"fencing" poems
She doesn't own a mirror.
Confirmation of her beauty comes from those around her at all times.
Fawning fools adore,
jealous sisters abhor,
but all notice the shine of her hair, the tilt of her lips.
She does not dance.
Her steps lead, and dancers follow with no reasons nor rhymes. They cry:
"Lead me not into temptation",
but in her ministrations,
they ache and beg for her glance, their hearts in her grips.
She does not care for suitors.
Her heart was long ago dulled by the fencing blades of admirers. And yet I
if honest, must admit
that it is a careless abandon, devoid of wit
that begs me join her jousters in mock combat for the privilege of her kiss.
What a porcelain fool, she, to inspire such a heartfelt, bloodtaxed roust.
What sorrier the fool, me, to join in such a sure dealt, unasked joust.
Nov 8, 2014
Nov 8, 2014 at 7:48 PM UTC
I.
*“You can only fight the way you practice”
― Miyamoto Musashi, A Book of Five Rings: The Classic Guide to Strategy*
His lessons started late
As always, and as always
What is thrown is a question
You grip tightly
around your fingers
as one would,
as one always should.
With a branch he beckons:
“Come” he asks,
*“if a stick is struck from this angle,
what would your answer be?”*
Always, the old man taught
With each strike, each parry,
Each disarm and lock,
Each time my knuckles
Would hurt. This way
he makes it sure
that my body
remembers.
This is always
the first step.
My mind might forget.
But the body
Remembers.
II.
*“It is difficult to realize the true Way just through sword-fencing. Know the smallest things and the biggest things, the shallowest things and the deepest things.”
― Miyamoto Musashi, The Book of Five Rings: Miyamoto Musashi*
With him, everything starts
The vague quality of nonwords
Taught from pain, simplified
Through science:
the fulcrum and the lever.
Each joint, each turn,
a pattern to comprehend,
all things work in context:
*A framework of the undeniable
Fact:*
*the world is separate
In only these two words:*
Taub at Tihaya
The colloquial words for
Face down and face up;
This is a pattern
of the body.
III.
*“If you wish to control others you must first control yourself”
― Miyamoto Musashi, A Book of Five Rings: The Classic Guide to Strategy*
Tihaya
The lesson starts
When he presses
His thumb forward
to a hand asking for alms
like turning a doorknob
too far to the right.
Taub
when I pull back
four fingers
on a giving hand
too far to what is left.
these are the means
for control.
When I know
How much is necessary
To push or to pull,
To teach or to break.
- 18 October 2017
Oct 18, 2017
Oct 18, 2017 at 5:57 AM UTC
We rode our horses cross-country,
Through the nations of the unknown,
We survived the snowy mountains,
And lived off the land and the trees,
Through hot summers and cold winters,
Through deserts storms; we circled the trails,
We learned from the birds and the bees,
We hunted the elk, the deer and the buffalo,
We fished to feed the travelling spirit,
We turned acorns into flour,
We set our senses free.
$
Europeans brought Soldiers, missionaries, smallpox, the common cold, scalping, reservations, whisky and the rush for gold.
You brought land grabbers, oil barons, fencing, bricks, barbed wire and all the accoutrements of your civilised culture!
You made this country your own; and forced it's 1st nation people into a 3rd world culture.
You ***** the land of its resources, filled it with waste.
You wasted the water to make coke, burgers,
and fantasy towns.
To reign supreme in a new-world without shame!
Savages!
Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 4:38 PM UTC
You must never **** the spiders,
While, they are woven their poems into the likeness of thunder?
Kidnapped the poets, instead of the poems
Therefore, I asked of you to stop all useless riots
On poetry, read them, embrace them, and
Learn from them: poetry is disciplined
And disciplined is the most misunderstanding word
In the dictionary: but somehow it is said that
riots is the language of the unheard:
we must never embrace racial riots,
or racial profiling: reach out to racial equity
stop allowing the messages of hate to go viral
plants row of trees, in the name of love,
I recently came across, ants yes, I said ants
When army ants need to cross a large gap, they simply build a bridge - with their own bodies. Linking together, the ants can move their living bridge from its original point, allowing them to cross gaps and create shortcuts across rainforests in Central and South America.
I recently saw human fighting each other, I recently read somewhere
Where children were locked away in cages
,
McALLEN, Texas (AP) — inside an old warehouse in South Texas, hundreds of immigrant children wait in a series of cages created by metal fencing. One cage had 20 children inside. Scattered about are bottles of water, bags of chips and large foil sheets intended to serve as blankets.
We must never **** the spiders,
While, there are woven their poems into the likeness of thunder..
Aug 13, 2018
Aug 13, 2018 at 8:33 AM UTC
wondrous words,
shades of colorations,
this pain,
artfully slow, steady stalking,
finale staking into
my hardened heart
with tireless twinges
of loss and constant regret,
painstakingly plinking away,
leaving pockmarks of bullets shot
at the concrete ring-fencing,
failing to protect me from just another,
**oh god not again,
have no mo' time**
for jes one mo' time
love's aftermath regret,
bitter acid wash,
that cleanses nothing,
for you are already nothing
when love loss wrenches/rents your
soul's garments with knotholes of
unfashionable distressed
distress
**better not to have loved,
better, better, better,**
than this battering silent hurricane
invisible thunderstorm internally,
than respects no seasonality,
for which the meteorologists
can predict neither its path or its
final cessation
painstakingly,
did I build my walled shelter,
only to fail-fall to the siege machines
of beauty and desire,
and
once conquered,
with fire and heat,
*they burnt me
from the outward edges inward,
and I am not a
Phoenix*
see the stooped slow white walker
more than dead, yet alive enough
existing to be witness to
his own devouring,
his hands wrapped round
the stake in his chest stuck,
painstakingly
protecting it,
lest its removal
be one more undoing of the
painstaking man
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 7:00 PM UTC
Booming Rhetorics (Spoken Word- Freestyle-Dramatics)
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
==Booming Rhetorics ==
by
Checkered Darks
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
(Copy the link below to your browser)
https://soundcloud.com/user-367453778/boomingrhetorics
Human nature itself is a smash of contractual responsibility. A splash of rights afloat as we sink in our psychological rooted moral panics. All I see is a cascading titanic of ventures our mislaid adventures one after another. The criss cross of chains, we bonded in tax measures, reserve treasures...... It's not my leisure I beg you don't make your pleasure.
I sink in pressure, resolving Karl Mark ideology of conflicted power. Is it our born nature or nurture to live in a world of social polarisation. A pole to pole, a tug of war. Each owning and holding a rope.Is it our task to cage in boxes, fencing notions of inequalities within our society. Is it our right this notion Bourgeoisie and Proletariat.
Help me out as as I wade in the swampy lowland. Treading through and through, head afloat, the submerging walk me to the shores..... Help me find my way through this dark tunnel. Help me see the light, let the sun ray penetrate my blight.
In our dichotomy of democracy we have made it right. A rolling ball of ........
1. Stock them high sell them cheap is the order of the day.
2. Social warehousing of merging demand and supply chain.
3. A disintegration of socialist entrepreneurship.
4. Re-distribution of Export Production Zones in marginalised countries.
5. A surge of capitalism on this patch we call the universe.
6.Conortions of monopoly colluding sustainability.
I pass this ball to you. As the industrial revolution fades and debates of "STEEL" revolves.
My Speech is a mere consideration, our contradiction. The contractual complications that we have grounded and granted ourselves as humanity. My voice is an exchange, my gift, a cloud of thoughts, an arousing hope our haunting costs.
Apr 4, 2016
Apr 4, 2016 at 6:19 AM UTC
Bullet and blade
Have ended
Many a friend.
Some were warriors
Living by sword, others
Just unlucky.
No one safe from
Anything. I buy her
Pepperspray instead of
Flowers these days.
Keep leaving
Butterfly knives in the
Pockets of her coats.
I am a man of non-violence,
But one with worlds to lose.
I miss the days when the fight
Ended as ground was hit.
Knuckles and bones were
All we needed; men fencing
For themselves with nothing
But themselves,
And women were there to be
Charmed and fought over. Not
Left torn and terrified
In a ditch, broken beyond repair,
Their men helplessly wielding
Lead and steel at the absence
Of the animal responsible.
I'll buy her flowers today.
Flowers, and walk her home.
Bullet and blade
Have ended
Many a friend.
The weight of their
Tragedies is about the
Same
As that of the crates of ammunition
It takes to keep the world
Safe from the threat of itself.
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 10:30 AM UTC
How many times I lay
On that old couch
Just through the doorway
Where she shuffled from the table to the stove
Bringing food to dad,
In for supper late,
Or moving dishes to the sink
While I rested from the day,
Just lying there,
Unaware of conversations
I was soaking in.
"I should have sold the winter wheat
A week ago.
No telling how far down the price will go
Now that Russia's stopped our sales."
"Pizza, two for seven dollars again;
Apples three pounds for a dollar;
Bread for seventy-nine."
Or heard his offhand orders for next morning:
"Fencing's got to be done at Henry's.
Boys! I need one of you to check the pastures.
Take some salt and mineral along!"
Mother seldom spoke, or if she did,
She gave correction,
Reported pizza inventories, or bread.
Asked clarifying questions,
But always the creaking oven door
Or the running of rinsing water.
I awoke this morning at three,
Almost a year after my fathers death
From a restless dream of lying there.
Heard my mother's sounds,
My father's voice,
Life as once it was,
Mundane and wonderful
From the couch around the corner of the door:
A living memory
I would no more expunge
Than to remove my own name.
In a dream state,
Attentive now to sounds
Grown too late significant,
Too late sweet,
Almost too painful now,
I lay,
Half aware or half awake...
Thankful to live a memory so real,
Unaware I was transfixed
Inside a memory
Moving lightning speed
Through dreams....
As he was readying to leave,
Perhaps to go down to do one last chore,
I heard my father's footstep at the door.
"Dad, I wanted you to know
I love you very much!"
I spoke the words,
Loudly, so he heard.
I heard him clear his throat,
Say something about getting back to work.
And I awoke, a full day's drive away
From that old couch,
Itself five miles up the hill
From the buried urn where his cold ashes lie.
Jan 18, 2013
Jan 18, 2013 at 6:27 AM UTC
The silver
Birch trees flaunt
Their glitz as I
Stroll through
Deep pearl
And sand
Pebbles
Gorgeous green
Mansions swirl
Around and
Blackbirds pick
Seeds from
The posy bunches
And sparkled
Grass.
I pass a
Pink butterfly house
With large Daisy
Heads protruding from
The diamond fencing.
The next house, a rather
Pretentious 'Cordillera',
Sounds like a disease.
A farm gate shields
4 by 4s and I'm
Now passing the weird
House with the crocodile
And gorilla and
Coloured Cow
And dog statues.
Coming to the
End of the lane
Of silver I pass
'Lane end'
Cottage with its viney
Stature and freshly
Manicured front lawn.
High cube hedges forming
A pathway to the porch.
In The final
Mansion if
Nosy passers
Have a peek you
Can see a
Swimming pool,
Fluffy Towels draped over
The Silver pool chairs.
Flitting to
The end of the
Dappled birches,
Approaches
A wide country green
Covered in bunting
Bathed in buttercups.
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 11:54 AM UTC
In my defense ,
I'm not building this fence...
trying to keep you out ,
I'm walkin around ,
The same patch of ground ,
Retracing my steps ,
To cypher the sound ,
Remaking the mess ,
While Making the rounds ,
Hoping to hear
A familiar pound
Walking around the same patch of ground
hoping for sound ,
And reason.
Walking around this familiar ground
Hoping For change and treason
May 17, 2012
May 17, 2012 at 11:22 PM UTC
she was a bird on the water
she was clouds reflected
she was trees sighing in the wind
she was sunlight through Venetian blinds
she was dust motes circling lazily
she was Sunday morning ***
she was smiling at me in the mirror
she was bonfires under a pale moon
she was tidal waves of emotion
she was whirlpools of conviction
she was typhoons of jealousy
and I was there too
she is the silhouette of a cigarette pressed to my teeth
she is my shadow cast behind me in the setting sun
she is blue-tinged smoke silently filling the room
she is burning my eyes like chlorine in a crowded pool
she is bars of the cage where my mind is kept penned
she is electric fencing wrapped around my heart
she is buckets of tar drowning me in my dreams
she is written in cursive on the insides of my eyelids
she is slowly shriveling my liver and blackening my lungs
she is living in all the mirrors I look into
she is becoming brobdingnagian prose
maybe that's just me but,
I'm not there anymore.
So why is she still here?
Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 5:22 PM UTC
I call you an *****
An ***** player,
Player of hearts and eyes alike
Your fingers pressed to the porcelain
as if the weather depends on
whether or not the pipes pipe up
as if a heart does not beat without
your hands repairing the metal indents
An ***** donor,
Donor of drunken livers and stomachs full of barbed wire fencing
Your lips pointed upward once awakened from dissection
as if you could lacerate a human being from the inside
and go on being
as if keeping them in liquor-filled mason jars
will cradle their fear
An ***** system,
Without a skeleton or bandaids to piece yourself together
You bleed out and ignite a single flame
as if you could burn a house down
with all your leaving
as if you could survive a life spineless
not living but breathing
DDD
(11/10/2013)
Nov 10, 2013
Nov 10, 2013 at 1:02 AM UTC
Picture this: salmon coloured coral with tangerine
Bordering an atoll, and fencing it in.
Emerald clear waters blotched with aquamarine
Crystal clear like porcelain.
Fish as red as berries stewed with damson
Or as yellow as a canary made from brass
Some resemble amber blushed with crimson
And roses with sap spilt on the grass.
Picture a kingfisher as blue as the sea
Brick red wings as sharp as blades
He perches on an old olive tree
With bark as black as the ace of spades.
Picture a raspberry ripple sky
Peaches and lemons draped in-between
Fields as gold as a baked cherry pie
And a rainbow settling on the green.
Jun 21, 2013
Jun 21, 2013 at 8:27 AM UTC
emotions scattered on a page;
manipulating letters to form
feelings.
in a world with so much to give,
all I could offer were words.
a beautiful soul like yours
deserves endless compassion.
love is honest.
love is kind.
love is patient.
love is everything I am not.
you've crept and crawled
into the deepest cavity
of my heart.
a baby bird nestled in
the comfort of their home.
words that flow like
freshwater down a stream
are all I could offer.
as I tried to be
the mama bird nestling
and caring, I realized I'd
only let you down.
many nights I lay awake,
with the trials and tribulations
fencing in my head.
you saw a beauty in me
I had lost sight of myself.
I saw a beauty in you
You never realized existed.
you are flawless.
a beautiful swan
resting and gliding
upon crystal clear water
that is life.
in every such way
you represent perfection.
a masterpiece discovered
by an unknown artist who is me.
you are fire;
sparks sparkling and
embers flashing.
mesmerizing every
gazer who glimpses.
you are marvelous and
you are radiant.
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 2:04 AM UTC
Its annoyance
Anointed
In pessimistic clairvoyance
Its the avoidance
Of the simplistic
And stoical
Components
Its motion
Less
Ness
In oceans
Of lip service
Its ***** potions
For the passionate
Its fake ****
And face lifts
Its abortions
In portions
Of subordinates
As gifts
In gifs
Of gorgeous
Ordinance
Distorted
In tortured
Tapping
Of the dead
Its all the fame
In shoving
The pain
Of loving
In the oven
Of stubborn
Mothers
Blubbering
Under the covers
With other men
Its the omens
Of the oh mans
In roman
Misnomers
Of fortunate
Misfortunes
Torn
From time
Its the mine mine mines
Confined
To their own kind
Pre signed
In old blood
Its consignment killers
Its the drugs
Its timeless thrillers
Its the shrugs
Its the thunder
Plundering
Structures
Rattling out
From under the bed
Its all the thoughts
In our heads
Blaring
The booms
Of the tamed
Its the assumed
The restrained
Its this tomb
Of shame
In doing
The same
Old **** again
And again
Its been
Better
Then again
I grin
When
Cold
Its when i should fold
That i embolden
Its all the No's
Its blankets nose
Its the cut blow
And lack of flow
Its fists and elbows
As opposed
To safety locks
Its ******* flu shots
Its everything
That ****** me off
Its the the stupid robots
And the silly riot cops
Fencing in the famished flocks
Its the *****
And the *****
In plastic boxes
Giving rocks
Off
Without us
Its the gold pots
And stacked stocks
Locked
From us
Its the Rocks
Inside my socks
As they knock
The blocks
Of billy bobs
Bobbling
On the dash
Its the harsh
And its the rash
Its inside the last
Bastion
Of dummassez
passing
Through the
Blast radius.
Alas
Its the mass graves
And the paved pools
Of anyone who knew
Anyone who stood
Its all us fools
As cool kids
Knowing
No show biz
In soul ****
Its in knowing this
And ********
And barking
At the moon
Soon
To swoon
None
I am peaking soon
In looming threat
Of lost concepts
Slipping away
Under the sun
Electing to quit
While im ahead
Way back when
It was fun
Way back when
It mattered
Its a gun
Shooting blather
Blathering
As a bladder
Would
Misanthropic
And misunderstood
A changed topic
Knock on wood
Bye is good
Goodbye
Told you
Its implied
In rite
So
Good
night
Until
next
time
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 2:59 AM UTC
Morning, white horse fencing,
Black cat, jaguar walks top edge
Through the early hour mist.
Dec 25, 2010
Dec 25, 2010 at 5:40 AM UTC
long rusty tin sheets dividing red dirt road from home and hogpen
Mar 16, 2012
Mar 16, 2012 at 10:22 AM UTC
the word salad stares at me
fearless photons fencing with my eyes:
“the cockroach,
the blind dolphin,
General Custer,
theft by osmosis,
the death at the diner”
and other auspicious beginnings
that pull me to the screen
like daily lotto numbers
I keep buying them, on credit, for pecking
and time are not real currencies
and whatever silver or gold
is there for the mining
hides well behind boulders
placed there by eons
of parsimonious patience
I will never have
Aug 30, 2013
Aug 30, 2013 at 11:22 PM UTC
in the glare of space and light
she feels a terrifying fright
but soon her cramped wing
brushing aside the fencing
***** the wind into it
her little breast heartbeat
pumps all blood into vein
so they never hear her tweet again.
she flies not far
when the blaze swoops on her
and night's chill turns her into dust!
Jan 23, 2015
Jan 23, 2015 at 10:06 AM UTC
In area 51 they selected a large patch of desert
for their nuclear tests!
Fencing off the ground in a desolate spot
where they estimated.
The plutonium would come safely to rest
the experts knew best!
Many explosions were carried out in the fifties
no public knew the truth!
But one crucial fact about the contamination
as it lay in the dirt!
Worms were not bound by their fences
so undermining their defences!
How far would the plutonium have been taken
transporting the lethal load?
Birds to feeding on the worms in the earth
what was their contribution?
Too much secrecy and failed containment
and tax dollars spent!
It will end up destroying a once ****** earth
what now are the experiments worth?
The Foureyed Poet.
Jul 1, 2012
Jul 1, 2012 at 10:44 AM UTC
*The insidious wrath of age has pilfered her beauty ..
Rusted chains hang in quietude , wrenched in dubious functionality ....
Superfluous stockyards , fencing long in need of repairs ..
Barns that once bustled with the drudgery of agriculture can only whisper ..
Wind chimes trill in the cold afternoon , the crack of the hammer to the anvil gone ..
Tractor implements lie frozen , a lone Crow stands guard over barren orchards* ..
Jan 17, 2016
Jan 17, 2016 at 5:36 PM UTC
i had the maturity to stand behind my words
no apologies, no excuses, no doubt
you chose your actions and words
my reprimand by another
you could not face me
apparently not your style
you wrote it ! your words and actions
they shiver with cold
guilt got you ring-fencing, a meeting
my public disgrace and punishment
all laid bare
was my secret, to protect me self esteem
a quick death, swift and silent
you took my power
you felt proud, i showed her, she knows her place
you lonely old man
surrounded by bought smiles
retirement a true test
i pity you
don't be a coward now
be the maturity you claim to present
stand behind your harsh words
razor sharp
that rip to the core
pointless butchering
cold death stare is born
you claim righteousness
be proud, stand behind, no ! claim your words and actions
Mar 15, 2013
Mar 15, 2013 at 2:10 AM UTC
I saw a 10 year old,
Walking down the street,
With a handful of bowl
And in another a younger kin.
Chanting "what was our sin?"
I saw a handsome lover,
Beside a lonesome tree
Strangled by the memories
Of his lover who loved somebody else
Trying to stop how does it feel.
Writing up the blues to heal.
I saw an old aged person
Who barely can walk
He was happy, had a family
Not so long ago
Sitting with his basket
upon the sidewalk
With nowhere to go
I hope you think about them
If not me when you say
Life is unfair.
I saw a mother of two,
Sunken beneath a pannier.
Dreary eyes and a crooked leg,
Says the burden of life's heavier.
I saw a husband, a son,
A father of one.
Miles away from home,
Aiming to be suffice,
Guarding the border,
A few laughin' at the sacrifice.
I saw a man in a white coat,
People say he's akin to god.
Broken in tears saying
'There are battles that can't be won
For these hands saved so many
Now loosing a loved one.'
I hope you think about them
If not me when you say
Life is unfair.
I saw the dreamers
Quitting before they die.
Heard them saying that
they gave a million try.
I saw people dying in lone
That were once on the Billboards
At times there's no one to hold
I saw blind men crossing roads.
I saw the animals crying for the lost homes,
People fencing their little domes.
I saw the birds crying for the lost trees,
The poor cries and no one sees.
And yet you say
Life is unfair.
Apr 11, 2020
Apr 11, 2020 at 6:17 PM UTC
So the Violets lived
in the long shadow
of a slaughterhouse,
separated from death
by cyclone fencing
and a scrabbly yard.
In summer, family time
meant sitting on the porch
drinking cans of Budweiser.
It took about a six pack
each to mask the smell
of cow and diesel fuel,
but the rumble of semis
and the relentless lowing
of cattle were inescapable.
In winter, woodsmoke
filled the small rooms,
slowly turning the walls
the color of ***** snow.
Icicles hung from gutters,
lengthening like knives.
The youngest Violet daughter
grew up, moved to Louisville,
and became a painter of vivid
abstracts.
I have one of her paintings
hanging on a wide white wall.
I like to pour myself a Scotch
and watch the mangled colors—
brilliant viscera sullying
a slaughterhouse stall—
the smell of peat and smoke;
the taste of earth’s undoing.
Dec 6, 2016
Dec 6, 2016 at 9:33 AM UTC