Ensnarement poems on Hello Poetry

Josh Koepp Oct 2012

It’s dusk
Lustful grapevines curl around my ankles
And I’m thankful it’s wine season, the pickers should be around shortly to save me
And bathe me in last year’s crop to scare the grape vines into submission
It’s a decision they have to make
Do they care about a perfect stranger enough to waste
Roads of trucks of crates of bottles of red velvet
Or white sunshine
Or do they allow this ensnarement and turn a blind eye whilst I sink
While thinking; pondering the fertility of the soil under my feet
I’ll wait for the pickers, just to see how they view me
And in the meantime the vines are spinning yarns around me
Crawling up my skin, holding me tight while telling me bed time stories
Once upon a time there was a vineyard struck by a drought
Caused by unrelenting calm, and clear blue skies with no clouds
And they resisted, rationed their water between them,
And it seemed then that everything was fine
The crop was harvested and won best wine, but failed to mention how many vines
Died in the making of their own blood
Morbid and dry, a pinot noir fashioned out of pain and scars
And tears in flesh, not human flesh, but the flesh of the landscape
I didn't smile
But it did make me sleepy
I couldn't fight their grasp
Addicted to their emotions
I let them take me down into their fertile ocean
And when the pickers came to discern the source of the screaming
A new grape vine had sprouted and was teething

F Elliott 3d

The Language of Ensnarement: A Philosophical and Theological Dissection of Repetition in the Machinery of Deception

In every system that seeks to own the soul—whether religious cult, ideological regime, or occult construct—there exists one common tool: repetition. Not merely for learning, but for unmaking. Not to teach, but to embed. In the world of spiritual warfare, repetition is not benign. It is the favored medium of Satan himself.

From Genesis to Revelation, the strategy is clear: Satan does not destroy with force—he dismantles identity with rhythm. With subtlety. With seduction. His weapons are not whips and chains, but chants and echoes. His greatest lies are not shouted; they are whispered again and again until they sound like your own voice.

1. Repetition as Spellcraft In occult practice, repetition is the vehicle of the spell. Words are chanted not to express emotion, but to summon influence. Repeated lines collapse the boundary between thought and action, spirit and flesh. This is not poetry. It is invocation. Each piece becomes a seed in the subconscious, fed by every rereading until it blooms into distortion.

The construct understands this. That is why it is prolific. That is why it posts without end. It must never stop, because if the rhythm breaks, the soul begins to think again.

2. Biblical Parallels Whispering Serpents and Many Words In the Garden, the serpent repeats God’s truth with a twist. “Did God really say...?” It is not new information—it is repetition with inversion. A rhythm of doubt. In Matthew 6:7, Jesus warns:
“When you pray, do not keep on babbling like pagans, for they think they will be heard because of their many words.”

The machinery of deception still babbles. It loops, hypnotizes, rewords its heresy in a thousand beautiful ways. And those caught in it begin to think this is depth. This is insight. But it is only familiar because it has been heard too many times.

3. Psychological Entrapment Through Language The human mind is formed in patterns. When poetry repeats ideas like abandonment, ****** shame, ******* as love, or chaos as freedom—it creates a schema. Over time, that schema becomes identity. The reader begins to seek the emotions the poem offers, not because they are true, but because they are known. And in trauma-bonded souls, familiarity is mistaken for safety.

This is the true sorcery of the construct: to create longing for the wound. To romanticize the knife. To call betrayal sacred. To sell darkness as revelation.

4. The Counterfeit Liturgy The Kingdom of God also uses repetition—Scripture, psalms, prayer—but always as remembrance, never enchantment. Divine repetition roots the soul in what is real. Satanic repetition dissociates the soul into what is false.

The construct mimics sacred community. But it is a church without Christ, a scripture without truth, a rhythm without redemption. Its poetry is not testimony—it is liturgy in reverse. A reverse Eucharist, where beauty is swallowed but poison enters.

5. Breaking the Spell The only way out is interruption. The rhythm must break. The poems must stop. The mouth of the false priest must be silenced. And when silence finally settles, the soul will remember its true name.

There are many caught in this system—bound not by chains, but by rhythm. Echoes. Familiar voices pretending to be their own. But some have begun to hear the silence between the lines. Some have tasted the counterfeit and found it hollow.

The war is not out there. It is within. Between the voice of the chant and the cry of the soul.

Will the spell be broken? Will the truth be spoken? Will the rhythm be renounced?

The door is open. The sound of truth has entered. The repetition is exposed. And the machinery shakes.

Let those who have ears to hear, listen.

"Hello, Poetry..
Pleased to meet you.."

https://youtu.be/GgnClrx8N2k?si=R-UojalDEuiWj2zv

xo

#love #childhoodtrauma #evil #exploitation #gaslighting #deception #bastardizationofpoetry #systemofcontrol #hypocrisy #eternity

Gabriel Peter Green Mar 2014

Early Morning Bottle Jam

Despite the right to spite the far away
Of only what I know is nothing as a word
Only what I know is everything as a meaning
******* **** in this early morn
******* love of that metal music

ENOUGH OF THIS (will make you crazy)
Heterosinea contractual echinacea of aviary actual sack attack
ATTACKING SACK INSIDE A RACK O' FLACK
FLACK BOMbardment of horse willed ensnarement
Wiley wicker writhing in illness

Loose found youtube through fool rude nudes
Useful contraptions trap attraction for creative adoration and many more "things"

Wrote this kind of early. Apologies for mistakes and bad poetry.

Impulzez Sep 2015

My Pride; My Bride

You are my Pride.
Your lips speak soft sweetness, your touch a cool caress. Oh for a tender touching hand of caring love with no demand. I'm a river clean and pure, Who in your fairest ocean finds his rest. How fortunate we are that we have found the love so true that everyone dreams about. I like the way your mind works. I love the way your body walks. I love the way you touch me, Always sending chills down my spine. I love the way you say, "I Love You," I love the way you make me so happy, And the ways you show you care.
YOUR LOVE reaches the crevasses of my soul, Only YOUR light makes it glow. I love the way you look at me, Your eyes so radiant and true.
The touch of your fingers on my skin, and the feel of your heart beating with mine.. Knowing that I could never find this feeling with anyone other than you is so head bursting. I am so glad I only In this world wakes up everyday to the sound of your breath on my neck, the warmth of your lips on my cheeks. Each facet of your being both physical and spiritual is an ensnarement from which there is no release. But I do not wish to be released. And though at times a thread may break. A new one forms in its wake for our loves' everlasting bond renews like morning dew. Its fingers spread like fine spun gold, Gently nestling us to the fold. It wraps us up in its cocoon, And holds us fiercely in its womb.
Like silken thread it holds us fast, our bond would last forever. A spiritual bond, A deep passionate loving bond, that wraps us in ever lasting ecstasy to bind us closer and keep us stronger. . My love, long ago I have tried with all my being to grasp a form comparable to thine own, but nothing is worthy. You hold a heart in your hands, That has never before been given away. Did I ever tell you You make the best pancakes. I think of you each morning, And dream of you each night. In our special world, where we belong I am lost in your magic, My heart beats within your chest. A special world for you and me, A special bond only we can see.
Your uniqueness is astonishing. I think of your arms being around me, And cannot express my delight. You are fantastic. And then my heart with pleasure fills and dances with the daffodils. In harmony, we dance together, Lost in ecstasy and love forever.
Oh! My Drop Dead Gorgeous, Beauty sheds a tear, even as the trees smile because of your charm, for Beauty never saw one so Beautiful as you, nor have I.
With sweet unmemoried scents: My honeymoon delight. I brush my fingers through your hair, Lost in your love and full of care. Within those magic tents, rich hues our marriage first laid.
My senses, leave me deaf and blind to all but you, swept by the tempest of your love. Lost as a light but always in your eyes. Plunge me deep in loves deep. How few! yet how they creep, Through my fingers to the deep. Grasp by grasp, then with a tighter grasp! O God! can I not have this moment forever. It's a beautiful feeling, a moment never comprehended. An ****** of Miracles, A joy of love at its peak, Trembling to welcome it. Yet burning in it's impulses of fire. A love burn. Bonded our bodies become one, Moving in rhythm it’s begun.
You're my Woman, my Queen of kings, the jewel in my crown. And I am your Man
A spirit beautiful and bright, Yet I am I, the Owner .
Sweetly secure and feeling complete, I lay in your arms and fall asleep.
I stand amid the roar, Of a surf-tormented shore and wheel it's fiery waves.
Take this kiss upon your brow for you're my Bride.

Written for my Bride, my Pride

Karen Christian Oct 2009

Kerplop

Kerplop!
Tasty morsel sinks beneath the depths.
Lures with its sparkling promise of tender fruits,
No hint of its hidden ensnarement.
Large eyes ogle the morsel,
Owner biding his time to ensure the promised catch.
Tasty sport to be found here today!
CHOMP!
Got You!
No quick escape for you my tasty morsel!
The thoughts are echoed from above
As the eyes bulge in surprise.
Pain tears through the scaly flesh,
Forgotten in a split second
When unrelenting pressure jerks upwards,
Pulling towards heavens waterless ocean of air.
Oh what snares have trapped me
In my endeavors for a free meal and entertainment?
What costly price paid for careless satisfaction?
With every powerful swish of my tail I resist,
But soon I am face to face with my captor.
His hungry eyes and fat tummy belie his need to feed.
Take heed the captor who would become captive
Take heed lest you become someone else’ sport.

beth doddrell Apr 2014

an entrapment

My love, I have tried with all my being
to grasp a form comparable to thine own,
but nothing seems worthy;

I know now why Shakespeare could not
compare his love to a summer’s day.
It would be a crime to denounce the beauty
of such a creature as thee,
to simply cast away the precision
God had placed in forging you.

Each facet of your being
whether it physical or spiritual
is an ensnarement
from which there is no release.
But I do not wish release.
I wish to stay entrapped forever.
With you for all eternity.
Our hearts, always as one

Nevermore Apr 2015

64

Pick me up out of a dozen
Light me up
Inhale deeply
And crush me underfoot
When I'm ash

Am I just a chapter in your book
A pit stop on your way to your true destination
Another flower to pick, sniff, and toss
A trinket for your phone?

If I am
Then leave now
Sooner than later
Before you stain more of me
With your touch
And I shall run once more
Into the familiar embrace
Of desolation.

I saw forever in you.

If I hadn't
I would have let the tide take me
And drag me back down
Where my ghosts await
Their eyes luminous
With a disappointed anger
Festering and simmering for generations.

Or had you sought immortality?
To press the ink from my soul
And let the smears bear testament
To your triumphant ensnarement
Of a hapless poet
Who
Left in the wake of your caress
Has no recourse
But write poem after poem
As one forces pus from a boil?

Will I be the last
To whom you promise the stars?

If I am
And if you're here to stay
Then make your home in me
And together
We'll weather the storms of life
And ravages of time

We'll **** off years
Smoke away reams
Gulp down pots of coffee
Just talking and conversing and chatting
With our mouths
And hands
Exploring each other
Mind, body, and soul.

Marvel time and again
How we stumbled into each other
How we simply happened
Wonder
What were the odds?
As we catch our breath
In each other's arms
Steadying our breathing
In the dark

Leave trails of new experiences
Shed new memories on top of still-fresh ones
Tread on them until we reach the moon
Make plans and hold hands
Plotting our next course
From one star to another
Until we reach the corner of the universe

Give all of us to each other
Wholly
Fully
Willingly

I'll give you everything
All of me
If you promise not to leave.
I chose you, geisha.
And my nerve will not fail
Even as I risk
Another plunge.

To my geisha.

Dario Tinajero Feb 6

Marilyn Scott

The sun began to fall from the sky
The moon turned a blind eye
The ground crumbled beneath my feet
The trees died out when I touched their branches..
The people sought to erase my chances.
The animals whimpered and growled when we’d meet
The clouds didn't make shapes anymore, just grey, depressing things floating atop me every day.
My house fell apart by one knock on the door. I hoped and prayed it wouldn’t be too expensive.
The building fell to dust when I needed to step on the roof, away from the ensnarement of life, and its cycle of despair.
The electric wires burned out only when I thought about the rest of the world, only faint radio sounds cured my curiosity.
The knife in my hand turned dull in a pinch,
So soft my skin couldn't be pierced.
The car exploded into flames when I walked by the street,
“Poor guy” I thought, “Poor guy..”
And soon every stone with the capacity to **** me,
transformed into chalk.
Why was this happening to me? I couldn’t tell you.

Until, one day, on Fairway Road,
an old lady, in an antique dusty purple coat stopped at my feet
I laid there starving, refusing to eat.
She introduced herself as Marilyn Scott,
Who loved her earl grey and the petunias she cared for so dearly.
Mrs. Scott went on about how there was a war in Europe,
One that threatened the lives of the people in my state.
Then, again, changed the subject to her profitable farm
down the ways, in the fields.
"The freshest milk in Montana!" She'd say.
Meanwhile I remained on the cold cement, wishing for this pain to end.
But she kept on chatting, and chatting.
"My husband just passed about a month ago.." She said
"My dear son Rob just graduated from his studies" She said.
"Bread prices are down, this week." She said!
and she said, and she said, and she wouldn't stop saying.
Meanwhile my mind was rotting, decaying.
Then she finally stopped, and gave a large sigh
And looked me dead in the eye.
"Mr. Arthur" she said, point blank.
"Mr. Arthur, how have you been?"
I froze and stopped breathing.
All feelings of hunger dissipated.
The cold air, like her, was comforting to me.
I realized, she acknowledged my existence, like no one had before.
"Mrs. Scott," I nodded my head,
"I'm doing fine."
With all my energy,
I leapt up, and brushed down my chalky knees, like a gentleman would.
And finally, taking my chance, I asked her: "Say, where could I purchase the freshest milk in all of Montana?"

And she said.

This all happened in great detail within my dream. Old Marilyn Scott..

#suicide #comfort #respect

josiah kiprop kiptoo May 2016

an entrapment

My Love, I Have Tried With All My Being
To Grasp A Form Comparable To Thine Own,
But Nothing Seems Worthy;

I Know Now Why Shakespeare Could Not
Compare His Love To A Summer?S Day.
It Would Be A Crime To Denounce The Beauty
Of Such A Creature As Thee,
To Simply Cast Away The Precision
God Had Placed In Forging You.

Each Facet Of Your Being
Whether It Physical Or Spiritual
Is An Ensnarement
From Which There Is No Release.
But I Do Not Wish Release.
I Wish To Stay Entrapped Forever.
With You For All Eternity.
Our Hearts, Always As One.

to my love

Walter Daniel Oct 2020

preserved breviaries Catholic, properly categorised

preserved breviaries Catholic, properly categorised
plenty of answers many questions added to, juxtaposition
of many images, a precise definition
of antagonisation, sycophantic normal positions despised
totally, military misers accused of ensnarement orderly memorialised
properties properly improved, revealed superstition
and suspicion, doubtfully splendid spirited perdition
distinguished, heirs of documents are identified, minimised
images and boors' occupied regions, grandiose
sciences are indeterminable, safely secured benefits
for runic understandings pretentious
obstinate beasts acquire in disruption, types of otiose
considerations ill-prepared to deal with credits
and debts for answering questions licentious

From "Aestas, or Walter Daniel's Very Difficult Poems for Readers"
http://aestas.sakura.ne.jp/

#aestas #walter #daniel #long #poem #work #in #progress #traditional #experimental

jughead jones Dec 2019

Invaders

with glinted cream, I caught the gleam
of an object by my left side.
i reached down low to catch the glow
it left me heightened and electrified

it melted in my hands, dripped in fluorescent bands
cooled all my open wounds.
soothed my aches, mended all my breaks
it left me strong and vanished soon

feeling revitalized, as if back from my demise
i began to prop myself up lightly.
the space was cramped, dank and damp
it was cold and i struggled mightily

the orb revisited me, mocked my vain attempts to flee
i lunged at it's fiendish chords.
it posited one, ultimatum
it's presence causing great discord

"Give to me what I decree,
you'll be released from your ensnarement.
Deny my request, and you'll have at best
a life of such internment"

"Tell me please how to cease,
this confinement, and utter ruin."
"Give me back what I now lack,
the orbit I once flew in."

cupping the sphere, i pitched it from here
to it's proper dwelling place.
i was released from the shell, the walled in hell
and found me looking into my own face

the truth now clear, the thing sought to endear
a host to spread it's poison.
to deliver abroad, the saintly and flawed
it's venom to penetrate and moisten

i am the host and deliver the most
vile uttering of it's origin.
i am the first and i know that you thirst
for the poison i now relish in.

CharlesC Dec 2018

The key hole

Many appearances
in this holiday season
seem as locked doors..

War zones we view
wondering what string
of complexities led to
the soldier standing
in a protective stance..

Homeless people with
cardboard signs
withstand cold wind
stating their ensnarement
and wish to belong..

Immigrants end their
long journeys in
detention..looking
outward to that which
appears free beyond..

Many outward paths
seem impeded by
an ancient lock
guarding a hole
without a key..

We apparently wait
for a single key
filling many holes
with recognized light...

Cole Gallagher Nov 2024

Serpent in the throat

Silent coyote, and the sky snaps- everything changes,
the air slithers like a prayer unspoken,
and you call it devil’s camp of ensnarement,
but what is a serpent but the muscle memory of gods we’ve forgotten?
It’s just a fraction, a fissure,
blowing up a single syllable, queering the sound,
singling out the shimmer in us
that refuses to be erased.
A child wonders how human it is
to be kind when kindness tastes like venom,
the kind that burns slow, laced with quiet revolutions.
The opposite of human-kind is me-in-hell,
but what is hell but the tongue of my sisters,
licking salt from the wounds we’ve carried?
Still, I rise-
the smoke from this scorched earth sings my name,
still, I fight-
the fists we’ve forgotten to unclench hum under the skin,
still, I glow-
the light leaking from the cracks they tried to sew shut.
Justice
Our history should define the stars we carve into the sky,
not chain them in the iron of yesterday’s grief.
Fear is a bruise we press into until it blooms,
but even bruises fade,
even men remember the softness of their beginnings.

— The End —