"glore" poems - Hello Poetry

Banished before thon barren plains, Where treacherous tears abstain Fare. Fair is the waste, The impurity of deep, decrepit weeds. And dage brings fruit then touched Only by their ravens of rot. May they paint thine tainted stave In golden garth and lull the lark; “Mine, Sweet babe, Robbed of cradle Readied for ritual. Mine, Sweet babe, Gore masked black Within the crimson bath.” Lacen their throats, the gullets that gloat! Lest langes of thorns, wrap the bairn sworn. Death breeds glore o’er luid nights Beldam rise belles in wicked repel. Round the funeral pyre.

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Jul 19, 2021

Jul 19, 2021 at 1:38 PM UTC

Sonorant

Salem

Banished before thon barren plains, Where treacherous tears abstain Fare. Fair is the waste, The impurity of deep, decrepit weeds. And dage brings fruit then touched Only by their ravens of rot. May they paint thine tainted stave In golden garth and lull the lark; “Mine, Sweet babe, Robbed of cradle Readied for ritual. Mine, Sweet babe, Gore masked black Within the crimson bath.” Lacen their throats, the gullets that gloat! Lest langes of thorns, wrap the bairn sworn. Death breeds glore o’er luid nights Beldam rise belles in wicked repel. Round the funeral pyre.

19

Hello Pop, You said you liked a good story. I'm no good at tellen stories, coz you were always the one that told'em and I was always the one that listened but, I got one now. Not a nice one. None'a that feel good **** you see on TV. But, it's a story and I owe you one. It's about you, the bits you missed, and me: the not so good for a so called 'good kid'. Not that many called me that But, then you went and did. Made me think I couldn't be so bad. Yet here I am. Throwin stone's when I've got no one to hit. Too bored to eat or sleep, just fucken spit. Wishen that great god gave me someone to hit. I'm a sick girl, ya know. That's what they tell me. Sick compared to those straight kids - the pride of Glory Spring. "Glory to God!" they all fucken sing and even me who can’t speak good can still recite that invisible, unbearable ditsy dimpled **** He was your favourite story and everyone elses, after all. Vicar Roy made sure of that. Vicar Roy. With his crinkly eyes his toothy grin the way he wouldn't blink when you challenged him. God while god was hiding from the mess he made, but God was doin’ nothen for me. Ma saw that before you could. She wanted me out, She wanted me taken to a real city so they could study my head, the way it worked. The way my words never came just a crooked grin. But, even when the crayons became weapons and the kittens went missen The Vicar went and blessed me the same way. Glory Spring, with its neat little rows of cottages and cabbage gardens, so evenly cut. Soft colours, bright greens. So good, good, good. Then I came along. Rabid, urban wild itchen for a stomach slit goin' "Guts for you" after "Treat or trick?" setten haystacks on fire tryen to find the pin only to drop it on purpose. Are you scared of me, Pa? I think even God is scared of what he created. That's why we never see him, but I'm here now Pa. You can't hide from me and I gotta story of why you don't gotta no more.

0

Sep 12, 2018

Sep 12, 2018 at 2:59 AM UTC

Crooked-Kid

Glore and Gore Chapter 1

Hello Pop, You said you liked a good story. I'm no good at tellen stories, coz you were always the one that told'em and I was always the one that listened but, I got one now. Not a nice one. None'a that feel good **** you see on TV. But, it's a story and I owe you one. It's about you, the bits you missed, and me: the not so good for a so called 'good kid'. Not that many called me that But, then you went and did. Made me think I couldn't be so bad. Yet here I am. Throwin stone's when I've got no one to hit. Too bored to eat or sleep, just fucken spit. Wishen that great god gave me someone to hit. I'm a sick girl, ya know. That's what they tell me. Sick compared to those straight kids - the pride of Glory Spring. "Glory to God!" they all fucken sing and even me who can’t speak good can still recite that invisible, unbearable ditsy dimpled **** He was your favourite story and everyone elses, after all. Vicar Roy made sure of that. Vicar Roy. With his crinkly eyes his toothy grin the way he wouldn't blink when you challenged him. God while god was hiding from the mess he made, but God was doin’ nothen for me. Ma saw that before you could. She wanted me out, She wanted me taken to a real city so they could study my head, the way it worked. The way my words never came just a crooked grin. But, even when the crayons became weapons and the kittens went missen The Vicar went and blessed me the same way. Glory Spring, with its neat little rows of cottages and cabbage gardens, so evenly cut. Soft colours, bright greens. So good, good, good. Then I came along. Rabid, urban wild itchen for a stomach slit goin' "Guts for you" after "Treat or trick?" setten haystacks on fire tryen to find the pin only to drop it on purpose. Are you scared of me, Pa? I think even God is scared of what he created. That's why we never see him, but I'm here now Pa. You can't hide from me and I gotta story of why you don't gotta no more.

70

I really dont know what to say Whatever, i never do. But you, know, its kind of funny how I always muddle through. I really can't express myself It would never rhyme. But, you know, its kind of funny how i usually do fine. I have this love relationship, with everyone, with life. I have this hate relationship, it always pays a price. You know, humans are weird we take pride in being smart. But really how smart are we? We can never do our part. We can never shut our mouths, we make people cry, we make life miserable, we can't even guide the blind. You know, people are crazy, I'm not sure i like them. You know, what if we were extinct? What if you and your most loved were left? Not your family, but the opposite *** maybe even your best friend, its up to you. Wouldnt it be so great? I would raid all the stores, I would go to Africa, see in the bad the glore. Everything depends on money, im sorry if you dont have it i really truely am, because that is definitly tradject. I'm sorry this poem is terrible, it doesnt really rhyme i want to get some thoughts down, if its incoherant, fine. It's funny how we love, because they never love us back its funny how we trust then realize theyre bad. If you understand this, if you even read this far, like if you agree- but you probably wont. Because thats just how life works, but ill stick my middle finger up ***** everyone im fine.

0

Dec 12, 2013

Dec 12, 2013 at 8:21 PM UTC

molly-e

Untitled

I really dont know what to say Whatever, i never do. But you, know, its kind of funny how I always muddle through. I really can't express myself It would never rhyme. But, you know, its kind of funny how i usually do fine. I have this love relationship, with everyone, with life. I have this hate relationship, it always pays a price. You know, humans are weird we take pride in being smart. But really how smart are we? We can never do our part. We can never shut our mouths, we make people cry, we make life miserable, we can't even guide the blind. You know, people are crazy, I'm not sure i like them. You know, what if we were extinct? What if you and your most loved were left? Not your family, but the opposite *** maybe even your best friend, its up to you. Wouldnt it be so great? I would raid all the stores, I would go to Africa, see in the bad the glore. Everything depends on money, im sorry if you dont have it i really truely am, because that is definitly tradject. I'm sorry this poem is terrible, it doesnt really rhyme i want to get some thoughts down, if its incoherant, fine. It's funny how we love, because they never love us back its funny how we trust then realize theyre bad. If you understand this, if you even read this far, like if you agree- but you probably wont. Because thats just how life works, but ill stick my middle finger up ***** everyone im fine.

51

are drugs lips? wit. harem. ember in glore a red rug slips with a remembering lore.

0

Feb 12, 2013

Feb 12, 2013 at 11:06 PM UTC

september

se p era te

are drugs lips? wit. harem. ember in glore a red rug slips with a remembering lore.

2

So he goes Pure and full Our son of light Prince and fool Man he is And so much more Share THY light O Heavenly Glore Ain in soul Our lover shines With clear purpose Escapes demise. So it said under will of THY He is the father LORD of sky.

0

Sep 4, 2016

Sep 4, 2016 at 6:20 PM UTC

mate-parcina

Prophet

So he goes Pure and full Our son of light Prince and fool Man he is And so much more Share THY light O Heavenly Glore Ain in soul Our lover shines With clear purpose Escapes demise. So it said under will of THY He is the father LORD of sky.

16

Lackluster life lived as each subsequent day, a carbon copy of the one before, though far from being clinically depressed, this boar ring guilt ridden Capitalist decries mass consumerist paradigm satiating the ***** rub bull Lady Liberty, where more disinclination arises, per crossing upcoming birthdays corridor January 13th finds increased repugnance being part of materialistic culture club as hellacious tore char, implied societal behavior expects blind submission subjected to glore re: us lee spouting hallelujah nauseating your every five senses to accept point blank, Nee pay adore ration, asper goyish gaiety bon jure blared, foisted, and lobbed upon every man, woman, and child of society, which imposition, this outlier doth deplore as an avowed antiestablishmentarian to thee very core, of my being, who experiences continuous ab **** rent theoretical strings of disappointments pour ring down (like confetti) from on high, viz directly linkedin as nonconformist eyesore from cradle to... when, me cremated ashes get scattered, though right now... still technically alive, at least... I think so (despite not yet), being gratefully dead... nearing three score years, yet upon my demise wherefore welcoming relief against (feeling like the oddball), shares his glumness weighing me down, where every step an arduous chore his compunction being open to explore living off the grid, or alternatively joining thee dacor oven intentional community, cuz he seems severely mismatched, where vast material consumption, especially accentuated with holiday season heavily pitched to spend every last red cent, (and beg borrow, max out on credit, or steal) to splurge for expectation to endure the helter skelter frenetic Black Friday and Cyber Monday fire sales kindling a bonanza galore!

0

Dec 11, 2018

Dec 11, 2018 at 8:42 PM UTC

matthew-scott-harris2p

Genuine Fecklessness Exemplifies Despondent Creature Because...

Lackluster life lived as each subsequent day, a carbon copy of the one before, though far from being clinically depressed, this boar ring guilt ridden Capitalist decries mass consumerist paradigm satiating the ***** rub bull Lady Liberty, where more disinclination arises, per crossing upcoming birthdays corridor January 13th finds increased repugnance being part of materialistic culture club as hellacious tore char, implied societal behavior expects blind submission subjected to glore re: us lee spouting hallelujah nauseating your every five senses to accept point blank, Nee pay adore ration, asper goyish gaiety bon jure blared, foisted, and lobbed upon every man, woman, and child of society, which imposition, this outlier doth deplore as an avowed antiestablishmentarian to thee very core, of my being, who experiences continuous ab **** rent theoretical strings of disappointments pour ring down (like confetti) from on high, viz directly linkedin as nonconformist eyesore from cradle to... when, me cremated ashes get scattered, though right now... still technically alive, at least... I think so (despite not yet), being gratefully dead... nearing three score years, yet upon my demise wherefore welcoming relief against (feeling like the oddball), shares his glumness weighing me down, where every step an arduous chore his compunction being open to explore living off the grid, or alternatively joining thee dacor oven intentional community, cuz he seems severely mismatched, where vast material consumption, especially accentuated with holiday season heavily pitched to spend every last red cent, (and beg borrow, max out on credit, or steal) to splurge for expectation to endure the helter skelter frenetic Black Friday and Cyber Monday fire sales kindling a bonanza galore!

69

Unbeknownst to me if royal gilded crests comprised my rusty dust caked coat of arms hence, I take liberty successfully farms productive crop to contrive fictitious Medieval Age forebears with favorable charms strong agile hands hurling crude accouterments centuries prior to invention of firearms, which weapons (of mass sieve construction) privy to proto gendarmes, this inventiveness of mine conjures courageous knights in shining armor, perhaps monogrammed, hammered chain metal, nonetheless such endeavor quite a chore where love's labors not lost, viz hub bully accepting, condoning, and employing embellishments extempore, whereby solar rays alight, flickr, and glint glore re: us astral motifs, the stellar craftsmanship one (even a poor, indigent destitute beggar like yours truly) could not ignore exquisite baldric, exotic, and heraldic trappings incorporating magical lore aesthetically pleasing fascinating, and appealing to one poor uneducated disheveled rhapsodic bohemian incumbent jibber jabbering, hallucinating, and fancying deplorable basket case to restore himself, the legitimate true heir, who could double as courtly jesting troubadour, whose slain grand papa Aaron Harris violently ousted during Uber Vodafone War constitutes dreamy gotcha your attention fabricated and facilitated to Zoar, an actual ancient city anachronistically inserted here thanks to Lot, whose Biblical reference Google made me aware, which ye probably care nary a fig about, but placename linkedin mere to allow, enable and provide bare, lee tenuous appeal dare ring me to trump poetic formality near rolly returning full circle (one tough Job) manufacturing prevarication recounting "FAKE" heir essentially envisioning, imagining, and jimmying gallant high in the saddle career timeless lifeline chess piece of centuries gone by enshrouded with reverence by this air rent considerably less provocative then missives by Baudelaire.

0

Jan 15, 2019

Jan 15, 2019 at 10:07 PM UTC

matthew-scott-harris2p

My "FAKE" Genealogical Knighthood

Unbeknownst to me if royal gilded crests comprised my rusty dust caked coat of arms hence, I take liberty successfully farms productive crop to contrive fictitious Medieval Age forebears with favorable charms strong agile hands hurling crude accouterments centuries prior to invention of firearms, which weapons (of mass sieve construction) privy to proto gendarmes, this inventiveness of mine conjures courageous knights in shining armor, perhaps monogrammed, hammered chain metal, nonetheless such endeavor quite a chore where love's labors not lost, viz hub bully accepting, condoning, and employing embellishments extempore, whereby solar rays alight, flickr, and glint glore re: us astral motifs, the stellar craftsmanship one (even a poor, indigent destitute beggar like yours truly) could not ignore exquisite baldric, exotic, and heraldic trappings incorporating magical lore aesthetically pleasing fascinating, and appealing to one poor uneducated disheveled rhapsodic bohemian incumbent jibber jabbering, hallucinating, and fancying deplorable basket case to restore himself, the legitimate true heir, who could double as courtly jesting troubadour, whose slain grand papa Aaron Harris violently ousted during Uber Vodafone War constitutes dreamy gotcha your attention fabricated and facilitated to Zoar, an actual ancient city anachronistically inserted here thanks to Lot, whose Biblical reference Google made me aware, which ye probably care nary a fig about, but placename linkedin mere to allow, enable and provide bare, lee tenuous appeal dare ring me to trump poetic formality near rolly returning full circle (one tough Job) manufacturing prevarication recounting "FAKE" heir essentially envisioning, imagining, and jimmying gallant high in the saddle career timeless lifeline chess piece of centuries gone by enshrouded with reverence by this air rent considerably less provocative then missives by Baudelaire.

64