"encrusts" poems
The moon's modest nature is entrancing
It's splendour is never fully displayed for long for our eyes to indulge in
It transforms itself every night
Leaving us to outline its curves
while it encrusts light in a sombre sky of darkness.
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 11:03 PM UTC
The lightning bug, it does
Radiate the light it loves.
Much like other nocturnal bugs,
Around a source of light, they buzz.
But, the paradox of the lightning bug--
The tantalizing light that calls to its lust,
Inside of the bug itself, it encrusts.
Subsequently, from within, the light is ******
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 2:27 PM UTC
February 2nd: Dire was my day, every move I made was seen as a mistake.Malice my good intentions, I’ve been labeled as a hurtful, evil, and ugly man. Believed to be a demon, from the pits of hell; I am feared by all and eluded like a disease.
February 3rd: My time is spent in isolation. Never desiccated are the tears that endlessly flow down my wrecked up face. My screaming is unheard. Nothing is heard in this room, I am alone.
February 4th: Blood encrusts my massacred body, a true painting of affliction. I have run out of tears. Crying is now a more complex process, involving the bitter sweet touch of a blade.
February 5th: Exile is slowly beginning to **** me. The hands of time have firmly grabbed my neck and with each passing hour its grip grows stronger.
Mar 15, 2012
Mar 15, 2012 at 5:42 PM UTC
that mistress
fills you up and falls
apart; lest the air
boil up and consume the
heart
sour and steep and stoic
like a rock upon the mount
my yearning for the mistress of the
night
she bind you and stolen
away that little gift from
above; above yet she descended
her fingers like gold and iron
hair as strong as her heart
silver encrusts the lining of the
soul but betrays not a single
phrase
lament on your behalf and
seal the fate of the future and
fate of the wealth of the triumphs
***** motels and decrepit
churches, she preys
yet against their better wishes does the bird
go on singing and singing and singing
pray the lord my soul to keep and pray
the devil my world to weep
Jan 31, 2019
Jan 31, 2019 at 9:39 AM UTC
Column by column the legions' feet
march disciplined down Watling Street,
followed by rumbling carts and grumbling
stragglers leaving villas crumbling.
To Rome to save the imperial home,
making Britain an enterprise zone
for Saxons, Vikings, Celts and Angles,
savage battles and local wrangles.
Weeds weave tapestry around a tomb.
Dust encrusts a silent Roman room.
Mosaics stare at the rotted roof.
Painted plaster falls, jigsaw proof.
Perhaps when shopping centres fail,
and motor cars no more prevail,
when wattle homes are reinvented,
then thinking time will be augmented.
Jul 6, 2015
Jul 6, 2015 at 10:28 AM UTC
the N.S.A. is my friend,
the N.S.A. is my friend,
the N.S.A. is my friend,
detention lasts an hour,
how many times do you think
i'd write the statement?
this is before the dark-web,
before Contraband Anonymous,
oh hell, i can write you Orwell's
1984 in nanoseconds,
about how you should drink and not
ingest hallucinatory drugs,
not least the pharmacist quotient
available...
but prior to... hmm... the N.S.A. is
still my friend, they have the conversations
of the culprits, and Tsar Putin jacking
off to the sound of Apollo 13's mission failure...
and have i the ***** to say it?
i think i do.... unless a Martian descends,
or Jupiter encrusts into a ball of hot
cranium of fire, then we're left with Pluto being
the penultimate ice-ball before
the thing that killed the dinosaurs comes
along in hookah Kiwi haka style
for a fantasia of the Parisian catwalk...
chew wee a mega fibia, aye Scotch,
aye Ben Nervous - mega choo backpacker
and mm, hoo see the Nedtherlands!
and then we all get to nibble on our excited-lower-lip
the French revolved around to hark:
oriental in Romanian: h = r = haaark!
agling to a gagging too.
poetry - you make sounds, you don't
intend to make sense... it's your *******
tongue as a trumpet... what else?!
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 9:51 PM UTC
is it any wonder
social constructions
**** the soul?
i am born.
entire constellations
ingested by men
who stole the
braver buck.
is it any wonder
the higher numbers
**** the low?
artists hide their holy
proper alkahest
swirl into the torrent
eyes fixed on the hole
going full Atropos
by slashing tethers
and teaching us to fly
is it any wonder
construction kills abstraction
encrusts the brilliant stone
in destructive gray?
is it any wonder
emotional capacities
have been bled from me?
they must bless the fallen
they must make Halal
the bounteous
human feast
an exoteric world rises
while one esoteric burrows
in bright dark underneath.
two parts of a whole broken
banished to disconnection
when dichotomies could meet.
. . . SCAN COMPLETE
May 22, 2018
May 22, 2018 at 1:08 AM UTC
Slowly the shadow approaches the Glen.
Wrapping lilies in its arthritic hands.
A hush falling upon those in his wake.
Frost encrusts the grass lost beneath your feet.
A songbird falls from the sky, lost in ash.
The sun is silent, and all time stands still.
The scene fades into shadowed nothingness.
The night is calm, the day is cold. Alas.
Jun 13, 2021
Jun 13, 2021 at 11:34 PM UTC
~
Desperate on this darkest star
In stagnant air to breathe
Jagged reach of tended far
So much I can’t believe
A’ chained upon the barricade
Locked this welded form
Broken of mistakes I’ve made
Waiting on the storm
As here upon my knees I weep
Head within my hands
Crying tears forever keep
Aside from promised plans
My heart now sliced in silent view
The end beckons me home
This which I have done to you
My life it sits alone
Shadows hung on shouldered fall
Mud encrusts my feet
Pain besets this lonely call
As endless sorrows seep
“I’m sorry”, echoes in my head
Engulfed in rhythm’d flow
Offered of a broken man
Who prays for you to know
Pleadings from this sectioned seat
I beg with all I am
Calling out in sad repeat
This empty place I stand
I ask for your forgiveness
Myself I can’t forgive
This punishment lies endless
Of fractured days I live
The pain is ever coming
Though nothing I shall share
I face the sun so stunning
In hopes that you are there
But still the time is passing
Sand in glass does fall
Desolate amassing
And I deserve it all
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 7:00 PM UTC
a fog descends, encroaching the mind
wisps lost into the haze: minimal visibility ensured
a strength without direction, meandering through forest
ice encrusts logic; hail bombards reason
i am left
solely with agony
bliss ignorance into incompetence
sheeps alone in a storm
awaiting some dog to provide direction
i ponder: why wait for consensus
if no-one cares to agree and ascend
Jan 30, 2018
Jan 30, 2018 at 12:51 PM UTC