"figurehead" poems
dead bodies floating
in our oceans
from the Asian Pacific
to the Mediterranean
crumpled corpses lying
on our beaches
thousands drowned unknown
overcrowded detention centers
not unlike concentration camps
behind barbed wires
guarded by police and snarling dogs
nobody feels responsible
not those who started wars
destroyed whole cities
made millions homeless
and into refugees
not those who take advantage
of the chaos for their own gain
abusing the names of their gods
or some ancient figurehead
to excuse their atrocities and greed
not those who live
in comfortable homes
and wish the desperate crowds
would just stay on the TV screen
and not come close
nor those who pretend
to be the guardians
of our great humanitarian heritage
but show no backbone
against nationalist fanatics
it is the shame of the world
to sit and talk and watch
and not do enough
those who turn away
the needy and homeless
could also
quite suddenly
lose their homes
forced to rely
on the kindness of strangers
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 7:43 PM UTC
Like flipped coin midair
Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle
Two ends of a spectrum, Möbius strip
In a room together,
Maxwell’s demon, revolving door
Cancer and chemo
Like life and death
Only one can be
The next is inevitable
Like an election
Only one figurehead may speak for a governing body
Like the seasons
Change is expected
Like a cat left to its own devices
Guaranteed to scare itself after a given time
Man tries to conquer for comforts sake
Mercurial reactions
Like elements under catalyst
Electron orbitals
Exchange positive core
Theory of relativity
A choice of determining
Accuracy of position or velocity
Hermes, deity of mine
Masculine and feminine
Ruler of I
Relieve the war of the immortal twins
Gemini
Battling my heart and mind
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 6:06 PM UTC
KISSING MR. CHELIDON GOODBYE
Ho...ho. . .oh!
I don't know
if I should be
telling you this.
I was just sweet
as in 16 &
never been kissed
and my *******
hadn't yet arrived
though I prayed and prayed
to a God who did not
heed my girlish plea.
All the girls in my year
had already budded.
******* to the right of me!
Breast to the left of me!
Into the valley of despair
I rode my Raleigh
alas alas
breast-less!
I practiced kissing
by kissing
the you know
inside of
( the whatchamacallit? )
my elbow the
chelidon so called
by an old falling-apart
medical dictionary.
I clipped some hair
from our Yorkshire terrier
stuck it on the crick of
my right elbow
so that it became
my first moustache'd kiss.
And so, was born
my Mr. Chelidon.
Pathetic...yes...I know
but the year after
my bosoms arrived
with a suddenness
that took my breath
away.
I breasting the waves
like a ship's figurehead
as I dived into the sea
a Venus for boys to see.
I was my *******
and my ******* were me.
Somehow I could then not
stopped being kissed.
And once kissed
grew addicted to it.
The bliss of the kiss.
I was my own drug.
I gave Mr. Chelidon
the elbow.
Discovered the joy of boys
inventing various uses
for them
as they
discovered
me.
May 8, 2018
May 8, 2018 at 5:41 AM UTC
broken baby girl
screams of want
for the new world
just beyond the horizon
but she's been
sailing a sinking ship
with holes in the
sails and
an anchor that
drags through the depths
crew jumped
overboard
a thousand
leagues ago
and she stands
at the helm
compass in hand
perfectly unwilling
to live this one down
100 yards from land
she holds the hand of the
figurehead tight enough
that slivers work their way
throughout her palm
and as she breathes in
the salty liquid and watches
the sun streaked sky
littered with screaming gulls
fade away
she knows that she's finally
found a way
into the great unknown
Sep 12, 2011
Sep 12, 2011 at 1:09 AM UTC
This that is washed with **** and pebblestone
Curved once a dolphin’s length before the prow,
And I who read the land to which we bore
In its grave eyes, question my idol now,
What cold and marvelous fancy it may keep,
Since the salt terror swept us from our course,
Or if a wisdom later than the storm,
For old green ocean’s tinctured it so deep;
And with some reason to me on this strand
The waves, the ceremonial waves have come,
And stooped their barbaric heads, and all flung out
Their glittering arms before them, and are gone,
Leaving the murderous tribute lodged in sand.
2k
whispering smoke
and twist around me
dancing a tarantella in the corner of the room
that frantic dance
distracting from the truth
you and your doll house ways
controlling the letters
the things that you hear
the looks on your face
i am done
i am fallen
a celebrity in my school
but no less
no less
than a figurehead
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 3:12 PM UTC
7:30PM, October 9, 2015, 65*F, 10mph breeze, 5% humidity (somehow 10% where I was sitting), 50.0001% chance of rain, dark, cold, late, loud...I think that's enough. Alright! Spoiler alert, Birkston High won the game. If you simply have ears you've known that for a while (many of us who were at the game don't). All the people in Grenfolkshire were there, so there were some empty bleachers, but the Student section was full and lively, and did I say loud, because LOUD....! My ears were ringing (at a B8 note, for the musically overcurious people) for three days straight. I think it was a healthcare tactic, dare I say it. All those figurehead townspeople were there as well, like Mayor Arnofold Plattersbury with his orange jumpsuit, waving a pompom in the air like he just didn't care. Really, he didn't-I got whacked in the head with it eleven times. Recently, after taking a recent poll on the recent event, it was found that only about 35% of people really knew what happened, a number that has declined, recently. This very well is contributed to 1.) most of the people are there for the free food and don't exactly major in football 2.) teenagers are highly social creatures 3.) a bunch of hands in the air and six foot tall mammoths standing on the bleachers will tend to block the view of the people who are five foot small. The freshmen had a real problem on their heads. Nevertheless, the Wildcats found themselves with the bell for another year, whether they knew it or not. The Panthers found themselves nose-in-the-dirt, tail-dragging, while we found ourselves filing out like a herd of wild penguins onto the field.
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 10:34 PM UTC
The mind has gone AWOL
Armageddon in the blood crimson gargantuan sky
Black stars from the depth of vacant eyes
Oil rains down in sightless desert heat
The last cigarette inhaled before the bomb detonates
Fortunate sons in the era of friendly fire
Rivals hunt metropolis streets to acquire a living
Anonymous crypts get lost in the politics
Seen convicted through bludgeoned eyes
Honored my name with a plaque on a wall
Documentation of civil declaration
Conformity inspired figurehead of a homeland
Bricks leading up to the footsteps of the Whitehouse
Apr 24, 2011
Apr 24, 2011 at 10:05 AM UTC
You know how that quote goes, everyone does.
"If I was a drizzle, she was a hurricane"
When we're all just our own kinds of rainstorms
Magically not working with each other
Just trying to drench whatever we can
But I'd rather spend time with you than anyone in the world.
People used to tell me they looked up to me
and the same people barely talk to me anymore
because what they saw was a figurehead instead of
a friend who is on their level,
and they like people who have flaws (not that I don't),
but tell us to strive to be perfect.
And I've worked so hard to learn how to love
flawlessly, but the more I love, the more I
bleed, with every breath you don't appreciate
and every love poem you don't read
And they keep beating me and beating me down
expecting this priceless gold mountain of positivity
and crushing me. It's like they're looking for flaws
in the statue I'm hiding within, and they seek to
destroy it because even tarnished gold is too bright
in their losing eyes. Maybe I'm the flaw in the statue,
my pink flesh and pale blood can't stand
these attacks and violent words, creating
holes in my heart where before there was none. I'm on my knees,
begging because I don't think I can do this anymore.
The blood I give is torn out of me from the passion I have for
you, I've had my suffering and death,
where's the resurrection?
I'm driving my head into the ground trying to
whip up the storm that will make me unique, beautiful, and valuable,
trying to gather little tornadoes around me,
while they're destroying me from the inside out;
standing for these things that are greater than me, and
watching in vain for an equal partner, since
no one can come too close to these whirlwinds
and mountain-high clouds.
It's lonely being a hurricane, too, because
none of the lovely drizzles think they're worth your time.
Feb 23, 2014
Feb 23, 2014 at 6:17 PM UTC
Fragmented embers of the evening light casting shadows on
the outline of your preferred wanking pants.
Rathmines all blue and black outside
with stern encroaching trees reminding
of your parents
(and what they might be expecting to do now, as opposed
to what you're doing)
encircling empty Doritos packets submissive to
console lights ever glowing
Stacked shores of ruin against life's pursuing
And mocking you in the corner
The amp that laid echoes to a thousand bands
thought of that never were.
Figurehead of a thousand conversations that led to kisses
never so sweet as those felt and remembered
in this dungeon of worn out ego and instilled fear.
Home to one hundred nights of solitude
sans reprieve or want of care
with the stench of student bachelor
left hanging in the air.
Jul 25, 2015
Jul 25, 2015 at 8:44 AM UTC
Passing Tweetsie on my way home from work.
In the Food Lion, low-calorie chicken soup
cans under tinny lights.
Sick-green avocados and riding-hood bacon
celebrated the day all your shoes moved in.
Can't we pair those together again?
The blank space on the floor
like a good friend's face seen
without glasses,
washed out.
Frustratingly,
the smell of my own laundry.
mi colada es su colada
Ha!
By the pond, the gazebo we never spent time in
but might have.
The dusk-dark evergreens with delicate lace tips
like spidery lingerie
leggings ripped wide open,
lingering,
recovered from the trash can.
Rainbow polka-dot gift wrap
on my light-blue chest,
flagship of her left-behinds;
A tawny feather earring, the lonely fore-mast
lacking a mate
and
Demure winter-cabin-smile, framed:
green scarf turned seaweed,
the face-down figurehead drowns.
Feb 22, 2014
Feb 22, 2014 at 12:57 PM UTC
black infection
encrusted society
shifty figurehead
sightless humanity
labelled multitudes
open forgery
smokescreen to the social order
decomposing culture
dead camaraderie
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 7:18 AM UTC
Come closer, beckoning
witch finger,
curling, crunching
in shade.
Summon the night
gallery, hanging Homer and Waterhouse as distorted oil
oozing into a
disappearing act.
My feet are a detached movement
upon semi-real
floor of tar-black
tile.
Scraaaaaaaaaping———
Where is the lapel suit
of my Rod Serling dulled
by bad agents of
thrills.
Have him string me
up, a hoisted body settled into daVinci
wings of plain wood and
curvature like a waxy bird's.
The pig's blood waiting
above my head,
Serling signaled
for drama.
I see the false teeth of the planetarium
twinkle, an engulfing omnitheater's
air that I am crucified.
Serling behind the casque of gauze
to young Shatner and wandering
starships of lean men and
the end of this star system into
galactic
odyssey.
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
Was Mister Spock ever tossed from
Olympus and forced lame in
the heart, a shell that is far
from hollow—what only
a mother could hold.
The bow figurehead, awaiting
corrosion.
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 3:01 PM UTC
What
is
Madness?
Prey tell?
If it is not
a
Ball and Chain
tethered
to a
PATRIARCHAL FIGUREHEAD?
Jan 15, 2011
Jan 15, 2011 at 5:38 AM UTC
A wind cold and bitter blows in from the west
and stirs up old storms in you. May we suggest
one cure for the lonely most highly regard -
a tour of the local relation-shipyard.
Our newer relation-ships being built daily
can catch the wind nicely, their sails snapping gaily.
But others we've built have met rougher sailing;
our flagship line shows up a few of our failings.
The first liner christened, the R.S. Obsession,
sank during a storm in the Sea of Depression.
The Intimate's hull you'll see later today
aground on the shoals of Old Fantasy Bay.
The pilot of Dreamboat just plain lost his sense;
ran full speed ahead through the Reef of Defense.
Only one came back whole, the relation-ship Reason;
she's in dry-dock now after only one season.
We're taking the trouble to change her design
and model her after our new Friendship line.
Our new Friendships are (if you'll pardon the gloating)
the match of any relation-ship floating.
We've shaken her down and worked her way up
to running through trials for the Real Lover's Cup.
Though she'll take on a gale yet be pushed by a breeze,
we're not really sure how she'll handle those seas.
Whatever the outcome, we'll learn even more
and strive to build better than ever before.
Cleaner, more streamlined, a true thoroughbred;
let form follow function, with no figurehead.
The storms are subsiding, the wind's dying down;
you're welcome whenever you're this side of town.
And what's more, you're welcome whenever you're ready
to work on this Friendship we've started already.
Jan 7, 2011
Jan 7, 2011 at 6:29 AM UTC
Will you be the German
who is tutting through the shutters
as the trains roll by?
Will you be the Christian
busy ticking off the reasons
you can shut your eyes?
***** the left, ***** the right
this is everybody's fight
and we're battling the evil in our hearts
It's a long road to hell
but we know the journey well
and a hatred of the strange is where it starts.
Will you be enchanted
by the pretty little whispers
of the self-made man
Strutting on the scaffold
of the skeletons he shackled
as he made his plans?
Well his dazzling election
is a clever misdirection,
builds a figurehead to follow or defeat
Still whenever evil comes
braying trumpets, banging drums
it's the likes of you and me that keep the beat.
See our little kingdoms
slickly built to keep the guilt and trouble
out of range
Mastering the darkness
simply saturates the masses
with a fear of change.
We cajole, we corral,
who's against us, who's our pal,
Who's the sacrifice to calm the raging seas
Tides will rise, tides will fall
breakers burst against the wall -
It's our terror that will bring us to our knees.
Each of us is given
just one minute and a million choices
every day
Struggle for the love
or love the struggle
of the jungle hunter gone astray
wicked wishes crack the whip
comfort loosens our grip
and a black and hungry vulture takes the air
Every road goes up or down
we can climb, or we can drown -
be the beast - or be the angel, if we dare.
Nov 30, 2016
Nov 30, 2016 at 10:21 AM UTC
delving for memories, and when
i begin to account for one
my mind is already moving on
to the next. the next. the next
subconscious whim to
cause expression of itself.
and onward. i am not quite sure
i can tell you the future. hell,
i knew the moment i acknowledged
you, thought of your existence again,
you'd come questioning.
twenty minutes,
that's all it required.
twenty minutes,
as if a spans of the
last year had never happen'd.
twenty minutes,
simple question ask'd of me
from you. inquiring of my welfare.
do you not remember the
night you rip'd from the ground
my tent. with me inside.
deliberate pause.
i gave you reason, of course.
as much as i am a devil these days,
i was worse then.
to left of door upon entering.
i gave you reason without
doubt, but i knew where
your mind would go.
i knew without question.
i knew because he drag'd
you through a parking lot
by the hair. long, beautiful.
i embraced you
when you question'd why;
i embraced you
when you understood;
and i wiped tears from cheeks
when you couldn't believe what
you understood. i was there
but never seen, figurehead
for your old-fashion'd typewriter.
you, i've never forgotten.
second house i knew to be yours,
over by the college.
roach infest'd, general pest
infest'd. when you had
the younger boy around.
drank whiskey with him when he was sick.
had to leave shortly after arriving.
awkward settings. not sure
him and i were ever friends.
quite sure you arranged
competition between us two.
him, boyfriend;
me, the close friend.
boyfriend got ****** and problems.
i got you when sleep was no answer,
i got you when substance matter'd.
Jan 20, 2013
Jan 20, 2013 at 2:15 PM UTC
MY ART
You are my royalty
my queen
my swan
my red red rose
you who float and rock my sea
lying there beside me
as I dream
the figurehead of my ship
your presence
dominating the scene
you are my sun in winter
my rainbow
in the heat of summers brighter skies
the iris of your eyes
reflect their colours
green and blue
you'll never know
how much I love
love you
my sweetest scent
you're heaven sent
swinging in the branches
of the trees
where nightingales
sing their songs
of sensuous tones
I'll sweep you off your feet
and ride with you
the stallion of the breeze
we'll never part
you are my love
my art
Margaret Ann Waddicor 14th December 2015
Dec 26, 2015
Dec 26, 2015 at 10:44 AM UTC
All that you
Really need to know is:
Peggle Court.
Tough but fair.
I take care of
Little Peggle Court
Issues,
You can appeal
To Adam
But in the end,
**** is the
Chief Justice.
Steve is the
Grand Owl.
He has
No real power
In peggle court,
More of a
Figurehead position.
Kind of like the
Queen of England.
Our Constitution is
Two words:
Dog Law.
We leave all the
Children behind
Because
#it'sfair.
Scott,
He sued for
All the glowsticks,
And won!
It set precedent.
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 9:27 PM UTC
his untutored mind
struggles to grasp the issues
he masturbates the thought process
while events unfold around him
he wings through the darkly lens
showing images of all matter of
profane beast imaginary
while a real one gnaws slowly upon his chest
and he relishes displaying their crude natures in ink
while the real one bleeds the marrow of his soul
a figurehead
his ability to reason is fundamentally flawed
its cracked surface
displays the madness rampant below
the grinning madman
is yourself reflecting yourself reflecting yourself
the headaches are worse today
there's the sound of thundering hoofs
like a hundred strong horse bearing down out of
the darkness
a sickness grips him
repugnant man
the ***** within
puts his sour and rotting mouth upon
his thoughts
kissing each one
with a deep light giggle of unbounded power
rumor leeches sap his strength
their constant words whispered
in his aching ear
leave nothing but the entrails of troubled thoughts
stinking and rotting in the minds eye
between the devils within and the devilish around
how is he to find a safe way
and still there is that awful thundering of hoofs
like a thousand strong horse bearing down on
naked and defenseless him
his minds eye
stripped of its pretensions
peers around the dim place
finding neither familiar nor comfort
only the strange shape of feeding things
and the feel of dirt
and filth
he masters his fear
and tentative step upon
tentative step can only release him
from this
grasping his sword he blindly strikes
at the shadows fleeting and quick
the dashing little that bite and gnaw
but they are just the dancing leaves in the summer wind
time will tell
if the untutored mind shall escape this place intact
or forfeit his future
for penny's on the pound
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 6:10 AM UTC
The pale left controls each fate
As the murky right creeps along the opposite side.
The plan is this: Move all pieces forward.
Six different path to cross space
And eliminate the enemy.
Will it be the rookie, charging in with no regard for consequence?
Perhaps the dark night will mount an assault;
The three step attack tramples targets.
What of the Bishop, the Man of Light?
It is his soul duty to shine in this world of darkness.
The Queen is the puppeteer in this game;
Her corrupted strings control all, even the King Himself
With almost no limits, she is a dangerous weapon.
There is no game without the King;
The figurehead determining who falls and who triumphs,
The arrogant fool who believes all are but pawns under him
Which do you choose,
Left or Right?
Jul 4, 2011
Jul 4, 2011 at 10:00 AM UTC
Your world has come crashing down,
The sheep misguided, the flock astray,
The ice chiseled without a sound,
From your heart that is dismay.
You came to me without love,
I've broken your wings, little dove.
-
You asked me to fix you,
Broken, I attempted to fix myself,
I created a most wretched worldview,
Listening to you scream for help.
You came to me without laughter,
And I will make you suffer.
-
Engaging in whispers and deluded heresy,
You, behind my back, defied me,
I watched your passing most timely,
What became of you was revolting.
Alone I stood in what contained,
The abyss inside shall forever remain.
-
Keys to life held within stars,
A daunting vision of fabled death,
I'll destroy this sky of ours,
And become a haunting, ghastly figurehead.
All things for you held promise,
Until I butchered your vague innocence.
-
I know when your tongue lies,
It's all too familiar, my love,
I'll tie it 'round your eyes
And gaze upon it from above.
I once had love for you,
Despite what you put me through.
-
The creature inside me has awakened,
Although it never really could sleep,
You my dear, don't be mistaken,
Are the focus of it's greed.
I am what you cannot ****
Oh, how I haunt you still.
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 3:54 AM UTC
age has made us bleak
always bow down
i am your golden
hypocritical saint
you are sad and frustrated
i am a figure
of all you trust
and i dissolve like rust
and here you can stand
or like me you can crumble
we are beings of earth
but we worship to the sky
i am skeleton
i look in god's eye
you won't know heaven
until you die
but you see by then
its too late to get high
the words you say softly
are the ones to live by
so starts the end
and the figure will cry
listen to Mrs. moon
she will teach you to lie
worship the earth
we don't live in the sky
Jan 6, 2011
Jan 6, 2011 at 9:02 PM UTC
Twilight crossed the evening sky,
Was a clear eve,
In early starlight I declare,
Saw shop of puppets appealing,
Almost calling out,
Some kind of lure, they'd called you back,
We had to stop and take a glimpse,
Now this evening,
My heels click clack across the cobbled square,
Desired another view of tragic puppets, looking blue,
From their incarceration of wooden hearts and bitter souls,
I too heard their suppressed weeping,
Sobbing tears despondently,
Looking through the dusty pane,
Visualised a figurehead,
Looked similar to you,
Wooden face stained with scars of tear stains,
Countenance of yours,
After I left you in the bar last night,
What veritable vision you now presented to my sight,
What kind of black magic kept you trapped,
For you were no bad man,
An occasional fool,
For now in the care of marionette curator,
In whose grasp became ensnared,
You were seized in a tragic subterfuge,
As a tragic marionette you dwell forever and a day!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Aug 11, 2013
Aug 11, 2013 at 6:23 AM UTC