"entrap" poems
Revolution: Part one.
The first French King sentenced to death,
Must have a new execution invented;
So that this day shall be forever remembered.
The execution of your King, this invention of evil;
This is how he will finally meet his end and go to the Devil.
The man behind the mask, the executioner;
Will lead us to change to a new world order.
A declaration of civil war, to stop the oppression,
Has lead France to say, we must fight to stop the aggression.
We must be revolting and begin the revolution;
To put an end to the executions.
The fall of the guillotine, for a life time spent,
Writing the encyclopedia, which lead to his death.
There is no place for God, in an encyclopedia of Man;
This writing is illegal, you are blasphemous! God ****
So the time has come, to take your last breath.
Remember when you see the guillotine... don't lose your head.
Until it's chopped off and ends up in the basket;
Another case of basket case madness.
No fiction necessary, for us to live here on Earth;
But this execution, you surely don't deserve.
So the poets leave France, before the revolution;
All of them heading, back to England.
These prison bars to entrap the young.
Taken prisoner for writing a book.
Follow their rules; free thinking is wrong.
The encyclopedia is evidence enough.
Man is born free and grows to imprison himself;
Then he must follow the orders, of somebody else.
Frances revolutionaries, said let it be, let it be;
But the nation is ruled, by the monarchy.
Imprisoned for what they think, the poets and the artists;
But there are no walls, in the prison inside their heads.
Begin the revolution and make us all classless,
Because they’re chained by society,
For the thoughts that they think.
A fight for equality, a modern day philosophy.
Man is born to think for himself; a revolution is on the way.
Liberty! Liberation for one free state;
A jaded nation must make a change.
Revolution began, after the fall of the blade;
Now the guillotine of power will stop us being slaves.
Preaching revolution, we must free ourselves of these manacles.
Preaching liberation for the masses
And freedom for the individual.
This new guillotine, the machine of death,
Makes the severed head fall into the basket,
As they take your last breath;
But they can't take your words, from the books you have written.
So fight the power!
Revolution! Revolution!
We must have a revolution, that is televised.
Che Guevara, Malcolm X, me, myself and I.
All of us willing to join the fight;
All of knowing our view is right.
(C)2013 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 7:20 AM UTC
In my graduation t-shirt,
and it fits right,
she finger-and-thumbs
the switch on my desk lamp.
Lights on.
And I'm getting too thin.
It shouldn't fit right.
"No, no. I want it dark," I say.
"Tell me what's off limits."
Her eyes, big and wet with bongwater,
wash over me. I'm pebble. I'm allowed.
"Why?"
"I want to know what's off limits
so I know where to set my goals."
I believe in love, even at first sight.
Just not the eternal kind. And I love
her when she says things like that
because I created her. And when
you create, and the creation reaches
perfection, all you want to do--
destroy. Hammer to head. Crowbar
to Parkinson thighs. *What's off limits?
What's off limits? What's off limits?*
I can't stop.
Before I respond,
with adolescent delight
she tears me open by the pearl snap.
She lifts her arms up.
Surrender? No. She's a sycamore.
I'm the wind.
Body bare and body scattered,
congregate at the inosculation
of her trunks. She's a sycamore.
I'm the wind.
Wavering.
Leafless.
Pot-addled.
And the breeze doesn't do it.
And the seasons don't affect it.
Gale force insanity.
I climb her branches.
Beard wet with her.
She wipes her off.
I climb her branches.
I can't stop.
Grows into me.
Trunks entrap.
Elevated, she.
And I, well, I
stumble.
Hit the wall.
Concrete, everything.
I press her against it
so hard, she turns to waste
and passes through.
I press her against it
so hard, I can't stop.
Autumn acorn fingertips,
a river emptying to ocean,
and she asks,"Is this off limits?"
as she turns me sharply
and my back collides with the wall.
"Is this off limits?" she asks as she
pounds her head into mine.
"Is this off limits?" she asks as she
claws my face.
"Is this off limits?" she asks as she
licks to heal.
My will says yes.
My flesh says no.
I can't stop.
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 10:16 PM UTC
A short poem for all of you Special People that don't want to belong. I am a true radical. I am different. No one really knows who I am. Perhaps, this is the way I want it. Perhaps, this is "the real me."
While growing up, I too didn't "belong" and still don't. Freedom is the right to choose. Often others want to impose their will on you. Too often, it seems that external pressures force us to do things which are not always necessarily in our better interests. Peer pressure, social pressures entrap us, and we end up "going with the flow."
I went through my early education with very few friends. They were what I would define as friends of the moment. Sound advice, have many "friends," but find yourself one "true friend." This is the one to call friend for your entire life. With this true friend, you are going to grow in this world. Growing in confidence, in wisdom, in knowledge, in security and in realizing who you really are. They will be the "Real Mirror" whose reflection, in time, you will honestly be able to call your own.
**For all you radicals, there is a time to stand up and shout
refuse to belong to those that choose the easy way out
For what purpose would he decree, when G-D granted us life
if not to stand firm and avoid all forms of strife
I'm a radical, to this I must admit
always looked upon differently, as if I'm unfit
But why follow others who think they suffice
to control everyone else with the roll of their dice
Having gone through a lot, one begins to discern
there's a time for discipline, and a time for concern
Stand up and be counted, you alone have begun
to realize you can be different, and still be as one
All you radicals, to you alone do I salute
your ways may be different, but none could refute
Imagine our world, without you, what it would be
a place where individuality could never ever be Free....**
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 1:34 AM UTC
Arrow upon arrow the stricken heart endured,
Strife and doom its woeful dream ensured.
Vile phantoms of creed with deception en route
Intended to thwart, unveil their wicked fruit.
Satan had withered our spirit's joy and flame,
And gathered an earthly militia; among those to blame.
A maze he encrypted, the heir's light yet unseen,
All prospects stolen, great efforts wiped clean.
Creative their mind twilight art they presented,
The Sphere's evil hosts all reflected and resented.
Lost was all hearing, faith and sight,
Misplaced sense of wonder and good sense in flight.
"I worship nothing!" His heir once preferred,
Such was the spirit in high degrees deterred.
"Paragons of justice, will I ever get to see
The day my misfortunes cease to be?
They shadow, entrap and starve my soul
Of love and joy and all control!
So tired I am, and tired I shall stay
If purpose here is merely to convey
No purpose at all, except for one:
To enslave the soul, casting punishment for fun.
My simple wish, then, is simply to impart
An end to this misery and to my sanctioned heart."
His despairing heir put in motion so
An idea most frightening, its telling shall forego...
Immerse in their demise, allow for stricken grief,
Then foresee the King's love and His graciousness in fleet.
He gathered around, with love He replaced
Satan and his minions conspiring in space;
The King broke off the heir's chains with great might,
He enlightened our spirit, who had not known the light.
The heir's desperate cries reached The King's vibrations,
He released the heir and nullified all limitations.
Profound divine wisdom our heir now espies;
Seeing The King's glory and the through destroyer's lies.
Great wisdom and revelation now fill this mended heart,
But it's a tale best left for another form of art...
Nov 20, 2016
Nov 20, 2016 at 11:35 PM UTC
*stone-blind to suppress
the poison that enlivens a soul
how cryptic a fool you become
to see erroneous fantasy
to chase a false reality
wake up and see the aftermath
Love, is a mischief
oh, hold your horses- apathy
a broken dream
and you are entrap*
May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 10:52 PM UTC
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
a little straight slip of a thing,
red, a quartier inch wide,
red, a quartier inch thin,
suggestive, inquisitive,
a political and philosophical,
lovely provocation to conjecture
as if it were a colored arrow,
pointing strangely down,
instead of up,
to the next handhold
on a rock climbing wall,
in this case,
handholds on a
woman's body
this way,
follow me,
to the barricades!
a tourist mapped-path to follow,
visit the glories of the republic,^
and the charming Quartier Latin!
entrap and entice,
the eyes willful blinded,
taken away to thoughtful solitary,
on-one-side-only,
does the
bra strap
conveniently,
consciously,
haphazardly,
(yes, that's it,
a hazard,)
invitingly, speaks to,
looks to me,
inquiring will you vote,
RSVP to red?
as if a line of lipstick on the body drawn,
the directive points,
this way, perhaps,
always, just perhaps,
this way tourist,
to the dome of the pantheon,
where the statutes
are the course,
or perhaps
disguised, well-placed, statuesque, (ha!),
improvised explosive devices,
purposely presented,
needy for a desired
psychological high impact detonation
If
that is its purpose
under heaven,
under sweater,
under halter,
under cutoff gym top,
under liberty,
to tempt and remove
the blindfold from the womanly scales of
under justice
to tilt him favorably one way
If
it, is theater,
I, the audience
then whatever is on stage,
(Ibsen's Doll House, ironie délicieuse)
is a failed distraction, naught to naughty,
to no avail,
his eyes fastened, stapled wide
to the quarter inch thin
red path
from her slender shoulder,
leading, stepping him ****** down to
his I-magination,
for which unknowingly,
he, ticket purchased,
months ago for
two hours and one intermission
He must go again,
the show was
superbly acted,
for so the reviews said,
Ibsen's play,
"an unremitting portrayal of the suffering of a women"
^republic ~ a state in which the power rests in the body,
of those entitled to vote, exercised by their representatives, their eyes, chosen directly by and for them.
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 3:50 PM UTC
-
we live and die
within a box
with data
at all angles
in an age
where innocence
is compacted
to rectangles
here we see
the wizardry
of Bill Gates in
his valley
the children with
their pinwheel eyes
texting Steve or Sally
around the house
the computer mouse
enthralls another tyke
instantly their Facebook
has another "like"
blood and gore
are commonplace
the victims have no names
what the heck
do you expect?
it is all a
game
they will thus
ENTRAP YOU
you'll do as they bid
for your pleasure
I'll announce
The Wizards of the Id
SoulSurvivor
(C) 6/5/2016
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 3:01 AM UTC
I can hear her yelling out to me. She's inviting me to come closer, to fall into her trap. She's got the eyes of the devil, and the lips of an angel.
She tries to find ways to entrap my body; to really get under my skin. Her hair falls in brown curls down her spiny back. Her bony hands reach up to hold my own, and I'm stuck.
I'm stuck between two worlds. I can't find out what is reality and what is made up. My mind is set on the girl in my mirror. Her red lips gnawing my neck. Her fragile legs around my waist.
She's screaming my name. Mine! She's pulling my own curly, brown mane. She's locking those beautiful lips onto me own.
I blink, and she's off of me. I look at my mirror, hoping she's staring back at me. All I can see is her from behind. She's turned her back on me, and I'm desperate to know why. I reach my hand out to her, but all I can feel is solid glass.
She turns, a smile tugging on her lips, and vanishes.
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 4:58 PM UTC
Cling to me like ivy
Entrap me with your vines
Wrap tendrils around me
Weave your words with mine
Cling to me like ivy
Linger in my boughs
My branches will embrace you
My senses to arouse
Cling to me like ivy
Meander through my mind
Fascination everlasting
Forever souls entwined
Cling to me like ivy
Together we can grow
Sublime in our purpose
Majestic in the hedgerow
(C) Pixievic 2016
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 6:38 PM UTC
This summer, I’ve thought a lot,
About how I’m in a liminal standstill.
The crossroads of life,
Childhood to the left, and adulthood to the right.
Which way do I go?
I don’t have a choice.
The only way to go,
Is forward toward the void.
I must go on,
Listening to the songs that spark my envisioning,
Imagination bleeds into reality.
I must accept,
That there’s never enough time,
But that’s okay.
I’ll water her flowers and try not to complain,
Because she means the world to me.
The singer and the lyricist,
Moved on from their precipice,
Perhaps I can do the same.
I’ll rise, like a daisy,
Even when the world is feeling hazy.
I’ll remember what the Wendigo told me,
And what I learned from Dracula’s kidnapping.
It’s humbling to find,
That I’m at the world’s whim as much as it’s at mine.
Just a change in my paradigm.
I’ll make sure I won’t be like Vain,
Or like Russel, used for his brain.
I’ll overcome my fear and drive,
And leave my other fears behind.
Acne won’t entrap me forever,
There’s always another summer,
Though the heatwaves might be a ******
I’m all in,
Avoiding artificial interactions.
I’ll try to see what they see,
And overcome this anxiety.
Oh, what thoughts can be stirred from a monochromatic shade of grey,
But I’ll fight through the haze.
I’ve seen,
That the last summer of reprieve,
Is as much of an ending,
As it is a beginning.
Sep 18, 2025
Sep 18, 2025 at 7:23 PM UTC
Unknown to what's in store
The wind
Directs a wave
Onto the shore-
When patience falls apart,
Left with an unfinished start-
It departs.
But as anticipation for more
Grows confident than before.
It returns
Washing a conch ashore
To entrap the sweet murmurs
Of such a magical bliss
Making emotions to quiver
As the melodious message
Waits to be heard.
Feb 19, 2014
Feb 19, 2014 at 2:05 PM UTC
earn me
entice me
ensure me
enlighten me
enlist me
entertain me
effectuate me
envelope me
entrap me
enthrall me
enrapture me
enslave me
edify me
elate me
evolve me
elicit me
expand me
entrust me
employ me
equalize me
envy me
excise me
exhaust me
extinguish me
erode me
erase me
evict me
estrange me
exhume me
Dec 13, 2010
Dec 13, 2010 at 6:43 AM UTC
lips upon swell of breast,
caresses like a dance in
bated breath; a cry of
hunger unclothed to
nakedness; mouth travels
south, seeking to quench
libidinous drought; tongue
glides, nibbling kisses;
silently I sigh, each taste
he gets thicker as I become
wickedly *****
scents of honeysuckle
permeates the air as
tongue teases hardened
strobe; I glow within his
nature and he whispers in
elated breaths; I arch against
masculinity in sultry
poses, smiling in blushed
tints, fore, he knows me
and tells of his wants
to satiate my needs like
a rose opens its petals to
a bee's need; to suckle its
sepal of sweet nectar's
honey, sipped in little nips
inebriating his wanton
longing, he breaches
my honeycomb in gentle
easements...flushed
he whispers against nape
of neck as hands control
movement of hip, tongue
glides against silken thigh;
in foolery baiting to entrap
me within his desirous
taunts of beggary...I sigh
Jun 12, 2012
Jun 12, 2012 at 2:29 AM UTC
A night is lost in tangled rumpled sheets
Each hand is struck by every curve it meets
And eyes are lost to beauty in found in flaws
It seems the fear is lost to open jaws.
We make our way down paths which are worn low
This maze we walk at paces marked and slow.
My love the labyrinth is ours to map
Within its walls our love we must entrap.
And build a shelter from a world we fear
Of grey wood worn and sea glass beaten clear
Sep 30, 2010
Sep 30, 2010 at 9:24 AM UTC
After all the carnage I did imparte
The gypsies thought I had mastered the dark art
When I left that wretched gypsy caravan
Anyone that had wronged me, their blood spilled on the sand
With their tongues like parchment
They told darkened stories, and I was their target
And as I slowly roamed the land
To seek out about my mother first hand
The villagers seen my burnt skin
And knew I was the one the gypsies said carried great sin
Every human treated me badly, to scared to get close they threw their stones
So I sought out a place where no human ever goes
I found a forest but to sunny for my mood
It had to be darker, it had to be crude
So I started out simple and enchanted the vines
I made them all twist entangle and entwine
next was the trees I made them grow branches to cover the sky
so even from the keen eye of the hawk I could hide
But not done with them yet the bark I made bare
Thorns that would reach out and scratch and tear
The sand I made quiken to entrap in and ensnare
So anyone caught in my wicked trap could no longer breathe the air
My wonderland was soon renamed the Black Forest
all that dared entered claimed they heard the demon's chorus
And so my legend was born
The gypsies through their stories warn
Of a dark hearted witch that the fires couldn't burn
Even though their fires burnd white hot and the coals they churned
That I the black hearted witch had escaped and layed waste
In despite their fear they had given chase
So now alone I roam my beautiful dark place
With the gypsies warning story no one will give chase
But in my roaming before the forest I had heard a great tale
Of a witch who had put her baby under a spell
That upon it was put a curse
That would work in reverse
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 9:40 AM UTC
I just want to be held.
Embraced by your arms and shoved into your chest with the passion that I long to feel from you.
I want you to burn me.
Burn me to death and give me new life.
Your cigarette burn holed love.
Entrap me in that brown eyed gaze.
**** ME WITH YOUR EYES!
They say you can tell a sign of attraction by watching where someone looks when they are talking to you.
When words escape your mouth all I can look at is where they are coming from.
Your lips that make me want to bite you.
Your tongue that makes me want to shove you against a wall and hold you there.
So you're mine.
Be mine.
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 3:11 AM UTC
You are like a magician
your hands working in stealth-like fashion
revealing little about who you are
finger prints of time have passed you by
as you honed your talents and skills
to manipulate people’s minds
so that they believe they are in control
all the while you hold the strings like
on a puppet or character named Pinocchio
obscuring or twisting the truth as you meld
our hearts and dreams into nightmares
providing dark thrills to your repertoire
while making victims of the audience
who attend these spectacles you readily compose
to entrap those weak of soul
and so it starts like someone under hypnosis
pliant to your every command
unaware of your intentions
until it is too late
Andreas Simic©
Jun 7, 2022
Jun 7, 2022 at 6:45 AM UTC
(a story in trochaic tetrameter)
Even a Prince must bend his knee
to the lass who has won his heart.
“Please be my bride, stay by my side
forever - tell me we shall wed.”
“My love and affections are yours,
they have never been better fed
- you are surely pleasures master,
with your rough hands and softer lips.”
“Then let us petition the clerk,
we can be wed in a fortnight!”
Sometimes love takes dismaying turns.
There are standards, some are double.
The future princess must be chaste.
The clerk asked, “Are you a ******
“Do you seek to entrap us, sir?”
The prince asked, his hand to dagger.
“We cannot hoodwink the law, sir.
It must be asked and answered.”
And so the clerk asked it again,
“Would you swear on your honor miss?”
“If I had a virgins honor,”
the possible, future princess said.
The high clerk sighed and sheathed his pen.
“Most honest and least virtuous
lady, the marriage cannot be.”
“So, then the law is strictly tied
to something lost in love’s first blush?”
she asked, with no show of dismay.
“My actions follow the law, miss.”
If the clerk sounded bored, he was.
The prince, however, was outraged.
and on the verge of a salvo.
The clerk feared a soliloquy.
To stall the coming storm, the clerk
said, “I believe you KNOW the King?”
“He’s my father!” The prince revealed,
to no one’s shock or great surprise.
“The King, the law - the law, the King?”
The clerk's finger turned like a wheel.
Somewhere deep in princes mind
a dim bulb lit. “To the Castle!”
The clerk smiled wryly at the lass,
who shrugged back. Love would find a way.
Jul 16, 2023
Jul 16, 2023 at 10:03 AM UTC
Still don't know the meaning of love, only tears
lonely years of believing scared just outta fears
of losing whats known to our comfort zone
the only known nightmare being left to die alone
no matter how many times you play the story out
trying to figure what you missed only causes doubt
you don't need to keep going there I swear I keep telling me
no need to compare our life's inequalities
only casualties are left by scars that you cannot see
invisible nightmares leaving evidence so vividly
I do know what very few of us men do
the power of being merely accountable to
I know I said I'm sorry bout a billion times
but I do know that's shadowed by the one and only line
I love you, that's who, *** you have always been my tru
And now you kick and cheat me like you always wanted to
Wash the blood from your hands with a pool of my tears
****** in cold blood committed without fears
Insanity fears no perjury glazed over with a cold stare
A knife in my heart you imparted without even a care
Where did your soul go when ya lost your mind?
In due time come find mine if ya can it's lost with the drugs and wine
Did you imagine it killing me watching me bleed out?
Or was it execution style as to not leave a doubt
I hope you liked it thought it out and put it to plan
It's always so easy to stab the heart of a trusting man
It's always so easy to entrap the **** of a lusting man
In the minds of all women its not if only can
Feb 6, 2016
Feb 6, 2016 at 12:37 AM UTC
What flawed design is this? Framed by greed, eyed by chance,
Do you think so easily you can entrap me in this dance?
It is a marriage contract in which I have no choice -
I have no ground, no sound, no voice...
I cannot. What? Either it is my future or my siblings' in jeopardy.
I exaggerate - We can afford this, but barely.
Minimum student loan: The bane of many, the burden of many
Burden of unrealistic measures. You ask me to live off borrowed money
On borrowed time? You ask me to learn as others did off reflections from the past,
When time has moved on, and moved on fast?
When the world is barking at these measures, and still it continues,
And I, at risk of being denied an education, cannot refuse
To do things, not just by halves, but by even by eighths.
And would I, I would refuse another year, and hope the Fates
Prove kind. Do they prove kind to those who complain?
Who ever loved a rebel, when the rebel was alone?
Sep 16, 2021
Sep 16, 2021 at 5:02 PM UTC
god is tugging at my sleeve. the weight added to the fabric adds an urgency to my steps. im sweating now, grappling with the burdensome presence of a creator. he whines and demands my attention. he cries when i cant pick him up off the ground. he asks for task after task of menial, worthless labor until i am face first on the dirt with exhaustion. my aura has grown squeamish with anticipation of his next tantrum. i walk on hand sharpened eggshells i myself have placed as he ordered, i live in a fortress of solitude, shame, exasperation, and fear. i retract myself from enjoyment, fulfillment, and success at the empty promises he gives to entrap me further. since birth i have upheld this responsibility. babysat my guardians. protected them from their own mistakes. leaving feels like abandoning an infant to destroy itself from the inside out. living for myself invokes nausea and confusion. how can i function without approval from the hellbeast that gave me life only to use it for his own? growth is the only freeing process by which i can loosen his grip on the fabric of my shirt. outgrow your creator, your fractorial parent, your burden you did not choose to undertake. slowly detach from his entrapment. slowly make your life worth living again.
Jul 7, 2018
Jul 7, 2018 at 1:15 AM UTC
What will the horizon bring us?
I wonder,
Can you feel my heart?
In dawns of days gone,
In coming eves of twilight;
When I said
I shall always love you,
I meant it.
And days now start
Within a sky where there is no sun,
Within the dark of night, no stars;
Inside of me there is light
All formed from the memories
Of two kids in love, young.
Spiderwebs still entrap
Yet the venom is tapped-
How I wish I was still poisoned.
Aug 3, 2024
Aug 3, 2024 at 11:57 AM UTC
Two whole chapters have been written, about a ***** so Great
The ***** of Babylon, and what shall be her fate
-
They are written in a Book, the writer was Saint John
The Author is the Lord, the ***** is Satan’s spawn
-
This all started at a tower, Babel is the name (note present tense)
She will be destroyed, with burning fire and flame
-
Baal is her god, Astaroth as well
This ***** and all her gods, are going to burn in Hell
-
Today she has a High Priest, he wears a special cap
He wears the hat of Dagon, the “faithful” to entrap
-
You can go and pray with him, beneath his Golden Dome
Go and kneel and pray, go to the city Rome
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 2:37 AM UTC
I met an insomniac through a Craigslist post
Who alleged: She’d stolen > 2000 hearts
On subways/escalators/sidewalks – men turn to toast
(By her gorgon glance, she boasts, even testicles depart) .
How does one ensnare one fashioned of nails and sap?
By invisibility, mirrored shield, winged boots, curved sword?
The heart’s armor, thus arrayed, can easily entrap
This goddess, dreadlocked in her own umbilical cord.
But I do not stoop to conquer, but to please
This walking paradox, over-caffeinated, old soul
Intoxicated by words, music, auteurs (esp. Scorsese) ,
You’re my aurora, glowing green, in the north celestial pole.
Slacker, artist, writer, words have escaped you:
You lay breathless at the foot of your wandering Jew.
by Beryl Dov
Apr 7, 2017
Apr 7, 2017 at 10:32 PM UTC