"dirk" poems
In fair Verona where Will set the scene
Belle Fortune moves the markers up and down.
Two households both alike in dignity
Fiercely compete for fear of losing ground.
When Juliet saw Romeo at the dance
Events were set in motion that, perchance,
Would see fair Juliet as our Romeo’s bride
but ultimately result in her suicide.
With Tybalt and Mercutio both dead,
And Capulet and Montague estranged.
Young Paris sought fair Juliet to wed
not knowing of her loss of maiden-head.
Romeo was banished for his crime,
a sin for which a peasant would have died
Their two households, joined because they wed,
remained divided by their foolish pride.
Summer’s fierce heat shimmered in the air,
oppressive in the absence of a breeze.
With Friar Lawrence’s help, Romeo’s girl played dead,
as if struck down by some unknown disease
Romeo , in Mantua, heard that his Juliet
Lay dead amongst the sleeping Capulets.
A draught of deadly poison he obtained
So they might sleep together once again.
When Romeo met Paris at her tomb,
Words led to swordplay, leaving Paris dead.
Would not the world have been a better place
if Romeo had kept it sheathed instead?
Unshriven, Romeo drank the poison down-
the only son of Montague now dead.
Perchance just then fair Juliet revives
Bereaved, she took his Dirk to bed instead.
Authorities, arriving at the scene,
could only mourn a brace of kinsmen lost.
Capulet and Montague were reconciled
Their amity bought at a fearful cost.
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 7:47 AM UTC
Beowulf the hier of nothing of rot
Mother he know not
Raised in shame banished wroght
Returned to his village to seek wrothgar a father he yet sought
News of death the sorrow he fought
Till the night trouble it brought
Grendal at night did strike
Killing thous from wicked and strife
None but Beowulf saw the **** of the fight
Guards did come, and saw a false sight
Beowulf they thought the killer that night
Sentenced to death but never to suffer that blight
Beowulf escaped and rode at dawn, Off to seek golem and where he lurk
Off to the woods there they found Grendal
With much haste golem charged Beowulf dirk was drawn
Hacking off the fingers of golem was hurt
Grendal roared and ran
Holding tightly to his wounded hand
Beowulf returned with trophy in bag gasps where made across the land
Guards double watch patrolling village to make a stand
Night came and blood was shed
Grendal made way to the mead hall all the way warriors bled
Beowulf was ready and calmly said
I have his fingers how about his arm instead
Attacking the creatures buckled arm ripping it off golem then ran and fled
Beowulf grabbed arms and said fingers now arm soon his head
They reassembled on horses arms ready and raged
Gave chase
All fell but Beowulf by accord golem laid dead he lead deeper around bend
mother by him seducing Beowulf of power and ***** by all that was said
Beowulf accepted the fouls bargain
But all was not well in thee end
Dragon flew to the sky warriors of King Beowulf Fend
Beowulf killed his son of the dervish deal the dragon
But deadly wounds of were not on dragon alone Beowulf had fallen both a killing blow send
Beowulf funeral ceremony of fire and water below the deep the foul was spotted to be burned alive with Beowulf lover in arms
Blasphemy and Treacherous woes for all of she slaughtered
Now known Beowulf deed leading men like fodder
Against them knowing deal he had waged
Too be written and sung in the latter days
Beowulf the hero king the liar the cheat they called
Beowulf the man flawed as all that ultimately brought his downfall
Nov 20, 2020
Nov 20, 2020 at 6:56 PM UTC
Oh, I should like to ride the seas,
A roaring buccaneer;
A cutlass banging at my knees,
A dirk behind my ear.
And when my captives' chains would clank
I'd howl with glee and drink,
And then fling out the quivering plank
And watch the beggars sink.
I'd like to straddle gory decks,
And dig in laden sands,
And know the feel of throbbing necks
Between my knotted hands.
Oh, I should like to strut and curse
Among my blackguard crew...
But I am writing little verse,
As little ladies do.
Oh, I should like to dance and laugh
And pose and preen and sway,
And rip the hearts of men in half,
And toss the bits away.
I'd like to view the reeling years
Through unastonished eyes,
And dip my finger-tips in tears,
And give my smiles for sighs.
I'd stroll beyond the ancient bounds,
And tap at fastened gates,
And hear the prettiest of sound-
The clink of shattered fates.
My slaves I'd like to bind with thongs
That cut and burn and chill...
But I am writing little songs,
As little ladies will.
2.9k
O Liberty, God-gifted--
Young and immortal maid--
In your high hand uplifted,
The torch declares your trade.
Its crimson menace, flaming
Upon the sea and shore,
Is, trumpet-like, proclaiming
That Law shall be no more.
Austere incendiary,
We're blinking in the light;
Where is your customary
Grenade of dynamite?
Where are your staves and switches
For men of gentle birth?
Your mask and dirk for riches?
Your chains for wit and worth?
Perhaps, you've brought the halters
You used in the old days,
When round religion's altars
You stabled Cromwell's bays?
Behind you, unsuspected,
Have you the axe, fair *****
Wherewith you once collected
A poll-tax for the French?
America salutes you--
Preparing to "disgorge."
Take everything that suits you,
And marry Henry George.
2.4k
379
Rehearsal to Ourselves
Of a Withdrawn Delight—
Affords a Bliss like ******
Omnipotent—Acute—
We will not drop the Dirk—
Because We love the Wound
The Dirk Commemorate—Itself
Remind Us that we died.
2.4k
When I share two or three days of the week to compose poetry I find myself on the
exam session when severe merciless teachers ask us to write about “Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard!”
Elegies mostly are unprepared and never find time to turn to the appropriate types!
They ask me on and on...and I ask them in the consulting area that how can we turn my blossomy song to elegies unwritten about the parish of those people, long time ago had been lost exactly on the exam time?
How could you expect me to turn my naïve feeling to one of the catastrophic ones?
>
<
>
time is over
time is up
time is running
time flies
>
<
>
Teachers shout, “ HURRY UP” when will they shut up?
I usually haunt by the bundle of words and circled with tumults of ideas as shining and variable as stars that like the savage river rush out to make me drowned. Very rarely I could find a way to breathe out. Elegies swirling randomly again and again to pose the question about whom shall we very soon defined, Mum?
>...O darlings...<
…motionless corpse, wandering ghost, dead people around,
>.. not stars..<
>...O… no..<
Is there anybody nowadays to think about the “Country Churchyard” and elegies very appropriate to them at all, what a destiny! what a force! while a long time ago they were bestowed to the grand history of all mankind.
O…no…
Poor elegies remain unborn and sad in my thought…not forever…
they laugh…and laugh…I can hear them, time is over and I’m a failure.
<
<
<
The blank sheet is going to be filled by songs wearing the long red robe of emotional loves or lust…they are tired of black mourning cloth of demise!
they laugh
and
laugh and
laugh
since
>
<
I 'm a murderer…tapping with dirk ….or strangling with a heavy rope of my heart….bloodshed everywhere: drops from my fingers to the height. shout, scream and cry, they were innocent, don' t want to die. I can hear them.
>
<
They are killed not to stay further in a cemetery of churchyard but to be born with a new style, either failure or corrupt…
Jan 23, 2019
Jan 23, 2019 at 6:42 AM UTC
What hollow, caustic foulness lies behind the neatly edged hedges,
fences, plastic window frames and glass?
Resting, waiting to be woken, scream what now must not be spoken
Blood-lust of a gutless middle class
What simple lies must needs be told in bold authoritative tones
To activate the drones and make them fight -
To know, that if the call should come they'd march to that benighted drum
And sacrifice intelligence for right?
How big a monster must be built to shoulder guilt for every creeping fear
and insecurity and loss,
Till every hip and critical disclaimant finds a reason for believing
and then carries it, across.
How many layers must be stripped to tip the wretched shreds of indecision
into morals blown apart
And harmless bigot who, at work, was tolerated with a smirk
Now drives a dirk into a stranger's heart?
Now doctor, teacher, business leader, well-respected educated man
proclaims his harmlessness anew,
Make no mistake: the quills are fine and ready as the porcupine
prepares to show what harmless beasts can do.
Dec 2, 2010
Dec 2, 2010 at 9:46 AM UTC
To the boy in my German class who critizised me for picking a male name instead of a female one.
I wonder how your head will ****
When you see your best friend Joey
Become Johanna
I wonder how your jaw will drop
When you see your son
Beg to be bought a dress
I wonder how your ears will suffer
When your daughter
Shows up at your home with her girlfriend
I wonder if you will care
You called me crazy
My name is Dirk
My name is Gender Roles
If you are born a female
I come with
Flowers
I come with
Barbies and pink accessories
I come with pink kitchen sets
and doll hair brushes and fake makeup
I come with pink
I come with pink
I come with pink
I come with pink
I come in fusha
I come in burgandy
I come in lilac
I come in white
For the added package
I come with liposuction
and days without food
I come with too tight clothes
and more labels than you can count
I come with kitchen jokes
I come with being judged if you
had ***
or
Haven't
But wait there's more
If you are male
I come with toy trucks
And remote controls
I come with not crying
I come with blue *****
And Sunday football games
And rough housing and be a man
Be a man
Be a man
Be a man
Be a man
I come in Testosterone black
I come in beaten up blue
I come in Grades don't matter green
I come in what're you looking at white
For the added package
I come with teasing
Required gym time
Peer preasure
Don't cry
I come with straightness
And close minded friends
I come with video games
I come with make the money
Pay for dinner
Pay for movies
Pay for living
Pay for squirming
I come with physical torture
Critizised
For having ***
or
Not having ***
My name is Gender roles and I come in a school room
My name is Izzie and I'm alive
My name is Christy and I'm crying
My name is Dirk and I am satisfied
My name is Gender roles
Sep 19, 2012
Sep 19, 2012 at 7:52 PM UTC
.
War. Famine.
Pestilence. Death.
Enjoy a game of poker.
It relieves the boredom.
They only have one Big project
booked into the work diary.
The horses are stabled,
so why not have down time?
The day-to-day business
takes care of itself.
Ably supervised by the humans
in a race to the Big day.
The stillness is penetrated by sound.
Death cleaning his teeth
with his reaping scythe or
Death sharpening his reaping scythe
on his teeth.
Either way, it shattered vertebrae.
His nerves were getting twitchy.
Three Kings, the Jack and Queen of Clubs.
Royals were dropping like flies.
It was going to be a busy night.
He met Wars eyes and her bet,
**** She looks beautiful sweating),
paid an advance and called.
Uncharacteristically delicate,
he lay down his souls.
Jack and Queen of Clubs.
Kings of Diamonds, Spades and Hearts.
War smiled sweetly.
Her dirk-like eyelashes
fluttering an assassins dance.
Letting her cards fall soft,
triumphant with winners ecstasy,
she declares her hand...
… “SNAP!” she says.
© Pagan Paul (14/03/17)
Mar 15, 2017
Mar 15, 2017 at 6:18 PM UTC
Oh my sweet beloved do not shirk
Do not play with me do not irk
Do not use your beauty as a dirk
Take care and do not be a berk
Do not take my real love so light
You still have to see my real might
I love you for all day and all night
We can achieve real sublime height
Have faith in me and let us glow
Love is ready to accompany and go
With sincerity love will have to grow
In my veins your beauty is to flow
For your sake I can really sacrifice
For you sake I will pay all the price
Extend your hand and don't be bias
For our sake this will surely suffice
I promise I will always take you along
Rest assure I will sing your love song
With your beauty love will be strong
Surely to each other we relate, belong
Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2015 Golden Glow
Jun 1, 2016
Jun 1, 2016 at 1:27 AM UTC
The stylus is more potent than the dirk they say
You don't fail to make a mark even when picked up by a dilettante everyday
Esoteric idioms your masters make you write
While the poignant sentences you write come only late in the night
Someday you are in the hands of the who's who of the town
The other days you spend in the hands of a clown
You come clad in plastic,platinum,silver and gold
With different coloured lifelines-blue,black,red,green and pink
And a plethora of stories you keep clandestine and untold
A travesty you make of the fools and to the prudent you make think
With every word you write, you pant for breath
And when your heart stops beating, they mark it as your death(end of a refill)
You can be cryptic, there's no one stopping
You can be acerbic even with beauty on the outside(the beauty of the letters)
From the Treaty of Versailles to the varied pompous constitutions penned, you've always left me shocking
Blessed be the hands that cradle you and take the ride(ride of the writing)
You take them through the best roller-coaster journey of words
Bringing out the inexplicable happiness be it just the lyre of the birds
A predilection i have for you, for you engender the best in me
I know I'd always have you in the middle of a dark chilled night come what may be
Its you whom i turn to with my querulous platitudes
And you furnish me the answers with a benevolent smile and gratitude
Its you who defines me, for i am nothing but an amorphous mould
Still learning when to be bold and when to feel cold.
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 2:00 PM UTC
Bottle of Tums on the end-table
surrounded by an imprisoned fan;
a lava lamp of antacids, cornered by dead precious-metal presidents.
Some greying ceramic **** matriarch
has a bulb sprouting out of her head,
radiating fat yellow on the olive corner, also onto the loveseat.
I say, I should read.
I say, People don't like
one another, anymore.
She says, I want to be a doctor.
Work with animals, she said,
Help pets and people.
Days go by like the shush
following blurs of traffic.
Am I aging too soon;
Am I important enough
to care.
Try to sell me some
Pyramid Scheme ****
the man my age does--
the kid--
He wants sixty-five for
off-brand perfume. No way.
How about, he looks around,
the manager's discount: twenty.
I say no. I'm sorry. I can't help you.
He says no. He's sorry. He can't help himself.
An American filmography:
A Thief in Brooklyn, 1997,
Dirk Diggler Productions,
A 20 y/o man breaks into
apartments, stealing pills
from the elder renters.
Ghost Before Sundown, 2003,
Marythrone Image,
A woman suspects she is
a ghost and tries to come to
terms with never succeeding
in life.
Aug 22, 2017
Aug 22, 2017 at 8:27 PM UTC
O, Falmouth is a fine town with ships in the bay,
And I wish from my heart it's there I was to-day;
I wish from my heart I was far away from here,
Sitting in my parlour and talking to my dear.
For it's home, dearie, home--it's home I want to be.
Our topsails are hoisted, and we'll away to sea.
O, the oak and the ash and the bonnie birken tree
They're all growing green in the old countrie.
In Baltimore a-walking a lady I did meet
With her babe on her arm, as she came down the street;
And I thought how I sailed, and the cradle standing ready
For the pretty little babe that has never seen its daddie.
And it's home, dearie, home . . .
O, if it be a lass, she shall wear a golden ring;
And if it be a lad, he shall fight for his king:
With his dirk and his hat and his little jacket blue
He shall walk the quarter-deck as his daddie used to do.
And it's home, dearie, home . . .
O, there's a wind a-blowing, a-blowing from the west,
And that of all the winds is the one I like the best,
For it blows at our backs, and it shakes our pennon free,
And it soon will blow us home to the old countrie.
For it's home, dearie, home--it's home I want to be.
Our topsails are hoisted, and we'll away to sea.
O, the oak and the ash and the bonnie birken tree
They're all growing green in the old countrie.
952
It was all silk and sawdust
Mamas skirts rustled a sunday mass
and dad wore his bowler hat tilted at an angle
(dirk bogarde -like look)
But he was a farmer.
soon after the service was over
he'd hang his hat by the cowsheds
and wallow in green slushy poo
irrespective of how much it stank
and how natural he looked
throwing sawdust over the caked green pancakes
and shovelling all that crap into a corner,
with sundays best clothes on!
Mama insisted he change first
but no. "The cows need attention
as much as god does, Mama"
We did not argue with his farmyard philosophy
but that's where we cut our teeth
and tasted a mans love for his animals
both human and beast and that's where
we understood that sunhats, bowlers
and polished walking sticks
were just statements that didn't come
from a book- but society. Somehow
he mixed the two learnings
to get along with everything.
I missed him when he milked his last cow
and lay down forever in that quiet evening
as the sun set in an orange sky. The brightest star
that night climbed over the eastern ridges
to grace the night. Dad?
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 4:18 PM UTC
In fair Verona where Will set the scene
Belle Fortune moves the markers up and down.
Two households both alike in dignity
Fiercely compete for fear of losing ground.
When Juliet saw Romeo at the dance
Events were set in motion that, perchance,
Would see fair Juliet as our Romeo’s bride
but ultimately result in her suicide.
With Tybalt and Mercutio both dead,
And Capulet and Montague estranged.
Young Paris sought fair Juliet to wed
not knowing of her loss of maiden-head.
Romeo was banished for his crime,
a sin for which a peasant would have died
Their two households, joined because they wed,
remained divided by their foolish pride.
Summer’s fierce heat shimmered in the air,
oppressive in the absence of a breeze.
With Friar Lawrence’s help, Romeo’s girl played dead,
as if struck down by some unknown disease
Romeo , in Mantua, heard that his Juliet
Lay dead amongst the sleeping Capulets.
A draught of deadly poison he obtained
So they might sleep together once again.
When Romeo met Paris at her tomb,
Words led to swordplay, leaving Paris dead.
Would not the world have been a better place
if Romeo had kept it sheathed instead?
Unshriven, Romeo drank the poison down-
the only son of Montague now dead.
Perchance just then fair Juliet revives
Bereaved, she took his Dirk to bed instead.
Authorities, arriving at the scene,
could only mourn a brace of kinsmen lost.
Capulet and Montague were reconciled
Their amity bought at a fearful cost.
Aug 13, 2018
Aug 13, 2018 at 8:18 AM UTC
I might look like
ive got a dagger and a dirk
on in each hand
ready to stab deep, to hurt
might look like
ive got fangs that drip venom
but venom's not in em
It's a vicious cocktail
of hurt and hope
might look like
to my temple or to yours
ive got a glock
but i dont and that
tick tocking sound is not
a gun cocking it's a clock
winding down in my memories
because i'm stuck remembering
and reliving them
so i hope it's relieving to know
it
might look like
i wish you dead before i go to sleep
but what i wish is you were next to me
Mar 15, 2012
Mar 15, 2012 at 1:49 AM UTC
Yo
Too many worrin about words
Too many worrin bout language
Too many muthafukkas spoutin off over who said what
Well let me tell ya
Im bigga
Set this off like a trigga
Go figga
Set a trap like a rigga
Then pick her
Up at the spot for a gigga
Ice cold beer,
A 40 for this wigga
Rollin fat
Get in back
Bounce like tigga
Up and over place a bet like
Doug VanHigga
I made that up
Bust a nut
Fill this cup with a piggy pigga
Round *** honeys
Rachet with Dirk Ziggla
Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 10:05 PM UTC
I will learn to fly. I will create my wings with the dirk from the ground. I will create my feathers from the clouds above . I will create rain from my mystic wings . I will fly and leave everything behind . To the stars that will turn to suns . Land in the moon and create an eclipse. I will taste the Milky Way . I'll fly create star clusters that spell your name . For you I'll learn to fly beyond your sight
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 3:27 AM UTC
Scads that stalk and made summer
with righteous clamor
their soul searching voice now taciturn for prose
when a nightshade glisten best
in a round table of choice they frocked noble propose
if a dirk and cloak were there
while choir was equivocal rejoice
with nonchalance wound smatter his chest
whom did say he was right?
May 30, 2017
May 30, 2017 at 8:00 AM UTC
She at the very last spoke to me--
Her soft speech was soothing as balm--
Whom I've desired much the first to be;
Yet my soul was firm and calm.
And peace like a river flowed
In my heart like never before,
And my love straightaway followed
Hers like a sheep to the abattoir.
She howbeit will not slaughter me.
If she did it would be with her love.
So let me die by the dirk of that dilly
Rather than stay alive with a frigid dove.
Oct 11, 2011
Oct 11, 2011 at 2:34 AM UTC
How did I get this far?
Distorted vision
Collision for some sense
Love that I didn’t remember when I slept
Could’ve forgotten the tears that been wept
Regret to be swept
Socially inept when I ponder about my end
man in the mirror
who else can I depend on?
wipe the thoughts from my mind to "be" a little clearer
once upon
a time
rewind
no lexicon
to describe
my love beyond the stars up above
para ti
out and about with no doubt in my steps
out to test the handles to manifest
(ideasoutthefuckingdomeandIsaythatwithmychest)
excuse the ego, it's probably best
(sometimes I feel like I'm living like I'm holding on to the weakest set of limbs)
when the chances are thin, nothing to limn
reach within your inner vim
sitting here before work
10:31 am
I go in at 11
haven't gotten dressed yet
drinking coffee
listening to music
about to get my **** in
tonight I might get some ***** in
but recently the tears make me feel like I'm
losing.....
but that's just.... overthinking
what am I thinking?
I need to get ready for dat werk werk
racetrac clerk clerk
putting in that fookin werk werk
crazy **** ****
dunk my nuts on your face like I'm dirk dirk
okay I'm going to get ready
now
mu...
ah
Feb 16, 2019
Feb 16, 2019 at 11:37 AM UTC
I went to the library for epic lit,
I found some Clive Cusslers to pick,
No, "Dirk Pitt is a total *****
That is what this old bag thinks,
So I came home with yet more chick lit..........
Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 12:47 AM UTC
Upon a bracken hill I spied
An army of a heathen *****
Come to bury my clan and pride
Beneath this Scottish moor
Let the wind and rain lash at their skin
Like a thousand cat o nine
For they cannot bury McCloud
His father or his kind
With dirk in hand I lay upon
Heather and moss in bloom
Breath shallow and eyes that glare
Waiting for the pipes to play
The brave Scottish tune
No man shall take my land
Or forsake my creed
I am a Scotsman standing tall
For all that I believe
So do your best beast of hate
Come dine at your ill ment fate
And see how we here in gods land
Extend our fighting hand.
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 11:20 AM UTC
Oh that bitter sweet mix of remorse and aspirations
Bring happiness beyond my wildest imaginations,
But thus I sink the dagger deeper into my chest
For I can't be forgiven... unless
Unless I welcome the dirk to use my carmine ink
I invite, no demand
That I carve myself
By MY hand.
So the world knows
The monster that I am.
But I cower behind my sleeves and laughter
So THEY don't know the disaster
Of what I fancy. What I'm after
That I long for the blade.
That I yearn for the pain.
But they still talk of hope
What an absolute joke
That "every cloud
has a silver lining."
Tell that
To my blood stained razor blades
leave my wrists crying.
Mar 18, 2019
Mar 18, 2019 at 9:04 PM UTC