"entrenches" poems
the middle commonplace
poor dears
weak of voice
making minimum wage
for all the
billionaire
investors making up Wall street
holding in servitude
the poor dude
trying to pay his
child support
with no health care
when he gave
his sanity in Iraq.
or the single mother
sharing with the desolate faces
the disgrace of
going to the food bank:
the land of the free
home of the brave
has turned into the home of the rich:
oligarchy entrenches,
that is why
i gave up
a long time ago.
I looked back,
once there was a middle
class.
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 1:32 AM UTC
Brown eyes,
Soul as she
Trudges through
These Demi-Ichorous lagoons
Of romantic mire.
Suspened tear-shaped vessels
From which sorrow
Bares down on soul's
Amber gated soil;
And memory,
Upon memory,
Upon memory,
Entrenches her feet.
Time immobile,
Despite vague recollection
Of retrospection.
Rain in anguish endured,
Devoured by these russet shoals,
And yet still remains this marsh-like nostalgia.
Branchless wasteland,
A collection of Earthen mounds
In sienna hue -
Barren in sky's womb
But God save the oak tree!
Hope's ne'er forsaken pillar
Kept a constant distance
Absent the stronghold of grasp.
Some circle of brown-eyed hell
I suppose,
Keeps the satisfaction
Of soul's salvation
Just beyond reach.
Aug 15, 2012
Aug 15, 2012 at 6:15 AM UTC
Darkness entrenches her
The ghost like fog wraps around
Her body like a quilt
But this fog is nothing like a quilt.
Sure, its solid like a quilt,
Heavy like a quilt.
But that's just a simile
Used for imagery.
The darkness
And the fog,
The coldness
The emptiness.
Where is the warmth of a quilt?
How did she get into a place
Like this, with no sun, no protection,
And low visibility?
Only deep inside of her brain lies the answer.
But can she find it?
May 27, 2013
May 27, 2013 at 3:13 PM UTC
They took my car, took my life, took my family, my designs
I lay here in this cell cold wells of **** and grey
slain in the lines of jail walls for changing hearts for minds.
The disgust they feel for the thinking
living breathing brain.
It is not enough for them to stifle and trifle fill with pain
filled to the brim with destruction and cephalic carnage.
But to truly constrict, choke the spirit.
The ether we breathe out on this frigid floor is the final gasp of a deathbed king.
I wait and wait for the hours that are days
the infinite of vindication for crimes i couldn't have committed.
This nation entrenches with a smell stench that wrenches
the guts of each pure male in each section of conviction
I smell baby wipe
I hold truths that could break these walls.
I clasp understanding that enfolds all beauty
I exude magnanimity that engulfs eyes.
And my passion is the water to put out their evil witch hunt pyres
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 1:03 AM UTC
A genesis, the exodus, the exodus,
A departure from all terrestiality
Always immoral and depraved, bathed in filth, in self-loathing
Abbatoir of our souls, it entrenches us
Also, we too must be of the same make
And bear with our corpses the same proceedings, the same caliber
Allowed to their subversive candor,
All that broke the Carthiginians upon their own passage
Across the peninsular pathways
S'il in our conquest we find, however, that the pachyderms have run aground,
Vous must aggregate our conscious thought
Plaitcate the ravenousness within the heart of victory.
May 6, 2012
May 6, 2012 at 11:22 PM UTC
Bang on cue, minions slither and seeth
same ole, same ole, predictability of the stunted
volume speaks volume as delusions entrenches
We are fixated don't shatter our morbid trances
The lions of Jada Pinkett not those of Judah
the producers of demented illusions from Studio Z
We don't deal in truths and reality, we wrinkle too quickly
Reality ages us, let just make it up as we go along
We need the miseries of those we envy to feed on
forget the cut price botox it does nothing for our falling faces
We can't even get earth shattering ******* from our duds
to lift our moods, so in our minds we own your dolphin
What are we going to do with our miseries and mediocrity
That strong small herculian dark hero, tied up in chains
as we pleasure and play with that renowned mahogany sword
is a fantasy that blows our minds and satiates us real good
Scripting an Eastern Love interest we are thwarting is so ******
How dare ruin our fantasies and remind us we are deluded
We can't accept all our combined efforts and dramatics
Not to mention our gullible menfolks who skip and hop to our biddings
As we tease and rile them to hatred for that swoony stallion.
Please keep your truth to yourself.
It won't stop us, reality and truth annoys us, we need our chained beast with that wonder mahogany sword
Oh that fierce passion, that unleashed weapon in our control
Just the thought makes us moist already....ohooo...ohooo..ohhoo
Dec 27, 2018
Dec 27, 2018 at 11:07 AM UTC
I am his punching bag,
he punches me at will,
he punches me to vent his anger,
he does so to douse his frustrations.
He tries to regulate my emotions,
he entrenches himself fastidiously
in my life's branches.
My constant battery is his love's
justification.
To him, none else could care better,
not even my own sacrificial mum.
In my secular and public life,
his raging jealousy is hardly concealed.
I am his only mood swing's spectator,
I am enslaved by regular and
suicidal threats.
I must to his own will remain subservient
for my own dear children's survival.
Not even my domestic pets are spared.
My movement is restrained, every
friend of mine is a suspect,
and my conversations are thoroughly
scrutinized.
His watchful eyes are never exhausted
by prying.
He makes my life a world of suspicion
and espionage.
My conscience is daily by blame overwhelmed.
I am worthless and hardly esteemed, and can on
none else rely.
I have no better friend or acquaintance than him.
My inferior gender is a social stigma,
hence I am closeted with his unquestionable
desires.
I must please him to the utmost
with my food, chores and body;
My meals must sate his insatiable appetite
with the very best cuisines of his choice.
My house chores must be flawless in dexterity
for his perfectionist requests to please.
At bed time my **** and body curves
must gratify and gratify his ****** proclivities,
even at my own very expense.
Jul 15, 2023
Jul 15, 2023 at 8:56 AM UTC
You ask if I remember.
I say no.
Give me a pick axe to scale
Mountain of memories:
A word or
A smell or
A sight
Triggers a highlight
To where I search and raise the tool
To chunk away rock: sometimes I
Uncover the tunnel
Leading to potential recollection.
And I drag and slip
And slide and squeeze
through the cracks
Wrong turns,
remind me again?
Sometimes I swim, ice cold,
Forgotten - where
Pockets of air
Are rare
But I raise my eyes above the waters
Skin, cannot find it,
Another one instead.
Tell me more, give me guidance
I’m exhausted.
So I light a small fire -
Smoke will haze sight
But may heighten paths
Because I must know
How to remember;
How do you find it so easy?
How long have I been searching?
Not long before the cold
Entrenches my ability.
I’ve lost the tools
And I’m alone,
And I lean against the wall
Where it all comes crashing down
And I find it!
Sometimes the discovery is
fierce, explosive joy;
Warmth spreads and I can laugh
And cry with delight.
Remember that?
And sometimes I forgot I searched
For rocks to construct a wall,
Treaded ‘til this soften path was lost.
I built this wall with intent -
With precision
May 19, 2018
May 19, 2018 at 7:53 AM UTC
The land is calling for me absurdly,
To be loved and exploited no more,
I must drench in this blood spilled earth,
Encharging me to reclaim it as my purpose,
The sky,a gazer,
And oft a weeper for the lands man,
The world has never felt so woven,
And melancholy slipped itself back in this sinners hand,
Alas,
My world has never felt so scattered ,
I felt so shallow and all felt so bland,
Though in these marshes I find,
An escape for a life time,
The path unfollowed follows my mind,
The path unfollowed mocks me blind,
And entrenches deeply in my wound,
Now in the path of the wild I must swoon,
To reclaim my sight,
To dream of nature is to dream of youth,
Although the flowers and their wilting ways have me doubt my days,
She is held so high,
And her wilting has me escape a sigh,
She awaits as if betrayed,
From the remedy that the nature has made.
Jan 6, 2025
Jan 6, 2025 at 1:49 PM UTC