wake up call
a cosmic karma ***** slap if you will
A sign from the gods that there will be hell to pay
if I don't try to change my ways
Enough of the hunt and chase they say
for I've carpeted my dense forest
with all the maimed hearts from seven years
of a coquettish past
But how to change?
How does the hunter willingly become the hunted
to throw down one's crossbow and wait defenseless
I'm so good at what I do
How do I force myself to lose my self in order to stop the
vicious thing I've become
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 3:23 AM UTC
"Hello there," said I to the stranger beside,
"I'm Cari, and this is my boyfriend."
The stranger looked past, with some side-eye and sass,
And said, "You must be overjoyed, then."
I tilted my head to the side then and said,
"I am, we've decided to marry!"
The stranger just frowned and then said, his voice down,
"I was being sarcastic, he's scary."
I frowned then, in turn, and my boyfriend, face stern,
Said, "C'mon, babe," in dirtied apparel.
With his crossbow in hand he led me through the land,
Snuffing zombies and bandits-- oh, Daryl.
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 11:52 PM UTC
I am not yet defiled; O hear me.
Let not the crazed hornets or serpents or ophidian or the
buzzard bee come near me.
I am not yet defiled; console me.
I fear that the snake charmer may with rhythmic body clocks clock me,
with predatory hissing paralyze me, with authoritative power anger me,
on wicker constraints constrain me, in bamboo-patches pierce me.
I am not yet defiled; provide me
With beauty to free me, dressage to cover me, silence to come
to me, souls to save me, charmers and angels
in my wandering existence seeking fights to waver the war within me.
I am not yet defiled; forgive me
For the provocative glances in me, my presence when womanity holds me,
my mythological beauty by deities beyond me,
my head held high when they slay by means of my
crossbow, my addiction when they poison me.
I am not yet defiled; rehearse me
In the dreams and the prayers I must take when
art interrupts me, material disturbs me, splintered souls
gaze at me, smiles fade at me, the knifes edge
stains me and everlasting scars pain
me to shame and the shames taints
my skin and my heart abandons me.
I am not yet defiled; O hear me,
Let not Perseus who is warrior or who thinks he is King
or a rival to me.
I am not yet defiled; O fill me
With gasoline against those who would inhabit my
bones, would sink me into empty caverns,
would make me a prisoner locked, a monster with
blood dripping, a monster, and a passer of dis-ease
who would execute my self, would
flush me like ***** oozing and
***** and ooze and *****
like alcohol seeping in the
pores would drown me.
Let Poseidan not make me defiled and let him not **** me.
Otherwise **** me.
© Sia Jane
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 7:38 PM UTC
Pick my mind up, brush off the dust
Wait what's this I'm missing a part?
Turn it over there lays a smouldering dart
Flick it off and blow away the specks of rust
Twist my head off, place it inside
Reconnected to my neck for the final time
Flash to the stage, velvet arms wide
Nervous in the presence of grand design
A grander plan I couldn't understand
In prayer to the Devil I clasp my hands
"Please reset the face, such high demand
For just living on a home and residing on land"
Turn to the Heavens I hope you exist
Because its the last place left on my bucket list
Everywhere I go still holds zero hope
And surrounded by people I'm surrounded, alone
I'll fight my way out, only killing myself
Choke another me by whipping out my belt
Turn to a monster, the mirror on the wall
Place a bullet with shaking hands and laugh as the glass falls
Shred my skin off underneath a clear sky
All I smell is blood, my flames never die
The rage that drives me, the fuel in supply
The fact it ends me I will always deny
The only death I see is the walls around me
Closing in on my head is such a bounty
The last time I got lost they never found me
I walked back in because I felt unease
Finally I embraced it, now we are one
If my words are bullets then my fists are the gun
One follows the other, when you're knocked down cold
I laugh at myself and condemn that soul
A tremble of the hands indicates an animal
The smile on my face painted for the carnival
Makeup smudged crying against the door
I turn around and walk because I walk no more
My heart is a nade with two seconds left
The pin was pulled when you stole my breath
I felt the pain of it through my chest
You gave me reason to keep killing the rest
Every day I wake and sling my crossbow
Because when I'll see another me I can never truly know
I **** these demons, I see all evil
I **** myself because they're not real people
Oct 16, 2017
Oct 16, 2017 at 5:49 AM UTC
The correct death is written in.
I will fill the need.
My bow is stiff.
My bow is in readiness.
I am the bullet and the hook.
I am cocked and held ready.
In my sights I carve him
like a sculptor. I mold out
his last look at everyone.
I carry his eyes and his
brain bone at every position.
I know his male *** and I do
march over him with my index finger.
His mouth and his **** are one.
I am at the center of feeling.
A subway train is
traveling across my crossbow.
I have a blood bolt
and I have made it mine.
With this man I take in hand
his destiny and with this gun
I take in hand the newspapers and
with my heat I will take him.
he will bend down toward me
and his veins will tumble out
like children... Give me
his flag and his eye.
Give me his hard shell and his lip.
He is my evil and my apple and
I will see him home.
1.5k
You shot the albatross.
Knowingly or unknowingly,
Remained a mystery forever.
Now it’s coming back to you,
Your crossbow is stained with blood.
You hereby try to unravel the mystery.
Should the sinner be accused of it?
Or is killing just a way of life.
Dec 4, 2013
Dec 4, 2013 at 9:58 AM UTC
I’ve been patient and waiting, but
That’s a past love now
Baby, just let us be. Let this distance between us
Grow worlds and worlds apart.
If not for these tangled sheets tying me you’d be
Stuck in that dream and never feel me leave.
Baby, you’re a melody that I just have to buy for me.
That’s how you keep me broke like the sight on Cupid’s crossbow
When he shot me in the eye, oh.
Now all I see are the illusions, a Russian roulette I get to choose from.
But tonight, girl I’m a blind man, let’s hit the masquerade and
I’ll see if I can find you.
Can’t you see it wears us out, stumbling?
Tails tucked tight our tongues are fumbling.
You’re wondering who I’m walking to talking to,
I’m thinking whose stalking, sweet-talking you.
I know that something’s going to **** me tonight.
It could be my answers needing questions, jeopardy.
It’s all a delicate eggshell and you think it’s just a dream
Until a girl in Stella with some Secrets, undresses me.
I remember. I remember how we used to
Just take our time with it
I’d turn you out like it’s our very first time with it
But, now I’m falling for memories and
Time is slipping away
Sep 7, 2013
Sep 7, 2013 at 4:13 PM UTC
Like magic,
it happens
in a snap
of the fingers
on the crossbow
of time
Like the sparkling arc
of destiny
on my tongue's
plaited river rhyme
like the journey
of the arrow
as it hits
its destined mark
like the lit-up flight
of the sparrow
despite
encroaching dark
like the wisp of a
flash of the jump
of the whale
in a deep blue sea
like my heart
upon airwaves
as your aura
sets me free
and within the holes
of the molecules
that reside in
the soul's abyss
my gentle eye lens
captures your
rolling tidal kiss
in sudden turn of storm
in unexpected rains
I find myself
in heaven's realm,
slicing through
my chains
I stand here wind-whipped
on mountain top
and range
and to you I beckon
in ferocious blooms
releasing all my rage
and slowly, unraveling
my layers
I burst forth
from my
cage
May 24, 2016
May 24, 2016 at 12:50 PM UTC
I've got imagination
like knives
cutting with surrealism
Humor
like lightning bolts
blinding with white teeth
Creativity
like a crossbow
loaded with ideas and will
instead of arrows
Kindness
like pistols
my bullets fast
as two teens falling in love
My mind
like a grenade
one I throw out
and keep myself locked somewhere else
My weaponry doesn't look very dangerous,
but that's because they cut somewhere else.
Because I **** them with my heart.
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 1:45 PM UTC
~
"Suspense is like a woman. The more left to the imagination, the more the excitement."
~
A mixture
of sinister and sweet,
smoking gun at your feet.
Reclining dead
in a meadow,
or wishing you were
as you gaze out your window.
Bottling undecided dark,
catching keyed-up light,
in random, misleading angles.
The uniform hour
holds Grace, Grant,
and the mystery
it entangles.
Don't look directly
at the camera,
icy blonde afterimage.
Everything you need
is written on the page.
Number 13,
Mrs. Peabody?
Don't you know
all contemporary
escapist entertainment
begins by turning your back?
Lingering on what
suspicious minds track.
The migrating voyeurism
sits as the crow,
wired and unfriendly.
The method is an organism,
an implication, a crossbow,
thought, but unseen.
He will push the girl,
until you succumb
to dream sequences.
It's snowing humiliation
at Winter's Grace,
for out of the male gaze,
invading your space,
you become gifted
at doing nothing well,
in sheer
under-things,
(for inner circles & triangles of fur
are all the rage in Europe).
Yes, he hates pregnant women,
because then they have children.
So leave him
to his work,
to analyze your handwriting,
and build that ramp
directly into your trailer.
His larger than life silhouette
will fill the silver screen
with tension,
trip wire,
and a ****** ambivalence,
that ends with
the violent sound
of someone
packing a suitcase.
He enters by virtue of this door,
and you leave through another,
and another,
and another,
until the final scene
alters your state of mind.
Your pretty little feet
dangling precariously
over the edge...
Sep 19, 2020
Sep 19, 2020 at 4:36 PM UTC
read this book they said-
read this book it's so wonderful-
read this book it will change your life-
That book I did read...
While I read the book late one dreary night
It had taken a hold of me with a serious bite
It held my hand in it's grip
Yet the pages I read did not rip
This book began to chew up toward my elbow
Sharp and quick like the deadly crossbow
Bending my arm causing ****** harm
I tried to toss it aside
Only thing was it ate faster up my pride
I could only think to myself...
They lied
Can it be this book that bites the hand that reads it will cause me to die?
Nov 23, 2010
Nov 23, 2010 at 5:06 PM UTC
How bright is the lone desert tonight?
I’m at my store to catch a sight,
Hot and cold fantasy there upright
I’ve never been in such hungry delight.
I walk the Cuban café with blues
Eyes on albums and letters on glues,
Your bits rushing my lips like juice
When my brain pass me your clues.
I have not seen you in a while for now
But the sturdy and shy love you sow,
Far into a fierce gone hair on blow
Has set my calm waves on crossbow.
Reasons beyond seasons and time
Giving myself to your heart not dime
The world has shrugged to your chime,
I've finally found my home, Oh Valentine.
Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 at 9:58 AM UTC
The pungent aroma of sandalwood is a poor diversion for the administration of intravenous ******
One may be spellbound by whispering seductions which can lull a person into a golden-brown complacency.
Overdose captivates the attention, and the reality of fantasy pervades the human heart in the same manner as an arrow from a crossbow which strikes the soul in Sherwood Forest.
It’s a texture like sun. But many are the afflicted under her psychoactive propagations. Now you truly know what it is all about. Or do you?
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 2:44 PM UTC
No matter how hard I try
No matter what I do
Friend or foe
In the end I'm shot
With a crossbow through the heart
Jan 14, 2017
Jan 14, 2017 at 5:05 PM UTC
Beneath the calm
Of moonlit leaves,
Lying lovers
Shoot the breeze.
When in the moment
Of the mode,
Between the rhythm
Of stride and strode,
Shoot off your mouth
And not your load.
Corner thugs
Will deal you drugs
To smoke or snort
Or mainline shoot.
It's a slippery slope
Of lost freewill,
The up is high,
The trip's downhill.
You're in the cross hairs;
Drugs shoot to ****
The shooter feigns
Heeding advice,
So craps himself
On loaded dice.
The lawyers grin
Without remorse;
They shoot your savings
Throughout divorce.
The pool hall hustler
Cues his cool,
Looking for
A snookered fool.
Naively, when the children play,
Yell, “Ah shoot!” instead of say,
“Ah ****
We say that's okay.
Like saying, ****
When they can.
It's in the Bible, see?
Sports Illustrated
Puts out a shoot
Of photoshops
In skimpy suits.
When we say
We shoot meat,
Do we stalk roasts
On city streets;
From our hide
On city blocks,
Do we crossbow
Down our chops;
Do we rope *******
Then use buckshot?
It's euphemistic,
A rich spadeful:
"We shoot 'em all,"
And that's no bull.
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 12:07 AM UTC
B.C 500 Child:Hey mama where is my flint? I couldnt find it...
Mother:Go inside to cave and search it must be under the stalactite
Child:Thanks mama...
After Christ 800 Young man: Hey mama where is my Crossbow?
Mother:You forgot again,open the chest its inside
Young man::Thanks mama
1800: A man:Hey mama where is my violin?
Mother:Search your cabinet ! its in it.
2000: Young girl:Mama where is my CD-player?
Mother: its under the table!
3000:Boy:Hey mom did you see invisible blanket?
Mother: You can use a powder to find it honey!
They are our best search engine but we dont know
Google,Yahoo,MSN cant find these ... They are our values...
Dec 22, 2015
Dec 22, 2015 at 5:34 AM UTC
A masculine figure; a girl in disguise, fear is imminent when you realize, their mission's the same, both hired to **** but not for the money, but simply the thrill.
Pitter-patter, pitter-patter, their steps draw near. They're prepared for the **** they won't shed a tear.
The blade sings silently when pulled from its place. A hideous ecstasy is marked on his face.
The sticky crimson formed a very thin line. Both of their memories traveled back in time, to when love was real, and pure from the heart. They swore it to each other, ''Till death do us part.''
Yet limp in his arms, his dead beloved laid, a crossbow in arms disguised as a maid. Though suddenly ill, he took a step back and found the pills she hid behind her back.
He remembered the challenge from when they were younger. Who was the best, who could last longer?Compelled on his knees, his hand 'round his neck, he was suffocating, the breath pulled from his chest.
Foul words he uttered and thought of his drink, and how his partner was smart like a sphinx. Though he was stronger, her wit was uncanny; he had tried to best her one time too many.
She knew she couldn't beat him, for he was too strong. She decided her death she wouldn't prolong. Like a lamb to the slaughter, she decided to come. When the pill took over, he'd know she won.
And he'd know it was true, on his very last day, the deadliest assassin was dressed as a maid.
Jan 3, 2018
Jan 3, 2018 at 8:55 PM UTC
I pull my shoulder blades together
and stick out my chest
as I lengthen my arms to spread my wings
and I look up to the sky
as I wear a bullseye
on my back
and I can't see you from behind
but I sense that you're there
and as I inhale the sky
I see my fellows fly
forming a "V"
and I want to take off
and fly behind, on the side
that's shorter than the other
and yes, I know that you're still behind
I haven't forgotten
You with your crossbow
aiming an arrow
squinting with one eye
at the bullseye on my back
and me, I'll squint with both eyes
My left squinting at the sun in the sky
My right squinting in fear of what's behind
and as I anticipate your arrow skewering
the soft spot between my wings
My right eye is surprised
at the hail that gets dumped on my face.
Dec 13, 2011
Dec 13, 2011 at 7:10 PM UTC
Do you know the words that tell, can hit
The apple with a thin and twisting bolt
Of truth? The Gessler'd page - a sneer
Of whiteness waiting for the fall, the fail
Of wish that aims too low too high.
You have no choice. Breath cannot hold for long.
Release release release the words
Are flying - not yours now. To **** or save
The wide-eyed boy. Your own
And William's son. The world,
The only one.
Feb 17, 2014
Feb 17, 2014 at 4:48 PM UTC
The sultan kept
A mad desert storm
Sealed away in his bottle
Upon a silken belt.
I bought it from him
For a soul and two pence
My right eye,
a good crossbow,
And a loyal eastern gent.
I fell upon a
merciless jungle
That was filled with
Bodiless masses,
And uncorked the storm
Upon the bird like faces
Then they were swept away.
Why, do you ask?
So I could rule a sandy kingdom.
How does it look?
Like an ocean filled with glass.
A bottle I keep around my waist...
Within it a sandy storm...
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 12:16 AM UTC
I stay in my little box
I originally planned on only using it as a detox
But once inside I was trapped
No my arms weren't strapped
But I still felt kidnapped
So I did have to adapt
And honestly I'm thankful *** my life is no longer chapped
I've learned to be self reliant
An many of u may think that that makes me a defiant
But honestly no one was there when I was crying
when I didn't know how to keep fighting
I needed help and that box was my only guidance
You had one assignment and when I poured my soul out to you what did I receive? Silence
At first the thought of being alone was horrifying
But side by side me and this box we made an alliance
And when I'm inside of this small confinement
There isn't any lying or over trying or self confidence dying or any boohoo crying
..well maybe sometimes
but it's okay because when I sit in this quiet
this silence there isn't any judgment
There isn't any soul crushing
There isn't any unwanted touching
No nudging no punching no Flying Dutchman there's nothing
It's like I was forced upon this dungeon and ended up never wanting to leave
For a while my life was at ease but as it goes on Ive started to crave someone to come live within it with me
How ever it's not an option because I never venture out I never have the guts to flea
Sometimes I'll poke an arm out and feel a cold breeze so back in the box I go
Dreaming of a life I'll never really know
Living in terror of being hit with a crossbow
Fear is a powerful thing
Top reason why I'll never have any offspring
What if they grow to be as corrupted as I?
What if they live in a box so they can never reach the sky?
Fear is the reason id stay up at night and cry
My eyes couldn't really take It
At night they'd constantly spit
So I moved into this box and it's been a perfect fit
But be ware if you decide to come inside ur gonna need a permit
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 3:41 AM UTC
Precise trajectories of Cherubs' projectiles
Get miscalculated time to time
All focus in the world doesn't guarantee a bullseye every single shot
The most critical hit can be foiled by the right breeze
Entry points only come into view every now and then
Watching target
Waiting for the right moment to release arrow into the air
Helplessly flying by only to strike the person standing behind them
Words of sweetest honey senselessly dripping out of the open wound
Have a tendency to heal hesitantly
To maximize velocity
I think Cupid should upgrade his weapon to a crossbow
May 26, 2024
May 26, 2024 at 12:45 AM UTC