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P E Kaplan Apr 2014
At the age of nine, my brother Denny whispered to me ,
“Ya know, Frankenstein lives in the attic.”
“He’s right behind the small door in your bedroom closet.”
"Nah-ah," I told him and besides, "The door is locked."
“Think Frankenstein cares about locked doors?" he smirked.

Throughout our childhood, my brother leaped out from
behind doors and around corners,
and somehow in scaring me, his fear diminished.  
I wondered at times if he loved me, then I thought,
'If he didn't loved me, he wouldn't try to scare me to death.'

On it went, until, without warning, our beloved mother was dead.
Tightened into ourselves, alcohol soothed our grief.
With our mother's life over, our anger for our father grew, a deeply troubled and volatile war veteran, violently abusive of us all,
my brother and I knew our lives were over in some unspoken way.

Over the years, we developed an awkward, surface connection,
with less contact, it was just easier.  Many years later, when our father died, we buried him.  Still the distance between us grew, so many things left unsaid. Forty years of separate lives, both of us alcoholic, we learned to hide resentment and grief deep inside.

On an August day, ten years after our father's death, my brother surrendered his last breath.  His liver worn out, unable to cleanse his blood. His suffering  and his anger ended.  With my brother gone, alone, I finally understood the meaning of family, and the absolute knowing we all did the best we could

From a Circle of One, I loved them with all my heart.
cirhttp://mladzema.files.wordpress.com/2013/07/il_fullxfull-362602814_18vc.jpg
Rowan S Jan 14
I fear you
Hyde hiding in plain sight
Jekyll murdered by his creation
His ambition
Gone the way of the monster
Victor's supposed victory
The Jekyll and Hyde/monster archetype shows up a decent amount in some earlier poems of mine, but I don't agree with it anymore. I think it is easier to believe in some kind of hidden, dualistic, "evil" that forces my hand in situations. I simply don't feel like this anymore.
I’d thrown back my head and let out  
that cackle
But I didn’t realize that that candelabra
The lit one
was so close
And my head went
Bosh!
Sponto jumped up
Arms raised and ready
Ready to clobber me
And Hilary
To my left looked at me and screamed
Immobile except for her face stretched by
distress and fear

I’d watched that horrendous
De Niro version of Frankenstein that afternoon
And everyone was screaming at the monster
I remembered those scenes now
And I understood
I stamped out my burning head quickly
Before I got hit
I learned a lesson that day.
The spot of hair, you know
Never did grow back right.
Brandon Conway Oct 2018
Smoke signals from a silent cigarette
float to the heavens and linger
in the mucky conscience of regret
resting on the temple, my forefinger

Thumb lifted to expose
a metaphorical gun
countenance in prose
staring at a midnight sun

When will that monster again ****
another that I love,
Why did I so feel
like I could best the powers from above

I created a ghastly Adam
and I dare not create an innocent Eve
my future I cannot fathom
all time left to grieve

I will chase this gruesome snake
no matter where it slithers
across Hell's frozen lake
this calamity summons me hither

My final and only ambition
is to cast a life to silence
his and my cognition
will clash and bite in violence

I created a monster
and a monster created me
Madness! How it so saunters
and wails as if a banshee

Look over on the frozen horizon
a horrid shadow stalks
I, a fire stealing Titan
will march out to solve this paradox
Rim Aug 27
Holy Architect, her vocation.
Rosy dreams, her chosen path.
Coronation, her quest.
Frankenstein, her fate was intertwined to Your essence.
Why did You break the links?
Frankenstein, she was an island and You were the Moon.
Why did You let her drown?
Frankenstein, her devotion to You could move mountains.
Why did you let her crumble?
Beloved Father, You have lost Your greatest ally.
For only she could truly grasp Your holiness.
As a child who believed in an anthropomorphic deity, I always imagined It resembling Frankenstein's beast. I believe this foreshadowed my loss of belief in a supreme designer, gradually convincing myself It was a concoction born out of my desperate thoughts.
Why is it so difficult to leave my life alone
Cast that last stone
I feel like Frankenstein the monster
And your a mob of angry county officials
Getting high on locking away my roster
Big Man you are with you excess of power
Targeting helpless youth
Who only aim to survive
To escape imprisonment alive
To everyday simply strive
For some acceptance
To be be beat down literally abused by your hand
Because our hunger over took morals
What is right
Is right being cold and hungry every night
Is right being forced into institutions
You've already chosen my life's conclusion
My dreams depict my happy illusion
Our financial status fusion
Causing an eruption of misguided confusion
I'll win this war
When when it seems every battle I'm losing
zebra Aug 2017
a black bat
hangs upside down
digesting a fly
his face almost human
a flying Frankenstein

he excretes
puddles of guano
like miniature buttered popcorn
a dark and wavy goulash
gods gift
to beetles and worms

dizzied overheated men look on
to an uproarious variety hour
of song and a high heeled kicks
inspiring
a tempest of throbbing
whisky drenched
folded ***** and cash

trouser trout fish,    
undulant
sexed up
tape worms for love
pulse the night
egging on bunny **** pom poms
devout finger puppets of Eros
for
shimmering ****** lipstick twilled vibratos

sequined tassel spinning areolas
and lavish come **** me dance girls
bring down the house in flames
making hearts apostate
clamoring
and melt men like steaming everglades

the bat
hangs from the chandelier
licks his black lips
and looks on to panorama of hieroglyphics
hearing music
a thunderous nonsense  

witnessing visions
of
flies, tasty white winged moths
and the thrill of screams
while biting the head off of another bat
in a claret stained red velvet cabaret
patty m Dec 2014
All is devastation, incrimination,
why the f--k do we fight, happens every night, even when
we make up you whimper like a whipped pup, whine whine,
a warning sign of some other lover, out late another date
U go undercover,
Cold heart, ripped apart,
try to make a brand new start,
You're taking it to your boys ,makin' a lot of noise
I come 2 grips with your lies,
in the event of my demise,

I wish u knew how much i cared,

testament of what we shared.

Off track, never coming back, my pain, your gain
never letting me explain,

i love your kisses,  your body bootilicious

men make mistakes, do what it takes
punch a wall, stand up tall,  you don't wanna
be no loser at all. How will i know if
my mission's achieved, when u come 2
conclusions before the question's conceived?
Before I was blinded, now I'm reminded
out of place out of time, my reputation on the line
A voice inside, my spirit guide, leaves no speculation.
I look wise in review, fairy tales do come true, when manipulated
askew, by selfish people like U.

Bleeding heart torn apart an **** sight hit by a lightning strike

nixed can it be fixed or entwined by

a doctor friend of mine, his name is Frankenstein?

No babies, this lady, wants romance, to dance
and be charmed by a storm out of the blue

not to be tied down or to be misconstrued.
doubleD aka Patty M
Lilywhite Jan 15
Hate.
It grows the stomach weak, it claws at your insides, and poisons the thoughts you think.

Hate.
It blackens one's soul, deteriorates the body, and leaves a lifeless void; a hole. You're susceptible.

Hate.
When you hate, hate becomes you and you, hate.

You become nothing more than a living, breathing, sack of flesh-
completely ridden with ill-vibes and bad intent.

Hate.
You're now a sad, lonely, and self-obsessed incubus.
A bottom feeder who preys on the weak, stealing all that's good among the meek-

Hate.
You're a modern-time frankenstein
minus the remorse.

Hate.
Smiles; they're contagious.

But hate;
hate is much worse,
hate devours all that is beautiful, it damages and distorts what otherwise could be clarity. . .
My stomach rolls at the thought of you,
it is a feeling as pleasant as you are-
You with your sharp eyes and upturned nose,
you who has no flaw.

A man named Frankenstein made something much like you;
a creature so perfect
-and yet, when it rose, ghastly and disfigured
there was some beauty in it.

You- you are no such creature
you are a hollowed shell
void of love and understanding.
You have not known rejection, loss
      self-loathing
and to see my brokeness was a shock.
To watch me crumble appalled you,
-you turned away
and rejected me as the creator - the created.

Though my heart is fashioned
of borrowed and broken pieces
I am not your monster.
I raised myself from the dead
-and after you- from the dirt.
You- you my dear doctor;
parading the flaws of others
as a grotesque banner
-it screams:
"I am perfect"

Was I more satisfying to break?
Did my will to fight terrify,
inspire such hatred,
that you could no longer stand the sight
of a girl set ablaze?

My stomach lurches - you stand at my grave
dear Frankenstein, do you regret?
She is not there.
She died.
It is only I who remain
So, this is my first poem on Hello Poetry. It is part of a series of poems called Since You Left, and yes, it is a bit angry, but it is my final poem written from a place of hurt...
Girard Tournesol Oct 2018
Dancing with Her
     Shimmering ballroom light
Holding Her hand
     Hoping She thinks She might
Frankenstein’s Bride
     Hauntingly lilting sway
Eyes loving eyes
     Dancing the night away

Quick cold Her lips
     Pressing upon my own
Somewhere my love
     Years of my life have flown
Tomorrow’s song
     Echoing from the past
Dear life so long
     Living it to the last

Tomorrow’s song
     Resting in peace my love
Dancing no more
     Dreaming the undreamed of
Somewhere my love
     Into that long good night
Tomorrow’s song        
      . . .
David Adamson Feb 17
The place smells the same. Garlic, undergraduate angst, oven flame.  The menu hasn’t changed. The Antony and Cleopatra.  Italian sausage and snake meat. The Macbeth. Cooked in a cauldron.  Blood sauce won’t wash off. The Julius Caesar.  Served bottom side up.  You have to knife it from the back. The Timon of Athens. Only bitter, separate ingredients, overcooked to black. The Frankenstein.  Assembled from ingredients at hand.  Served smoking from a jolt of high voltage. The Dramatic Irony. It’s a surprise.  Everyone at your table knows what you’re getting while you cover your eyes.

You said tragedy means playing out a ****** hand. The game has to end badly. Bigger Thomas. Joe Christmas.  Hamlet.  Everybody dies.  No choices. The end. I said, no, it means you have a fatal flaw.  Macbeth and Ted Kennedy—ruthless ambition.  Gatsby—pride. Lear—vanity. Richard Nixon—douchebaggery, deep-fried. Bad choices.  

“Can’t be both,” you said.  “One is character, the other one’s fate.” “What if character is fate?” I asked smugly. “Then we’re *******, Heraclitus. It’s late.”

I smoked a pipe.  You wore a beret and severely bobbed hair. I wrote sarcastic love letters to the universe. You wrote hate lyrics to Ted Hughes, love notes to Jane Eyre. We kept relations on an intellectual plane. You had a set of big firm ideas, dark-eyed principles, and a dimpled scorn of life’s surly crap. My eloquence was tall, square-jawed, curly, tan.  Together we solved the world’s big problems as only undergraduates can.

“Can pizza be tragic; or is it merely postponed farce?” I wondered. “Here it is clearly both, though not at the same time,” you said. “Does tragedy plus time equal comedy?” “Sounds right.” “No, tragedy plus time is any order in this place on a Saturday night.” After what seems like decades our orders finally arrive.  

“What did you get?” I asked.  “Looks like the Double Tragic,” you replied. “Flawed choices and fate. I leave you. You were unfaithful to every love sonnet you ever wrote.  Yet you are the first man who makes me feel loved, the only one who ever will.  I strain for that feeling again and again but it becomes a boulder that keeps rolling back down the hill. And fate—my beautiful ******* that got so much attention from men will **** me.  The only thing they will ever nurse is a cancerous seed. You?”

“The Too-Many-Choices, done to perfection. Choosing everything means choosing nothing. Loving too many women, I love none.  I follow a simple path home but try to stay lost. Living in the space between lost and found has a cost.  My life becomes a solitary pilgrimage to no place.”

“Let’s not reduce our lives to a Harry Chapin song,” we agreed. So we toasted the beauty of what never was. I went back to my hotel to write, found my way to a few easy truths, and called it a night.
No interest
Don’t mention
The hurt and the curse
The worst never felt so worse.
Dig up my grave and cover me with dirt.
R.I.P. if I can...the rest of me is damaged.
Parts of me I can manage.
Piece to Piece please don’t take advantage.
This type of writing is different.
Can you understand it.
I bleed the same color....red.
My heart is broken.. I feel dead.
Mr Frankenstein me instead.
Put me together!
Lightning in the sky this is the weather.
Doc kept me alive so it’s whatever.
You can say what you want to say.
Aaron is strange he’s deranged.
Call me Da_Jokesta
You and I hear the same.
You and I see the same.
I’m just an original person
With a twisted name.
JaxSpade Mar 14
Looking through tears
               My eye drops I
   Crestfallen
I am so blind
Knowing the ledge
Leaping from mind
                I can't help
                        But cry
Through my glass pools of havoc
Wrecked and riot
        I'm so behind
        I've stop tryin'
And I'm waiting for my Lord
                           To take my life
               I feel like I'm dying
Could I hand him the knife
Looking through I
Dropping my eyes
              Crestfallen
My heart subsides
    Lower than wise
I can't help but cry
            My eye drops I
On my Frankenstein…
The Monsters Cry (2)
The Monstrous cry
         Wiping away I
Don't have a chance to find
  The reasons why
My tears fall eyes
I'm hanging my head
On sorrow and strife
Prayers for my God
    To make me wise
But I'm crestfallen
        And I see blind
Through my water columns
                  I can't help but cry
I am alive
Inside my Frankenstein
       If I was made for life
Than tell me why
   Do I want to die
All too often I hear the question :
What has happened to all of the " Real Men"?
Do they even exist anymore, or have they succumbed to extinction?

And the answer is no. They are still very much alive, just fewer in numbers. These days, if you happen to come across one, chances are you will find him at what, from the outside, appears to be him at his worst. After having been so beaten down by life, that he hardly resembles a man any longer. (Or at least what you think a man should look like) This, as a result of standing up for what is decent, fair and moral. Ya'know, being a "Man", while living in a world void of any morality. But do you know?

I'm asking you: Do you really have the ability enough to be able to recognize some one for whom and what they really are? Where do your eyes stop when they peer at someone? Do they penetrate through the car window? Past the $20 hair cut? Can they keep going, beyond the glare of jewelry and through the named brand distractions of the accessorized apparel? And even then, past the last line of defense for this facade, the camouflage which has been cleverly named "Body Art". Yes, the need for illusion has become so desperate and low, that all someone has to do now, is copy & paste the same kind of crap which they hide behind in much of the same way as they do on social media, except instead of copy & pasting it to the screen, they just take it to their favorite tattoo salon & cover their body's with it from head to toe. And just like any other masquerade, it is all donned In order to distract you from the truth of what little substance lies underneath the skin.
And you believe it all to, don't you?


Those aren't real men or in many cases women either. A tattoo, or any other equivalent of artificiality can never be as honest as a Scar can be.

An Emotional Scar does more damage than a superficial one. A wound speaks more of the individual who bears it. Who's suffered the pain which came with it and who is constantly reminded by it. That is what true sense is derived from, Lessons.
However, when it comes to the moral Man's personality,
the world today & the people in it tend to push these types of individuals into corners. These types of "personalities" suffer to hold on to their integrity and pay terrible prices in order to do so. They sacrifice their security, their psychological state of mind & their physical personal comfort for it. And living in this world, for them, is like torture. So many have had the things and the people they fought for, loved and held dear, snatched away from them, just because they do, not what is easy & popular, but what is right. And these days, the difference between those three are worlds apart.

The lethargic effortlessness of life has made men like me, obsolete and replaced us with the self-serving Narcissist. No longer Gods creation  but a new creation of the self. Void of any empathy, understanding, sympathy or human emotion. Synthetic, a machine, a monster, a Frankenstein. Look around out there and if you have eyes to see with, you will see that humanity has traded who they were born to be, for what is in fashion to be. They have given up the now elusive spirit of the human heart, for the abundant trend of the human ego. Take a closer look, it is like "The Walking Dead" out there. Mindless, heartless, merciless zombies, only doing for them selves. Consuming whatever they can, how ever they can & who ever they can, in order to stay well supplied and well hidden among'st the rest of us. Lying in wait to ambush us, victimizing us, selling us out, draining us like Vampires.
Men and Women like myself, start to feel as though we are the last human beings on earth, being hunted by these monsters. Always weary and uncomfortable. Going through life trying desperately to hold on to that which is real within us, so that decency does not vanish from our lives, by being chewed up and eaten alive by one of them or by all of them.

A horrible existence. This way of living/surviving is completely unnatural & brings with it a new type of loneliness & attached to that is the worst kind of hopelessness. A dangerous state to be in, if one does not keep his wit's about him. And have the given sense enough to know, that If it were not for a God in heaven, there would be no hope at all. No reason to suffer un-popularity or ostracism. No reason to do what is right, over what is convenient . No reason to not just give in to the temptation of an easy life. A life where all that matters is numero-uno. Where everything else and everyone else is just secondary.

I would rather be alone & miserable for the rest of my life, than to be a self-centered, backstabbing, bloodsucking son of a b¡tch like the rest of you out there.

Now, getting back to these "Men" that so many our Women are attracted to. The men that keep letting you down time and time again. The ones who's possessions make them look like they are worth something, whom you so easily swoon over like some kind of hypnotized harlot. My dear sister, eventually those things get stripped away. Either by time or the trial's of life. And then what you are left left with is whatever pathetic thing was hiding underneath.

And that is what you get, for being led by your eye's, your hands, your ears and your selfish little minds.You listen to & are led by, every other part of your body except your heart, which is the Apex ***** over all others. Which has been given charge and authority, by The Creator himself over all of those other things you are always so quick to bow down to. And that is a ****** shame. And that is your ****** shame. And it is no one else's fault but your own.

You want to see a mans character or a woman's? Then look for their Scars. They will tell you what kind of survivor they really are. The kind that is self reliant or the kind that feeds off of the flesh of his brother or his sister to survive. The opportunist.The scavenger.The rat.

But thankfully, there is a God. One God. " 1"
And there always will be. And so the rest of the world can go on doing what it does, and taking what it can...
But it will never get what it wants, not from me. My individuality is my soul and it is held together not with pride, or greed, or vanity, but with integrity. And that belongs to Him. And when it is inevitably brought back to him, it will be brought to him intact, un-molested &
Immovable-
Ma Cherie Oct 2016
The house is quiet, only my whisper is heard...

oh, I guess I'm such a nerd,
are you hanging on my every word?

OK good, come on, let's go,

Shadows drifting, so discreet,
fowl breath, a cut out sheet,
  hard to move these trembling feet
a waiting guest, for me to greet?
not a trick, I hope a treat!?!

Perhaps the reaper comes this way
he knows of this, a game I play?
waking Crowley, where he lay,

I grab ahold the banister,
and step around the stair valute,
the air grows dark and thick again,
as everything is put in mute,
until a bell, I pause to think,
perhaps a playing flute?

Prolly not & that's real cute,
or maybe
inquiries of  candied loot?

True that,

I wait to hear again, a ding,
the joy of laughter it will bring,
the songs again my heart will sing,

I grip the rail, I'm petrified
a ghostly ghoul,
me, has spied
I move away,
from where I hide,

Shhhhhh be quiet,

My legs are heavy,
I slowly stepped,
you escorted,
up I crept
tears I wish,
that I had wept,
I move my hand,
away are swept,
no way for me to leave, get out,
they'd never hear me scream & shout
trudging on with wary doubt,
I bite my lip,
I moan & pout,
in every step, as I grow brave,
climbing up, a darkened grave,
with every step, my soul to save,

Very dramatic poet,
emmmm thanks, read on,

I reach the top in my suspense,
ahead I say, in my defense,
sorry if you're feeling tense,

It's alright,

I open up the door ahead,
filling me & you with dread,
dragging knuckles, telluric bed,
I look, in horror, shrilling,
....shrieking
a glowing face, chilling,
peeking, must be the one,
that I,
... am seeking!

I chuckle at the sounds of creaking,
bones & boards beneath my feet
they tell,
so sneaking up?
say
you lived in hell?
so I give up
hey, where's the bell?

Oh hear it is, that's just swell,
I know right?
Thanks for finding it though,

Look out!?!

Jumping out, you give a start,
I feel it pump inside my heart,
looks as if I need black art,

Yikes!!!

Your not afraid?
you silly girl, let me give
another whirl
a bony hand, sweeps & swirls
tattered sheets they creep & twirl

You do your best
to discourage guests
I'm prepared for any scary test
Yes I'm different from the rest,
& by the way,
you mustn't know that I am blessed
I'm not leaving, you may have guessed

Some pumpkins happy
some are scary
the children here,
they shan't be wary
I am not, no I am nary
this may be a fateful twist
but by the gods I have been kissed
sorry but your aim, it missed

I know that I look a witch
as I move my nose & give a twitch
but my dear, I pulled a switch

I raise my hands, I curse your words
as spirits cry, my voice, is heard
I bind you here, your soul I gird,
I cast a spell, hogtie your feet
take a bite, it's really sweet
yes my dear please have a treat
do you mind, if I have a seat?

I call my spoon, my kettle stirring,
as he speaks,
the words are spurring,
I laugh aloud, as kitty's purring,
supernatural events, occurring,
as caldrons bubble, broomsticks fly,
& Frankenstein went walking by,
his Mummy gives a wistful sigh,

Your look of shock, a priceless one,
like someone just removed the sun,
I dare not say, a silly pun?

No it's very good,
Oh hey thanks friend,

As breaking glass of aged pane's
& your attempts to stop me,
all in vain,

In  rattlin' of my heavy chains
relieving bones,
from what they weigh
as my skeleton comes out to play
protecting children as you prey,
wave a wand, a hand & down I slay,

Too much?

No, go on...

The werewolf howling at the moon
growling baying, softly croons,
a clown I think might be a goon,
the wicked hour coming soon,
cackling witches laugh &  snicker
spirits run & candles flicker
demons plot, giggle...
... snicker,
rubbing hands,
they fight & bicker,

Hehehe...

I must admit their kinda spooky
Some are cute and kinda kooky,
To me look like a bunch of groupies,

Ha ha, good one poet!
Oh, well thanks!

I give my stick another flick,
I guess I gotta few more tricks!?
as fires dance in flaming licks,

Ewwww, I like it...

Halloween no time for fools,
the banshee comes with gaurding ghoul,
we're taking him to scaring school

Oh very cool,
yeah I made some room,

You can ride with banshee there,
the one with all the crazy hair,
you'll be alright just don't stare,
It's not as if I just don't care,

Huh!?! Great,

The unwanted speaks,

Well my dear, I'd say we're even
but temporary guess I'm leavin'
and your magic I might believin
pretty good, you think you won
congrats again, it's been real fun
a spell like yours can be undone

Hmmmm,

Oh I see, you think my best?
wait a sec, I'll get undressed
something here I must confess

Most these monsters are my friends
on whom my back I can depend
do your thing, with time you spend

That's okay, you go ahead
I don't wanna end up dead
and now I see, an empty bed
& your face is just filled with dread
boy you're really turning red
must be all the ink I bled

Careful now,
is this just a story?
filled with rhymes,
& kinda gory,
finding out is mandatory,



Now I jump out,
- I just say BOO
I guess, you see-
the tricks on you!

Happy Halloween!

Great ending,

Awww thanks for the love,
yeah sure do love this time of year,
lotsa fun, this one,

Enjoy a candy,
& thanks for coming!

Cherie Nolan © 2016
Halloween, ooooo...
Spooky fun!?! Does it make any sense!
Oh I love monsters Inc, must be I remembered!
M-E Feb 13
Three syllables controlled your fate
Because you were a hesitant
Who couldn't raise her voice
And stayed undated and unheard
Outdated and scared
But you were my random
raw, single thoughts
Symmetrically reversed, cryptic verses
Cynic, euphimistic and twisted
Strained and broken but manageably fixed
With plaster and adhesive comparatives
Still, you were a shapeless nonsense
Unfinished and mirthless
Either liked or unliked
You were my Frankenstein
Wishing to be aborted
Are you sure? Yes but no
I.. deleted you and abandoned you
As shipwrecks lingering and vanishing
In my vast frozen ocean
I cherish these poems. These poems built the better ones.
CHINGACHGOOK SPEAKS

still see the saw
cutting through time
the small boy's mind

Da's spirit level
disappearing all the time
becomes my Star Ship Enterprise

the saw hums to itself
time eclipsed
with the smell of pine

the song of the saw
sunbeams & sawdust
dancing in time

and lo
wood becomes window
the small carpentry of miracles

a heart-shaped block of wood
becomes my saddle
on his crossbar

we fly through time
tame hills
the tick of bicycle wheels

lost in speed
down down Dobbin's Hill
we the bubble in the spirit level

we haunt the dumps
hunt for a wheel here...a frame there
Da creates a bike

new bikes from old
our "Frankenstein bicycles"
we the new masters of speed

"Look at me...lookame...no hands!"
the hill smiles to itself
"wheeeEEEEEEOOOOOOOOPS!!!!!"

trees breaking gently in our hands
become our bows and arrows
stolen from young plantations

I a nine year old Chingachgook
limp horribly home
an arrow in my left calf

my Da shaving wood
it curls
to his whistle

sawdust amongst his curls
my Da smiles
as the wood comes good

I still see the saw
pine
opens memory
I, the Last of the Donalls...lost in my Curragh Camp, Kildare, Ireland childhood...caught up in the writing of Mr. J.F. Cooper.

Never wanted to be Natty Bumppo but one day I would be Chingachgook or Uncas the next
as I wandered through the Curragh plantation or roamed its 5000 acres in search of adventure! And oh the tales I told to myself!
Dr Peter Lim Oct 2018
Brushing off
not others
but my old self
my true calling
I found
how my past
did confound
in ignorance
and futility-
the next chapter
would just be:
no strife
nor contention
but life
stripped of
its artificialities
self-deception
lies
and false images-


why hang up
a mirror
(so well-kept
polished and precious)
yourself to admire?
discard
smash it
you aren't a little child!

ah, what dross
that needs to be separated
from the grain!
self and self-occupation
is the most grievous pain-

cast away your books
leave your study-room
remove your sun-glasses
sweep away the dust
with a self-made humble broom
forget your Visa or Master-Card
(do you really need such?)
a cup of coffee
or a piece of bread
it doesn't cost much--

throw away
your pack of ***
(smoking causes cancer
it's really bad)
don't get drunk
just because
you are sad
you are still alive
be glad-

ride your old bike
it's dusty in the shed
it will bring back readily
happy memories
of growing-up years
when life was never frets or tears

do without
your mobile phone
the Frankenstein that plagues
and would never leave you alone-

go out there--it's spring!
in the glorious green
flowers are bursting
more alluring and enticing
than a Renoir or Monet's painting
the birds are chanting
the trees are dancing
birds are at full-throated singing
gentle breezes are caressing
lovers at the quiet corner are kissing
old couples hand-in-hand
they are walking and talking
in the park as the sun is shining
children are one another chasing
while their mothers are watching
the world seems well and thriving
and nothing seems wanting--

there I am
by the tranquil stream
not thinking
not contemplating
not reminiscing
self-forgetting
an experience
life-transforming
in a half-dream
as though
in the cosmic scheme
of things
I have come
to my own being-
my awakening.
* amended a bit
Daniel K Apr 8
After the two, I underestimated you.
Time was wasted till four days left to finish.
Piece of cake drove me insane.
All the more did I rip my hairs out
When you gave me that smirk
Daring me to complete you if I could...
Ever.
The more I tried the more I knew,
Petrified before the reality
As I scrutinized at my reflection in the mirror
With saggy eyes that lost its light
And back at you; unfinished masterpiece of Frankenstein.
Chained down by the inscriptions of nightmare
I give up all hopes to be free.

The last 2 days I perceive to be
Long yet way too short.
Truly the hands are moving forth without mercy
As I am writing this poem instead of
My 3rd ten page paper.
Camilla Peeters Oct 2018
spread out your mouth
spit the streets
the tongue a tracking device
carry me now bed-like
four legged somewhere in a
corner and your entire
body weight planted over me
and do not heat spinach in the microwave
the iron will grow eyes
my back has grown at least three
eyes and my thighs are a compliment
i slit myself no mercy
novelty for free
paper of five and half a kilometer
i sleep near sudoku
while you learn foreign affairs by heart
and i am not choosing a theme and i
am still a thief stole your inner knee
am somewhere ******* myself
paint my face
paint my face
paint my face an axe at my ears
my blood a poem
hello who is this i cannot hear you
i cannot comprehend you too well
i fold dead corners like Frankenstein
it is October and five and twenty degrees and
the summer love still not over
and i wind down the wind it will be alright
turn away lurid child the things around here
they just are and
no one that pays attention to them
kirk Mar 12
There are people in this world, and I don't mean to preach
I am exercising my rights, and my freedom of speech
Opinions will be expressed, but there's not much I can teach
Except these people drain the land, all ******* like a leach

If your a copper lover, and you like the boys in blue
Politics may float your boat, perhaps you don't have a clue
Royalists could take offence, you know what you should do
a WARNING from this moment on, I wouldn't read if I we're you

Just forget about crap brexit, it's the British who will pay
Who cares about a ******* deal, or if we go or stay
We never had no interest, with that ***** Theresa May
Her cabinet is full of ****, but they've always been that way

We don't need any governors, trying to take our land
Or politicians trying to rule, with their unruly hand
A state for every president, all thinking they are grand
And local law enforcement, I can not ******* stand

All people in authority, treat the rest of us like flops
The civil servants are not civil, nor are the ******* cops
Their issued with a uniform, and believe they are the tops
Illegal **** and seized drugs, are shared in bent cop shops

You could get a thrashing, locked behind that steel cell door
Or mowed down in a pursuit, or beaten to the floor
They get away with ******, and a hell of a lot more
In case you did not realise, Police have immunity from the law

Never mind Ladies and lords, in a world of pure desire
The deception of constabulary's, and the monarchy's a liar
They all adopt god statuses, it could be even higher
Escort them to the Wicker Man, sacrifice them in the fire

The Governments they ruin lives, their footsteps where dirt soils
Our leaders are unscrupulous, every country's left in spoils
Prime minister's winding up the world, in continuous loops and coils
The queen should go and **** herself, along with all the royals

A horses **** springs to mind, as well as **** trolls
When I see that Prince Philip, and Camilla Parker Bowles
Charlie boy well what a ****, dragging Diana through the coals
Their the spongers of the state, all living of our tolls

Just take a look at palaces, and look at where we dwell
We're treated like we're second rate, and we all ****** smell
They stick their noses in the air, and you can always tell
That we're seen as the common folk, and we can go to hell

When seen in the public eye, you know they are looking down
They're no better then anyone else, underneath their royal gown
Why are they put on pedestals, and made jewels of the crown
And live in places that could house, half an ******* town

Who cares about false visits, who cares where they have been
Their only trying to look good, their not really all that keen
Flood victims and tsunamis, well they just want to be seen
We don't want the tossers sympathy, and ******* to the queen

Isn't she just too **** old, she should be abdicating
The rest of them can *******, their all so aggravating
Higher aches no one needs, because they are segregating
We're categorised into a class, and there is no negotiating

Disband the current monarchs, because they are out of season
The Tudors should've been the place, to put a royal freeze on
Why are they the privileged ones, there isn't a good reason
They are all above the law, and maybe that's high treason

All successors to the throne, they never had a spine
I'd rather be a *******, now the crown has lost it's shine
When there's marriage on the table, their not likely to decline
Has Meghan Markle ever been, The Bride of Frankenstein ?

I knew you were an actress, take a look at yourself now
You are like Kate Middleton, your just another royal sow
Is William a pig ******, he's reared three swine's but how?
Perhaps Harry's had a bit of  Kate, and bred that stupid cow

Because a prince just came along, and it was you they plucked
Was it the thought of royalty, when in you were then ******
Does aristocracy have its folds, are they all neatly tucked
The only job you have now, is lay down and get ******

Can I make one suggestion, now please don't take offence
You don't have to reproduce, with these two smarmy gents
Do you feel obligated, to mix in with their scents?
Or because you're now a royal, you have free tax and rents

Never mind the cushy jobs, when your in the special forces
Send William to the front line, after his training and courses
Why should our country pay, for all their false endorses
Is Margaret part of their clan, or one of the sad horses

The Duke of Edinburgh's award, why didn't he just pass
Sarah Ferguson was a commoner, and from a different class
Did Andrew like her freckles, did they extend down to her ***
She wasn't all that bothered, once behind the palace glass

Celebrities tolerate her majesty, they must have some endurance
Those poor ******* on that show, the Royal Variety Performance
Britain's Got Talent has it's winners, I hope they have insurance  
They're there for the prize money, not for the royals assurance

A variety of royalty, but there not all that enticing
So many bent police officers, who take small cuts from slicing
We don't want dodgy minister's, collecting and over pricing
It's a constabulary of governments with too much royal icing
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