"entombs" poems
A nameless helmsman
Whose fallible hands
Duty calls to act god like
Guiding a ship of life
Off the coast of Newfoundland
Through a night of blue white ice halls,
Until their combined Neptune fate
Entombs nearly all
To an eternal Atlantic floor
Of dark and frigid sea.
Sep 25, 2010
Sep 25, 2010 at 8:18 AM UTC
I have used up all my tokens
and squandered all my pardons;
all that’s left is tarnished pyrite
and a jewellery box for two.
For I will tear your heart out
and feed it to the coyotes;
you may be the one for me,
but I’m no good for you.
As the field runs crimson
I’ll proceed to crack your spirit.
I know that this is foolish,
but love - this is all I know.
If the moon would make a bargain
on the dust that seals up fractures,
I would strip my backbone
reaching out to make it so;
I would mend each tiny crevice
- plant hydrangeas in the darkness,
but without a new foundation
it is all still frail and makeshift;
and each compounding weight is
all crushed-guts and shattered-statements.
Again we’re set a whirling;
we can’t recognize our faces.
The strongest tree is only paper
and my convoluted nature
is just a fallacy I’ve built to house,
my fear of what is true.
So, we’ll dance until our knees split,
you’ll repeat that we’re a unit
and as I kick the chair out
choke a final, “i love You.”
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Amidst staggered breaths
my fragile frame converts to dust.
Oak entombs the ashen ruins
of a long awaited
Us.
Aug 11, 2011
Aug 11, 2011 at 6:43 PM UTC
(From a Persian Carpet)
Ash and strewments, the first moth-wings, pale
Ardour of brief evenings, on the fecund wind;
Or all a wing, less than wind,
Breath of low herbs upfloats, petal or wing,
Haunting the musk precincts of burial.
For the season of newer riches moves triumphing,
Of the evanescence of deaths. These potpourris
Earth-tinctured, jet insect-bead, cinder of bloom—
How weigh while a great summer knows increase,
Ceaselessly risen, what there entombs?—
Of candour fallen from the slight stems of Mays,
Corrupt of the rim a blue shades, pensively:
So a fatigue of wishes will young eyes.
And brightened, unpurged eyes of revery, now
Not to glance to fabulous groves again!
For now deep presence is, and binds its close,
And closes down the wreathed alleys escape of sighs.
And now rich time is weaving, hidden tree,
The fable of orient threads from bough to bough.
Old rinded wood, whose lissomeness within
Has reached from nothing to its covering
These many corymbs’ flourish!—And the green
Shells which wait amber, breathing, wrought
Towards the still trance of summer’s centering,
Motives by ravished humble fingers set,
Each in a noon of its own infinite.
And here is leant the branch and its repose
of the deep leaf to the pilgrim plume. Repose,
Inflections brilliant and mute of the voyager, light!
And here the nests, and freshet throats resume
Notes over and over found, names
For the silvery ascensions of joy. Nothing is here
But moss and its bells now of the root’s night;
But the beetle’s bower, and arc from grass to grass
For the flight in gauze. Now its fresh lair,
Grass-deep, nestles the cool eft to stir
Vague newborn limbs, and the bud’s dark winding has
Access of day. Now on the subtle noon
Time’s image, at pause with being, labours free
Of all its charge, for each in coverts laid,
Of clement kind; and everlastingly,
In some elision of bright moments is known,
Changed wide as Eden, the branch whose silence sways
Dazzle of the murmurous leaves to continual tone;
Its separations, sighing to own again
Being of the ignorant wish; and sways to sight,
Waked from it nighted, the marvelous foundlings of light;
Risen and weaving from the ceaseless root
A divine ease whispers toward fruitfulness,
While all a summer’s conscience tempts the fruit.
2.6k
I wonder…
Wherever this nebulous varmint is
Here, there, everywhere
Does he ever look to himself in shame
He who leaves his iniquitous stains
For all the hatred he lays claim?
He gives tongue to the anemic, weakened mettle
Wheezing his nidorous, putrid breath into its chambers
Leaving behind his dark, black, deadly whispers
Of desolated emptiness his demonic sinister
He entombs them alive those he perversely abducts
To his Cimmerian, shadowy hell
Slither back to your bottomless pit
You tenebrous angel from purgatory
You don’t deserve a capital ‘A’ for angel
In your God forsaken name
Demon of greed and endless shame
Conjuring up ways to wickedly ensnare those
Who’ve weakly stumbled to their knees
You were cast down from the Great One’s Home
You don't deserve this world to roam
This is ‘Lights Out’
The demise of you and me and everything I used to be!
Don’t hurl me your meager crumbs of wretched love
As you wickedly tally my teardrops in The Mighty’s rain
You menacing angel I recognize your despicable fame
I’m through dancing to your stygian, sooty song
Go back to Hades where you chose to belong
You cheat; you lie with your unlit, callous façade
You Cerberus hound from hell you are not from my loving God
At long last I see behind your lurid, false masquerade
You malevolent angel cast from Heaven
I pray, you incubus, you succubus
Recoil back to your wicked inferno
Go crawling back to your lake of fire
Ye who chose crepuscular, selfish desire
And...
Pathetically became you
______________________
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 6:03 PM UTC
Returning son, his daughter at his side,
imagines now the men who once amassed
the limestone locks to straddle the canal,
an obsolete image from an eldritch past.
On a ritual hour of summer dusk,
if you should know precisely where to stand
that ghost of Syracuse can still be seen,
a rotting timber craft trapped deep in sand.
Mosquitos drone their hungry mother song.
The two upon the towpath, side by side,
survey this stagnant waterway where once
their ancestors lived and worked and died.
The silt entombs the boat’s untimely end –
how many years before the blasts of steam
sent veins of iron shooting ‘cross the land
did this canal boat capsize like a dream?
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 3:36 AM UTC
Deity of wars,
Devourer,
Defender,
Domesticated, yet wild at heart.
She cast her light and protection upon the Middle Kingdom and Upper East,
Blessing the soil and crops upon which her followers jubilantly feast.
Do they dare forsake her?
Suppressed ferocity,
Longing to break free of that which entombs her.
The shrine lies in ruins,
yet nine times immortalized.
In her eyes that see all,
Lay a world lost for so long,
Brought back to life by her awakening roaring song.
She claws at the sky and rekindles the flame,
She slips through the gates of time unscathed and scalds those who fail to do the same.
Her eye became The Sun,
Her other eye, The Moon.
Her blood became The Nile,
And she encouraged her children to drink of it,
An unswayed symbol of the eternally nubile.
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 6:19 PM UTC
My life is worlds away from war
And poverty;
I need not fear for life
Or liberty,
Yet to remember this
When darkness falls
Is still a test.
When night entombs me
In her shadowed cloak,
And stars are far beyond
My window’s view,
My own adversity will
Rear its head
And make its claim.
Then, as the darkness shrouds my mind,
The starlight cannot
Pierce the shadowed gloom
And the pain of others has but
Little light.
And if this makes me
Cold,
Unfeeling,
Cruel,
Then so it is, and so,
Too, are you.
So are we all.
Cold,
Unfeeling,
Cruel.
Feb 27, 2018
Feb 27, 2018 at 11:42 AM UTC
A sullen , blue eagle sentry patrols stone fruit orchards
Black and tan beagles braying for the hunt filled morning
Orange Alabama horizons , China goose down caught , drifting south
Collard pods rattle white -washed homesteads , pollen entombs tiny towns with ragweed ferocity , cattail gardens and fog induced rainbows ...
Dove mourn blackberry winter , dew washed back roads drift quietly into lake country ....
Mar 22, 2016
Mar 22, 2016 at 6:53 PM UTC
Doves sit in the square of marble,
and sunlight entombs the jewels
on top of the holy crescent – Islam,
a world full of white dotted capes
and those who pity on Jihad know this,
they are blind to his faith, his pattern
to lay in the glory of Muhammad,
hooking the world with blistering sins
9/11 a myth around, Syria to my heart,
the world sits abound to watch the hate
and the racist get away with my skates,
poorly lit candles line the streets
to the road defining my conscience and fee,
a long stubble of fleece flee the marketplace
eaten by the souls in Ramadan and Eid,
Europe is caught by the chaos, sadly odd
but satisfying for the gloomy eyes staring
at the long pages of Quran – Allah O Akbar….
I set my feet apart to the horizon of Qawwali
a prayer on the mat of holiness and a play-
ground for my state.
Mar 8, 2017
Mar 8, 2017 at 12:09 AM UTC
I am lost, and the cave is blue
All facets of it, some faded, some sure
Crystal tears flicker on the jagged
White eyes, the stones speak nothing
Merely blink as the turnings of lights
In keen grey wells of silence
My life, as a ragged brush, paints
The night to be raw and torn
Leaves the canvas blank for a moon
Throughout the sky are pinned
My letters to the world, flip-flopping
As wild wind horses hop about them
But in the day, in its darkness
I can recall nothing of the colours
The walls scuttle away from me
And the cave, though endless, shrinks
I sit down into the shape of an insect
And feel the firm embrace of lone
Of stone, I begin to feel myself of stone
I rush to the waters, they rush to me
Bleak blue turns me over, takes me
Through months, I sail its roudy mouth
Blissfully unseeing and faceless
Until the coin of the sun flips
And blackness washes everything clean
The sea still, sags to rock, entombs
Itself and me. I am lost, and the cave
Is blue
Jul 16, 2023
Jul 16, 2023 at 2:52 PM UTC
I die inside...
Slowly...
As one piercing word twists the knife...
Future, Present, Past.
And I gasp.
Breathing deep but finding no solace in the air around me.
Finding myself swept aside as timing's harsh laugh crashes down on me.
And I lie.
Back scarred by the black shards that used to be the world around me.
Now I clearly perceive the tense in which I now reside.
I struggle to stand but collapse in agony
As a jagged piece of my favorite "could have been"shifts against my spine.
The only answer my cries receive are the callous taunts of a million happy memories
As they march to the beat of the shattered heart I cant seem to clear from my bone dry throat
My voice cracks as the razor sharp fragments shred the delicate tissue
That used to be my vocal chords
Silence envelopes and entombs what remains.
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 6:48 PM UTC
Reconnoitering each day from Zuccotti Park toward Wall Street,
they are the ensemble of the jobless, the homeless, the leaderless.
Twisted Brothers singing, "We're Not Gon'na Take It Anymore!",
the Nameless faces of democracy overcoming inertial rest,
demanding that equity of fortune be restored and the unjust be tried,
the living corpus of defiant non-cake eaters,
as naturally disordered as blowing leaves or drifting sands.
From lofts above the privileged sip flutes of champagne and jeer,
mocking the throngs beneath like Roman overlords,
while a daily pall of silence entombs Washington,
as if the watchman of the world has gone on holiday.
Do not shirk in your efforts, Brothers of the Street,
your numbers grow each day nurtured by your poverty.
You have subsumed the high ground and conscience of our nation.
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 10:11 PM UTC
[1]
Born from the darkness,
Came from all the agony,
And came to take life.
[2]
Chaos, the name he bears
Written with all shed blood.
That is his name
Who everybody fears.
[3]
His tower of pain
And throne of suffering.
His diadem of greed
With the cape of misfortune.
[4]
What is wanted to exhume
Is what he entombs.
What is to forget?
Is what he reminisces.
[5]
Oh the woe to take
Is the pleasure he seeks.
Even the courageous
Cowards up bring.
[6]
These shackles
These walls
These shards
These thorns
[7]
These are the things
That I should overthrow.
Yet!
Yet I cannot.
[8]
For even the deity that I have
For pure goodwill
The deity that I have
Are all against his will?
[9]
For I am the opposite
I am the good
I am the benevolent
I am the enemy
[10]
I, his enemy
Though benevolent
Though righteous
[11]
I, his enemy
Though honest
Though pure
[12]
I, the enemy
Have fallen in love
[13]
To the one who caused pain?
The one who's ecstatic in wars
Attached to bloodshed
Rules ruthlessly over unforgiven souls
[14]
I fell in love
Yet I have to win
He fell in love
Do I need to win?
[15]
We are opposites
Living the opposites
Opposites that fell in love
Yet one must win
[16]
He is Chaos
And I am Concord
Both to act
How we should act
Both to think
How we should think
[17]
I fell in love
Yet I have to stop
To where I should just be
[18]
He is in love
But has to stop
To where that he should be
[19]
And though pain and suffering,
Would still be consistent,
Good will be there
To make even a little difference
[20]
But I won't win
Nor he will win
Not I to rule
Nor he to rule
[21]
For even Chaos
Only causes chaos
And I, Concord
Would only cause concord
[22]
Both won't be in existence
If one overthrows the other.
Both won't be in existence
If one isn't meant for the other.
Nov 29, 2018
Nov 29, 2018 at 12:13 AM UTC
i am what my monsters see me as;
this bed swallowed my feet.
roars lap at my ears as seconds pass;
insomnia begins to take a seat.
my eyelids are midnight curtains,
that the killer entombs himself within.
Mister Reality behind illusory drapes, uncertain,
a whimsical gust of wind is all needed for him.
i glued my sullen eyelids to a close,
hoping to escape this quaking ground;
let the sun fall like a petal from a rose,
hope reality will never be found.
avoidance, the path that my trembling feet find,
molded the monsters to shadows within my mind.
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 10:33 PM UTC
My head against his chest.
The slow rise and fall of it is my lullaby.
A hand placed lovingly on my head,
Combing through my hair.
I look up at him.
He looks down at me.
Flesh against flesh.
And even if my clothes weren’t
somewhere between the kitchen and the bathroom,
I would still feel completely naked.
His stare freezes me, then entombs me with fire.
It feels good to burn,
At least every once in a while.
Jul 23, 2011
Jul 23, 2011 at 4:33 PM UTC
If I lie down in
the frozen white,
will you be there
to conjure me awake
before i succumb
to the numbing peace
that entombs me
Or will I continue
to lie there,
slipping deep into
the world while
the stiffness in my
limbs steadily increases
As my thoughts wander
in and out of reality,
a warm hand caresses my
skin, lifts me up and
takes me out of the grave
I made for myself into
a haven that melts the cold
from my bones and heart
I knew you would save me.
Oct 6, 2010
Oct 6, 2010 at 2:30 PM UTC
were we but souls fed to the crows
and worms that had us as only that?
no wonder our thinking turned morbid
and said: earth our home, fire our enemy,
coffin our mansion our flat our roaming-room,
coffin birthmarks it's earthen superiority over fire
which fire entombs given sway; let us chopin the rest,
and have us as a spelling mistake
to akin rock an armadillo rolling with
stoppages of "roll a ***** rock out with a poet
asserting ***** the by-product and poetry the
begotten famished youth!"
for the head to pop-up less readier for blow,
than blow on helium than horsey ready a hark...
macho australian flex, and biceps to give to
blown-up treadmill versus catwalk loot,
she ***** cha cha cha lip-gloss for a footprint,
she wore it with a fascination for language,
getting bored with sign symbols > > > (sharp bend /
quick & trendy instant graphic ooh):
in the real world red started trending,
and black was a usual tuesday for karl lagerfeld
who said: wear the same **** over and over again,
and play the anorexic ******* to wear different
**** every day... be a fox among chameleons...
wear the same black tunic, turnip, tuck and shackle
otherwise known as a waistcoat all year round...
and they'll all puppeteer themselves around you
gladly ogled eyed all year round:
it might be summer in the sky, but on the catwalk
it will be silver birch dressed in khaki for oaken
wrinkles... and so on, and so forth... worth a rot...
had i turned to x-ray white suit and black shirts...
but the girls would have minded to adorn
a waste i claimed to be simplified by:
keep them thin, keep them anorexic...
the fatter the model the more materials we'll
waste tailoring: chubby gets the boot, the kick,
we need thin models, because the chubby ones
take up too much geography when cutting a leopard skin
print of silk for underwear.
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 9:02 PM UTC
This residence is haunted
By no one but myself.
My room; a silent kingdom;
Yet is prison, and is hell.
Still-life inside a chrysalis;
My own skin forms a crypt.
The struggle to break free
Entombs me further yet.
It’s not that I am scared
Of the worlds’ one thousand things -
I’m scared that I will free myself
To find I have no wings.
Jun 30, 2019
Jun 30, 2019 at 8:31 AM UTC
A metamorphosis she wrote
a little death he hoped
a matter exchange
a frown in the window pane
among a weeping black sky
in the middle of the day time
alone
oh the box is your home
little one you know
ive tried to get you to move out
but my words feel on sour notes
comfort comfort
as you choke
its digusting its morose
its beautiful its enthralling
its the truth its a hoax
its ugly its withdrawing
into your shell your cocoon
though no butterfly promotes
only carcass as your womb
just a shy regret
entombs.
Oct 21, 2016
Oct 21, 2016 at 4:10 PM UTC
Patience has taken it’s time to consume me.
Awake, waking, drifting off in time taking
Hairs from my arm as the hands are braking.
The broken moment entombs me.
wrapped in a fraction of a second.
Achieve consciousness, a flooding
collection of memories and senses.
Just to break back to start at the ending.
Crashing against.
Re-living life over
and over. And over again. Fence me
to myself, to forget and remember.
For only a fraction of a second
In my mind its September.
'Times on it’s
ridden race again’ say's Rabbie .
But I think it’s either stuck or turned
Madly.
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 11:50 AM UTC
Holding on to everything
Crumbling to dust in my hands
There was never anything
That made me whole, and I understand
Although the things I’ve given
Have not been lost in vain
It was never meant for me
To live without this pain
Nothing that I’ve taken
Will I ever give away
These miseries I’ve stolen
Will go with me when I fade
My gifts aren’t what I’ve given
But what I take away
I filled the emptiness inside
By drinking in your pain
Taking on your sorrow
Giving laughter in return
I’ve suffered under veils of smiles
And bled your tears in turn
I’ve saved you from these things that ****
I’ve sometimes left you numb
If nothing else, to save you
So that you will not succumb
This pain is like an anchor
It only pulls you down
And the undertow of agony
Will drag you from the shore
I couldn’t say I love you
If I stood and watched you drown
Knowing I could save you
From the fate you had in store
Never think I hated you
For what I have confessed
I was always happiest
When I knew you suffered less
Know it was my choice
To draw your pain into my core
The only thing that pains me
Is I couldn’t help you more
For my own private demons
They still scar me to this day
There was never anyone
To take my pain away
But I have learned to suffer
Finding heaven in this hell
Knowing I could keep you
From the darkness where I dwell
To be the one to sit inside
This unlocked cell of suffering
Choking on the ashes
Of memories that scream
Failing every day
To be the one who is recovering
From agonies I’ve stolen
So your sanity could breathe
Saving you has saved me
From the madness that entombs me
Helping me to battle
Through the darkest of my days
I just hope that when this life
Finally consumes me
That you’ll be happy for me
As they carry me away
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 8:43 PM UTC
What could be keeping her
Fingers from texting
A few simple words
It’s absurd
And most vexing
To know she does nothing
But sulk and consume
In her room
But entombs me
In silence and gloom
Then accompanies others
Who don’t really care
Who don’t hurt with her
Worthless
In death and despair
Just impairing her judgment
In mindless libations
Her self-delude,
Self-destruct,
Numbing sensations
Pretending it’s magic
And mystic
Depression
She is an addiction
A vice
An obsession
I can
Live without
Just afraid of her gone
Was it all
Really meaningless
Fiends all along
Just regretting
Embedding
Their secrets in song
Mar 29, 2022
Mar 29, 2022 at 1:30 AM UTC
young people all across this country
(The United States Of America),
this middle aged papa doth adore
stand arm against
pervasive arms that didst bore
un-necessary slain school students
robbing society of core
as unwitting targets,
sans vibrant youths
forever snatched to enter door
of homes, where loving
kith and kin no longer behold
a cherished biological product
lowered six feet under into cold
terra firmae, where Mother Earth
entombs the fruits
(ripened to their prime), now...en fold
did taken down by random bullets, which gold
din precious person murdered,
where maniacal gunman didst hold
down the trigger, which high powered weapon
loosed asper indiscriminate aim
mass destruction
of sons and/or daughters killed fired,
whence slug didst claim
another abhorrent statistic
from easy access snatching a darling dame
or handsome lad, while soundless horror
many a countenance
doth non verbally exclaim
the profound sadness,
now murdered offspring
solely enshrined within picture frame
where sorry lost life haint no board game
yet, random dice throw
courtesy of second amendment
fuels American's passion
asper right to bear arms, particularly re: cent
spate of wanton mounting killed
(within storied halls of academia)
spurred many well organized national event
reached a tipping point,
where lock, stock and barrel deadly age gent
brought together this day
(March 24 th, 2018), an immense crowd
staged across America within major metropolitan areas
(from sea to shining sea) with actions loud
her than his words,
suffusing this older dada to feel proud
unsure if thine eldest progeny joined
the Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
swell organized protests, which wowed!
Mar 24, 2018
Mar 24, 2018 at 2:26 PM UTC
What of spring?
That it brings fire to the hearts of men
Is it the stars in the sky
Or
The songs of birds courting
Returning Persephone freshly in mourning
I've hidden alone in my cave
Far from spring time and still
I'm a fool for the lady's inuring
Slack from my chest
This marionette of heart strings
Played with in passing
No tuppence given for time or trouble
Worn out in that way only free things do
Salt of the earth this Patina entombs
A heart that was meant to be given to you
Yet this poem was meant for the spring time
It's true, she will miss it I'm sure
But you got it too
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 2:02 PM UTC
.
paths narrow past the breadth of these long-travelled burdens across our shoulders
in the canyon
floods may come .
then
embroiled amidst the nimbus of our eyestains,
the road behind entombs itself in these
vibrant
greys
[she sang to us from stones on fire :
we, as they, clay
we, as they, clay]
May 8, 2025
May 8, 2025 at 8:14 AM UTC