"dowses" poems
How come
I am always dying as a martyr?
My thoughts constantly drifting
To funeral marches and sobbing relatives
How will I die?
A botched parachute jump?
Saving a small child
From a moving vehicle?
My funeral will be adorned
With white icing
The flag of my nation
And a flock of doves
Testaments
To my infinitely philanthropic nature
And unending commitment
To human liberty
Why is it so easy
To tack a medal to my breast?
Maybe because
I exist
As my bloodline
dowses its progeny with ****** praise
So eager
to bathe
In the violent tears of this world
That are ancient castles and monuments to men wearing wigs
Or maybe
Because I'm just selfish
And I often *** all over myself
On my paunchy stomach
Feb 13, 2019
Feb 13, 2019 at 4:31 PM UTC
I saw you in my reflection once. You were yellow in the golden hour and you shined like you were baptized in glitter, and I could’ve sworn right then and there that time stood still. Every clock in the house stopped at once, and I knew that meant you were something born out of everything I find perfect in this world. I stuck my hand out and offered to pull you through, but let’s be honest, if something is perfect, we should keep it right where it is. But it never works like that. Someone gets selfish. Someone starts a fire that they can’t put out, lights a match that shouldn’t be lit, dowses every crack in the concrete with alcohol. We didn’t care how dangerous we were, we just wanted to say we felt something. We wanted to dance. So we danced, and danced, and danced until our sweat felt like rain clouds. Like rain clouds. Like rain clouds. Drip drop onto our hands and knees and pray all night like God was listening. Like it meant something. Like we’d both not care in the morning when the war was over, but we had to go and pick sides. We were so young then, when we thought that actions spoke louder than words and we took each other’s hands and looked into the mirror, that morning, and kissed each other on the cheek. How innocent. How sweet and beautiful. And innocent.
Dec 30, 2018
Dec 30, 2018 at 9:49 PM UTC
I find you against the shimmering moonlight
That dowses the scene in a serene glow.
I hear your soft breath in the dead stillness of night
Softening against the natural sounds of the night
The crickets whirring and the wind rustling the leaves.
I smell your sweet perfume, invading my nostrils
Giving me that comfortable feeling of being with you.
I feel at home when you are here, tasting your kisses
Noting that your mouth tastes like milk.
Dec 13, 2018
Dec 13, 2018 at 7:22 PM UTC
Dripping with poison, your tongue dances
amongst syllables of lust and loathing,
carving through the cold, dark air
like a scimitar through tangled lianas.
We both thought the day would take away the pain
and yet we still find the evening twilight relieving.
We throw ourselves naked into the moonlight
and dance in the trees as a world
we knew once upon a dream
tears itself apart.
How dark the night shines bright,
teeth glimmering in the fragile moonlight.
We drink to Paris and her friends everlasting,
memories of sadness and terror.
In faultless lies and dismembered truths,
we scavenge for a parable for comfort.
You sing La Marseillaise with an accent of affection,
as if you know the meaning of the sound you make.
But the light of fire dies out, as it always does,
and scatters our shadows into the forest
and dowses us in a peculiar shade of darkness.
It clings to us like a cloak,
a veil of sorrow covering our eyes
and blurring what has yet to be seen.
Dripping with poison, your knife glistens
as it cuts a head off the hydra.
How dark the night, we sing,
tiptoeing into the undergrowth.
How dark the night.
Nov 16, 2015
Nov 16, 2015 at 5:48 PM UTC