"furrowing" poems
Beyond Comprehension.
Brow furrowing.
Thoughts arousing.
Deep thoughts,
Because of what.
They had said.
*"There is more to this,
Open you eyes."*
What could they mean?
My world is different..
I have to be perceptive.
It has been a long time,
Since the wolf has been awakened.
Since she has perceived,
Her last memory.
To open my eyes,
To feel the situation.
I must open my eyes.
Perceive once more.
Forevermore,
Awaken the Wolf.
Perception has returned..
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 8:55 AM UTC
Beauty like hers is genius. Not the call
Of Homer’s or of Dante’s heart sublime,—
Not Michael’s hand furrowing the zones of time,—
Is more with compassed mysteries musical;
Nay, not in Spring’s or Summer’s sweet footfall
More gathered gifts exuberant Life bequeathes
Than doth this sovereign face, whose love-spell breathes
Even from its shadowed contour on the wall.
As many men are poets in their youth,
But for one sweet-strung soul the wires prolong
Even through all change the indomitable song;
So in likewise the envenomed years, whose tooth
Rends shallower grace with ruin void of ruth,
Upon this beauty’s power shall wreak no wrong.
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The wind slowly, but swiftly swaying
Against the petals of the pale lilac flower,
Beautiful yet fragile, only praying
For the storm to pass over the tall towers
Of the frightening city.
Its stem crawling closer and closer to its breaking point
As the water flows towards the river's edge; pity
On the sun's glory and shine. Disjointing
The flower's yellow belly from its furrowing leaves
As its life withers away, taken from the nature of thieves.
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 3:49 PM UTC
I feel the warden staring down at me.
Is he staring at the furrowing of my pensive brow,
smirking as my thoughts churn endlessly?
Getting a kick out of these antsy lips,
Laughing at the wretch with flighty focus?
Laughing
at the reddening in my eyes
as a trembling, glossy veil surfaces? I’m done here. Leave me alone. I just want to
Focus.
The warden sinks his long, icy fingernails into my collarbones .
A winter frost crawls up my neck.
His wicked tongue slithers into my ear and poisons my potential.
My thoughts churn until they are on fire.
I claw at my eyes, and see my
Autonomy,
encapsulated inside a foggy membrane.
The warden callously twirls the key
to a world beyond my anxiety.
Oct 26, 2013
Oct 26, 2013 at 7:52 PM UTC
The first bell is silver,
And breathing darkness I think only of the long scythe of time.
The second bell is crimson,
And I think of a holiday night, with rockets
Furrowing the sky with red, and a soft shatter of stars.
The third bell is saffron and slow,
And I behold a long sunset over the sea
With wall on wall of castled cloud and glittering balustrades.
The fourth bell is color of bronze,
I walk by a frozen lake in the dun light of dusk:
Muffled crackings run in the ice,
Trees creak, birds fly.
The fifth bell is cold clear azure,
Delicately tinged with green:
One golden star hangs melting in it,
And towards this, sleepily, I go.
The sixth bell is as if a pebble
Had been dropped into a deep sea far above me . . .
Rings of sound ebb slowly into the silence.
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I will sit here in my apartment on my bedroom floor
Writing and pondering many a thing, eyes darting from page to door
And as the pencil sings its scribble, a thought will come to me
That the only reason I am with you is to not feel lonely
I've written a million times about this thing we call "love"
Joking about how you and I are a pair of complimenting gloves
The fact that we bring the best out of each other no matter what it comes to
But my mind and heart scream in unison that I'm not in love with you
I stop my pencil for a second to see what I've written
Feeling as if my heart's in my throat and rubbing my neck as if bitten
Not knowing how to digest that you are simply just a pawn
Sighing in what seems disbelief, but still I write on
Wanting to feel the feelings that you often share with me
While dumbly nodding and playing the part so that you will not leave
Furrowing my brow and wishing the epiphany would cease
Yet knowing even if it's buried in lies, the truth has found a crease
Here I sit with a heart in one hand and a pencil in the other
Knowing the truth is evident in the soul, cover to cover
And I will apologize a million times before this day is through
When the tears well up when I say I'm not in love with you
Oct 4, 2012
Oct 4, 2012 at 3:51 PM UTC
Furrowing deep with claws blood-stained,
into dirt, a heap of heavy ashes,
too depressed to flow with the wind,
or dance with breezes sprung from heels clicking past,
I sink.
These ashes reside
from my burnt body.
Wrinkled edges, dim, clotted blood,
a heart suffocated by the flame
of victimization.
Take a scalpel to my remains,
mutilate my body, my Self, all that remains,
stitch on male genitalia,
or chop my hair off,
none can remain, none can remain.
Gorge out my fat, reveal
gaping white bones;
none can remain.
An emergency room
(a yew)
A home with quiet time at 2:00
(an ever-green)
A place with after-meal support
(a willow)
A pile of *****
(a palm)
A fresh crimson cut
(a pine)
I met you.
(before it was too late)
You ****** me into the arms of a God
And you placed a Bible underneath my bare feet.
I stumbled and cut my heel on its edges
and watched the blood seep into the welcome mat.
When you first gently unlaced my blouse
flashes, images, screeching memories flew back in
shattering porcelain glass.
But a look in your eyes
soothed the tempest
and I drifted along with your rhythmic tides.
I once said I wanted to be a tree.
(Nothing more than still wood.)
I once felt like a million dollars wasted.
Swallowing the moon and the stars so bright.
Now I say
overlooking shy tulips, so young, so young,
Humanity is a house abandoned
and in you and Him have I found
the warmth that tiptoes across my chest,
like the pit of a peach radiating sweet, sweet nectar.
Mar 11, 2012
Mar 11, 2012 at 9:07 PM UTC
a woman's lust is as carnal as any man's
but has desires of the heart to match
necessary as breathing to have both....
the soft line of her body speaks to me
her eyes burn hot with meanings heartfelt
powerful desire to caress her lovely features washes over me
wanting and being wanted little game we play silently
she is feasting on my blatant lust
heart knowing the beauty of being desired so deeply
wanting to be wanted is its own fantasy furrowing deep in her *****
but a woman's lust is love's strength and body's craving in the same breath
true beauty is found when the two desires meet
when a woman's heart finds the heat of her lust
gives herself to it and takes it by strength of will at the same time
i feel it in her hard embrace while she softly caresses
her soft skin devours my mind
salted hot lustful
run my bare hand over its velvet warmth
and her silken skin speaks to me in
ways only a man can taste with his soul
...her pale thin lips dangerous...eyes closed
kiss long wet deep gentle hard hot
she bites lower lip soft with anticipation
by the nearness of me
i can feel her deep lustful breathing faster longing
her bare skin sets me on fire
her eyes drug me
her soft lips silence me
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 10:54 AM UTC
Grasp life!
Cling to it as you would grasp a flower with many thorns.
Hold tightly its beauty,
And its pain,
As your reward for the chances you have taken in desperation.
Drink freely from the wound, the blood of the terrified heart,
That crimson badge that defiles the bold sanctity of our innocence!
And fear not the nightmares,
The blame,
The doubt,
The anger,
Hold high the heavy head in its weary and furrowing brow.
Taste the blood of your own bitten tongue,
Drink it down, hot and bitter sweet,
Savoring it behind teeth of madness in a silently screaming mouth.
And yet neither tis not life nor love that bears the pain!
Tis I, the dream!
Shattered by the hammers of false gods.
This chalice that stood once in glistening its pride,
Reduced now to uncertain shards of hope.
The betrayer's shards,
Taken to form and cast thusly unto the ***** of the unwary and the fool,
Striking into those who survive,
The unforgiving blow.
War is its result.
On a fierce battlefield of emotions, born in the heart,
Where weather matters not against the cold torment that is only found inside.
So tremble,
And shiver,
And rightly so that you should!
For you are no different than he,
Nor she,
Nor I.
That you should not feel and bear witness to the sorrows
Served in generous portions at the table of lies.
In as much that you did indeed eat and drink your fill from the plentiful bounty,
You who also found your satiated fulfillment there in,
With each ravenous bit taken.
May 6, 2012
May 6, 2012 at 12:32 AM UTC
People are laughing all around me,
But not at me.
So why am I struggling to breathe?
Why do my thoughts swirl in a storm
And disappear before I can understand them?
Why do they buzz and scream their static,
If I'm the only one that hears it?
Blackened water laps at my feet,
And I have nowhere else to go.
No one here cares,
No one hears my silent cries.
But if I scream the static gets louder.
Rises so shrill that my brain will shatter
And I will collapse.
The water is rising,
And prying eyes are furrowing their brows.
The looks are shouting,
"What the hell is wrong with you?"
. . .
I don't know.
I take deep breaths.
I count to ten.
But all I can think about is the water.
I'm shivering now.
Freezing water seeping through my skin,
Onto my bones.
Can anyone see me shake?
Do you see the pools of tears,
In the vast ocean of my eyes?
My lungs are compressed,
And I'm suffocating.
Stop looking at me that way!
Stop silently judging me,
Your down turned mouths shout,
"Why are you always like this?"
. . .
I don't know.
The water is at my chin,
But I can't take my final breath,
Can't move my frozen limbs
I am drowning.
Deeper.
D
E
E
P
E
R
Drowned.
Cold.
Dark.
All is still.
. . .
Help me.
I can't swim.
Sep 26, 2025
Sep 26, 2025 at 6:19 PM UTC
Vision...the perpetual resurrection of light,
tipping point whose interstice of darkness
is overcome, spreads the image clear.
Furrowing the brow of space like a great
perennial philosophy--the nexus of
contradistinction and unanimity.
Brilliant point via wave, wave via point lit
manifest...hence, objects to sequence the
speed of light which relents time.
Unerring panorama whose open ended gape
presupposes the conclusive evidence of
poetic salt in all its worthiness.
At the starry behest of a many-sunned
convention, apace with rarefied perception.
Vision...the illusory stasis of light, whose
translation is perception--mines the fusion
of angles, of a three hundred and sixty
degree order.
This plenary dispatch, exalting the sum of its
parts...inbuilt fractal minding, mining parts
which are The Sum.
...Om...
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 10:29 AM UTC
Everyone wants to just stick it in the hole,
And pound the pin in,
Ask them to tie some nylons with their hands,
And they're all pinkies.
Kids these days,
Can't even play an F chord,
Three string chords
And verse chorus verse,
It gets worse every year.
Thank the lord above, that guitar geeks are born periodically,
To make that thing neigh, like a Bad Horsie,
And prove, a three piece garage band can still rock the block.
For every one hundred and fifty parttime power chord players, hiding their lack of practice behind digital effects,
And excessive distortion,
There's one Jimmy Hendrix or Dimebag Darrel born.
I see the brows furrowing now,
As you wonder, how does this geezer know about Dimebag?
Just because I prefer the feel and vibration, of a classical guitar in my arms,
Doesn't mean I don't Listen to Sabbath,
and I was a Dime bag fan in the seventies.
Power chords are fine by me,
It makes my tutoring sessions, much easier,
I don't even bother trying to convince them that there are more chords,
Unless, they have that thing about them.
That little floating sign that says
"You are special",
Or the eight year old,
Who mysteriously has thick callouses on his fingers,
Even though he never picked up a guitar before.
What I'm trying to say is,
There is nothing wrong with the kids these days.
I hated learning my scales too.
Rock and roll is here to stay,
As long as the next Hendrix isn't
Aborted.
Aug 19, 2012
Aug 19, 2012 at 7:08 AM UTC
Happiness is something pure,
She says, furrowing her brow
Steadily sweeping the stardust from the bottom of her shoes
Bones like blades bursting through her milky translucent skin as if to scream
“Hello world, I’m here! Look at me.”
They clank and clutter the confines of her cage
A gentle burn to quench her thirst
The girl with the crescent moon tear
Friday night and her feet move slow
Trying to decide which direction to go
Looks to the sky then down to her hands
That fold into fists as she quietly stands
And sleep will be lonely
Her heart a strange tick
In darkness she dances
And breaks her last wick
Now nothing is lit and no one can see
Her sad secret shadow drag through the street
But morning will come
And on a day bright and clear
You’ll see her, the girl with the crescent moon tear
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 10:56 AM UTC
Oh, gravest star!
Such a wary little lighthouse
watching in the dark
our miseries and poignant pleas
how bored you must be!
For so sat I, embattled in a café
these grumbling bones in order stowed:
first old lovers, with naked buds
makeshift friends dancing upon their nose
second, young Thomas Toy
his hands tied, his feet cold
a warning melting in his mouth:
"This verse," he told me, "remember the key."
"How so?" I dared ask.
"Remember the stumbling block of sleep.
Remember, and let it keep.
With so much hope, I can near see it:
of friends already fallen
their paths of his design
of a life, or least, a feeling
its colors undefined
of hands unused, though worn
furrowing with waste
If so, I couldn’t blame you
for drowning in the sea
in truth, I would near desire it—
just to light the dark
yes, light the dark
and meet the world beneath.
But jealousy aside
you cannot long to die
in hindsight, even worse—
we’re all a second gamble.
Oh, beloved star
just a laughing little lighthouse
watching in the dark
our miseries and poignant pleas
how happy you must be.
Jul 6, 2011
Jul 6, 2011 at 9:38 PM UTC
****** expressions
Are like puzzles.
The mouth, the eyes and eyebrows
Are each a mini puzzle
That together represent emotion.
Furrowing of the eyebrows,
Lips pulled back into a snarl
To expose the teeth.
Anger.
Mouth pulled downwards,
Eyes filled with tears
And cheeks are reddened.
Sadness, perhaps grief.
But looks can be deceiving too.
A true smile:
Crinkling beside the eyes
And the lips pulled upwards.
A false smile:
No crinkling beside the eyes
And the lips forcefully pulled upwards.
No happiness
Nor truth.
****** expressions are like riddles,
Riddles that hide emotion.
They can mask the truth,
Conceal pain.
A mere web of lies.
What does that make ****** expressions?
Paradoxes?
Tools of manipulation?
As quick as a flash,
They switch
From one emotion to another
Before enough time is gathered
To solve the puzzles,
The ever confusing riddles.
Before I can solve
The meaning of the mouth,
The eyes
And the eyebrows.
Remaining forever a mystery.
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 12:36 AM UTC
Greased with shades of black, green, and brown,
Furrowing eyebrows with developing beads of sweat rolling down,
Curving lips resembling only the slightest frown,
My father's face is alive and alert
Calming eyes looking towards the ground,
Closed lips not even whispering a sound,
A perfect example to those all around,
My father's face is reverent
Squinting eyes seemingly glowing red,
Thoughts more visible outside the head,
Alarming looks whispering, "You're dead,"
My father's face is about to explode
Smiling eyes holding memories from over the years,
Talking lips to help guide away from fears,
Caring eyebrows making the worries disappear,
My father's face is tender and caring
Sparkling eyes that glint with moving cheek,
Infectious laughter making others squeak,
Radiant smile seeming nothing short of unique,
My father's face is the happiest face of all.
Jun 19, 2016
Jun 19, 2016 at 12:26 PM UTC
the closed span of this month
spent furrowing through sleepless,
shuffling pages form walls, cycles of
break n' fix. waste of words. all
chance, all change. spent out.
there is, again, grand weight,
and, yeah, i've felt heavier. no
amount of lifting changes this,
though. drowning conversation.
leaving qualm. endowing closure,
coarsening topologies, maximal
saturation. finally, my rusted
thought process found ideal space.
or the delusion, at least.
meanwhile, the rain falls on, and
serves as reminder that this world is
built to dissolve & reassemble,
always permuting componency. &
all i want
is to be a reason
or some warmth, at least.
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 4:37 AM UTC
My biggest wish for you
Is that when you are old
And grey
You have crow's feet
That crinkle
At the corners of
Your eyes
The world will know
You lived successfully
You were fulfilled
In life
You found happiness
In all you did
You will not have
Wrinkles on your forehead
From years of furrowing
Your brow
In dismay
May this life
Bring you
Nothing but pleasure
May you find
Beauty
In the cracks
Of the sidewalks
In the face
Of your reflection
In the still lakes
You will age marvelously
With a smile like that
I just wanted
To tell you
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 1:38 AM UTC
...Yet I still have visions of
Death and his father,
Disconsolate and privy
The tears of his mother
His love for her deep but
No one should know,
For her burden is heavy,
And her shoulders are low
6 billion,
7 billion,
she rotates all the more...
And yet I still have these visions
Of death and his father,
Furrowing along space without
Sister nor brother,
Sitting by his feet gaining his wisdom
Like fodder
The unenviable task,
Despised by all,
Such a burden to bear
Such a levy to toll...
Apr 17, 2017
Apr 17, 2017 at 12:23 PM UTC
I was told
by a pair of pity-filled stares
that simmered frantic shock and dared
That I could not have him. I rebelled,
furrowing mutterings of what is fair
while hope suspended me in whirling air,
Picturing
scenes of hush
and quiet laughs.
Ironic, then,
how indifference settled into his expression
and met my joy with sarcastic aggressions.
Ironic, still,
that I catch myself delving
not in the sea-bound winds unravelling
over the coasts of mythical lands,
But in the shape of your hands
on mine.
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 7:25 PM UTC
Eyes blinking, jaw dropping.
I wouldn’t believe it.
‘It’s open,’ I had observed dumbly.
‘It is,’ you agree, grinning at me.
Eyebrows furrowing, mouth opening
‘How the hell is that possible?’
My mind ran into maybe a hundred
Answers for you but
‘It just is.’ You shrugged
Like this was the most common thing
In the world
Like a Carnival is always open
At about five a.m.
But that’s not really what
Bothers me—it’s how the hell
You could have known
That there’s a large space
For Carnivals
In my heart.
‘So.’ You say. I sense a tinge of
Nervousness in your voice.
For the first time in this night
I turned to look at you
And swallow you and just you in.
(It wasn’t enough.)
I still don’t know what to say:
Because “thank you” doesn’t
Seem enough
And if I don’t say anything,
I’m afraid you might mistake it
For something else
I cannot even fathom.
So I just held out my hand,
Hoping that this time
You’ll take it—
Take it and
Don’t.
Let.
It.
Go.
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 9:49 AM UTC
Anger anger plot der Erde
Furrowing crease and knotted vain
von kingdom versus Kingclan comes
Manacle laughing yoke on us
Mocking a Himmel Wutand fuss
Angering Zion mount der sits
Angering clarion das Gesetz
Father begot as forgotten
Son asks me there for a kingdom
Casting iron tinted shadow
On a Klei nation listing fear
Enter a Son past prayering
Enter a wry Serpent on wrath
Breathing away perish belief
Blessing ember after babble
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 10:30 PM UTC
The first time
I lost my mind,
The world seemed a destitute place.
The first time
I took it by force.
Left to fend with fiends
Furrowing through time,
Clawing at the day,
Dragging myself against the pull.
Life,
The introduction to
Something dark and true.
The second time!
I could stand no more
Of what I found before
Did not mean to come back,
Sometimes I think I didn’t,
Mulling in a mood grey and grave
The blue sky,
Once bubbly
Now looks blander
Circle of red.
Head of lead.
Lying in my bed.
The third
barely touched
Just scraped at chalk.
After that, I went away…
Opted out.
Nothing mattered.
There I sat in limbo.
Soured.
Dissasociated
Like an old car,
I sputtered,
Bore sitting and rusting.
Consumed.
Floating
Dead-eyed.
And how I laugh,
To say
That I am less
How I laugh-
To say that I am dying
To think that I am sloth
Sloth?
I am greed.
I am pride.
I am failure,
I am afraid-
Of everything.
I died some time ago,
Left company
Alone
So now I am back in the game.
And enigmatic.
Do I scare you?
Because I should.
I am terrifying
And cant be intimidated
I do not fear death,
I do not fear reprobation
But honestly?
I scare my self
And I am afraid of you too,
Fear is my super power.
Depression is my identity,
Something personal to me,
So-
So Welcome death,
Welcome fear!
Welcome Might.
You can’t comprehend me,
What it is to be free,
You have never died
Never writhed,
In fire,
You circuit.
I shan’t come out tonight,
Or any other
Night
But stand afront,
With twisted mind, bald and blunt
And I shall eat you…
That look-
Look down
Disgust
Divert your eyes,
But stand in my way,
And I shall eat you
Your eyes-
Coal,
Fresh grass
Red light
Yellow filter
Green eyes
Pain defies
Lies
Anguish flies
Panic stricken,
Anxiety driven
Rapture.
Quick- Look down now,
Holding back the wrath of Jessu,
This mouse will ******* eat you!
Jul 30, 2019
Jul 30, 2019 at 3:58 PM UTC
They are all the same
Standing in formation
Eggs in a carton
Hatching into a sunlit world,
Ready to attack life,
The way they have always attacked.
To serve and be served,
by the vast tracts of land
Of which we are so needful,
Beaks and talons,
furrowing unmoved soil
and red crests offering solace in their blood red crimson.
The shell is warm.
Too warm for me to leave,
to leave these molecules,
the iotas of material floating,
How could I?
I know it,
that I would explode from the shell,
and grab the fox by his throat,
and force my talons into his gullet,
and despite myself,
I am terrified of life.
Feb 23, 2013
Feb 23, 2013 at 6:10 PM UTC
Tallow mends
Though wind cuts
Furrowing curtails
Absence missed
Shutter shuts
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 1:52 PM UTC