"encroachment" poems
I hear a calling
But I prefer falling
So I practice avoidance
It's a void dance
To an annoyed trance
To avoid a glance
Or taking a chance
People take pieces they don't plan on returning
The only replacement is the sensation of burning
In this hell
With no one to tell
Because I locked my heart
Which felt like a good start
Until loneliness pervaded my soul
And I can't climb out of this hole
I create isolation
When there's no inspiration
I discontinue integration
And go on permanent vacation
I watch movies
To feel groovy
I write
Out of sight
I play video games
To avoid shame
I decide to act lame
So no one asks my name
I begin to feel sour
In my lonely tower
I used to think independence was power
Until I found myself in my darkest hour
With only friends to help
The same friends I put on a shelf
That are now mythical like an elf
Is life just giving all my pieces away?
Disconnection leaves my life grey
But if I decide to stay
My love they will slay
They will toy with my emotions
Until I feel their encroachment
But I'd rather have a toy's chance
Than live my life in a void dance
Nov 27, 2017
Nov 27, 2017 at 11:28 AM UTC
In the deep of time indigenous tribes
surfaced a red earth with protruding plateaus
and burnt canyons along the Cimarron River.
The ancient Anasazi settled
at the core of this mesa.
Scattered ponderosa pine.
Yet, their sudden demise echoed curiosity.
Navajo sensed a struggle of two infinite worlds,
a quivering inundation.
Circling its haunted ominous shape,
a skull with one eye, the apparition of light
rose into a blue desert sky.
Violent storms crackle hot lightning
strikes in a sulfurous summer-
an oracular hothouse.
Navajo talk of spirits or the gateway
to fire. Heaps of iron and lodestone
lodged in the cap. Only two
brazen, cat totem poles guarding its passage.
Standing among the mesa
to feel the verve of the earth.
A New Mexico sun beats down
burning the drowsed terrain.
To see the legendary shaman glow
in his ephemeral blue nimbus.
Bathed in gaudy turquoise.
Sensing the dark encroachment
of a ghost. Near the bony hills, soared
a turbulent black bird in full flight,
upward.
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 7:43 PM UTC
In the languid flow of eight in the morning
she scurries beneath the lethargic settling
of the chill of great October
Learning much
teaching everything
and saying nothing
she hasn't heard before
The dull encroachment of winter
pulls our eyes down
like the flowers come to wilt
under the heavy frosts
In summer!
Summer!
We were alive
and now it is a fight to move our legs
oh we of the winter mountains
and sweaters drawn tight around ourselves
awaiting the spring again with baited breath
The savage runners
beneath the snow
waiting with painted faces
behind classroom walls
spears of longing
for longer days
and Chopin plunking desperately
on a piano played two hundred years ago.
I am a child of Saturn,
of death and the winter months
but so too am I a keeper of this earth
freezing over like the stones in the ground
and begging for some warmth to touch me
This thaw cannot come soon enough,
for i fear that we shall all die alone in the snow
with hardly the energy to punch through the ice
to see the sun again.
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 10:34 AM UTC
Let's go grab the money
Hidden in the Christmas Tree
Shoppe mason jar with the
Frosted stencil designs,
Ornate and resembling flora.
Let's take that money,
The three separate wadded
***** of once crisp
Green pieces of paper
That somehow reach the
Arbitrary total of one
Thousand, three hundred and
Twenty dollars and
Fifty lonely cents.
Let's take that 1,320.50
And go see the desolate
Stretch of sprawling
Humanity deferred between
These hiked peaks and the
Dangerous mountains
Separating the west
From the rest.
Let's go there!
Let's go there!
We'll make it across,
Be sure of that,
Be sure of nothing
But that!
Let's use the remaining
Seven fifty
To buy some
Seven Eleven sustenance
To have while
We walk backwards
Down backroads edged
With the encroachment
Of the wild back into
Negative space some
Long-ago engineer
Carved and paved.
Let's tell the driver of
This beat-up
Time-worn down
Overcast grey
Buick LeSabre
That we can pay her
Ten dollars to replace
The juice necessary to get
Us back to our sick aunt's
House in Poughkeepsie.
At the gas station
We'll tell her to stop
Real quick
And hope she leaves the
Auto to go
Pay the schlup at
The teller's booth
And jack the beater
And hope we won't
Have to bolt
Again if she doesn't.
Let's call my cousin
And find out who will give
Us four hundred dollars for
The stolen used parts store
And take that four hundred
And buy:
Two (2) greyhound tickets to get us
Back to our ****** apartment
In Stamford: 64.50 American
Three (3) damp-bunned flimsy
Beef patties glued between
Pieces of government-issue
Yellow American cheese
With all the fixins we please: 3.24 American
One (1) zip of dried out
Seeded and stemmed breaks
From the boredom of
Our own conscious
Processes: 120 American if lucky
At least eight (8) servings
Of amphetamine based
Pressed little buttons
Of confused energy: 200 American
One (1) bouquet of
Red yellow and oranges
Mixed on the petals of
Your mother's favorite
Species: whatever's left American.
Oct 2, 2012
Oct 2, 2012 at 12:40 AM UTC
Five for fighting
hands to the face
personal foul
player disgrace
Illegal contact
leap in the fray
willful head shot
leg astray
Encroachment defense
mouth guard out
roughing the passer
back field bout
Grounding the pigskin
mis-aligned
horse collar tackle
clip from behind
Knee on knee
offside end
unnecessary roughness
too many men
Gross misconduct
poke in the eye
hooking the shooter
sticks up high
Match ejection
over the top
face off folly
penalty shot
Unsportsmanlike conduct
chopping the block
slew foot infraction
hammer lock
Stick to the head
kick in the crotch
**** end jab
adhering the watch
Slashing the d-man
spearing the wing
running the keeper
back checking
Intentional grounding
stoppage in play
punching and hacking
delay of the game
Striking the ref
aggressor in fight
obstructing the line out
ear in a bite
Loss of downs
hands in the ruck
pinching and boarding
illegal upchuck
Rules of the battle
by the bye
pushing the limits
with a wink of an eye
May 10, 2017
May 10, 2017 at 9:24 PM UTC
On the beach I sat on a rock, staring out to sea.
The day was sunny and warm, though blowing a gentle breeze.
There were only a few people there on the beach.
They were engrossed with having fun, and ignored me.
Further along the beach, in a striped top, was a girl.
She walked to the edge of the sea, and watched the incoming tide.
I idly watched the girl who was watching the incoming tide.
Her long hair, unbound, was teased by the gentle breeze.
She stood there motionless, just an ordinary girl,
Gazing at the relentless waves rolling in from the sea.
Although there were other people scattered on the beach,
None of them had any attraction in any way for me.
I was spending time alone, there on that beach,
Watching the slow encroachment of the incoming tide.
As the sun moved overhead, stronger became the breeze,
Making breaking white tops on the waves on the sea.
Reaching into her pocket, a camera was produced by the girl,
Who slowly started filming the scene, turning and facing me.
I watched the girl, standing there, with her back to the sea.
Was she secretly filming me while pretending to film the beach?
She was bare-foot, and as I watched, her feet were wettened by the tide.
The wind had moved round and from her to me now blew the breeze.
I thought I could detect a subtle scent wafting from the girl.
“Attar of Roses”, my favourite fragrance, drifted across to me.
Then, as I sat and watched, further turned the girl.
Having turned fully around, she stood again with her back to the beach.
Then, she seemed to realise, she was surrounded by sea,
And gradually she became aware of the incoming tide.
Once again, she slowly turned, hair blown in her face by the breeze,
And her face, framed by her hair, was now facing to me.
Then, camera swinging from a hand, she walked up the beach.
The panorama that I saw, had now lost some appeal for me.
The sun was slowly sinking down, and colder blew the breeze.
The waves were getting stronger, on the incoming tide.
I decided it was time that I ended my sojourn by the sea,
And I could still smell “Attar of Roses”, a memento of the ephemeral girl.
*Grahame Upham
9th May 2014*
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 10:36 AM UTC
Though first, I evolved according to plan
Little enabled me outlive this predator
With few permanent armor plates, strong
Muscles capable of crushing
Anything, bones extremely tough,
These serious injuries go beyond
My cold-bloodedness.
I like my environment, have developed
Behaviors to control it, to save energy
That can be put to other use
An evolved entirety of reason
Is why I can go for over a year
In extreme shutdown
My own tissue will feed
On anything it can overpower
Extraordinarily adaptable
During difficult times,
I will scavenge for everything,
Digest nothing left behind
My social interactions are complicated
I primarily lead a solitary life, don’t recognize
Vocalization, postures, signals, touch
My brain more complex than that of any other
A powerful sense of perception
The ability to learn, to avoid situations
That modify me structurally
Adaptations have allowed me to thrive
But surviving human encroachment
May be my biggest challenge
Through habitat enhancement
I may be able to ensure these
Sophisticated survival skills
For years to come
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 11:03 AM UTC
As the vultures cautiously defend their broken gift , a panic stricken , innocent creature lays mortally wounded , another tribute to suburban encroachment , killers quite fittingly cloaked in orange attire , warning the civilized world of their presence , roam unchecked throughout Georgia's woodlands .
Paper doll wannabe commandos , indignantly evoke prayer and 'god given rights' , esteem their kind as protectors of the environment . An obvious cover for blood thirst and killing instinct , blanketing raw , scheming , murderous culpabilities ..
Nov 26, 2015
Nov 26, 2015 at 6:15 PM UTC
Invested in you
I find our better angels give ground
******* by our egalitarian feelings for each other
Trumpeted by Gabriel’s miscast players
Bedeviled, we take what are yours, mine, and ours
Accumulated wealth protected from predators
Gives in to charitable impulse
Gives out, a gated community against colored encroachment
My bias against the opposition
Dissolves in your arms
We resolve to devote our energy
Toward getting off on the best footing available
Place where we care and don’t simultaneously
Then make fun of our foibles laughing at each other
The same way black and white grays as we mature color blind
Loggerheads whipsawed and dovetailed
Until we forget why we ever came together in the first place
Then remember this location, this smell, this touch, this taste
Karass, storm's eye, held center, Kane's rosebud cathected
Aug 31, 2013
Aug 31, 2013 at 12:55 AM UTC
Because before they meet each other
they accentuate the bad in themselves
that want someone
to say
that there is bad in them,
to validate that fact
so much so,
that they intentionally push the good down,
They want to feel evil and ugly
and horrible, because those feelings are safe.
So,
I think, when a lover meets another lover;
meets their residual and their main source,
they feel something beautiful,
something inexplicable,
something they can never put to words,
and so the ugliness returns because
they look at their lover
speechless,
they can't say what they truly feel,
it is the encroachment of everything modern
and fleeting that holds them mute.
But when they see a flower,
they see
something that grew
from a seed,
out of the dirt,
and out of sewage
and ****
and ugliness,
to a stem
climbing against
forces whose entire reason
was to bruise it;
to a bud
holding optimism in its womb,
to a budding,
to the final bloom
to those naked petals
luscious with the perfection
that is watered with pain,
they feel beautiful
because the flower is natural
it remains unspoiled even though
that is not to say there have not been attempts
to spoil it
because the flower will decay.
But
that instantaneous, and inexplicable oneness
they felt when they first encountered the flower
and the beauty it encapuslated;
that moment of clarity,
that moment of pure euphoria
so wordless it became a hurting void;
that feeling will never die.
So, they give each other flowers,
because that memory of instantaneous
and irrevocable beauty, in all of the work
it took to create;
inasmuch as it seems spoiled
and hidden underneath
a canopy of weeds
or in the millions of commercial growhouses;
returns constantly when
they are together,
because humankind has created nothing
when it comes to love,
we have classified it,
objectified it,
destabilized it,
even destroyed it,
but we do not truly know it,
only the unnameable
and inexplicable forces
inside of us
can name it.
Feb 8, 2012
Feb 8, 2012 at 9:34 PM UTC
Each of us is a world
Self-contained and sprawling
With high towers and deep caverns
Open fields and endless skies
Our worlds can collide
encroach
Drift into others
Accidentally
Deliberately
With a rush of wind and crash of sound
Or creeping in like mist, slow and silent
Many of us build walls
protection from encroachment
actual or feared
Walls provide distance from others
Space to breath, to think
To exist
Wall-building is difficult
It requires practice
Rebuilding to maintain them
Sometimes our walls grow spikes
Provide offense
as well as defense
Cause harm
To both encroachers
And passersby
Or they grow so high
We can’t see over the top
Can’t distinguish a siege attempt
from a knock on the wall
Walls provide necessary protection
Room for respite, but
Our walls can’t discriminate for us
a threat from an invitation
We must stay aware
of the worlds beyond our walls
Build walls of glass
Instead of stone
View with curiosity
All who approach
Distinguish true encroachment
From clumsiness or ignorance
Retain the ability to reach beyond your walls
Reach out
without encroaching
To connect with other worlds
Mar 28, 2024
Mar 28, 2024 at 11:56 AM UTC
In a city where jobs are few, and people are many
it would be hard to see yourself winning
when you need money and don't have any
the clocks against you from the beginning
what can a man do, just to get by
what can a man do to be somebody
what can a man do to change his life
what can a man do
selling cigarettes that he calls loosies
maybe he can make himself a dollar
that all depends on who sees
it might be okay if you're the right color
jailed twice for trying to make a living
but in the black, the blue is hidden
seen by the eyes of the unforgiving
just trying to get by is forbidden
with no warrant and no good reason
it's just encroachment on our freedom
tired of the way they treat him
he fought back, they called it treason
a battle he could never win
I can't breathe, I can't breathe, I can't breathe, I can't breathe, I can't breathe, I can't breath, I can't breathe, I can't breathe, I can't breathe, I can't breathe, I can't breathe
what can a man do to catch his breath
what can a man do to make a buck
what can a man do to avoid his death
what can a man do
(this is about Eric Garner, a man who had been arrested twice for selling single cigarettes in a poverty stricken nation. The fourth time the police approached him, he was tired of it, so he wasn't going to jail so easily. The law states that they must have a warrant or a reasonable cause, before they can arrest someone. They tackled Eric, and choked him to death. In the same city, many crimes are unsolved while this goes on. The video of the police killing Eric garner can be found on youtube)
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 10:19 PM UTC
I am
becoming
the shell of the hickory nut
Instead of the entire tree.
A sprout that has shed its excess drapery
My life has outgrown me.
The sapling progressing in the dappled
light,
And me,
Decaying silently
on the ground
Watching the encroachment of night.
Jan 16, 2017
Jan 16, 2017 at 11:31 AM UTC
O Lord, my spirit is weakened and parched,
from trudging through this present wilderness.
Send down on me Your abundant showers,
which are scented with Christ's righteousness.
Transform the dry soil of my life;
please renew my strength and sustain me;
let my joy bloom once more with Your splendor;
keep my eyesight focused solely on Thee.
Rescue me from the encroachment of ignorance;
permit my weary, inner self to be consoled;
bestow on me an everlasting crop of faith
that springs forth, exceeding one hundred-fold.
Set my feet on Your "way of holiness";
drench my being with Your latter rain;
allow my life to have meaning, while I'm...
singing Your praises via heavenly refrains.
In understanding my true identity,
I've found the heart of my life's emphasis.
Never to be thirsty again, I'm imbibing on...
the rich, living waters of Your holy oasis.
Author Note:
Loosely based on:
Psa 68:9; Isa 35:1-35; John 4:4-26
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2011, All rights reserved.
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 6:50 AM UTC
A vast universe of such fragile things
The concourse of supernal entities
The fatigued rule of vagaries as kings
A tarriance of languid remedies
The journey into the realm of the mind
Safe within the thoughtless comfort of sleep
Enthralled in visions of such a kind:
little trivial things in our souls we keep
Awake from the Depths to the blinding light
Overwrought with the encroachment of Dawn
Wandering the day, longing for night
Darkness to Day like the king to its pawn
In the amenity of night we flee
Enveloped in the dream, we remain free
Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 5:33 PM UTC
How long will you slumber .
Spiritual hibernation
Next to a grizzly bear but you too drowsy to awaken
A constant diet of *****
If the sky cracked today would you even notice him
Let it be known the Lords approaching
Can't see where the lines lie
Graying the area then crossing there's penalties for encroachment
Stuck in limbo cause you at a bar trying to stay under the line
Of sin
Sipping liquor and wine
Stumbling off the road that's narrow
Now your soul on the open road
Wide
Demons on your behind
Trying to wear your flesh like apparel
Aug 7, 2014
Aug 7, 2014 at 4:23 PM UTC
Hark and Come Hear Ye Here
Ye loyal subjects of the king
Reports from the borders of our principality
warn of a gruesome pestilence spreading unseen,
This devilish scourge of affliction is Coming!
Beware of the telltale signs of corruption
In the countenance of those under siege of this heretofore unknown malady.
It has been documented
by trusted physicians that certain aspects of one’s physiology
Will present themselves shortly
before the fever of madness and fear
Takes control.
Take Heed of thy neighbors
Behaviors and be wary of
Changes occurring in regards to
Their normal routine.
If boils or bleeding of orifices be
Witnessed report the citizen to the nearest authority
Once the outward expression of the putrification is upon them, it is but a fortnight until they succumb to the terrible fate of mortality. Those most beset by the pox of this plague are without exception in a state of aggravated nervous disorientation. Keep safe, keep your distance, and warn others around you of such individuals afflicted, lest ye contract the pox, for there is as yet no alchemical remedy
Be wary of these ghouls wandering the streets
Muttering manically, wreaking of decay, flailing and gnashing their teeth in a rage.
If one of the accursed creatures approaches, It is a mortal encroachment ye must evade.
Make right with the lord and keep the faith, our souls stand for judgment, ensure yours will be saved.
Take heed of these warnings here given this day.
They are not to be ignored if you wish to survive
Mar 9, 2024
Mar 9, 2024 at 6:24 AM UTC
He stood in the doorway
watching her sleep
His hands pressed
to his chest
whispering promises
he could not keep
He stood right next to her
his hand trembling, mid air
took one step back, then another
so he was no longer there
She lay upon sheets of silk
her back a work of Art
her scissored legs and arms
flung wide,
as though she was torn apart
She waited with breath held tight
her eyes closed and lungs burning
She wanted as though
time was right
Her world was centred
with her yearning
He hesitated to touch
such fragile beauty
his encroachment in her space
seemed an impregnable fortress
so he stood back
just to stare at her face
But she had raised the portcullis
and lowered the drawbridge
He just needed to storm
the castle
and dwell forever
where she lives
Jan 31, 2015
Jan 31, 2015 at 4:37 AM UTC
An online poet
rails about encroachment of
social media.
Mar 6, 2015
Mar 6, 2015 at 12:10 PM UTC
whereas ****** and hate are more palatable than ***
and art.
and the music of the world- you ****** up with your ****** voice:
you felt things hard but not well
and so were not worth
anything.
(and it was as
just
as it might have been.)
morbid is the mouth that tamed you to this loveliness
where it's cool to be sick.
and watch our arms wither back to the
lips bounded by vulgarities unspoken:
all the while they deserve far worse.
best
friends long since ****** over
scream out for eternal homes that fail to exist.
sick enough to the soft stomach. folds over the belt and hangs there just
enough to feel
shame. hair caught in the buckle and
pulling.
fare free-er than the other ones:
the violence of the stock photo.
and of the clip art.
and of the godfearing people.
their curation was
like a goodmorning to the legs that carried you, homeless,
out of my caring.
like the salt, kicked around
by
boots that don't get taken off at the door.
like the trimming of a fingernail.
like the moisture of a breath.
but all this you embroidered into
the murmuring
to escape the fat sickle of the crop that hung lowly to the warm air
-out of the shower, ready to destroy us all
all the while wanting to be knotted
by any beast big enough to devour you
and combing through it all
i heard you crying
and i might have wept too
save for the bitterness still kept between my brows
your greatest gift all.
and by the
sores and the soles of my
encroachment,
we might build cities to that
Feb 10, 2016
Feb 10, 2016 at 1:54 AM UTC
Like footsteps that tell of encroachment
you're never
a surprise;
until,
from still
you rise.
May 27, 2016
May 27, 2016 at 7:15 PM UTC
this old teak farmhouse creaks this morning.
like an old woman settling into her favourite chair.
we will need to paint again soon,
the coastal wind abraids
her seascape blueskin
and the sun, bleaches it
to a faded blue grey.
she has seen so much,
when they first cleared
the land on the rise of the cliff.
she was the only house for miles and she watched
the farmer's cows stand placid accepting of the buffeting wind as they chewed their cud.
she watched the slow encroachment of the town on her fertile red loamed pastures.
as tall white ghost gums and norfolk pine trees,
gave way to squat ugly houses and box like apartments.
stacking families atop families.
she saw horse tracks
turn to black ribbons of rock and tar,
the neighing clopping rhythm
become buzzing booming honking discord.
she watched families,
come and go,
loving, living, dying and all the life and strife in between.
she is solid still,
she was built to withstand, man's mark upon the everchanging land.
she is our patch of love now, we have the upkeep of her care.
but inside her snug old walls we known she carries
the tales of times long past and will with time keep
our families secrets just as well,
we are but passing through she as creaky as she is,
will be here standing, watching after we have moved on.
Apr 4, 2014
Apr 4, 2014 at 4:45 PM UTC
Death,
an absence of life.
A disconnection of the soul from the body,
The extrapolation of nothingness
The encroachment of cold
The cessation of zest
Betrayal.
Jun 3, 2018
Jun 3, 2018 at 7:03 PM UTC
*Nights encroachment is changing the face of town ,
an orange star phasing out ,
the borough is closing down
The elderly are content from front porches
the children called to dinner ,
bicycles , baseball bats and chalk are left
on the ground ,
the sound of buses and semis , the last train
headed south
Artificial light slowly filtering out
She's slowly , methodically , shutting down*
Mar 16, 2017
Mar 16, 2017 at 9:28 PM UTC
My Requiem.
To my witch, my retribution; my inviting audience.
By night fall of this day, I shall have become your Prince.
Your equal in a title, so impossibly imposing.
I implore you to see within yourself;
Let this jester enamour you, with a wickedest of wit.
The scalding maiden of charm and beauty,
I beg for you to allow me to be worthy.
Please encourage my encroachment, for I am simply a roach;
I lament at your yearning, to see my heart burning; and I a ghost.
For as you cast me down, with a demon in your eyes,
The banshee’s cry and wolves howl in the night.
The screams of those in love,
Fill the minds of those with no guide.
The succession of your family’s honour shall be immortalized.
Cast in stone, but never cast aside;
I call on your soul with my requiem.
I have gathered your disciples; the enslaved stand in line.
They are willing to die; they are the sultry condemned.
My genteel, voluptuous, lascivious, constant;
Let us wander into the dark and find our family of opulence.
Let us bring silence to their feast and raise the dead.
Our concerto for the stalwart soldiers,
Grows even louder with the taking of each final breath.
I am your zealot, with the foreboding forecast.
A love like ours shall never last.
For your soul is nomadic; it’s devotion solely to lust;
Your lust would become the ruination of love.
But my lecherous libido, still feeds my ego
And my hearty ***** tells my brain what to do.
Such a torrid torment of the needs of the female,
But I deplore you to see I love you.
I wish you to kiss me in the morning light,
As we both climb back into our coffins.
Two coffins as one, we lay hand in hand in the afterlife;
Our eternal love, eternally bound;
Shall never be allowed to go rotten.
(C)2013 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Apr 26, 2018
Apr 26, 2018 at 4:24 AM UTC