"foxes" poems
don't feel sorry for me.
I am a competent,
satisfied human being.
be sorry for the others
who
fidget
complain
who
constantly
rearrange their
lives
like
furniture.
juggling mates
and
attitudes
their
confusion is
constant
and it will
touch
whoever they
deal with.
beware of them:
one of their
key words is
"love."
and beware those who
only take
instructions from their
God
for they have
failed completely to live their own
lives.
don't feel sorry for me
because I am alone
for even
at the most terrible
moments
humor
is my
companion.
I am a dog walking
backwards
I am a broken
banjo
I am a telephone wire
strung up in
Toledo, Ohio
I am a man
eating a meal
this night
in the month of
September.
put your sympathy
aside.
they say
water held up
Christ:
to come
through
you better be
nearly as
lucky.
137.2k
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1
death dirges
Frogs in distance sing . . .
Foxes, herons, join in too,
. . . A round of croaking.
2
love gifts
Her gift of flowers . . .
Came at night without garden,
. . . Were picked in bedroom.
3
twins demure
Full moon and she . . .
Beauties without crescent smile,
. . . Naked in starlight.
4
light music
Before even sun . . .
Gleam opens to paint each day,
. . . Beauty in birdsong.
5
iridescent
After sun showers . . .
Sparkle of rainbow colours,
. . . Busy hummingbirds
6
chilling
Hollow sound through trees,
Naked and bare branches sway,
. . . Old winter creeping.
7
flirting
She wanted a child . . .
Rushed from one suitor to next,
. . . Clock set to maybe.
8
super villain
Truth once singular . . .
Mucked all up with politics,
. . . In cowl of falsehoods.
9
casualties
Blood spills in gardens . . .
Naïve worms torn from loose grounds,
. . . Red robins, green lawns.
10
stigmata
Each spring miracle . . .
Trees blessed by caterpillars gifts,
. . . Holey hands of leaves.
11
consecrations
Ripples lead to bows . . .
After fish breaks the water,
. . . A kingfisher dives.
12
constancy
Steadfast as always . . .
Wildflower in sun and rain,
. . . Showing true colours.
13
roommates
Chaste lovers wonder . . .
How bodies weather the cold,
. . . Never knowing touch.
14
swept away
Suddenly we kissed . . .
At beach as tides rolling in,
. . . Drowning by ocean.
15
seductress
Her red hair so long . . .
Brushing my face, hiding eyes,
. . . A kind entrapment.
.
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 10:20 PM UTC
You are my pink skies with candy floss clouds
My open fields flooded far and wide with cherry blossoms
and green feathered sparrows singing tunes of your favourite songs that sound kinda-something-sorta like your voice,
The walls in my castle populated perfectly with portraits of you
and you already know portraits are my favourite.
Somehow my imagination bound beautifully with my reality such that I could tell no difference.
You are my Utopia.
But utopia is subject to interpretation.
You like candy floss occasionally, pink is not your favourite colour and I do not even know what your favourite flower is
Without forgetting to mention, you prefer beaches.
You like puns, peaches, foxes and fairies but my world has none of that, I want to accept those but you will not have it any other way.
I want our worlds to collide but in a more subtle way, but when that kinda thing happens it is almost always apocalyptic
So, what is yours will never be mine and what is mine you do not even want at all.
My utopia sounds like it belongs in a book, but we all know how long that lasts.
Be sure to check out Utopian Dystopia Pt. 2!
Sep 1, 2018
Sep 1, 2018 at 2:00 PM UTC
i.
i told my mother the other day that i
have decided to be kind,
to love those
who love me (for no good reason)....
and because of, i want to take you in my arms
and hold you so tight
that the world cannot get in.
.
ii.
you are dressed in white, like
an angel, and
when you sleep, you murmur and
when
i watch, you smile
instead of howling, and i wish
that you were that peaceful when
awake.
iii.
you are growing up, and i
watch the way you forsake your mother
and i watch the way
you puff up your chest with lies and then
cower when you see me ....
you are not innocent anymore, and i cannot
hold you to as such when
you hide behind a hood of your parents
protection.
iv.
your brother does not love me anymore,
and frankly, i do not care.
but you cannot see the stab wound, so
still, i am angry.
v.
i don’t think she loves her best friend anymore,
i don’t think she even loves me.
but how can you tell someone to cut a
piece of themselves off when
you won’t do it for them?
when you don’t even have the right.
vi.
i read a poem today, it was about war
and it was about foxes,
and
i thought of you again...
my fox,
you are a violence...
and a lover.
and when i remember how you cut me,
i remember why i have to cherish what i have.
Oct 30, 2018
Oct 30, 2018 at 5:30 PM UTC
I drop four ice cubes into my coke out of habit.
I kiss my sweet love four times for good luck so our team can win the game.
I catch myself counting to four when Im ready to speak up, I don't count to three or even ten I count to four.
It was on my back in big white letters when dad looked through the chain linked fence and said with every ounce of his pride "Take it for a ride lex."
That's the day I got my first homerun.
That's my old man's favorite number and mine too.
Ill never know why I look at him like hes god.
He spelt my name wrong two years back.
The letters said L-e-x-i,
I whispered that's not how you spell my name it's spelled L-e-x-i-e.
I whispered because I didn't want to embarrass him, I thought if I talked quiet enough no one could see my lips break around the words in shock.
I was 5 when me and mom left him.
The number 5 is my most unlucky number it always takes something from me, like my dog, she was in my arms on the fifth of may when heaven called for her to go home.
Dad came the next day to burry her, the hole he dug was to shallow.
Days after her funeral foxes came and
scattered her bones across the field.
It was a treasure hunt to find all of them, I tried to save her one last time.
I should really give that man a call.
I'll do it tomorrow , or I'll wait for him to call.
I'll count to four before I answer.
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 4:50 AM UTC
I once knew a butterfly.
Her beauty knew no bounds.
She glided through the air and encapsulated my every thought.
Her delicate wings flapped away any discomfort.
But I was naive and turned away from the butterfly.
I was young and I wanted to see what other creatures the world had to offer.
I then knew an ox.
She was strong.
She faced up to challenges most would cower from.
However she didn't realise how heavy handed she was.
She broke things without meaning or realisation.
Including my heart. I missed the butterfly.
Finally I knew a fox.
She was pretty.
Her paws dragged mud through the house.
You tend to forget the sharp teeth when they're hidden by a smile.
Very clever creatures.
I found that foxes are sly, I missed the butterfly.
I missed the butterfly. But she had flown away.
Her majestic flight continued even with my back turned.
I didn't realise at the time but the butterfly,
Was stronger than the ox. And Prettier than the fox.
But I missed the butterfly. She had flown away..
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 2:29 AM UTC
You, Doctor Martin, walk
from breakfast to madness. Late August,
I speed through the antiseptic tunnel
where the moving dead still talk
of pushing their bones against the ******
of cure. And I am queen of this summer hotel
or the laughing bee on a stalk
of death. We stand in broken
lines and wait while they unlock
the doors and count us at the frozen gates
of dinner. The shibboleth is spoken
and we move to gravy in our smock
of smiles. We chew in rows, our plates
scratch and whine like chalk
in school. There are no knives
for cutting your throat. I make
moccasins all morning. At first my hands
kept empty, unraveled for the lives
they used to work. Now I learn to take
them back, each angry finger that demands
I mend what another will break
tomorrow. Of course, I love you;
you lean above the plastic sky,
god of our block, prince of all the foxes.
The breaking crowns are new
that Jack wore.
Your third eye
moves among us and lights the separate boxes
where we sleep or cry.
What large children we are
here. All over I grow most tall
in the best ward. Your business is people,
you call at the madhouse, an oracular
eye in our nest. Out in the hall
the intercom pages you. You twist in the pull
of the foxy children who fall
like floods of life in frost.
And we are magic talking to itself,
noisy and alone. I am queen of all my sins
forgotten. Am I still lost?
Once I was beautiful. Now I am myself,
counting this row and that row of moccasins
waiting on the silent shelf.
7.3k
Your morning dew breath
trickles in early
As we walk with the foxes,
by the rockpools by the shore;
By the lilies by the glade.
Jul 19, 2015
Jul 19, 2015 at 2:42 AM UTC
. @
@ @
@ @
@ @
@ @
@ @ @ @ @ @
america, americultus, americate, dubiously **********
::: our gold-flecked bodies.
blackbirdian danceparty, i'll go.
washed-up beach bottles and all our feet amongst them curling time.
teens dream in orchid; they wait for stars and dark and los hombres of good dust.
they wait on eyes, and on embers, on belly belly.
jellyfish flashlight shrine.
we eat acid and strawberries and butter in the cemetery,
and feed foxes lizards face first :::
us lost ghouls on school-nights.
flash tag jazz, and yellow bicycles.
::: that hot eternal light.
that candy colored smoke don't smoke; go south on her body.
then thoughts form thoughts form action, form twangs all tuned to air.
& we, as notes, we notes harp like light
to dust.
our glistering hormonal thrusts beneath sheath of liquid love. her eyes,
with those multi-speckled strands
infinitesimally drunk :::
seed from my ****
pearled halo: smoke above my head.
::: waves and machines and weekends. filtered by the long ****
of existence.
boys wait in rooms of hotels for more drugs, and the girls bringing them.
like caterpillars on silky thin treadways,
with nothing but the flavor of our passions to ignite the way. we
exacerbate the boundaries of our intentions. we
curl under sheets, bending sheets of light and sound. we
flakey emaciated flakes. [sequence suffered time in motion] we
dirt. it’s what we are; dirt.
we are druggernauts, tasting ourselves along the iridescent brim.
::: we crawl up cross-glowing hillsides toward portals and faraway
bleep-blorps of hot god-head calibration.
we sticky-crackle go burn. [nature puzzles]
the brain shifts back; twenty-one grams they say the soul weighs.
they say things.
cherry blossom tree tips in the dark.
tele-portal surfing with an intergalactic pizza priest, and his satchel of secret sauce.
he heaves in the corner; rebirth :::
tendrils pulled tight, everybody **** chung…
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 3:44 PM UTC
THE BABY moon, a canoe, a silver papoose canoe, sails and sails in the Indian west.
A ring of silver foxes, a mist of silver foxes, sit and sit around the Indian moon.
One yellow star for a runner, and rows of blue stars for more runners, keep a line of watchers.
O foxes, baby moon, runners, you are the panel of memory, fire-white writing to-night of the Red Man's dreams.
Who squats, legs crossed and arms folded, matching its look against the moon-face, the star-faces, of the West?
Who are the Mississippi Valley ghosts, of copper foreheads, riding wiry ponies in the night?-no bridles, love-arms on the pony necks, riding in the night a long old trail?
Why do they always come back when the silver foxes sit around the early moon, a silver papoose, in the Indian west?
6.4k
I always feared that when he touched me
he would draw back his hand in disgust.
Instead he holds me like old pages
chasing the foxes
he holds me like delicate lace
tracing each vine
and makes me feel rare
and beautiful.
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 9:44 PM UTC
Olwen grew after mid-winter's passing
the wind had sung her a child's name
she knew her time was now come
the man she picked was strong and wise
and she had seen his death was anigh
the great gift she would give him
a girl child she would carry, birth and teach
her first word would be the name of him
who was to fall in the cattle raid to Seisysllwg
no man to own her or claim her
Olwen mothered
a world of dreams
a world of knowing
she knew the seasons
and the schemes
of life growing
hares and foxes
would sleeep at her feet
enemies before her
would not fight but retreat
Olwen's way was of care and of love
her power of the earth and skies above
no denizens of dark and deepest hate
would stand her eyes that saw their fate
fast eye
clear sky
brown flash
passes by
beast or bird
we cannot see
good Olwen
watching over thee
The child came in the autumn months
gold- clad meadows bear the last of mother's bounty
as she came into the world scythes cut the last bushel
weak with the birth she carried the child
to the stone on plynlimon's east side
"let the source of the five feel the spirit of this child
carry her through her life with power and love..."
When Cariad was five she took her to the great marsh south of the Dyfi
and watched as the child threw her father's sword back to his spirit
further than any man could throw
ask not for power
for your arm
ask for strength
in your heart
ask not for dominion
over men
seek love
for the world
ask not for thyself
anything you
would not give
away freely
no shadows came to dwell in the hills and vales
where peace eternal dwelt with power of hearts
Olwen slept after one mid-winter's passing
She died when the spirits asked for her
Cariad bore her to the Plynlimon stone
where all wise women's bones will lie
The rivers remember her eyes
The trees remember her wisdom
The birds remember her song
The stars remember Her dreams
The Stones of Deheubarth
remember their Wise-Woman
when Moon and Sun rise
and the shadows flee
Feb 20, 2011
Feb 20, 2011 at 9:10 AM UTC
A ****** of crows, an ostentation of peacocks,
a parliament of owls, a knot of frogs,
a skulk of foxes, a siege of herons,
a paddling of ducks, a charm of finches.
This bevy of birds is a vocabulary find,
But what can it all mean,
In the world of human being?
A troop of toddlers, a slurry of students,
a gaggle of gentry, a bevy of boys.
I am of a mind that in naming of kind
Human being is best defined.
Jul 3, 2012
Jul 3, 2012 at 11:46 AM UTC
Valhalla is not only where warriors reside
Valhalla is also for those who commit suicide
All struggles are seen all sacrifices excepted
The Valkyrie watch over all battles internal and external and make sure none are rejected
In the great halls songs are sung
The great bells are rung
Wolves and foxes and gods and elves, all are welcome there
For Valhalla welcomes all and there is no ill will to bare
Valhalla is calling
Darkness is falling
Oct 11, 2020
Oct 11, 2020 at 1:36 AM UTC
Roses are red violets are blue foxes are red and your socks are to
Feb 9, 2014
Feb 9, 2014 at 4:26 PM UTC
I like turtles and foxes,
and pigs in some boxes,
I like puppies and cats,
And penguins with hats,
I like chickens and fishes,
And bunnies with wishes,
I like zebras and whales,
And big pony tails,
I like parrots and flies,
And hot apple pies,
I like skating on ice,
And monkeys with lice,
I like turtles and foxes,
And pigs in some boxes.
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 1:16 PM UTC
my rabbit heart it pounds and pounds
I am tiny and frightened in the grass
they will catch me they will catch me they will catch me
catching means fury and pain
and something worse -
but I don't even know what
I have to
cover my tracks
I have to
run run run
I have to
freeze
hold my breath
pray
as my heart pounds
loud enough to hear
I make my nest
of chosen family
chosen interests
chosen self
and I dig and I cover
and I hide hide hide
throw them off the scent
have I said too much?
is it over?
do they smell the trail?
my rabbit nose can smell things and
my rabbit ears can hear things and
my rabbit eyes can see things
that lead straight to my nest
but my rabbit heart doesn't know
how much the foxes know
I imagine all the ways the foxes will smell and hear and see
and catch me, corner me
and I cannot escape
and it is not a dream this time
I am in their jaws and it is over
that is what my rabbit heart imagines
and why it pounds pounds pounds
one smell left out of place
and they sniff it out and come for me
and I am so small and so helpless
I am fast and jumpy
and that has saved me
time and time again
but what about this time?
when will my luck run out?
I am quick and clever
but they have teeth and hunger
-
what is it like
to not fear like this?
to have a lion heart?
to walk in the world
with something other than freezing and trembling
and a heart that pounds in fear
what is it like
to not even be a lion, no
nothing so grand
but a pet rabbit
who knows only safety
who is anxious in his nature
but has never seen a fox
never kept a nest of secrets
never been so close to death
just from a pounding fearful heart
I wish I knew
Dec 22, 2017
Dec 22, 2017 at 11:57 PM UTC
I'm like a genie, but I won't grant you three wishes.
I'm an estimation without the guesses.
See, maybe that's my problem
But I won't take the time to solve 'em.
I deny the facts when they're written in pen
I flick your forehead over and over again
Ill treat you like a dog because I know you won't run away.
And when you do I cry and cry and cry
Bye, bye , bye
I know it's all my fault
Bye, bye, bye
Steady cruise comes to a halt
Lullaby Lullaby
I'll only sing you in my head
Lullaby Lullaby
Or maybe I'll write you down instead.
Oxy of the morons, merely the worst one.
Pair o' foxes, paradoxes, scary boxes
I'm too afraid to open it.
What if it's bad? What if it's ****
I'll never know will I
Bye, bye, bye, precious Lullaby
Bye, bye, bye
Feb 23, 2012
Feb 23, 2012 at 8:27 PM UTC
Pointed nose jumping
between shrubs, glowing orange,
Playing hide and seek.
Nov 3, 2017
Nov 3, 2017 at 6:36 PM UTC
The Sun shines on my computer
Creating a protective glare
But night comes like an intruder
At pictures I begin to stare
After I view their portrait online
I want to see their body on mine
We talk all night
Until I see the light
That they're not that bright
Or that they like to fight
Desperation swirls
I enter a world
Where the randomness of human interaction
Meets the randomness of my attraction
And the low visibility
Endears no civility
Will I spend infinity
In this digital city?
The creatures try to hide
They scatter in the distance
They're not hard to find
When their profiles leave imprints
But the parasites are quick
And the scavengers stick
Vultures fly from iPad to iPhone
Leeches try to make my pad their home
Devouring me until I'm bad to the bone
Like the solicitous predators
Who act like creditors
And the sly foxes
Who claim they're locksmiths
They all have claws and fangs
They're all just jaws with brains
I play possum
Until I've lost them
When monsters are made from loneliness
They try to trick me with phoniness
They feel I wouldn't want us to be together
And they're probably right
Because all I want is to spend forever
In love's divine light
Nocturnal animals just want the meal
Of my motion
They don't want to honestly feel
My devotion
In the wild
I am a child
The creatures cut deep
They make me weep
Until I choose to sleep
But when I avoid their glance
I avoid love's chance
Oct 17, 2017
Oct 17, 2017 at 4:39 AM UTC
I am The Shoes of Shoes,
which are Solomon’s. Let him polish
me with the oil from his brow, for his gloss
is better than sunshine.
Because of the fragrance of thy ointment buffed
upon me, thy name
is Scent Shine, therefore do the ****** shoes
love thy feet. Stretch me,
with your Shoe-Tree, and I will run
& rejoice with thy feet through
gardens & woods, and across mountains alike.
I am leather, but comely, O ye Daughters
of Shoeshopingham, as The Pile Beneath
the Prophesised Viaduct, and as in the abundant
bottom of The Wardrobe of Solomon.
Look not upon me, because I am leather,
but put me upon thy feet for I
am thy soles.
I am the Rose of Shoe, and the Lilly of The Laces.
As the strong shoes among thorns, so
is my love among The Shod.
As the tongue that tightens to the fruit of the foot, so is
my beloved among The Shod.
His left foot is in my left purse, and his right
foot is my right, tight.
The Polish of My Beloved, behold, cometh
glinting off llyns, he cometh leaping upon
the mountains, with both of me tight on his feet.
Looketh fourth through The Round Window
of Wisdom, through The Lattice see
him shoeing himself with my flesh.
Take us the socked foxes, the little foxes that chew & spoil,
for our shodding is tender.
My Loved Shod’s feet are mine and my leather is his.
Until the day break, and the unshod shadows flee, turn
my Loved Shod, and be thou like the shoe young on the mountains.
Behold, thou art fair, my shoes, behold thou art shoes as fast
as a flock of goats over the Mountain of Shoedon.
Thy laces are like soft strands of moss, which have been spun
& woven in the Workshops of Acorns by The Grubs of Oak.
Thy eyelets are like the sweet slots in which nestle
the seeds of the pomegranate.
Thy tongues are like scarlet leaves fallen from speaking
trees, and thy squeak as I walk in thee is comely.
Thy heal is like the shield that should’ve been
fashioned for Achilles.
Thy two toe caps are as sleek & pert as the twin otters
that fish among the lilies.
How beautiful are thee, shoes for feet, O Goddess’s daughters,
the joints of thy soft foot-slot smooth as the gleam
of jewels, the work of the hands of a cunning cobbler.
O Solomon set me twin shoes as seals
upon thy feet, for Love is as strong
as The Road to Dead we must follow. O
my Loved Shod! for every one
of thy steps you make
in me is my bliss.
Feb 8, 2012
Feb 8, 2012 at 8:25 AM UTC
●Sunken to my basalisk heart●
○the drums of nebula bursting○
•Saturn sliding down my shoulder•
°-Lupus circling the lunar fire-°
◇A flask of ivory,◇
¤in the diamond flesh.¤
•This mirror glinting•,
○Steel jaws meet my **neck.○**
~Casting amethyst over
my hair.~
| Reflections scratching at the mist. |
____________________
**"You look lovely covered in
words."**
A luminous face, pale and lean.
Spirited as foxes, a shadowman in
gunpowder chain.
Ghost.
*"I think you mean sleeves of
poetry."*
.
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 5:01 PM UTC
crickets serenading the crows to sleep
trees send out calls to one another on the wind
rustling branches
what a masterpiece the stars make
nestled in the spun navy blue of the night sky
fawns and deer scream to one another
grunt warnings and snort dry grass
baby bunnies chirp to distant moms
being chased by auburn tailed foxes
the frogs try and calm their throats of the
incessant pockets of air that erupt from their
stomachs
the moon's veil casts lacy shadows on the leaves
filling the gaps in the branches
white moonwashed asphalt sparks with diamonds
the sun trying to break the barrier of darkness
pushing and bulging over the horizon with a pop
hazy pink lemonade spills over the edges of
distance mountain ranges
orange Starbursts melt on the tips of the crows' claws
lavender wax seeps around the sleeping bunnies
still chirping in their shortening sleep
the stardust that fell during the night
sparkles like dew on the blades of grass
and floats like fairies through the
apple juice air
thick and warm cinnamon roll clouds
roll by in the liquid gold sky
the scent of cherry pie and toast every morning
in the summer
and the scent of honeydew melon
with bamboo extract right before
dusk.
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 11:56 AM UTC