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Flesh is heretic.
My body is a witch.
I am burning it.

Yes I am torching
ber curves and paps and wiles.
They scorch in my self denials.

How she meshed my head
in the half-truths
of her fevers

till I renounced
milk and honey
and the taste of lunch.

I vomited
her hungers.
Now the ***** is burning.

I am starved and curveless.
I am skin and bone.
She has learned her lesson.

Thin as a rib
I turn in sleep.
My dreams probe

a claustrophobia
a sensuous enclosure.
How warm it was and wide

once by a warm drum,
once by the song of his breath
and in his sleeping side.

Only a little more,
only a few more days
sinless, foodless,

I will slip
back into him again
as if I had never been away.

Caged so
I will grow
angular and holy

past pain,
keeping his heart
such company

as will make me forget
in a small space
the fall

into forked dark,
into python needs
heaving to hips and *******
and lips and heat
and sweat and fat and greed.
I

If seasons all were summers,
And leaves would never fall,
And hopping casement-comers
Were foodless not at all,
And fragile folk might be here
That white winds bid depart;
Then one I used to see here
Would warm my wasted heart!

II

One frail, who, bravely tilling
Long hours in gripping gusts,
Was mastered by their chilling,
And now his ploughshare rusts.
So savage winter catches
The breath of limber things,
And what I love he snatches,
And what I love not, brings.
The broken leg jackdaw
he lost his greed with his leg

now saintly dumb
it's enough if he gets a crumb
complains not when foodless
knowing by his creator's grace
he would be given the span
this world needs his breath for
would live to run the length
in his lone leg's strength
felled by no deadly harm
till ends his term


The broken leg jackdaw
stands on the cornice
in peace
and his jet-black eyes
are deep and wise!
Sam Temple Jun 2015
backpacking in the Jefferson wilderness
eating fresh wild blueberries
warmed by a late spring sun
the crystal blue sky captures me
and I stand, transfixed –
How could we have collectively been so blind?
pumping Co2 into the atmosphere
dropping atomic bombs
and an atoll
named after a bikini…
and the plastic island –
A wispy cirrus cloud
floats gracefully overhead
and takes my thoughts
on a journey
distant smokestacks dot the horizon
and drilling platforms stand menacingly
just beyond the shore,
and inside the bellies of sea creatures …
the plastic –
readjusting my pack
and leaning over to re-tie my shoestrings
the slow crawl of an ant packing lunch
sends me reeling
so many hungry children
just in the state I live
hopeless and *****
in run down or condemned houses
waiting, with tear streaked cheeks
for someone to show up with dinner
as the third foodless day
is always the hardest –
Lawren Nov 2011
I float and watch helplessly
as I tap the umbilical cord
into motion around my neck;
cutting off my air,
blinding my eyes to reality.

Passive death by my own hand.

I am left to bounce around
my dank surroundings blind and foodless
until someone cuts me out.

It is not until I am saved from myself
that the cord is severed,
the knot untied.

It is not until I am saved from myself,
cut from my dark environment,
the knot unraveled,
that I realize
my small tap has not
my life undone.
Fay Slimm Aug 2016
Too long hangs rain in our valley.

Sky's clouded face cracks to cry drizzle-patterns
over sown ground
and growing seedlings face hazard.

Too long has water earth-wronged.

Makes mud by changing each leaf to sponge
that ***** out green to
leave brown where verdant belongs.

Small lakes rise in the hedgerow-rose.

As tears of lime run down from hilly meadows
sad rinsing brings whispers
of wet killing by un-seasonal cold.


Too long shudder of feathers droop.

While across far horizons a fox runs foodless
as damp cubs look for sun
while prey floods in the hen-coop.

Too long a chill has made harvest weep.

Thatched cottages drip in the village street,
trees bleed moss and weight
burdens the thick-coated sheep.

Swathed in neglect droops each garden.

Knee-deep in unattained tasks the farmyard
sprouts idle days as folk bide
time waiting for signs of drying to start.

To long hangs rain in our valley.
guy scutellaro Mar 2016
just ask any waitress
in the diner
still sane.

ask a businessman
locked behind a desk.

ask a cop in jail for theft
or custer
or van gogh

or a child in harlem
foodless and cold.

ask the grey day
evaporated by the sun

just ask.


we all want to burn,
to dance and sidestep
through are own private hells

to hang
upon
a church bell
high above a cathedral
in notre dame
laughing,
in love with the finality of fire.

the fire
is a man with shotgun
standing in a savings and loan

the fire
is a 16 year old girl
in a
short
short
dress
with oh
so
long legs

the fire cries like snow geese
warm
so warm
into this cold winter's night.

this life we love
is but a hawk on fire
flying
flaming
into the sun of our existence...

we want what we fear,
i want the sun


i am burning.
Dave Jun 2018
Sweet sad poetry
On some lonely nite
I see an old lady
In a doorway
Homeless, toothless, foodless
We share a smile as i pass by
Wonderful, Fantastikful, Loveful,
We r catching a glimpse
Of the cosmic comedy of the theatre of life
And the shared smile
Keeps us warm;
Thank u sweet lady
Abbyss Aug 22
It saddens me, to look at the world..
Everyone walking around, with somewhere to be
But really just searching, for a way to feel free.
There's such unfairness
That genuinely disgusts me
But maybe we'd deminish it
If only we discussed things
Yet we lower our heads, and go about our day
Pretending everything around us, is actually okay
When there are countless people foodless
And even more homeless..
Yet I see copious amounts of empty houses..
Rotting away, cause there's "no one to house them"...

I mean It just doesn't add up
There's plenty of resources
For the lot of us...

But those with the power are ruining it all
Giving to a couple but taking from all

Sometimes, I just can't wait for God to come deal with them all..
For wickedness, to be wiped away
Any and all power, stripped away
To be held by The Perfection
That'll be here to stay
Though I still just pray that more would see
And in succession repent
And thereby be free
chaffy Dec 2019
i need to write this dream cause if don’t i’ll forget all of it
trapped in the janitorial job at my former high school, i was visibly disgusted by the mutants I saw around me, they were old and appeared mentally and physically *******. but i couldn’t help but be jealous of their happiness, they had each other and I was alone mopping the floors of its filth. after ordering some food from a pagoda nearby (it was clearly a mcdonalds), i fell asleep on a nearby cafeteria bench until i was awoken by another older looking janitor who said to me, “sorry friend, but do you mind moving your ***?” of course i did, and feeling hungry i went to get my food after finishing up the job and found myself in the middle of the lunch rush (or was it dinner?). i took a particular fancy on two lesbians i found myself behind in the crowd and i think one took a noticing to my staring so i forgot about them. I went to the mcdonalds pagoda thing and realized my food had been taken by someone else. i picked up the nearest bag and saw chicken and pretzels inside. one of the lesbian girls looked at me and i handed her the bag saying, “this must be yours.” “they forgot the syrup!” she said and went to the cashier, leaving me, foodless. I think the woman working there must have realized what happened, because she gave me a bag of chicken nuggets without a word. before i could escape the slight awkwardness i was approached by the other lesbian girl (the one who noticed me) who asked me if i’d be willing to sign a contract. she was surprised at my quick compliance, “you realize you’d be signing away like all your money right?” i told her i was broke anyway and that i’d sign my soul to the devil if it meant i got to talk to her for just the moment. she seemed pleased by that but started talking about how she knows she’s working along with a scam and all, but she really just wanted her friend to be happy. “your mistake is caring more for people than about your money” i told her. again she smiled and looked at her friend, still getting her syrup. at this point the conversation drifted off and somehow we found ourselves talking about how if you try, you can taste your own mustache.

the dream changed scenes and i found myself alone in a college dorm. I think it was Tiah who i went to visit and talk, we stayed up and watched ****** doo until she feel asleep and i decided to leave. i accidentally wandered into other peoples rooms until i found myself talking to another group if guys in a lobby of some sort. we found ourselves talking about video games, but this one ****** kept on scoffing and making fun of everything i said. i got so angry at him that i got a chair and smashed it across his back. he just stood there, unphased, and i knew i was in for it. all the guys were suddenly 5 feet taller than me and basically invincible. they continued to taunt and abuse me until i woke up (in the dream i woke up, yes, a dream within a dream). i went outside and was approached by a couple of young hoodlums who asked to see my money. i refused and ran, and they pursued. they turned into midgets and then cute little fruit candy mascots and i beat the hell out of them all to some swanky tune. something like:
when i saw it was wild i hid the number
bases loaded, i looked to the sky
with a drumpf and a spit
i hit 16, woo!

idk
Gerry Sykes Dec 9
Cracked sienna and burnt umber bark
on trees fuzzy with blue green lichen,
like the stark, leafless, winter clothes,
of Highgate’s denizens.

Hazel branches stripped bare by squirrels
a foodless frosty park,
it’s Victorian bowling green surrounded
by golden paths and benches is
wild, broken, neglected
grass and concrete.

Exposed on the grass
a hungry squirrel gnaws her nut
sees danger and runs up a tree.
A dog barks and tries to climb,
loses interest,
and sniffs the inner city's air.

The park whimpers deprivation.
Another version of the poem about Highgate park this time in free verse.

— The End —