"curs" poems
Ganders...gargantua--ensconced in far-fetched space...
(attrition)...LOOK AT THAT LINE...LOOK AT IT...
ROUND THE CORNERS OF PERPETUITY...predilections.
A soul's inalienable fracas...on bend and knee...hop...and
whoop...miasmic gargoyles poppy-wreathed...
for all-too-lucid dreaming...chanting etceteras of bare riff raffs.
Golden breastplates...weeping willow wings...empurpled--
fending fang trumping lines of: yuck, cluck, claw and kook.
...Listless eyes...alphabetize...think a blind oracle's informed
absentia...holy and bovine.
Redolent airs...perspiration of spume's most distancing shore--
eyepieces for the specks and logs in the oculos of brothers
and sisters.
As dust to dust doth not settle...heart's yonder score...nay cease
of interstice...off-world amorousness.
Gather ye yarrow sticks...hurl them at days...roofless arcady...
live into the spectra of their worlds, come friend or foe...Fate's foundling.
Lines strung as prayer beads...curs-ed beads...forget-me-nots
enclosed in letters baiting Long Farewells, in the great literary
correspondence of authored and Author.
...Ye gorgeous gargoyles come perch and push.
Persona non grata...the wide world...unisex prodigal...All--returneth.
LOOK AT THAT LINE...LOOK AT IT...(attrition)...ROUND THE
CORNERS OF PERPETUITY.
NEBULAEIC FANFARE...come perch to push...lo...ANGELS!
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 12:35 PM UTC
Oh, I have never looked so good
running in armor thru the woods
Adept with blade or mace
And I know a little magic
which for foes is rather tragic
(it’s a perk for my race)
Be it mountain peak or ocean swell
thru rocky hill and grassy dell
nothing slows my pace
Many Quests I need to finish
there’s Evil I must diminish
(And weapons to replace)
Every belonging I have owned
I have bartered, won or stole
Hording gold just in case
I’m constantly slashed, bashed and burned
by dragons, wildlife and Curs
with no fear on my face
Though I have skills that get me by
There are occasions that I’ve died
Thank god for the last “save”
I will keep right on playing
leveling buy quests and slaying
in my CGI escape
January 2012
Jan 29, 2012
Jan 29, 2012 at 3:18 AM UTC
Love is sharper than stones or sticks;
Lone as the sea, and deeper blue;
Loud in the night as a clock that ticks;
Longer-lived than the Wandering Jew.
Show me a love was done and through,
Tell me a kiss escaped its debt!
Son, to your death you'll pay your due--
Women and elephants never forget.
Ever a man, alas, would mix,
Ever a man, heigh-ho, must woo;
So he's left in the world-old fix,
Thus is furthered the sale of rue.
Son, your chances are thin and few--
Won't you ponder, before you're set?
Shoot if you must, but hold in view
Women and elephants never forget.
Down from Caesar past Joynson-Hicks
Echoes the warning, ever new:
Though they're trained to amusing tricks,
Gentler, they, than the pigeon's coo,
Careful, son, of the curs'ed two--
Either one is a dangerous pet;
Natural history proves it true--
Women and elephants never forget.
L'ENVOI
Prince, a precept I'd leave for you,
Coined in Eden, existing yet:
Skirt the parlor, and shun the zoo--
Women and elephants never forget.
2.5k
My weapon is voice today
'tis careless
a spell amoungst curs
it puts close friends in their places
and worried
(behind my back)
It kisses with mischeif
and muddies stray-fully
My weapon is played
a trial
a tool
to bring about my isolation
Then i may exit without notice
and unfollowed
a relief, in release
My real work shall begin abroad
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 1:07 AM UTC
Batman in his belfry
Robin at the all you can eat buffet
Batgirl in my bedroom
things going, all my way
Riddler plying his prose
Gordon on patrol
Catwoman in my trousers
happily, loosing all control
Joker playing the saboteur
Penguin relaxing at the shore
Harley-quinn in my shower
as golly gee and will-a-curs
I can't ask for nothing more
Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 10:15 PM UTC
Come to think of it, Garrison Keillor reads poetry like he'd feign be Bukowski or something.
(sonnets #MMMMMCCCXXXII and MMMMMCCCXXXIII)
I
Bukowski. If I'd known--and there must trail
Off seeking an excuse to bother hence
With aught. Nor should I have writ these his sense
Of our supposed age could acknowledge bail
For, since his voice kills any spirit's frail
Hope of existance, while he coughs from thence
To fiercely say the madness dictates whence
As chopped, clipped phrases whereby he'd prevail.
And Shelley, who saw further than now's poor
Horizon, said art veils her glass whilst through
The centries curs as ole Bukowski tour--
To vanish, sans a note. Yet here all who
Aspire think vile is tops, our work as twere
In vain and refuse. Cuz such never knew.
II
Lo, ****** Surrey, Wyatt, and aught hence
Who bowed themselves to Petrarch's mincing scale,
Yes, "polished our erst homely," ruder tale
Of lines and poetry, whose manners thence
Became refined thus as we yielded, whence
Far more rebelled than dared submit, t'assail
What set us 'part from beasts as if in frail
Excuse to cavil suited their intents.
He said the "mountaintop" was mine as twere
T'enjoy, but if I wanted friends maunt do,
As they all wallowed in the mud, each boor
Disgusted save by filthy scents. Sans clue
Of our high calling meant to raise th'obscure
Light for our fellow man, ye can't, who knew.
24Dec15c,d
Aug 17, 2016
Aug 17, 2016 at 9:18 PM UTC
*canst poor smile
amid world in bad-shod fit
writ's a-fire
pardon season's ire*
bring'st forth jollity and smiles aplenty
ne'er plaintive be of the sad woe of man
lift high-sky the bless'd, one and seventy
mind scant the fo'c's'tle head in deadpan
floweth into desires flowers of merriment
push upon life gladness; poem of joy-bright
exult all forms of joviality and rejoice on
cheery-heart to amuse and glide to skylight
be curs'd with melancholia; fry all the frowns
ring in goodly-humour and make-it-all-bright
drown dips of despair and banish the downs
expel the heartbroken-ideals; deport skint-lite
what befits the real-feel to true equal-match
face with beck-n-call smile belies wake-latch
(fake)
S T - 29 sept
Sep 29, 2013
Sep 29, 2013 at 2:56 AM UTC
Trick tricky on a radiant platform
Jezebel, arms full of gnashing curs
She loves everybody, that girl
She always meant well
The most dangerous thing in the world
Riding the dragon straight into the apocalypse
Nine heads slavering, always hungry
Swollen with decades of wasted debauchery
Brimstone falling from the rafters, pillars of melting wax, melting faces
Tongue to the iron, proving my lie
A deception of self, it’s a ******* masterpiece
The garden lush that falls to rot,
Lunatic blight, land that salts itself
Spending what was spent until it is finally dry like wither.
I,
I run hot and cold, a cheap parlor trick gone bad
Changing phase to phase and back again, losing a little more each time
Tiamat to fire the kiln, I wait
Too polluted by far to continue this way any longer
Wrapping myself up small for you, so helpless and inevitable
Hell-bent on teaching you how to better abuse me
Help me to recreate myself, oh yes please
I am, you will find
More pliable even, in the heat of your hands
Jan 5, 2012
Jan 5, 2012 at 1:10 AM UTC
_
On
Goolwa Beach
the waves are
dogged
bounding
puppies bouncing
excitedly around your feet
Greyhounds sprinting in to nip your
ankles Labradors wet nosed gambolling
slobbering Rottweilers snarling slavering
knocking you off balance in packs hard
on the heels of the leader *** crazed
sniffing the one in front mounting it
mad things collapsing foaming retreating
whimpering spent on the sand cowering like whipped curs
Nov 22, 2011
Nov 22, 2011 at 2:03 AM UTC
---:$:---:$:---
There he goes
the Democrat's fool
the Republican's stooge
a New Order tool
He thinks his candidate
tells the truth
He's heading for the
voting booth
There she goes
those lies are glib
her female hero
promotes Woman's Lib!
For corporate governance
they're all in
They got that
Jolly Roger Grin!
There they stand
The brave Senators
The political nightmare
Dogs and curs
You're out of work
and in a jam?
Just email your
Congressman!
As far as our
Fearless Leaders go
they're no better
they're politicos
For corporate governance
they're all in
They got that
Jolly Roger Grin!
At the end of our rope
we choke and dance
but we keep our
political stance
We listen to their
clever quips
kissing babies
with rotting lips
But they are poisoning
the water we drink
the air we breathe
C'mon folks!
THINK!
We have power!
We have might!
We gotta think!
We gotta fight!
The Constitution's
eroding away!
The Bill of rights?
Ha! Gone today.
In the end
We could WIN!
There's 99 of US to only
ONE OF THEM
For corporate governance
they're all in
They got that
Jolly Roger Grin
SoulSurvivor
(C) 2/17/2015
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 5:25 AM UTC
Light upon the statue of
retreat,
"Get away from me!"
stupid mother,
for I, myself, lie
within a lie
and cards dealt do
fly, I
hesitate to say I wish I could
cry, but
the disgrace would
hit me in the face
Crush the ****** ants
crush them all
roll them over
call it up
ring it back
**** it in
blow it out,
left dead
no longer wandering
about
Leave me this way
with my false laughter,
stagnating mind,
it is true, I try to be kind,
But all for not
I cannot blot,
Make me blind
hurt me
justify my doubled
contempt,
it makes no sense
that at one time
I rhymed
and dreamed
A destructive force
is strong,
A reconstructive force
is too late,
a world of isolation
wouldn't that be great!?
Unable to retreat
for only fools avoid thought
and the universal mind,
without a translator,
is a love me not
In what I say none shall see,
I sting,
I stung,
just like an assimilated ant-bee.
Listen! What do you
see?
See! What do you
hear?
Uncensored, What do you
feel?
Tasteless human hell
Heavenly human smell,
oh...
do tell.
All combined by the link
brake the ****** chain,
disconnect
local bus,
electrical circuit drain:
If a tree falls in the forest... cliche.
If information is lost on the super-highway... cliche.
I refuse
to lose,
now amused,
at the fun-filled mind
so depressed, lifting up all but itself,
just put them on the shelf
free time for yourself
Lyrics to rise:
Curs' ed female
emotional warfare
Damn' ed males
physical,
unemotional warfare
The battle of a single mind
Destroying the thing we wind
Will we fall behind?
Look backwards,
at the passing of time,
LOOK! AHEAD!
Fix what was wrong...
and live really long
Lyrics to sing to a
retreating statue:
"Come here I care!"
loving mom
For a lie is just a
defense against
closeness,
a decent hand to
hold on to
I wish I could lie
and deny,
but truth always unfolds
don't die
Long live the ants
live long to them all
blow the hate out,
is that what I was
wondering about?
Be By Me
Not Too Close,
Stagnate Laughter
is soon repulsed,
I care, perhaps too much,
for ones unknown and known
my only request:
return the zest,
Return my dreams
or the balance of force
I have retreated in the
solace of universally translated hope;
I solidify and take shape,
running in many directions.
Jul 18, 2010
Jul 18, 2010 at 8:56 AM UTC
I kept quiet as a mouse
Soppy did too; we stayed snake close
to the ground in the tall grass
we didn't hear no hounds,
but that didn't mean them dogs
weren't there
Soppy and I had done
what old lady Lucinda said--waded in the deep creek
a good hour to leave them curs nothin' to sniff
with my one clear eye
I could see them flames bobbin' up and down
like gold ghosts in the willows
the air smelled like rain
I prayed real hard it would come down
drown out them fires
that would be one mighty sign
the good Lord heard my prayers
and took pity on us
Soppy, me and whatever other souls
hid in the devil's dark, watchin' the flames,
fearin' they meant eternal damnation
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 10:58 PM UTC
With sense, and summer's scent, heart sinks,
Another boon of fairy's whims and eye, methinks,
Intrepid scars fall on porcelain skin,
And curs'd lips talk of holds worn thin,
Of grasps too close, faces pressed in
To chests but soft, its longing cheek,
Atrophic want like loves do lovers seek.
But freed the lover's laden list,
Release the flowing lover's tryst,
...
Bruised, and bloodied, with toothless grit
The fearless lion's faces it.
My timeless body, strewn before you,
Revealing all it has to give,
And relinquishing all that's left to live.
Mar 17, 2011
Mar 17, 2011 at 4:38 PM UTC
No entry,
they're putting sentries down in Whitehall
and snipers on the roof,
the truth is, they don't want to see
how they've ****** up
society.
They'll be shooting us like mad curs
there's no reasoning with them and
they'll be laughing with the bankers.
This is the ministry of gentlemen!
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 7:20 AM UTC
Words over stupid ****
about words over more stupid ****
Showing of teeth like foaming mad curs.
Bumping chests like gorillas being ******
Standing ground like alley cats.
Threatening to leave one,
daring one to leave.
One staying behind,
one going.
A perfectly hung door angrily slammed.
5,000 miles of tire tread burned into the driveway.
One not knowing where he will sleep tonight,
one wondering if he is really gone this time.
Get some gas, drive around re-acting the night.
Roll down the window to cool down.
Realize there is no where to go.
Park and think, re-acting the night.
Night air detoxifying the insanity of anger.
Start the car, return to the scene of the scene.
Stealthily pull into the abused driveway.
Wait til she goes to bed.
Quietly slink into the blue guest room.
Try to sleep but toss and turn and re-act the night.
Finally shut down the internal conversation at 4am.
Morning,
oh God facing her.
Wait!
She said just as much stupid **** as I did last night.
I'll make waffles, and French press.
Feb 22, 2013
Feb 22, 2013 at 1:35 AM UTC
[Click]
“–ll now and you can win a Dream vacation, with the Artist himself! For those of you just tuning in, this is yet another hit by Grammy-nominated singer/songwriter Sam Cole, on MTVChristmas. Here’s The Slime of the Ancient Caroler”
♫ I am an iamb man, I am
and so it’s come to haunt
such will be the meter for
My Christmastime account
I do beg you not give haste
I know you’re on your way
But I’ll be quick, as not to waste
a minute of your day
the party, it can wait young sir
as all good things will do
my warning comes for times of myrrh
and a frankincent or two
Sit back or stand, relax your hands
now dawning is the time
when you must beware, of songs in air
of Ancient Car’lers slime
It all starts at first December
When she haunts the streets at night
Watching dying embers
Release their doom-ed light
That’s when she comes, dear little ones
bearing candles of her own
she brings the light, to cull your fright
from darkness cold as stone
sometimes her many fiends come with
to throw you off your guard
and though you’ll think “not dangerous”
that’s when the music starts
And O the ringing, singing bells
will melt into your soul
and heat the morning frost untill
your soul again is whole
but just when you release all of
the tensions from your mind
once upon a song of love
the devil hid behind
the devil with his might did peek
to celebrate your loss
that’s when you’ll see a beak, and he
the winged albatross
oh curs-ed you, ye albatross
hadst not thou’st had thy will?
This is time to wear the cross
why do you haunt me still?
Go now, children, beware the slime
be merry and be well
earmuffs now, avoid the rime
and singing Christabells ♫
“Whoa… that’s a hit that’s sure to be around for decades. You can pick up this single at any–”
[Click]
Jun 13, 2012
Jun 13, 2012 at 6:07 PM UTC
¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯
. . . of incantations in
cantankerous philosophy!
Of these lying liabilities,
what startling objection, so accosting,
has exhausted me? More so than
named quite unfortunate atrocity!
Shall hordes of thought be accursed
by degrees of displeasing hostility
such that satiated curiosity
be evermore abashed in me?
“. . . but I have admonished thee,”
said he,
this subtle, blackened tenant
with a tin man's tonality.
This paper drum that bends to sing
does beg of him the courtesy;
yet, acrid rhetoric singes the hair
with unfavorable flintlock fidelity.
His evasive guarantee then
upends the pores relentlessly.
*“These words will compel a poor
foresight to bleed in the fray
as cascading tears cast their weight
upon cheek in dismay . . .”*
. . . to quash the cypress toxin
of a caustic potpourri—
a dissembling toupee
to one's balding reality.
O lasting opacity
of such poignant translucency,
this flagrant serendipity,
once spawned, must always be?
Possibly; though, I cannot count
how many sets see dawns at sea.
“. . . but I have astonished thee,”
said he
through this Möbius rebuttal
like some soap on TV,
though, it’s ne'er some rerun
what’s cliché wants creativity.
The veiling lee of his lofty marquee
beclouds that one pyrrhic mystery—
that now-clandestine oblation
of one bless'ed unanimity.
*“Akin to a twin whose soul’s
one sin was mine to portray.
‘I’ll pay ne’er a thought!’
curs’ed common naïveté . . .”*
. . . and yet, that's cause to bend
reverent knee, not to thee,
but to that which mine
eye's sole endeavor is to see.
“So, leave me be!”
I lament, ostensibly,
“Lest that passage fall paved
by none other than me.”
Perhaps the Second World war
is just my cup of tea.
“. . . or perhaps this darkness is me,”
said he
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 5:00 PM UTC
This migraine never leaves me,
it is there thumping.
I have tried blocking out this constant throbbing.
I have my hands in front of my eyes,
hiding from the light,
It never works because that ****** pain is still there.
My chest seems to be on fire, with all this coughing,
I am too stubborn for my own good to see a doctor.
I am wheezing and gasping for breath, I hate this.
Bringing up fluid and still fighting that headache.
Worst of all,
is the slight smell coming from my leg,
This ulceration keeps coming back to haunt me.
Why won't it ever heal?,
I don't need this in my life.
Maybe I should give up,
I seem to be falling apart.
Right now,
I would do anything to escape with a drink,
To forget all these curs'd troubles striking me down.
The problem with drinking alone is no one is there,
To share in these moments of desperate need.
Jul 1, 2010
Jul 1, 2010 at 6:00 PM UTC
Did you forget all of me was inside you?
I only used your holes for my spare parts
At first-until each ounce I extracted
Now, looking in the mirror asking-who?
I think I lost myself inside of you
I can't retrieve now that you've retracted
You've broken me with your breach of contract
I used to see color, now only blue.
Love or life, I wonder which is the greater loss?
Is ownership a prerequisite of grief?
If so, my pain I am not entitled.
Although relieved I am of albatross
I'm now racked with curs'd thoughts of that thief
Alone, sans my resource for survival.
Oct 3, 2017
Oct 3, 2017 at 1:10 PM UTC
Mothers' Night
cascading
shards uneasy
echoes
falling
"It's our calling."
**** of Earth, hot spurts of words
savage knives
Abiding
Mothers, sacred and mundane
twist into harridan
cold stars
wailing, hurtling waves
Sad, old, crust of ages sliced,
******* carved up for profit
"It's not the color of the skin,
the culture of the smile"
the scent of danger,
the inborn stranger -- all excuses for
Us (superior) and Them (inferior)
"They are not like we;
but lower curs."
we may harm with unfettered glee
Cursed to be cut
to our requirement. Borders clear
"Here, fear fences in
our livelihood and wives."
Leave THEM to
putrid pits
cunning jabs, our pleasure.
Thus all treasure that might
regale, heal, reveal true worth,
of man and Earth
sold for pittance of potash
to dance a weary jig
May 12, 2010
May 12, 2010 at 6:58 PM UTC
We do not have to know the man who walks
three hours northside to southside of town
past green bluegrass lawns, over white
picket fences, around chains of
snapping curs and through
vegetable patches to his
home willed him by
his dead mama;
knowing him is not necessary,
helping him is our responsibility.
Sep 7, 2016
Sep 7, 2016 at 6:33 PM UTC
we dice
and hold the upper hand
with fortunes won hard but
life is a dog and we are curs
with fates befit a mutt
Feb 4, 2013
Feb 4, 2013 at 3:05 AM UTC
I found a skeleton of a bus
so far into the pines, I knew it had been
dropped from the sky, to save me
they had to be far behind,
the other side of the stream, where those hounds
lost my scent
Jed and Tonto didn’t follow me across
the shallows, and I’d bet all the money I ever stole
those curs and the posse ate them up
there was almost half a moon, though
inside the bus was black; outside was freezing
drizzle pattering on the roof
the coat I filched was soaked
my trousers too--nobody told me
Alabama got this cold
if they had
I wouldn’t have believed them
until that night
I curled up in a ball
behind the driver’s seat, shoved
my frozen hands in my shirt
then I heard that hiss, and saw
those eyes--I stayed quiet, more quiet even
than when I hid from John law
then she growled, deep, slow
but I kept watching her eyes--emerald and still, still
in the place I first saw them
then we were both silent
I’d *** my drawers before I’d move
freeze outside... get ate inside
the hours passed fast; I drifted,
dreamed a little of being back inside, and woke
when the sun hit the cracked windshield
she was still there
with two cubs nursing, now used to my smell
I suppose, since she didn’t jump
when I slid down the bus stairs
into the frosty grass, where I saw a doe
chewing forbs, close to the roots
lucky the lion had her babes stuck
to her teats, lucky I was between the cat and prey,
lucky the bus was in that grove
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 11:50 PM UTC
LOVE IS THE KEY
Let us dance in the cold wind.
Let us speak the words of knowledge,
Let true love be the key to everything
and death our resting place;
Let all roses of the garden splinter
through the life of the broken hearten,
let the sea rip away darken dreams
let the slave mourn for the free
let all kneel on the holy grounds
where the ancient slaves rest their heads,
love is the seed to all who bleeds
that love thee;
but to those that sold their souls
let the cry to the darken moon,
where roses once bloomed
but now rose dust to all who is curs
go to your hollowed sea,
envy and hate is a nasty disease
that will sink the ship of all in greed,
all you will ever receive is the pain
that seems to never go away,
your soul will bleed
your mind will go crazy
your heart heavy
your eyes will always tear
because your lost holding so much fear,
slaves of darkness will clutch their teeth
they will always bleed,
busted up lips that never been kissed
wounds that never heal
love will never be but a darken dream,
a place where you will crave the beauty of the sun
but they grey will be all you see,
But if you are ready for change,
True love is the key that will set you free.
Poetic Judy Emery © 2017
The Queen of Darken Dreams Poetic Lilly Emery
Mar 21, 2017
Mar 21, 2017 at 1:24 AM UTC