"flings" poems
Glitter and gold is the man in the chair
with rings on his fingers
and the hardened harsh stare
blinded by ugliness
wrists chained down by no use
a man with much money
he spends on abuse
the term known as trafficking
familiar I’m sure
he’s never been one for
doing what’s pure
so he lays down his money
flings out his cash
says he’ll pay the full price
for the girl with the mask
just to touch her to feel her
pet her cold body with his
run clammy hands up her scarred legs
clamp her in his ashen fist
little boys too he will willingly harm
because trafficking to him is a sport
no need for alarm
Just cows in the system
of making ends meat.
The poor solemn dancer
the poor saddened soul
the poor battered spirit
angry that they’ve been sold
with ***** feet and scabby legs
they work to feed the king
the end from him they can only beg
And freedom will never ring.
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 4:47 PM UTC
Bored.
Of people,
Of things.
Bored.
Of commitment,
Of flings.
Bored.
Of goings,
Of comings.
Bored.
Of smiles,
Of laughter.
Bored
Of crying,
Of sadness.
Bored.
Of anger,
Of madness.
Bored of everything because
Nothing that exists is just
Quite interesting enough,
Not on the ground or up above,
To secure attention in it's clutch
For longer than a portion of
A second.
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 8:10 AM UTC
You weren’t worth the
Hundred dollars it cost to
Keep you in my car.
Princess got poached by the
League of Losers with Pedestrian Ideals.
I’d spit venom in your direction, if
Poison meant anything to you. But
Akin to most things, so sub-human,
You miss the world moving around your
Ever pulsating veins, and repel these
Toxins with a slip of the tongue.
Around you I could line
Bodies of those you’d loved and left.
Each clasping hands with one another,
Privy to a specific type of pain, only you can
Deal out. And
In the center of the circle you’d
Stare, stunned by your state of
Affairs, and flings. Collectively concerned
For the safety of your
Rotting consciousness.
One by one, I could set these men
On fire, and hand you a place
Where your head could be danced off.
Drunken and diving heart-first into
The burning lake of a
Surfable crowd. Since that’s
All we are, serfs.
I hope the fire gets too close to your
Gorgeous face. I hope the
Love you receive is no more likable
Than a few more licks from the flames.
The scars couldn’t sideline you.
No one can stop ****
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 1:42 PM UTC
There sits a lovely maiden,
The ocean murmuring nigh;
She throws the hook, and watches;
The fishes pass it by.
A ring, with a red jewel,
Is sparkling on her hand;
Upon the hook she binds it,
And flings it from the land.
Uprises from the water
A hand like ivory fair.
What gleams upon its finger?
The golden ring is there.
Uprises from the bottom
A young and handsome knight;
In golden scales he rises,
That glitter in the light.
The maid is pale with terror--
"Nay, Knight of Ocean, nay,
It was not thee I wanted;
Let go the ring, I pray."
"Ah, maiden, not to fishes
The bait of gold is thrown;
The ring shall never leave me,
And thou must be my own."
6.9k
Guarded dreams, whispered secrets,
summer crushes, December flings,
inside jokes, confessed regrets…
These are but a few things
that we share with each other
without any fear, any misgivings.
You were once a stranger
and now you are my best friend.
my partner in crime, my soul sister.
After all, friendship is all that matters in the end.
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 12:50 PM UTC
there's a marital dispute
between squirrels
in my chest, stomach and head.
she flings lamp and liver
while he slings obscenities
about her barrenness.
by midnight
they'll **** then sleep
and then I can watch John Oliver.
but their problems aren't resolved.
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 10:13 PM UTC
Romance, who loves to nod and sing,
With drowsy head and folded wing,
Among the green leaves as they shake
Far down within some shadowy lake,
To me a painted paroquet
Hath been—a most familiar bird—
Taught me my alphabet to say—
To lisp my very earliest word
While in the wild wood I did lie,
A child—with a most knowing eye.
Of late, eternal Condor years
So shake the very Heaven on high
With tumult as they thunder by,
I have no time for idle cares
Though gazing on the unquiet sky.
And when an hour with calmer wings
Its down upon my spirit flings—
That little time with lyre and rhyme
To while away—forbidden things!
My heart would feel to be a crime
Unless it trembled with the strings.
6.1k
She calmly unlocks the front door
as the wind flings the screen
through wild tantrums. She droops down
into her dusted rocker, pushing
with her lavender heels to start the sway.
Her sole taps softly,
as the chair creaks onto fallen lacquer
and the porch plays in discord
through dancing lace.
Interwoven hands lie atop her lap
in a sea of navy with floral ships
at its surface. Silver strands
fall from her clouded bun
and a few locks float past her sunken shoulders.
With jaded eyes she looks at the corner
to a poor table, where a cold candle
peaks among a grassy field of melted wax
riddled with burnt fuses.
And near the candle, a dusted white hat
remains anchored to the wooden surface.
She can still smell the stale cigar smoke
lingering in the room. “He’ll be here soon,”
she thinks as her daze slowly sets in.
The world seems quiet
as she fills her eyes with sleep
and the chair continues its march.
Her hands unlock from their grasp
and the screen door gently knocks.
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 6:19 PM UTC
Sometimes thou seem’st not as thyself alone,
But as the meaning of all things that are;
A breathless wonder, shadowing forth afar
Some heavenly solstice hushed and halcyon;
Whose unstirred lips are music’s visible tone;
Whose eyes the sun-gate of the soul unbar,
Being of its furthest fires oracular;—
The evident heart of all life sown and mown.
Even such Love is; and is not thy name Love?
Yea, by thy hand the Love-god rends apart
All gathering clouds of Night’s ambiguous art;
Flings them far down, and sets thine eyes above;
And simply, as some gage of flower or glove,
Stakes with a smile the world against thy heart.
5.3k
The streets are clear, we're hydrophobic
Hoods propped by hats and socks pulled high;
The rain brings peace to the agoraphobic
Puddles form moats and clouds fill the sky.
Splash, droplets hit the window,
chauffeured by the gale outside.
Squint your eyes and flash back
boats tilt starboard, with the tide.
The captain shouts to the decks, paranoid
'Clear the decks and brace for impact'
Without turbulence we are disenfranchised
Boredom becomes us when we're boring.
Shake it off and stare at the dot to dot
the residual carving of water as it slides
Another droplet falls beside it, parallel
it aligns, growling thunder overhead.
Without stirring we are robotic workforces
Without awaking we are left inside
The constructs created for us, by corporate-
conglomerate elitist-psychopaths.
Two drops of water on the window
simmer red with burning anger.
Crash lightening sears the sky
Rage becomes you, girders melt.
The starry night undercurrent, flings
us backwards, never up, as democracies
which seek to serve sink into a sea of
stocks and shares, the wall street journal
sits atop the captains lobby, economies
were meant to tumble as the working classes
fumble for bread, men in suits gaggle
and toast to the millions they left for dead.
Resistance is futile, when eighty-five
of the richest suit owners sit on currency
that was meant for the three point five
billion who aren’t driven by gluttony.
Nov 7, 2014
Nov 7, 2014 at 12:51 PM UTC
Being the only one awake in the back seat, or the only one thinking loudly,
and in the back of your mind, sitting there like living weight, you've got
the giant Citgo sign
(you swear you could fit in the T),
listening to passion pit as the golden sun flings itself on the highway,
a construction worker lowering his pants in front of a dumpster,
hearing the sandlot play downstairs as you stare at the dark ceiling,
pizza you ate in the park the evening before now being had for breakfast,
finding out the **** is pro-choice,
getting your shoulder squeezed on a rollercoaster
by a boy who screams like a girl,
feeling drunk even though you're sober,
running through the dark,
passing trailers with round lanterns lining the tops,
outlining shirtless men and smoking women,
looking in the mirror after swimming with your clothes on
in a hot tub,
and you're not sure if you're
beautiful
or
disgusting.
Yeah, you can sleep now.
May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 7:12 PM UTC
I sit back on the computer,
Browsing through the pages of those I grew up with
Those people who thought they knew everything about me
I sit back and see what they’ve made of themselves
This girl is single, living alone with her four cats
This other girl now has two kids, unmarried and no degree
This girl is engaged to her high school sweetheart, yet they don’t look happy
This other couple broke up, wait they’re back together, nope spoke too soon
This guy is working at the local supermarket, never went to college after his arrest
This guy gained a few pounds, no longer the star athlete
This guy dropped off the map
See being the quiet girl, I learned secrets
I knew the deepest secrets of every single one of these people
Because while they sat in the back of the room chattering on about their so called problems
I was sitting in the front,
Listening
This girl had two boyfriends, and even more flings
This girl slept with four guys in one night
This girl’s boyfriend cheated on her, over and over again
This couple would sneak off in between classes, during lunch, or school assemblies
This guy was the trophy child, who gave away free drugs to his friends hidden inside pens
This guy was the quarterback; everything handed to him on a golden platter
This guy was the school stud who was hiding a relationship with his boyfriend by sleeping with every girl he could
Back then I listened because I wanted to feel apart of something bigger
I wanted to be one of them,
I wanted to be invited to all those weekend bashes
I wanted to be the girl people felt awed by, inspired by, idolized
I wanted to be part of the “in” crowd
So I stood there, day after day
As they teased me
Berated me
Shattered my confidence
Tearing apart everything I was
Telling me I would never amount to anything
Telling me I was fat, ugly, stupid
That I unworthy of love
Telling me…
I
Was
Nothing
Let them tell me that today
I see everything of what they have become
Those people I wanted to be are no longer there
Their confidence shattered by reality
The best days of their life ended the day they left high school
Mine on the other hand are just beginning
I am the girl who is wanted
I’m the girl who can go wild
I’m the girl who can be passionate
I’m the girl who is adventurous
I’m the girl who brings pride
I’m the girl who is the athlete
I'm the girl who travels the world
I’m the girl who is unashamed of who I am
Because by pushing me out
My oppressors gave me everything I needed
The strength to try
The courage to dream
The ability to think
The confidence to be unique
Independence to thrive
But more than anything
My oppressors gave me desire
Desire to be more than they believed I could be
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 11:30 PM UTC
Freedom flings
Tyrant kings
Into their rightful place
A head on a plate
Democracy inflates
The morale of the people
Oligarchy deflates
The idea that we're equal
Spiteful dictators make their way through the system
And dominate the world while nobody listens
Distracting people with things that glisten
Disseminating hatred as their vision
Engendering fear is their mission
To buy or sell weapons
For more money or more power
Dropping bombs from their ivory tower
From extreme explosions we cower
Explosions of hatred then violence
Explosions hastened by silence
Explosions of fire we ferment
To burn the faces off our enemy
To avoid exercising our empathy
Creating a world filled by entropy
People say ******** like freedom isn't free
When the currency we pay for freedom
Is restriction
We dampen our fiery feelings
With prescriptions
Freedom is free
It's inherent
It can only be taken or given away
It is not a proper excuse to slay
Those that rightly disagree
With what you're imposing
Freedom is fleeing far far away
When people are molded by clay
Of those with the power to shape civilians
Of those with the power to bring billions
Of people to their knees
When freedom is our fee
To live in timid apathy
Aug 31, 2017
Aug 31, 2017 at 11:46 AM UTC
Taken for granted is that what I'll always be.
Understanding and independent that's me,
Yet somehow at time I can no longer understand.
Then people around me call me with a brand
When people never do their promises its disappointing
What more if they always keep you waiting
I am fed up with this cycle
Sometimes I'd rather be single
I don't want to expect no longer
I don't want to be quiet and be a loner
I also desire to be understood and to depend
But a person like that there's none
Yes no one; not even one
Is this what it always be
Me being left let alone and just me
What I wanted is for someone to understand
And not judge and give me a brand
I promise that I will never act disappointing
And for sure I will not keep him waiting
Yet there's none not even one
Who have thought that maybe she's also a woman
Everyone thinks that I am more like a super human
I also desire for petty things
And wanted to feel cheesy flings
Am I that stiff like a stick
That won't bend in a flick
And what if I am is that a crime
To be strong, isn't that sublime
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 3:01 AM UTC
389
There’s been a Death, in the Opposite House,
As lately as Today—
I know it, by the numb look
Such Houses have—alway—
The Neighbors rustle in and out—
The Doctor—drives away—
A Window opens like a Pod—
Abrupt—mechanically—
Somebody flings a Mattress out—
The Children hurry by—
They wonder if it died—on that—
I used to—when a Boy—
The Minister—goes stiffly in—
As if the House were His—
And He owned all the Mourners—now—
And little Boys—besides—
And then the Milliner—and the Man
Of the Appalling Trade—
To take the measure of the House—
There’ll be that Dark Parade—
Of Tassels—and of Coaches—soon—
It’s easy as a Sign—
The Intuition of the News—
In just a Country Town—
4.2k
The swallow of summer, she toils all the summer,
A blue-dark knot of glittering voltage,
A whiplash swimmer, a fish of the air.
But the serpent of cars that crawls through the dust
In shimmering exhaust
Searching to slake
Its fever in ocean
Will play and be idle or else it will bust.
The swallow of summer, the barbed harpoon,
She flings from the furnace, a rainbow of purples,
Dips her glow in the pond and is perfect.
But the serpent of cars that collapsed on the beach
Disgorges its organs
A scamper of colours
Which roll like tomatoes
Nude as tomatoes
With sand in their creases
To cringe in the sparkle of rollers and screech.
The swallow of summer, the seamstress of summer,
She scissors the blue into shapes and she sews it,
She draws a long thread and she knots it at the corners.
But the holiday people
Are laid out like wounded
Flat as in ovens
Roasting and basting
With faces of torment as space burns them blue
Their heads are transistors
Their teeth grit on sand grains
Their lost kids are squalling
While man-eating flies
Jab electric shock needles but what can they do?
They can climb in their cars with raw bodies, raw faces
And start up the serpent
And headache it homeward
A car full of squabbles
And sobbing and stickiness
With sand in their crannies
Inhaling petroleum
That pours from the foxgloves
While the evening swallow
The swallow of summer, cartwheeling through crimson,
Touches the honey-slow river and turning
Returns to the hand stretched from under the eaves -
A boomerang of rejoicing shadow.
4.3k
Matt. British gent to British *****
You became insecure, moody, obsessive and possessive
And that doesn't give you the excuse to abuse. It’s over.
Norman. Male twin to turned twin.
You became my best friend so easily, come boyfriend
Then you broke up with me for my brother. It’s over.
Ryan. Sweet guy to skaterboi.
I don’t even know why we dated,
Probably because we left people who abused us. It’s over.
Noel. Romantic to heart-frantic.
You chose that nasty ex over me, and she only hurt you.
I've never came so close to fighting a girl in school. It’s over.
Morgan. Cuban fling to cutie far away.
I realize we were both drunk, but you initiated the kiss
And you weren't too bad at it, for a girl… but you’re in Ontario. It’s over.
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 7:20 PM UTC
THERE is a queen in China, or maybe it's in Spain,
And birthdays and holidays such praises can be heard
Of her unblemished lineaments, a whiteness with no
stain,
That she might be that sprightly girl trodden by a
bird;
And there's a score of duchesses, surpassing woma-
kind,
Or who have found a painter to make them so for pay
And smooth out stain and blemish with the elegance
of his mind:
I knew a phoenix in my youth, so let them have their
day.
The young men every night applaud their Gaby's
laughing eye,
And Ruth St. Denis had more charm although she had
poor luck;
From nineteen hundred nine or ten, Pavlova's had the
cry
And there's a player in the States who gathers up her
cloak
And flings herself out of the room when Juliet would
be bride
With all a woman's passion, a child's imperious way,
And there are -- but no matter if there are scores beside:
I knew a phoenix in my youth, so let them have their
day.
There's Margaret and Marjorie and Dorothy and Nan,
A Daphne and a Mary who live in privacy;
One's had her fill of lovers, another's had but one,
Another boasts, "I pick and choose and have but two
or three.'
If head and limb have beauty and the instep's high and
light
They can spread out what sail they please for all I have
to say,
Be but the breakers of men's hearts or engines of
delight:
I knew a phoenix in my youth, so let them have their
day.
There'll be that crowd, that barbarous crowd, through
all the centuries,
And who can say but some young belle may walk and
talk men wild
Who is my beauty's equal, though that my heart denies,
But not the exact likeness, the simplicity of a child,
And that proud look as though she had gazed into the
burning sun,
And all the shapely body no tittle gone astray.
I mourn for that most lonely thing; and yet God's will
be done:
I knew a phoenix in my youth, so let them have their
day.
3.9k
On winter nights beside the nursery fire
We read the fairy tale, while glowing coals
Builded its pictures. There before our eyes
We saw the vaulted hall of traceried stone
Uprear itself, the distant ceiling hung
With pendent stalactites like frozen vines;
And all along the walls at intervals,
Curled upwards into pillars, roses climbed,
And ramped and were confined, and clustered leaves
Divided where there peered a laughing face.
The foliage seemed to rustle in the wind,
A silent murmur, carved in still, gray stone.
High pointed windows pierced the southern wall
Whence proud escutcheons flung prismatic fires
To stain the tessellated marble floor
With pools of red, and quivering green, and blue;
And in the shade beyond the further door,
Its sober squares of black and white were hid
Beneath a restless, shuffling, wide-eyed mob
Of lackeys and retainers come to view
The Christening.
A sudden blare of trumpets, and the throng
About the entrance parted as the guests
Filed singly in with rare and precious gifts.
Our eager fancies noted all they brought,
The glorious, unattainable delights!
But always there was one unbidden guest
Who cursed the child and left it bitterness.
The fire falls asunder, all is changed,
I am no more a child, and what I see
Is not a fairy tale, but life, my life.
The gifts are there, the many pleasant things:
Health, wealth, long-settled friendships, with a name
Which honors all who bear it, and the power
Of making words obedient. This is much;
But overshadowing all is still the curse,
That never shall I be fulfilled by love!
Along the parching highroad of the world
No other soul shall bear mine company.
Always shall I be teased with semblances,
With cruel impostures, which I trust awhile
Then dash to pieces, as a careless boy
Flings a kaleidoscope, which shattering
Strews all the ground about with coloured shards.
So I behold my visions on the ground
No longer radiant, an ignoble heap
Of broken, dusty glass. And so, unlit,
Even by hope or faith, my dragging steps
Force me forever through the passing days.
3.8k
stop
be still and listen
hear ye not
that soulful song
of endless motion
that tireless voice
of storm wracked potion
her swollen bosoms'
rising, falling
her shameless
cresting
foam flecked
devotion
pouring out
her effervescence
on lips that drink
her adoration
yet never taste
her vital essence
her drumming chorus
a roaring thunder
on rocky clefts
torn asunder
as mourning rays
of misty raining
her teardrops falling
gently tracing
our loves
our sorrows
engraved each day
on these
mortal paintings
on granite shoulders
her message beats
that pounding drum
of thunderous need
as she flings
her ageless
storm tossed beauty
onto granite arms
etched and fluted
from hollowed cheeks
her kisses pouring
as sea birds cry
on stiff winds soaring
and ever on
throughout the ages
enduring
her ravenous
inclinations
never wincing
from her brazen charms
her surging seduction's
voiceless call
immersed
within her warm caresses
glistening
in her wind tossed tresses
enfolding him
in her flowing graces
in dulcet tones
of annihilation
.
.
http://oi62.tinypic.com/vuya0.jpg
.
Feb 9, 2018
Feb 9, 2018 at 7:02 PM UTC
My bright princess, you inspire me to write.
How I love the way you laughs, skips and sings,
Invading my mind day and through the night,
Always dreaming about the gorgeous flings.
Let me compare you to a cute stardust?
You are more pretty, clever and caring.
Smart heat toasts the fond frolics of August,
And summertime has the fine time sharing.
How do I love you? Let me count the ways.
I love your beautiful eyes, heart and face.
Thinking of your happy heart fills my days.
My love for you is the warm marketplace.
Now I must away with a daring heart,
Remember my apt words whilst we're apart
Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 11:00 AM UTC
White light, white dress.
White line, white mess.
Royal blood, royal taste,
waiting around to be betrayed.
Isis comes to down to me,
she brings her heart full of greed.
Isis comes down to fallow me
off to the blue noise cast at sea.
London dreams and London flings.
my London heart on my Los Angeles sleeve.
Red hearts and red fate,
I've seen the lonely souls from every state.
Lovely Isis shines so bright
wallowing around in all her plight.
Lovely Isis sings all night,
Misty songs of losing fights.
I called her a witch, I started the hunt.
My lovely Isis, don't you run.
Feb 18, 2010
Feb 18, 2010 at 5:38 PM UTC
EMPTY battlefields keep their phantoms.
Grass crawls over old gun wheels
And a nodding Canada thistle flings a purple
Into the summer's southwest wind,
Wrapping a root in the rust of a bayonet,
Reaching a blossom in rust of shrapnel.
3.2k
#
shackled to a notion
rubbing through wrists
in rusted remains
of beautifully easy
it's a slow bleed
through insults slung
in fear the unmaliciois
only noticed in hindsight
calling the innocent a *****
doesn't breed hate from love
the duke-yeilding cowardly lion
flings back like a monkey
##
breaststroking a marathon in tears
wading through pain I never caused
pelted with double-barrelled denial
THIS IS NOT WEAKNESS
there is no waver on my solid ground
torn flesh and compound fractures
cannot break harder than history
still, gavel strikes
in sucker punched cracked ribs
that look like a past that ain't mine
###
keep hacking off pieces
maybe I'll fit into those pretty boxes
your liars left as gifts
nasty reminders that trust has sharp teeth
maybe that's just you
biting back any hand that gets too close
pandering in placating platitudes
ain't my bag
flattery fails to flounce from unfettered friends
####
can't be beat into submission
with unspoken broken rules
can't run from a truth in plain view
this is what it looks like
to believe what you know over
what you've lived
I'm not running
I'm not biting back
I'm not going anywhere
then again, why would I
I'm not the one afraid to love you
https://soundcloud.com/user-166761247/a-fourth-in-time-to-cracked-selections-of-music
Dec 25, 2018
Dec 25, 2018 at 8:04 AM UTC