"gargoyle" poems
Unang gabi sa huling sandali
Nag-aagaw ang ilaw at dilim
Katahimika'y namamayani.
Nakatayo sa gilid ng bangin
Isang hakbang tungo sa libingan
Nakapikit ngunit nakatingin.
Sumilip ang buwan sa kalangitan
Hudyat ng katapusan ng duyog
Tuluyang bumukas ang pintuan.
Lumiyab ang bawat alikabok
Mga alitaptap na dumadapo
Sa bawat sugat nangingimasok.
Buhok ay nagsimulang lumago
Sabay sa pag-ikli ng hininga
Nagpupumiglas sa bawat pulso.
Isang bulaklak na bumubuka
Dugo at ginto ang tanging dilig
Usbong sa hungkag at tuyong lupa.
Buto at laman ay nanginginig
Balat ay nagsimulang uminit
Halik ng apoy sa pulang tubig.
Umuungol sa bawat pagpunit
Likuran na may bagong pasanin
Ngipin na sukdulang nagngangalit.
Nakalutang sa payak na hangin
Kamay ang nagsisilbing kandila
Maglalakbay sa tulay na itim.
Isang sulyap bago kumawala
Ibinuka ang pakpak na pilak
Huling yugto ng pakikidigma.
Nov 18, 2018
Nov 18, 2018 at 11:28 PM UTC
Shriveled & shrunken.
Intoxicated & drunken.
Hung over & agitated.
Mild to moderate brain activity.
Common sense & basic reason lacks mental ability.
Bad with money & squanders financial stability.
Passing a psychological mental health evaluation not quite.
Kept in a straight jacket & sedated in isolation they do spit & bite.
They go through everyone's trash day & night.
They panhandle at the street lights.
They have tempers & pick fights.
Nothing they do is legal or right.
Slobs with no jobs.
They lack work ethics.
The sight & stench of them is sick.
They're sad story is lies & tricks.
Not a truth that sticks.
They cuss & their pocked face oozes ****
Their frontal lobe is filled with dust.
About telling your teacher the truth they get homicidal & make a fuss.
They drive a piece of **** car consisting of smog & rust.
Getting arrested for 365 × 3 + 2 counts of child **** is never a bust.
Keep your children away from drunks.
Some drunks get violent, beat you & lock you on a trunk.
Most pedofiles & rapists are drinkers.
Not religious or moral thinkers.
With shingles, hpv virus, ****** & boyles.
Zero morals as hideous as an ugly *** gargoyle.
Enjoy arguing, screams & shouts.
Daily drunk driving & behind the wheel blackouts.
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 10:51 PM UTC
and gargoyles
v v v
> an <
> angel <
### down ###
###### from ######
########/heaven sat on\########
#######/a gargoyle's wing\#######
#####/said she, "too bad youre\#####
###/hideous! such an ugly thing!###
###\the gargoyle said nothing/###
so the angel said, nonplussed
"too bad you have to
stay on earth and
cannot fly with us"
the gargoyle just sat
there. The angel left
alone. the gargoyle
shed not one tear
for he was made of
///////*stone\\\\\\\\\\\\\
////////////////\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\
///////////////////////\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\
///////////////////////\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\
/////////////////////////\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\
V V
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 12:13 PM UTC
Web caught trembling prey, blistering sadness in a shallow grave
Repulsive, rotten ***** stench, locked box of putrid sorrow
Blood clot hidden trench, vile secretion burrow
Wolf-dressed goblin ***** muttering incantations
Teetering on a broken fence, seething hatred regurgitation
Greedy, evil, spineless, ***** Cunning, patient, *****
One head desire, two face succubus
Speech craft, forked tongue. Slithering witch, foul gargoyle
Rebuke the venomous. Castrate the young. Stoke the funeral pyre
Incubate the serpent fetus. Demon, devil, liar
Nevermore, sinister toil. Bone-covered soil
I smite her without a flicker of remorse
Death to the succubus. Death to Venus
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 6:20 AM UTC
The honey in the lion sounds like a delicious thing––
a gentle balm capable of subduing
the cruellest of monsters.
According to the stars and tattooed,
you fancied yourself king of the jungle––
lazy in hot African afternoons.
Golden and tawn with sleepy sun-gold eyes,
shaggy mane, muzzle red with
the blood of a gazelle.
Did you think me such easy prey?
Or was I so much fermented honey,
only a sweet intoxicant.
Sun warmth seeps from jungles of cold concrete.
I mistook your gargoyle wings
for those of a guardian angel’s.
I overlooked your rough skin, your
crooked hawk nose and your skinny ribs,
and assigned fine things in you that didn’t exist.
So duped, I acquiesced to your slimy kiss.
Your mouth a neglected cemetery,
teeth a row of mossy tombstones.
Vampire. Incubus. Your seduction like grotesque death.
You named me tempest in a teacup,
but I was the eye of the storm.
Until the night the eye was eradicated,
and the storm blew in,
striking me dumb with your sound and fury.
But no spattered blood and no spreading bruise
to be found in the pattern of the kaleidoscope.
No cause for alarm.
Today I am lost in a picture show,
a beautiful world coloured by nostalgic past.
Women’s lips the vivid red print of a velvet valentine.
Head in the Clouds, I fantasize about a certain scene.
Because you think violence is ****
retaliation – ********** in my dream.
Give me an eye for my eye,
for all the eyes you plucked, from women and breadwinners.
Give me blood running down your back, sweet as honey.
Sep 22, 2016
Sep 22, 2016 at 5:37 PM UTC
I SAW a mouth jeering. A smile of melted red iron ran over it. Its laugh was full of nails rattling. It was a child's dream of a mouth.
A fist hit the mouth: knuckles of gun-metal driven by an electric wrist and shoulder. It was a child's dream of an arm.
The fist hit the mouth over and over, again and again. The mouth bled melted iron, and laughed its laughter of nails rattling.
And I saw the more the fist pounded the more the mouth laughed. The fist is pounding and pounding, and the mouth answering.
3.3k
Marinate me in sterling serendipity;
a lace handkerchief blowing in electric blue
Chinook.
Howl and twist your obsidian spit down
her leather throat until she reproduces
glass golem.
Clang & the brass of the thunder,
muffled underneath a Reith that was last
lathered
in hathgraven gatherings.
**** him with your sour tongue
&
rag water whistle .
Cut him down from that arugula suspension
&
let gravity fold into him,
like an aluminum foil gargoyle,
crush to the core.
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 9:35 AM UTC
You were the greatest neuronal reorganization to ever happen,
of course I don't know who I am anymore.
What was plastic seems changed to stone in a gargoyle brain and beneath a microscope the shimmering glia spell out your name over and over in little green lights, fossilizing the neurons that say:
Him.
The earth has an edge. Nobody wants to fall off.
So call me Homer, because the gods themselves could not convince me my situation's a sphere there's far too much fear in this flattened plane that understands only primitive desires and just wants you near.
Everyone knows the romanced brain could be mistaken for a ******* addict's.
But perhaps if you look more closely into my eyes you will see my irises have turned stormy, that cyclones of energy are becoming patterns that scribble and scribble arcane suggestions for a new cartography. A new story. A new being.
Supplies needed:
One strong pencil.
Enough oxytocin to unlearn an addiction.
Enough optimism to overcome an affliction, my diction is code for the way you kissed me and it underlines every sentence like the way a voice rises when asking a question.
I have so many questions.
And even though the notion of who I will be when I am not you terrifies me, like Cathy and Heathcliff I will not be doomed to roam the moors, already I know there's endlessly more, and with or without you the best is yet to come. Just as they say. No, I don't know what's in store. But I think that's okay.
Turn golden, Grey Matter, light up 'til you burn.
Reboot.
Restart.
Rewire.
Relearn.
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 1:06 PM UTC
I sit inside a body in blood that isnt my own. There are voices calling out a name, a name attached to this vessel. It's not mine.
I am conscious of my state, this sentience pains me.
I know what's out there. I know my potential, what I could be. This barrier of skin and blood prevents me. It hurts.
I'll sit in this shell of a body to be perceived by those who happen to pass by. Wading in blood that isnt my own, with skin like marble begging to be carved into, and I won't mind.
This body isnt my body, my body is inside.
Apr 18, 2021
Apr 18, 2021 at 12:53 AM UTC
*concerning the last lines... all we can do with the Cartesian Libra is add adjectives to it, which is contrary to what the existentialists did by simply modifying a furthered abstraction of the compounds 'i think' and 'i am', via the inverted comma(s), otherwise known as dittoing, sic, prior said, or re-, true to the oddity; a king will continue to question his position / being a king by not thinking about it, hence his uninhibited delusions, hereditary, very much genetic; and hence someone who precursors his being with much concern for thinking, the inhibited delusion, self-serving - both are adjective expansions of the Cartesian Libra, just added qualities, given both are facts requiring a slab of marble to look like Rodin's kiss - or approximate, with therefore being the chisel, and so dependent the end product, indeed a slab of marble at first, but not necessarily Rodin's kiss at the end - perhaps a Notre Dame gargoyle...*
i am what i think,
that's what i came up with after
reading some of the bio sketches -
even though the truth is that
i am what i own -
thinking is the part that comes last,
if i own a bed and a roof over my head,
i end up i thinking about being
homeless - but sometimes you do find
the ones that are inclined
to be what they think, the extremes
we call them - supreme anti-materialists,
it's not satisfying to own a house
or a phone, more is required,
something tinged with transcendental
counters - they "own" a home
but rather not live in it, already the
looming fairy of heaven tells them
of an unnatural life expectancy -
some might say thinking a form of
uninhibited delusion sketches,
like i'd be a venture capitalists taking
a weekend away in Hawaii while
some ridiculousness of poverty in India
was to blame for my jet streams and
carbon footprints - they keep the
inhibited delusional in cages without
a chance to sketch - because the uninhibited
delusional have all the freedoms
that Versailles could allow - or...
uninhibited delusions of non-thought,
inherited, hereditary,
versus inhibited delusions of thought,
mutated, self-invented...
this could very well be a "magic" square
with two further variations, i.e.
uninhibited delusions of thought (psychopathy)
inhibited delusions of non-thought (coma?
Jun 19, 2016
Jun 19, 2016 at 10:11 AM UTC
What is this? Oh what is this?
My word, my Love, I thought I’d missed!
And in the darkened depths of deep,
I saw no light, but dreams in sleep.
Yet, hark! The blinding light of day,
For from the depths, I’d come away!
And in the water, pure and clean,
I float so softly down a stream.
Alas, thought I, must be a vision,
dream of Sublime with great precision.
As my heart sank, so did my body,
(subconscious world should be so haughty)
I struggled soft, now sitting straight,
the word around did not abate.
I looked in awe, what should I see?
My love there standing, smiling at me.
I ran to him, tears flying so,
we fell beneath the tulips, low.
We laughed and cried,
Groaned and died,
Beneath the flowering cherry tree,
Beside the stream, singing to me,
Below the sky of dreams to be,
Betwixt the tulips, thousand three.
Could this be true? Oh how are you!
I ask my Love, facing the sky.
He turns to me, his face is blue,
Shocked, but still, I ask not why.
And out of silence, this I hear,
disturb’d water, splashing thus;
I turn to look, and this I fear,
a darkened demon; run, I must.
Yet petrified I do remain,
the greatly grinning gargoyle barks,
I clutch my Lover’s hand in vain,
for he, still blue, is frozen, stark.
“What shall we have for dinner, say?”
Was demon’s question to be solved.
“I must ask you to go away!”
He cackles loud at my resolve.
And flies to me, hands ‘round my neck,
Somehow, now, my Love is gone.
Should I have kept my heart in check?
For love is what demons dine on,
Beneath the flowering cherry tree,
Beside the stream, singing to me,
Below the sky of dreams to be,
Betwixt the tulips, thousand three.
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 9:50 PM UTC
the vastness of an empty soul
demystifies the Grand Canyon
and shrinks the universe
to microscopic molecules
barely able to manipulate energy
matter that doesn’t matter
madder than a hare in March
balance skewed
undue pressure
seasonal disfunction disorder
ordering medication
naturalization
seeking citizenship
in an isolation township
serving only self-pity
to the self-destructive –
squatting, gargoyle
surveyor on the job
soaking in the loathing
basking in the glow
caused by the discontent of others
opioid android locked in the void
unemployed
laughing at misery
in mercy centers
meticulously mimicking the miscreants
impersonating pain
seeking to blend –
ostracized miser in designer jeans
obscene in drag queen regalia
“whiskers from under his pancake make-up”
wake-up Godiva, locate the paraphernalia
mammalian musculature
hide the heart of a snake
as she slithers across the floor
searching for the perfect surfactant
….her scaly skin itches, uncomfortably
tearing my lip skin
in the din
of her poorly lit closet –
together in terror, the admission seems worth the cost
lost in the sweet melody
of sobbing children
and clattering dishes
shattered visions
misgivings
estrangement entangled with commitment
obligations
oblivion and orange peals
appealing to a higher power
unanswered questions hover inconsequential
adding to the ozone depletion
and altered climate
owning blame
for all the world and her problems
I sit with shoulders slumped –
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 12:23 PM UTC
The gargoyle
The gargoyle
The gargoyle
Solid rock, frozen through the centuries
And there is a gargoyle beneath this face
Petrified in agonizing contortion
Yesterday I tried to hide it.
Nov 12, 2011
Nov 12, 2011 at 1:36 AM UTC
His nose was Cairo’s Bent Pyramid or a pair of ergonomic pliers
And his loyalty was a slumped tower of Jenga pieces
And his skin was a film of thick oatmeal or cream of mushroom soup, coating the bottom of an untouched ***
His teeth, little tombstones sinking into the earth.
His logic was a pair of safety scissors chewing through corrugated fiberboard
And his insults were sharp staccatos
And his humor was a steeped tea bag or curdled milk
And his laughter was a Singer sewing machine choking on tangled thread.
His eyebrows were gargoyle wings
And his hair, a bushel of dry bear grass
He sang, and it was cough syrup
And his beard was a soiled litter box.
His fingers, dried seaweed
And the palms of his hands were month old dish sponges.
His spine was a curved dipper gourd rotting in the sun
His grin was a snagged zipper
And his temperament pad-less brakes or a wasp in September
And his kisses were apple cider vinegar and radishes
And his eyes were two bottomless stone wells, foaming with moss.
His gait was a vulture scrutinizing its prey.
His chest was the backside of a dung beetle.
His insight was a cataract ridden car headlight lost in a curtain of fog
And his knees were skulls
And his touch was a snug pressure cuff
And his compassion was a guillotine
And the last time we spoke, it was crucifixion.
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 9:09 PM UTC
I want to die
I want to die small
I want to lie in my coffin
scars and bones
I want to be so skeletal that it doesnt matter if you dig me up
1 week
or
20 years
after i am buried because i will look exactly the same
i want to die this disgusting fairy
riddled with bad breath and osteoporosis
frozen like a gargoyle from pain
hairless and toothless
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 7:12 PM UTC
a forest grows roots in my scalp
a baby touches the soft short bits and laughs
like there is no greater delight in her world
my spirit swells in her beams
i walk shoulders forward
collar popped
half-sneer that says “yeah that’s right
i’m a badass”
nobody sits next to me on the bus
once this bleach-blonde spent half an hour worrying
nail-biting, foot-tapping worry
before setting the clippers to my head
like she might hurt me
i intimidate the thing in me that is vulnerable
staple a wig to it, put it in a dress
build it safe bridges out of my body
so that on the street
the people who do manage to worm their grubby fingers
through the cracks
are ************* psychos
and i can imagine driving their nose up through their brain
without feeling guilty
or shameful
even though that is scientifically impossible
due to the density of bone
and this charred twisted gargoyle on my shoulder
who tells lies as long as the mississippi
like “you deserve this ****
on really bad days my hair turns and shouts
“back the **** up gargoyle! you make no ******* sense!”
even when i decide to trim it
when i’m ****** out of my tree on sudafed
and haven’t eaten solids in five days
and it looks like, well, this
i am a magnificent peacock
swanning down the street
and everyone is a little bit better
for having walked through my glow
now if only i could make eye contact with the cute **** on the bus
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 8:41 PM UTC
Snarls and growls
Not to far behind
Hunting for sins and easy prey
The lingering odor from something that smells so putrid and fowl
It has been wired to **** and hunt to tear flesh, for that is how it is designed
Designed not to be loyal but betray
Skin as dark and the depths of hell
As slick and think as suffocating oil
No one can ever tell
For they boil
It’s such an unknown material
Similar to that of a gargoyle
Deep red eyes
That much similar to an open wound gushing gory blood
Created and build from those in a past life that told lies
Takes revenge and makes your slow feet trek through thick murky mud
Claws as sharp as razors
Reach for your soul for the taking
They are dominant beasts and brutal slayers
Creating a sickening making
Hunting and slaying into the dark everlasting night
No one is safe from the hounds to haul
Itching and ready to take a sdevils front door
Inspiring an uncertain fright
Praying to the devils maker to be safe from the maul
Wanting to be how life was before
They had to say goodbye
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 6:07 PM UTC
raw lagoon
desires shadow
of tribal waves
mango river spills
a cupped dark bleed of wandering skin
burning lucifer's silver tongue
in a *** slave slow dance
of torrential foot adorations
and road side moans
fapping moist hyperaesthesia
scrummed forehead
and eye bright glued
an immaculate conception
her back a twisting cat
tongue like a curved Sahara
in whirling toothless loops
a feeding pilgrimage
of erudite kisses
drool of her womb
the word made flesh in combustion
a **** swollen lullaby
saints of libido feeding
upon each other
like tangled everglade snakes
boiling in a chain of volcanos
Vulcans lair
heads between knees
a gargoyle of peeled oysters, serpents
and torn mouths
blown from bed to bed
Mar 22, 2019
Mar 22, 2019 at 1:02 PM UTC
Reality was bereft
As your head,
Caresses the pillow
A night deft.
As I hear the crickets
Lagging behind, I
With you on the way
To dreamland with a ticket.
Don the Hatter's Hat
In Alice's Wonderland.
As we sip tea
With Rabbit and the Cheshire Cat.
Be large or be small
Eating chocolates
And muffins
Down the rabbit hole.
A carpet of wings
We fly over
The Caspian, The Aegean
To where the Siren sings.
Three headed dog is yours
A gargoyle, mine.
Little pets we walk
Down Tartarus's corridors .
Europe behind, we face
South West
To the land of Mayans
And folk of a mystical race.
We play war chief,
Play in our blue tepee
Flying on the backs
Of eagles as they screech.
You dance around
My fire
Gyrating in that form
Bringing rain down.
Purple Rider
On a wind maned horse
Black One on a
Golden strider.
Barfights and shootouts
Brawls and scuffles
You gained a puffy eye
While I broke my stout.
Seeking a view
We jumped from
Skyscraper to skyscraper
Old and new.
Jumped from hills
Into rivers
Spoke to the wild
For time to ****
Wary of the time
We take flight
Off the Everest
We just climbed.
Down and down
Into a sea
Coloured silver
Bubbly diamonds all around.
No lack of gas,
You put swimming to the test
Tripped on a rock
A jellyfish attacks!
Boom and Pow
Wham, slam and
A big crunch
Little jellyfish said ow!
Get stuck in traffic
Office hours
We suppose
As the birds swam chaotic.
We're here!
Portal to reality
Now exposed
By now the dream was dear.
Maybe now you can't see
But we will,
The sun rise,
From the bottom of the sea.
So we wait
As the sea turned
Silver to fire
A nice first date.
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 10:07 PM UTC
Shoot at the Blue white,
Moon sprouting Nevada dry desert,
An eyelash of God on a Train falls,
Pedal to Pedal,
Sand dust to Beach love making,
God is on a Train,
Crossing Afghanistan's oil fields,
Backpacking thru rubble russian poverty streets,
God,
The red pigeon,
Perched as a stone city Gargoyle,
Watches from,
Dilated pupils,
As April's blooming flowers,
Catch a winter cold,
God,
Came by himself,
A jean'd pocket of melodic junk,
Hiding in Apartment whiskey bottles,
in broom stick cupboards,
in Vinyls,
That only play backwards,
And the boxelder is,
removed from my,
Iron rust tongue,
To fly,
or.
What it ever chooses to do.
Apr 1, 2013
Apr 1, 2013 at 2:19 AM UTC
42 since I started to breathe rotting leaves under a November blizzard.
34 since I entered this body that day on the porch.
32 since I understood violence to be an accepted
part of life.
So many years I have carried this burden and I am tired, so tired.
So many sad Novembers.
But it's April now and 29 since I tasted a woman's mouth. 26 since I discovered how it felt to be inside another human, while completely inside myself.
It's April now and I crave the pale round goblets of milky skin these young flowers offer.
New rituals indeed smolder as centuries unfold.
It's only been 12 since I knew I was part of God
and 7 since I started hating us for being so close.
It was last March since I lost faith in you and I haven't stopped breathing shadows.
I am so tired, dearest.
What must I do?
It's April now, the walnut tree is black against the streetlight; the sycamores line the empty boulevard and I can smell the ghosts in the park.
These milky skies and milky thighs burn in
my skull. January has lost her way
again as everyone forgets about the poets.
It's the poets that get them through a grey December.
We all share the same air, we all breathe
each other.
There is a lone willow tree, in the cradle of the park, bearing your divine name, which can be heard whispered by the ghosts who wander
on this lonely reservoir.
I am pining for dried tea bags and empty dresses as long summer nights bring insects and revelations.
I am your stone gargoyle.
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 11:35 PM UTC
rendolent of
stone grey gargoyle
he lies lizard flat
melded to the sun warm
cement by comfort
lassitudinally positioned
to collect sunrays
occassional movement
but as little,
as possible of that
have to say
i am awfully jealous
of that little blue cat
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 2:09 AM UTC
Heavenly being
wings keeping her warm in rain
she still turned to stone
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 9:27 PM UTC
You were throwing up uncontrollably into the toilet,
and I cleaned up all the chunks of *****
although it was mostly water, but bile now.
I've seen more sickness in the past week than I'd care for.
I panicked at the pharmacy while the pharmacist
shadily spoke over various aisles to me.
I sat on the tub while you threw up the medicine he recommended.
I sat there while you laid still at my feet.
I sat by your bed when you could make it back there.
I'm slowly going broke. I'm slowly going insane.
My head is in too many places to sleep next to
you tonight. So I'm here while you sleep.
You keep apologizing, and
I just don't know what to do
to make my head want to go to sleep too.
No rush of words.
No pearls of wisdom.
No moral to these stories.
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 11:24 PM UTC