"dens" poems
Snow falling
the bear snoozing
sunflowers stalling
A Sunflower blooming
The Sun is blinding
Sunflowers blooming
Mating calls for fighting
a sunflower glooming
Perennials rebloom
as a sunflower tries to
Sunflowers rebloom
a sunflower dies too
The snowflakes fall
a Sunflower grows tall
sunflowers wilt
the dens are built
Snow falling
The bear snoozing
sunflowers stalling
A Sunflower glooming
Sep 2, 2018
Sep 2, 2018 at 4:51 PM UTC
imagine an underground network of rapists preying
on tourist & local girls; having an agreement w/
the pimps & cops [same]; the tourist guides
leading the ladies of all types, mostly young,
stupid & white - blonde is better; local girls
hitting puberty, getting dragged into the den
at twelve get a choice, if they live; the dens filled
w/ liquor & drugs; partying a little or just jumping
her, dragging her to the open floor;
she wakes up naked, thankfully not dead, her
purse nearby; she goes to meet her new Desi
bf at the bazaar where he introduces her
to his friends; that night the same thing
happens; it happens for a week then a month,
then she helps the gang get other girls into it;
it goes on all summer, & on into another summer,
the winter filled w/ hot springs & expensive dates
on the paved side of the street; Bollywood stars
in American cars paying her **** who pays her
coyote who pays the cop to get her to Europe on a
tourist visa to work an exclusive Parisian Brothel
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 6:32 AM UTC
Norwegian:
”Og kjærligheten ble verdens opphav og verdens hersker; men alle dens veier er fulle av blomster og blod, blomster og blod.”
TRANSLATED BY ME:
English:
"And love turned out to be the origin of the world and its master; but all of its roads are filled with flowers and blood, flowers and blood."
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 6:59 PM UTC
Let me move slowly through the street,
Filled with an ever-shifting train,
Amid the sound of steps that beat
The murmuring walks like autumn rain.
How fast the flitting figures come!
The mild, the fierce, the stony face;
Some bright with thoughtless smiles, and some
Where secret tears have left their trace.
They pass--to toil, to strife, to rest;
To halls in which the feast is spread;
To chambers where the funeral guest
In silence sits beside the dead.
And some to happy homes repair,
Where children, pressing cheek to cheek,
With mute caresses shall declare
The tenderness they cannot speak.
And some, who walk in calmness here,
Shall shudder as they reach the door
Where one who made their dwelling dear,
Its flower, its light, is seen no more.
Youth, with pale cheek and slender frame,
And dreams of greatness in thine eye!
Goest thou to build an early name,
Or early in the task to die?
Keen son of trade, with eager brow!
Who is now fluttering in thy snare?
Thy golden fortunes, tower they now,
Or melt the glittering spires in air?
Who of this crowd to-night shall tread
The dance till daylight gleam again?
Who sorrow o'er the untimely dead?
Who writhe in throes of mortal pain?
Some, famine-struck, shall think how long
The cold dark hours, how slow the light,
And some, who flaunt amid the throng,
Shall hide in dens of shame to-night.
Each, where his tasks or pleasures call,
They pass, and heed each other not.
There is who heeds, who holds them all,
In his large love and boundless thought.
These struggling tides of life that seem
In wayward, aimless course to tend,
Are eddies of the mighty stream
That rolls to its appointed end.
7.8k
an aging APE developed arthritis in his ankles
several BATS tasted the nectar from the plum trees
Jessica's CAT played with the ball of wool
DINGOS were seen skulking around the camp site
there are two types of ELEPHANTS the Asian and African
FERRETS are sent down rabbit warrens to flush them out
Helen saw a GIRAFFE at the wildlife reserve
I wrote a poem titled Hilary The HIPPOPOTAMUS
Who has a pet IGUANA?
Some people say my uncle is a *******
KANGAROOS have muscular tails
Obama rhymes with LLAMA
in parts of Canada MOOSE roam on the loose
a NEWT likes being in a warm environment
some OCTOPI have black dye
baby PANDAS are cute and cuddly
in Australia we have a native bush QUAIL
RACCOONS live in rocky dens
a TAPIR has a very long nose
UAKARI monkeys hang out in the Amazon jungle
if you're looking for a VOLE you'll find him in a hole
WOMBATS move in a very slow manner
an XERUS is a mighty big species of squirrel
the Nepalese have domesticated YAKS
Doctor Dolittle has spoken to a ZEBRA
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 10:54 PM UTC
By Arcassin Burnham
At times, when times,
When I fight beside the people I wanna trust it ends bad.
Making rumors,
rumors that'll make you **** yourself and ruining things that you had.
Quiet and shy, shy now even still incased in the big old brute of a shell.
I've been hurting inside, inside of my mind, lost in this mean matrix,
Can't you tell.
My exes lie beside me, keyword lie,
And I will never trust another girl again.
Filling pieces, pieces of my heart I threw in the trash in desperate dens.
Love is another form, forms of weakness,
Don't you let it all go to your big head.
Lives are on the line , the line of destruction and you feel your life is so dead.
Feb 26, 2018
Feb 26, 2018 at 9:05 AM UTC
You search inner peace in drugs
and alcohol, in gambling and dice.
You search it in haram money
and music and in dens of the vice.
In the dead of night you disobey
Allah, will your heart be at ease?
Hankering after this world will
you ever find inner peace?
Will never end your search,
will never cease your quest.
For verily, in the remembrance
of Allah do hearts find rest!
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 9:32 PM UTC
readily acknowledge our highest standard of luna loving madness
we treat our luna connection with equality -
great affection as well as sensible trepidation,
for its transgender nature, though well disguised,
is but surficial, that we all ken, when compared to
***** bewitching covens who in the forest deepest dens,
exclaim their aroused allegiance over and over and over again
but so so many lunatics lurking in the poetic coven, who knew!
do not ask all the luna~ticced poets to step forward,
unless you wish to crash the internet's servers whom I'm told,
who too, are silent secret devotees
who among us has not scribed truth and lies, when standing outside, greeting the divine presence
Jan 7, 2018
Jan 7, 2018 at 8:04 PM UTC
***** Der var engang en slurk ***** der var bitter over, at alle andre altid skulle blande sig i dens smag. Derfor gjorde den drankeren svag. Sørgede for både udpumpning, black out og tømmermænd. ***** *****
Jan 24, 2015
Jan 24, 2015 at 10:55 AM UTC
you pledge allegiance to a certain type of government
a nation that is ruled by fat men
in ***** dens that cloud the air with smoke
that waters your eyes so you can water their poppy fields
all the while with your right hand over a heart
that beats feverishly with the influx
of toxins that mix with your blood
diluting the poppy petal red
with clear atoms that bubble on spoons
in the shape of bone crossed skulls
they rule with iron fists clenched around
green paper that they take from you and your people
and sell fresh needles as necessary happiness
to counteract the sadness they have created and placed you in
they sit there with smoke rings coming from o-shaped lips
that ring around the perpetual cycle of
supply and demand
supplying addiction and wrapping it in itches
and demanding your free left hand
scratch that itch.
scratch that itch so hard that your skin opens up
and the pain requires more relief.
the nation you live in waves its flag with
173 stars representing Celsius and not celestial
because space is far away from this place
and offers too much unknown for you to think
that unknown is the opposite of the sadness you know
and maybe there is happiness there
where hands are free from swollen veins that act
as puppet strings.
Nov 30, 2012
Nov 30, 2012 at 6:56 PM UTC
I think I would like to make a home of your body
Like the dens I used to make with my siblings,
Before I started saying "no thanks".
To take a doctor's scalpel,
Clean and new and never used
And so very, very sharp
And to rest it in the hollow just where the breastbone ends.
Then to push it in along your soft smooth shiny skin
So unlike the mottled scarring that covers mine.
Down, down, down
To where you wear the waistband of your jeans.
A horizontal swipe at the top,
At the bottom,
Like making the fold of a window in a paper house.
Shh, is anyone home?
Lifting the heavy, wet flesh,
Your rib cage is so very white
And so very perfect
Like special cutlery for special occasions-
Births and weddings and funerals.
They hide your lungs,
Bloodshot and tired of the
Eternal
Moving and moving and moving on and on and on
Your stomach, soft
And vulnerable in its hideousness
Yet it hides the despicable necessity
Of human life.
And your heart,
Plump and fresh and young,
It is restless and strains
But for what when all that lies outside
Is incomprehensible and unnerving and unwelcoming.
So I will leave it all behind
And with damp heavy fatigue crawl
Into your torso like the unborn child
We have all been and will be again.
And your ribs will cradle me like a birdcage
That has grown so sick of the world,
And your organs will cushion and comfort me
When I feel that I do not want to live.
And blood will cover everything
Just as I have always wanted.
Flooding my eyes and nose and mouth and ears
And bathing me in the warmth, the constant gentle pounding,
That would make me feel alive.
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 2:08 PM UTC
i love Satins *****
she means a lot to a bard
i hope shes a switch
but life can be hard
a satanist has class
and has a lot a will
and i love your sweet ***
and i work in Satan's mill
I know about archetypes
there my best friends
ive seen all there lights
and ive lived in their dens
thank god for the devil
hes been a hella good friend
i love you to hurt me
on that you may depend
a blade up my ***
ill shimmy and shake
and give you no sass
hope you want what you take
May 21, 2016
May 21, 2016 at 5:17 PM UTC
I should have run to Japan, to be the writer that I can, to sing folk to girls who are smiling because they can, I should have road the rails, staring at the never ending cities with hearts ablaze, ducking down into a dreamland maze of alley ways, give my poems to hobos and gays, and find any naru to sing karaoke, go into dens and clubs that traded air for smoking, I'd be the talk of toast, and the **** of the island, or I'd get drunk with samurais on a foam pylon, I'd ask a geisha to dance, but get nervous and spill my drink all over my pants, I'd go with malcontents and roughdy otakus as we hit the arcades on speed, I'd stay at a hotel and get married married in the states, I'd fall in love with a girl for a weekend and shed tell me she hates fancy dinners but loves dates, I would end up sleeping in the hills, high and full of chills, I'll tell school children what the stars mean, even though they can't be seen, I'll write a poem about my sin, of wanting my right, my right of a writing man, in Japan.
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 3:21 PM UTC
Alexander Khamala Opicho
(Eldoret Kenya ;[email protected])
you big headed ikhongo murui, why are you ever crying?
i were born found you crying, i am aged you are still crying
can't you find a solution to your problem ?
who wronged you and your are the stone
or are you a harbinger of doom to my people
my brother in laws of isukha and idakho,
we are tired of your ugly grievous tears
the ugly crying face that cites no reason for its grief
you stay near the kakamega provincial police station
why cann't you report those who offended you to the station
are you a messenger of doom?
because whenever you cry
fate befalls your neighbours
as you cry a mother miscarries
as you cry road carnage happens
as you cry suicide happens
as you cry husbands desert wives for prostitutes
at Lurambi commercial *** dens
why can't stop crying for the sake of peace
you malicious crying stone of kakamega forest.
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 12:08 PM UTC
Quest along the beaten path -
Rite of Passage;
Cheerfully pay toll -
Your Fair Share of sacrifice.
In return,
Earn
Falsehoods, hollow&unholy;
Silhouettes of acceptance
Virtual applause
Manufactured smiles,
Which guide like tracks,
Revealing shortcuts to sunlight
Passing predators' dens
...
Lustful leeches
Latch on with thirst,
Flesh swells
Veins burst-
A familiar love
...
Still travelling
In figure 8s -
Hypnotic lemniscates,
An infinite conflict-
Self-reliant cannibal
Indulges in
Structured insanity.
Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 6:23 PM UTC
Through the nights
of alchemy
and the religion
of your touch
I found myself perverted
I found myself free.
Through the eyes of those who seek
for fame or infamy
that climb the ladder
for trust and security
I found myself perverted
I found myself free.
Through the rustling of leaves
that heralds your approach
and the sun that turns
its gold to the storm
I found myself perverted
I found myself free.
Through the haze of city lights
that silence the moon and stars
and the sleep of the streets
abandoned by foot and car
I found myself perverted
I found myself free.
Through the vast abandon
of the pleasure dens and bars
that sell relief and ecstacy
to the dusted and the ******
I found myself perverted
I found myself free.
Through the *** of angels
that call forgiveness after saints
Through the empty street
which shares your name
I found myself perverted
I found myself free.
Through the passing of time
to the breadth of now,
and the passing of the babe
from mother to sow
I found myself perverted
I found myself free.
Through the sacred and profane
and the knife of your beauty
upon this honest name
I found myself perverted
I found myself free.
Through the slavery of man
and the freedom of nations
I found myself perverted
I found myself free.
I found myself.
Mar 2, 2014
Mar 2, 2014 at 12:44 AM UTC
It was 4am and snow
had fallen silently for hours
leaving a thick blanket of marshmallow skin
draped over all, and silence reigned
like a wise emperor whose subjects slept
without fear of Timpani.
Trees were over- burdened by drift
and bent like old men,
they stood
where their seedlings had taken root
centuries before villages
crept
up from the valley
to squat among them,
bringing chimneys and children,
women and men,
and all their
dreams.
It was late
and stillness shimmered
in moon-glow and cedar musk.
frozen stars,
all around
mounds of them
as gentle winds
plowed through the natural world
sweeping smoke from rooftops.
As
Giant owls; Their wings
cupping the elemental
patrolled pillows strewn about
the star chamber
of all Gods...
Up where an omnipotent Love
dreams on and on about giant owls
and how from here, the owls were gods,
patroling the nursery
of new gods.
Owls were floating in warmth, that had been
crushed into something
it had never suspected,
they were Owls
that kept the riff raff
outside
the perfect moment
for gods to catch some sleep...
they make it so
As Owls
too small too comprehend,
the vast Love
that loved them...
even so
a majesty was theirs
if not a mind that could have known - and not
unravel from the effort
of such Understanding
They were
savagely beautiful
in all their oblivious fulfillment
of the creator's plan;
they were
Lords
wearing crowns
without burden...
At 4am, the mice below the frozen stars that fell overnight were in there dens with uneasy sleep tickling their whiskers. Those mice out of sight of The Plan's Predator, unseen in the dirt pouch under rich soil and snow, The lucky ones continued to be blessed. The gods were sleeping... and they all loved mice... So at 4am, the mice below the frozen stars that fell overnight; they received all access to another day on earth... they enjoyed the consequence of Love's action, for owl eyes were denied cute things to look at but saw everything else. And beaks ... Well....
They would go wanting.
At 4am, all Mice who prayed for windows never got windows at all.
And the first snowflake to ever have a Red dream
was later made a prophet.
Oct 8, 2012
Oct 8, 2012 at 11:27 AM UTC
On hot summer days that strech ouy like this
Bird and bug song harmonized in the air
Cool water splashing with the sound of kids
Hearts start to be wild and do as wished
Leafed breezes blow away all hardened care
Creatures come from the dens in which they hid
As stars draw in like a smooth panther fur
And future folds out, bright and unsure
Music calls out in the dead of night
As all come out to camp, dance, chat, and play
We try our bravado and our own fright
As summer nights flow into the dog days
Jun 15, 2017
Jun 15, 2017 at 10:53 AM UTC
nothing lives at 14,000 feet.
on the high pass the last land
the grassland we'd drag our sheep
to briefly graze between the valleys of
colca, and puno.
focused in motion, heads low
wrapped round in many layers when we'd sleep.
in dens, in dark, in distrust of stars
and worn old men of mists each night,
that toothlessly bite,
at broken brown stone, gums
hopeless, hungry, salivating and desperately white.
nothing lives at 14,000 feet.
but rocks dreaming cold rock dreams.
remembering when babel fell...
fists first ****** from young rubble, to find
that hands are hands and hands can climb.
nothing lives at 14,000 feet.
but the livestock we'd drag
and keep alive, tireless
because towers are brought low
but hills only grow
and there are coats to stay the snow.
but to pass through this place we
knowing tempt death, incur
the wrath of Abraham blaspheme
the Word and the Way and
the rich air and pastures,
from which rocks are raised
to keep us from the heights for which we lust.
in old history, obvious.
forgot. spoke only in folk songs.
ritualized in rote laws.
but in secret, memorialized.
as solitary, at the highest point
each passerby takes pause...
stares down at the earth from the sky,
kneels, in the dust, picks up
three, four, not more, small brown rocks
to place at maras in defiance and triumph.
superstitiously stacking little stones.
as if to say,
"here lord.
here is something you can knock down.
here is something you can bring low."
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 9:30 AM UTC
I will not toy with it nor bend an inch.
Deep in the secret chambers of my heart
I muse my life-long hate, and without flinch
I bear it nobly as I live my part.
My being would be a skeleton, a shell,
If this dark Passion that fills my every mood,
And makes my heaven in the white world's hell,
Did not forever feed me vital blood.
I see the mighty city through a mist--
The strident trains that speed the goaded mass,
The poles and spires and towers vapor-kissed,
The fortressed port through which the great ships pass,
The tides, the wharves, the dens I contemplate,
Are sweet like wanton loves because I hate.
1.9k
In a far distance land, away from humans
There you can see a great forest of beauty
A dense forest with moist green moss
And mighty trees stand proud in its green leaves
Under the warm breeze of the summer season;
If you go deeper unto the green land,
Beyond the tall trees and silence of the forest
You'll see a wondrous place a city can never offer
Because you'll see what nature's true beauty is;
There you can see diversity in animals and plants;
Somewhere into the forest, a creature can be seen
They are free to roam around in their own habitat
And as nighttime comes, they retreat to their homes
Into their own dens for shelter, protection and comfort
As they sleep and wait for the sun rises in the morning;
I honestly say they are truly a majestic creatures
Called Grizzly Bear also know as Brown Bear
They are species of mammals with interesting behavior
For they hunt and mate in the warm breeze
And hibernate in the cold winter season;
Grizzly Bear also have unique characteristics:
Because of the white tips found in their furs
Especially in the shoulders and back part,
It creates an illusion of being grizzled;
Hence the name Grizzly bear was given;
Grizzly Bears are omnivores, a plant and meat eater;
They are large, they are hunters, they can fish salmon;
They enjoy eating berries and nuts in the forest;
They are brown and huggable creatures
But don't dare hug them;
A Grizzly Mother Bears are great parents too
Like any devoted mothers, they teaches their young;
Mothers taught cubs to dig and hunt with their claws
Also how to stand up tall in their two legs!
Like how a adult Grizzly Bear living in the forest should be.
Apr 21, 2019
Apr 21, 2019 at 5:29 PM UTC
the
castillo alhambra a
watchful brown *****
on the hill
smiling crenellated un
der grey-silk skirts of cloud &
in wicker chairs mouths
—open (talkin’ bout last night’s walk home from vogue)
—close (swallow morsels of tapas: paella)
& lips shut ‘round cigarettes.
…
… past inactive fountain where children play their various jeugos next to the riverwall and distrustful, rail-thin cats peer from brickwall dens to watch flitting finches bounce on vines & budding branches. it is very warm; the air is heavy as is the ground. man is stuck between like a roach ‘twixt two ***** mattresses // three girls looking at me writing smoking drinking beer eating that paella don’t know what to think.
Apr 11, 2012
Apr 11, 2012 at 5:58 PM UTC
We used to play guns with sticks
and we all knew how to die convincingly
with playing cards in our spokes
we summit hills atop motorcycles
ratatatatatattt
we walked through woods
explorers and pioneers
waiting for dinner or supper or bedtime
when summer was another world entirely
and the stains on our clothes
told stories
and not worries
We would carve sticks into spears
with knives our mothers did not know we had
today we hunt pheasant
we never did catch one
but we made dens deep in the woods
and climbed trees until we didn’t know how to get down
the hay bales stacked four stories high
in the farmer’s field
was a jungle gym
and when the farmer chased us away
in his combine harvester
we were playing Jurassic Park
back when girls were silly, annoying little things
that none of us were quite sure why we liked
and fights were forgotten within the hour
we had better things to laugh at
a marble composition book filled with ****** raps
and graffiti designs
we would take stones and make them into entire planets
but before long
our shadows caught up with us
a stick was just a stick
a bike just a way to beat the heat
and we were all too aware
of the special effects
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 1:51 PM UTC