"feist" poems
The moon rises high in the sky
To the light of day we say goodbye
As the sun goes away
The wolf comes out to play
The man goes away
And the wolf comes out to play
A ***** of flesh it desires
A primal instinct it requires
It runs with the wind
On a hunt for those who have sinned
To eat their hearts full of mud
It's mouth dripping with dark red blood
Sharp teeth and ragged fur
Protection you cannot procure
To the light of day we say goodbye
As the moon rises high in the sky
The form of man goes away
So the wolf can come out to play
Jul 14, 2020
Jul 14, 2020 at 9:02 PM UTC
There were once men, playing a lying game.
They had no heart, they knew no shame.
Like Sirens, what their songs told,
were stories of flesh on beds of gold.
Merely this, is what their songs were about,
for wine and flesh they lusted sparing doubt.
For all their bubbles, fizzle, show and gleam,
true love for them was but a funny little dream.
Some, it is true, had the voices of blue suede kings.
Yet, danced on rubble, coughing smoke, 'n' kissing rings.
Thankfully, their lyrics were quite naturally cold,
faintly sparkling true hearts, despite their gold.
No songs can, in the spirit, ever remain,
or one's path meaningfully ingrain,
unless dotted by a hearty blood stain.
Still, some blind and sleepy were enticed,
those who dropped their heart, who'd lost their *****
Much like a robber, who rests his gun in a heist.
Others, scrambled to plug their ears
wishing to avoid both song 'n' tears.
They knew not, that when fighting fear,
'tis not enough to keep it from getting near.
Simply stuffing their ears with wax,
failed to fade the hottest new tracks,
cause tanks groove on these tracks.
As tanks, they pop 'n' roll till you die.
Therefore... relax, pick your time, and lie,
not to your conscience, but on the ground,
so they pass over you, leaving you safe 'n' sound.
"You cannot fear what you haven't tried."
Remember, Odysseus wasn't deaf, only tied.
He, chose to fight and listen to the Sirens' songs,
using threads of logic, to keep from snapping their thongs.
Tightroping on wrong, he but fell to the song.
He wailed and spat, yet, somehow grabbed the gong.
And after a short but needed rest, after this soul defining test,
he did not lament the virgins lost, but carried on with his quest.
He, knew the lying men and their calls were real,
but to forms he didn't kneel, nor aimed to cut a deal.
He, stuck to his dreams doing his best to warn and tell the rest,
that though Sirens charm, they harm. "'Tis Ithaca who gives zest.'"
So, next time you see the chanting men of lies,
and their enchanting plastic bunnies in bow ties,
know that rhyme and shine may polish coal,
but listening to your heart should be the goal.
*"With a twist of logic to correct your steer,
you will run through fear, and forever, keep it rear."*
Dec 7, 2011
Dec 7, 2011 at 4:27 PM UTC
I never thought I could ever feel so nervous,
and so proud looking in the mirror.
Sister, in some ways our resemblance is uncanny
and that never makes me feel terrible.
Even if we both cling to our bottles of perfume,
nailpolish, and beer
to remedy our despairs,
I'm proud of you.
I love how you don't ever leave your effervescence at home.
It's contagious, and everyone eventually wants a sip.
You found your beauty quite recently-
but I want you to know its always been there,
it began when your eyes first became
those thick lashed squints
from smiling too hard.
You admire things, and they admire you back.
I hope you won't forget that
when you chase what seems to be difficult.
Sister, I know there are days where you
don't see what greatness you deserve,
when you believe you have to be sorry for
your *****
I know it because I've seen you, and I know it
because I do the same.
You always remind me to never apologize.
And now I do you.
Sister, don't let that crown fall over those
smiling eyes.
You are stronger than the chance you might be sad.
You are finer than the fool who won't call back.
You are better than the boy who should be a man.
You carry troubled teenage girls over your shoulders
every single day.
You save them, as much as you can and give them that warmth.
Don't forget to warm yourself.
Because the heat travels, sister.
I feel it too.
Jan 12, 2016
Jan 12, 2016 at 3:24 PM UTC
A land only nature has touched
A lion to its prey, clutched
Before that though
The Lion crept up real slow
Crouched down real low
He puts on a good show
Creeping and crawling
Absolutely stalking
His ***** orange coloring
Unseen by a prey so alluring
His big tufted paws are like a quiet breeze
Unheard by a prey totally at ease
His eyes focus, like a morning lotus
Finding the sun with such slowness
Silently stalking towards prey, not yet ferocious
A gleaming meaty meal ready to devour
Just another moment and little prey will cower
First a pounce with claws drawn out
Then a bite and a shake, making the prey shout
Now a *****
Chewing prey up before its deceased
Drug across the land only nature has touched
A lion has won it’s hunt, quiet now, be hushed
Can you hear nature sing, the way she does
With violence and beauty no matter if lion or cheetahs
Now humans are different! Or is it really so?
The desire the same as a beasts hunt, reaping what we sow
A need to ***** and overpower
A craving to devour
Jan 18, 2019
Jan 18, 2019 at 2:28 PM UTC
Blazing and looting and feist's
Screaming "surrender!"
Machetes through a violent haze.
A group of scoundrels rioting,
Crashing and trampling as they
Wildly start howling while
Throwing bottle bombs.
Uncomfortably cramped into a secret crevice;
Violets, soothing for a moment.
Then bodies toppled over and
Singled out
Is such an existence for one to
Be devout to?
A sudden breeze, caress the aftermath of
A loosely worn disease.
Sleepy eyes, seemingly far off and
drooping low; solving puzzles.
Gazing with purpose and intent;
A veneer that's out lost upon a pier.
Swinging to a requiem,
Pacing In a retelling.
My friend, again, speak amends and
Shine a light that transcends my
Fears and my tears that prevail;
So misguided In deed.
So sure so certain that
What's done is right
But now the meanings all disguised and
Out of sight.
Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 4:09 AM UTC
I’m singing his song.
I’ll be singing his song.
My lips are singing that song,
So why do I think this is wrong?
Yeah, my lips are singing
And the air from my lungs, like a
Sigh makes my voice start a-ringing
Why do you blame it on me?
It’s my lips, my lungs, my face,
My teacher that carry the music.
It’s not like I’m having your baby
(Besides, I’m too much of a lady).
I’m just singing that song;
Your song.
What’s the big deal?
It’s not like I’m a seal
And you’re the ringmaster.
I’m a sea lion woman
And no one can tell me otherwise
(Except *****
No, no, no, no, no, no!
It’s just fear;
A simple word,
A simple anagram for fare.
Food isn’t bad.
Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!
I’m afraid that the one moment I have
To show what I’m made of
Will just reveal
Cracked vocal chords,
Notes sung off-key,
Wobbling words,
A rushed rhythm, racing to
Finish the song,
Incompetence,
Failure,
And it’s all on purpose.
I don’t want to sing your song;
At least not well.
I don’t want to sing that song of yours;
The one you know you’d ask me to sing.
I don’t,
And I probably shouldn’t,
But I will.
If you want me to.
Aug 10, 2012
Aug 10, 2012 at 12:42 PM UTC
Each note in my ears
conducts an orchestra of memory
a rush of blood
from my heart to
my head
I remember
my summer of love
making
The King of Carrot Flowers in California
his stubble- cactus needles
rubbing my lips numb like *******
She Came in Through the Bathroom Window, in Michigan
her hair a brambled bush
tangled in my fingers
******* for the Holidays, in her bed
her body like going home
each time "the last, I swear"
Every Little Thing She Does, in her car
trips to the playground
where we explored like children
and
The Communist Daughter, who set me free
the feeling of forever
my hand in the small of her back
as we danced in our underwear
to Waltz #2
I remember lying
on blades of grass
as hot air balloons
fell into the sky
stirring her algae eyes
my mouth dry and expectant
I knew exactly why I had to leave.
The Southern State
called me nightly
when I heard the train
shouting my future.
So
I rode her to Chicago
with Tom Waits
on my smoke breaks.
From Chicago to Dallas
I wrote poems of
"true love"
****** obsessions"
"surprise thoughts"
***** singing
'1. 2. 3. 4.' in Chris's guest bedroom
her boyfriend calling
we whispered promises
of a future before
we kissed goodbye.
Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 6:19 PM UTC
Music fades away when you arrive
Spreading the doom with every stride
The stare of hatred locked in your eyes
Sinister cravings behind sacred lies
You want me to beg
You want me to look
You want me to bend
And follow your rules
Judging from throne made out of gold
Taken from people that you control
Deep in your cave, the smell of decay
Surrounded by slaves, you ***** on their brain
You want me to pray
You want me to lay
Down on the floor
While you’re taking my pay
Kingdom of blind, darkness inside
The bread and the wine, poisonous bite
Be sure that someday the people will rise
You will back down when they finally realize
You want them to beg
You want them to cry
You feed on their weakness
That’s how you survive
The blindfold developed some holes by the time
Now we can see what’s on the other side
You made yourself bed with flameable lies
With spark it will turn into ocean of fire
You want me to beg
You want me to pray
You want me to dive
And make me obey
You are destroying the lives with your madness
Leaving them cold, fearful and helpless
You spit out your words, shooting out aimless
I stand up to you now, ready and shameless.
Sep 8, 2018
Sep 8, 2018 at 5:18 PM UTC
i can’t listen to the Strokes without thinking of my first love,
and how I only fell in love with them because
they were his favourite band, and i was in love with him.
i can’t listen to Mozart, Chopin, Satie, or classical music of any kind without thinking of my mother playing piano late at night
while I fell asleep to the sound of her fingers emanating warm melodies.
i can’t listen to Elliott Smith without thinking of being on the bus on the way to high school, and how much solace his music brought me
during those deeply lonely years of anguish and abandonment.
i can’t listen to the Beatles without thinking of my entire family,
jamming together in the garage, without thinking of love.
i can’t listen to the Weepies without thinking of my best friend,
driving around in her car on our way to anywhere, how those songs are symbols of our friendship in the form of sound.
i can’t listen to Regina Spektor without thinking of myself, throughout all stages of my life, without feeling alive, reminding me of who i am,
as an artist, as a lover, as a being.
i can’t listen to Tegan and Sara, ***** Rilo Kiley, Metric, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, or Broken Social Scene without thinking of my high school friends, all those concerts we went to, all the late nights.
That was the music that made me brave.
I can’t listen to Jazz music without thinking of my grandfather, and how many times I sang with him while he played the piano and smiled.
most of these people have come and gone
and i could go on
but if I’ve loved someone, there is a song that I will always associate
with them, and that time of my life.
music is the definition of every moment.
it’s one of the most comforting truths that there is.
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 1:56 AM UTC
I know how Kevin McCalister felt
When he realized he was alone
No family or friends by his side
My heart is crying inside
The memories of eating a big dinner
The food coma waiting to come
Football, laughter, and pumkin pie
After the turkeys all gone
My dad, mom, brother
Sister, her hub and my baby neice
Around around the table smiling
And 2500 miles away the though of that, I'm dying
No love to share the day with
My friends are at home with their fam
Maybe next year I will partake in a *****
Instead of chinese food from Sam's
So with Netflix and take out
Sweatpants and slippers I lay
I hope the next year I'll be happy and able to enjoy this day
Nov 26, 2015
Nov 26, 2015 at 9:05 PM UTC
Like Harry Potter, the sorting hat (my mom)
has placed me in a ****** crimson colored school.
It’s disorienting, as I go about, the logos are wack.
Poor little rich girl
no beachside lovers
this interminable, scorching summer.
I’m swept up by scholastic spirit.
Can you hear it? Cause it’s deafening me,
on this cool, dry, Boston orientation day.
As we finished our morning 8k jog,
the sunrise blossomed, painting hot lava clouds
with hues of yellow, orange and pink.
We’re traipsing unfamiliar paths,
it’s not what we’re used to, the roads are uneven
and the architecture’s all boxy and wrong.
.
.
Songs for this:
New Toy by Lene Lovich
Better After All by Jonatha Brooke
Now At Last by *****
May 27, 2025
May 27, 2025 at 7:40 AM UTC