"gnash" poems
Success never came without critique & hate
No matter friend or foe, they'll close down their gate.
The smile will turn into a smirk
The eyes will change into a lurk
Some may even walk on to the other side
But that's when you'll know you're doing it right
Your light maybe blinding to some
and some may even turn to ash
but don't give heed to the glare,
whispers and oh all the gnash.
Dance on your victory, you've made them so proud,
the ones who love you; so bring down the shroud;
of darkness and dullness & shout out to call,
your strength and beauty that some may appal.
Cause' you are a diamond that shines oh so bright,
but some may not see it,
so why don't you guide.
Cause' you've got it right
So stand tall with pride
Cause' you are the light
and you shine so bright.
A.S.
Sep 4, 2018
Sep 4, 2018 at 11:52 AM UTC
I remember the history well:
The soldiers and politicians emerged
With briefcases and guns
And celebrations on city nights.
They scoured the mess
Reviewed our history
Saw the executions at dawn
Then signed with secret policemen
And decided something
Had to be done.
They scoured the mess
Resurrected old blue-prints
Of vicious times
Tracked the shapes of sinking cities
And learned at last
That nothing can be avoided
And so avoided everything.
I remember the history well.
2
We emerged from our ******* mounds
Discovered a view of the sky
As the air danced in heat.
Through the view of the city
In flames, we rewound times
Of executions at beaches.
Salt streamed down our brows.
Everywhere stagger victims of rigged elections
Monolithic accidents on hungry roads
The infinite web of ethnic politics
Power-dreams of fevered winds.
The nation was a map stitched
From the grabbing of future flesh
And became a rush through
Historical slime
3
We emerged on edge
Of time future
With bright fumes
From burning towers.
The fumes lit political rallies.
We started a war
Ended it
And dreamed about our chance.
Fat fish eat little fish
Big ones arrange executions
And armed robberies.
Our ******* shapes us all.
I remember the history well.
The tiger’s snarl is bought
In currencies of silence.
Eggs grow large:
A monstrous face is hatched.
On the edge of time future
I am a boy
With running sores
Of remember history
Watching the stitches widen
Waiting for the volcano’s laughter
In the fevered winds
Hearing the gnash
Of those who will join us
At the mighty gateways
With new blue-prints
With dew as seal
And fire as constant
And a trail through time past
To us
Who remember the history well.
We weave words on red
And sing on the edge of blue.
And with our nerves primed
We shall spin silk from *******
And frame time with our resolve.
________
Source:
http://www.universeofpoetry.org/nigeria.shtml
17.4k
Are you ******* crazy, he says
and I want to nod,
want to grin
want to peel back my lips and gnash my teeth like a wild thing,
want to jump on the table and scream.
I want to caterwaul,
want to close my eyes and keep them shut
I want to dig my nails into flesh and hear the tear.
No, my voice is quiet like a whisper,
hesitant and unsure.
I want that to be the wrong answer
but I don’t...
I want him to get angrier still
but I don’t...
I don’t want him red-eyed,
blood thirsty,
coming down upon me
but I do.
And when he grips my chin with slender fingers,
I want to sigh,
want to moan like a ***** in heat.
Like a ***** on the side of the road, full with ***
sore with lust and clit-swollen.
When his hand slaps my bare bare skin,
stinging pink brightly under the force of my degradation.
My sweet humiliation,
leaving soft thick welts on my delicate limbs,
writhing helplessly in discomfort,
tears smudging old makeup and
I am weak,
I am ugly,
I am hurting and I am wrong,
impaired and imperfect,
and perhaps I am ******* crazy.
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 6:54 PM UTC
Winds from far foreign climes beats upon the Lizard rocks
Gulls driven towards the blackest of crags, yet pass over safely inland
In the darkest skies they wheel and spin as if torn by some giant’s hand
White horses gallop crests of waves as they rush towards tiny harbours
There to crash savagely and rend cut stones from their secured places
Men work to save their boats, fighting the storm which mothers sent
Nature conspires to take their very lives as they struggle with her might
Rocks gnash their teeth and boats not safe yet, pass near their faces
Hoping for the safety of their port, men’s white faces line their gunwales
Black, white, red, blue and yellow, boats colours lost within the spray
These same boats that forge the men they carry out upon the sea’s wrath
But now just seek to bring them safely home to their worried wives
Their women stand upon the quay or stare worried from their windows
Churchyards on the hills above seaside villages filled with headstones
Men’s deaths caused by storms in past times of fishing for their living
Leaving spouses, their children to carry on their traditions and religion
Headstones cut from the very granite of the weather worn Lizard cliffs
Menfolk deep beneath the Cornish loam, there to rest for all eternity
Whilst below in the thrashing storm, the families fight once again
Then as quickly as it came, the storm blows out, waters return to placid
Men stretch their aching backs, those hidden from storm turn out
The seaman’s mission helps as it can the fractured families
And church maybe rings for those lost out to sea, never to be seen again
There will be time to mourn, and the village will then lament together
And those who are left, they return to their sacred craft of netting fish
Return to shining calm, to ply their trade, to bring food to this isles shore
Oct 4, 2016
Oct 4, 2016 at 8:56 AM UTC
Oh, should I have a dress made of sunlight,
Embellished with dewdrops from heaven;
And a crown on my head full of stardust,
From stars that will dance on my head top.
The morning shall curtsy to me,
I, the maiden of light.
The sky will acknowledge my presence.
The earth will rejoice with the heavens.
Oh, should I have a dress made of sunlight
and the stars atop my head,
I could gnash my teeth at darkness,
and darkness will run and hide.
Mar 11, 2016
Mar 11, 2016 at 5:34 PM UTC
To admire the waves from beneath
Calm into crash into calm
And churn up the sand underneath
Calm into crash into calm
And sit there and gnash your teeth
Where land is what's upside-down
Sep 15, 2011
Sep 15, 2011 at 7:16 PM UTC
It dons a hat of seeming sophistication, in the manner of a Boston gangster where cross-cultural expressions gather at Gaelic mouse-traps of East Coast dominance.
It is a heritage, my friend.
There is sophistication around Italian restaurants, and I have no regrets. Yet, I must say, that I have experienced minimal fun amidst this political Anglican black-comedy where integrity is often confused with connected colours of red, white and blue, and the colours of green white and gold.
This is a picture of illegitimate power, where brethren gnash their intellectual mandibles and covet recognition at the price of their very soul.
Delusional quests for superiority remind me of downward spiralling staircases with blazing torches, where the echoes of scorching souls can be heard to resound throughout professional circles.
As I carry this blazing torch through spiritual levels of command, I ask the question: whatever happened to humanity?
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 10:23 PM UTC
I am your dark side
A cold wave of destruction
In the night of your soul i hide
Whispering sweet ****** temptation
Your blood feels thin
As i clutch at your heart
To your fear, give in!
Before i torn you apart
You'll pray & hope to resist
Closing your eyes, clenching your fists
For the voices to finally desist
A feeble faith to stand alone amidst
Brain wrapped in chains
Consciousness fades away
You break all restrains
A murderous rage you obey...
Envy, Lust, Wrath, all will begin
As you fall into the abysses of each of these sins
Swallowed in flames, you'll burn from within
Hate oozing from each pores of your skin
While the night reigns
Hunt down your preys
Their blood filled veins
Soon spilled away
You will **** their souls
Invade their bodies & mind
As your ripper within howls
Hellish wrath & lust combined
You will rip them open
Crotch to chin
Tormented in pain
With a cold blade of steel...
Dark blood gushing out on your face
Their screams filling your ears
An ****** of furry you will taste
Crying a liberated flow of tears
On their lungs, you shall carve your name
As they breathe you until their last moment
A death they will meet so inhumane
For your own twisted amusement
Breathe in their fumes
Of their grossly opened guts
Sickening stench inner perfume
Steaming out from a thousand cuts
Life leaving their eyes
As sun rays come to rise
Your inner beast satisfies
By the blood lust of their demise
Your humanity to awake
As your Demon asleep & gone
The horror of your deeds taking shape
Oh tell me, tell me, what have you done?!
Razor claws & fangs that gnash deep
Hold the Bible & grab a crucifix
For the Demon back again as you try to sleep
Night after night reborn as the Phoenix
Aug 3, 2012
Aug 3, 2012 at 4:28 AM UTC
I felt hatred deep through my veins,
It burnt my skin
Planting the seed of vengeance
‘How dare you’
Your words flashed in my mind.
You tear open my wounds
With your pitiful words,
You **** me every time,
You breathe my name.
You confess your love,
That chokes me every night.
You’re the poison that I ingested,
Voluntarily, naïve little thing.
You strangle me with your words,
Stifling the smothered screams.
You gnash my skin
With your ****** teeth,
You tear open my insecurities,
Piece my piece I pay the price
Of surrendering to the devil.
You call me lovingly,
‘Little pet’,
You expect me to swallow your lies,
The shackles of your tribulations.
You whisper sweet nothings,
Of how I’ll ‘join the great majority’,
And you’ll hunt again,
A prey to torture,
A sacrifice.
How can I let you?
You broke my soul,
Tarnished my body,
For your sickening self;
You reduced me to ashes
For what?
I wait for you to return.
You’re asleep,
Are you tired from inflicting torture?
Oh how sad, aren’t you the victim here.
I sneak up to your lithe form,
You breathe my name,
Is it a silent prayer, darling?
I plunged the knife deep into your heart,
The ***** he doesn’t feel.
Your eyes open, you’re shocked,
You didn’t expect betrayal.
The predator, soaked in blood,
Calls out again, the last time,
Losing his breath, sweating profusely.
‘Die, pet’
Nice retraction, right?
The Hunter dies pleading the hunted,
Ragged breath, such music to my ears.
You die, a meaningless death,
You succumb to that knife you use to ****
**** the others, **** me.
You die, a sobbing mess,
Too cold for life.
Jul 13, 2021
Jul 13, 2021 at 9:45 AM UTC
writing letters of apology,
we utter words like,
'weakness in man. the curse!
women, the abominable sin'.
writing letters of apology
we first deny the obvious
welding lies with truth
wrecking trust with words
writing letters of apology,
we quite recall others
who stepped in these traps
wearing shields and helmets
writing letters of apology,
wriggling in pain and depression
we gnash our teeth
words admitting that man is weak.
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 3:19 AM UTC
I FALL full length into all life,
And my lust for living roars within me.
No pleasures in the world can equal
The stupendous joy of one who can't tell it
Except by rolling on the ground in the grass and the daisies,
Mingling with the dirt until his suit and hair are ***** . . .
There are no verses that can grant this.
Pluck a blade of grass, bite into it, and you will understand,
You will completely understand what I incompletely express.
I crave to be a root
Pursuing my inner sensations like a sap . . .
I'd like to have all the senses -- including
My intellect, imagination and inhibition --
On my skin's surface so that I could roll over the rough ground
More deeply within, feeling more roughness and bumps.
I'd be satisfied if my body were my soul,
For only then would all winds, all suns and all rains
Be felt by me in the way I'd like.
This being impossible, I despair, I rage,
I wish I could gnash at my suit
And have a lions tough claws to rip at my flesh
Until the blood would flow, flow, flow, flow . . .
I suffer because all of this is absurd,
As if I could scare somebody
With my hostile feeling toward destiny, toward God,
Which arises when we confront the Ineffable
And suddenly perceive our weakness and smallness.
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 1:04 PM UTC
525
I think the Hemlock likes to stand
Upon a Marge of Snow—
It suits his own Austerity—
And satisfies an awe
That men, must slake in Wilderness—
And in the Desert—cloy—
An instinct for the **** the Bald—
Lapland’s—necessity—
The Hemlock’s nature thrives—on cold—
The Gnash of Northern winds
Is sweetest nutriment—to him—
His best Norwegian Wines—
To satin Races—he is nought—
But Children on the Don,
Beneath his Tabernacles, play,
And Dnieper Wrestlers, run.
2.8k
The tales we weave
seem to only breathe.
They become the
moments of bittersweet
bliss and change.
They are meant to hide
our lies and
our deceits
And they work.
On anyone we seek to
delude.
Until the moment when
the teeth gnash,
the hands clench,
and our tales give way
to consequence
Oct 8, 2015
Oct 8, 2015 at 7:10 PM UTC
what the hyena cannot ****
it will steal
tallied on the gritted walls of our toil
their bounty cultivated from the nothing we now possess
and the bodies which must fall once their winter bites
no time left to wail and gnash
we must become as lions that rise
and grip the throat of this thieving class
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 11:24 AM UTC
They mouth love's language. Gnash
The thirteen teeth
Your lean jaws grin with. Lash
Your itch and quailing, **** greed of the flesh.
Love's breath in you is stale, worded or sung,
As sour as cat's breath,
Harsh of tongue.
This grey that stares
Lies not, stark skin and bone.
Leave greasy lips their kissing. None
Will choose her what you see to mouth upon.
Dire hunger holds his hour.
Pluck forth your heart, saltblood, a fruit of tears.
Pluck and devour!
2.5k
/ *because such examples have to, have to(!) be perpetuated, reiterated, perpetuated, reiterated... these... "things"... these minor quests of establishing being - against, the authoritarian rule of the democracy of beings.*
you don't shout,
you don't disturb the "social", "peace",
of proverbial english society...
nope...
shouting does not good,
akin to:
silent water eats
away at the shorelines...
what you do...
is akin to what birds do...
you don't gnash your teeth:
i.e. clench them molars...
gnashing means clenching
your molars -
a gnashing a gnarling,
a pestle & mortar scenario...
no...
no shouting...
silent movie era of hollywood
translated...
you... simply... chatter...
you strike incissor teeth against
each other... crafting a lightling storm
like crackling sound,
like corn flakes...
in a bowl of milk...
you... chatter...
inspiration? birds...
bird calls...
you... chatter...
mind you, unlike the english,
looking into my mouth...
the jaw should fit within the confines
of the skull...
the upper set of teeth
should accommodate the jaw's
line of teeth...
but you simply... chatter...
which is embodied by attempting
to take a phantom bite at "something"...
you...
echo:
central incisors against
the lateral incisors...
you subsequently: chatter (χατερ)...
i missed the eta (η): given that i also
missed the excess of tau - in what isn't,
a translation - other than a phonetic
equivalent of putting on sunglasses...
because, when your neighbour,
tells you... that you can't smoke...
in your own home, perched on a windowsill,
out of the window,
implying that the smoke is
vacuumed into his bedroom?
and somehow, the law,
and the air, we share, is somehow his,
and his alone?
and i can't do, what he can,
within the confines of his property?
NOW WE HAVE A PROPER SHITSHOW!
some english are ******* backward
hardly insulting the ****** community,
with some succumbing to prosopagnosia,
while some (notably down syndrome)
actually having a memory capacity...
that curious look and a familiar expression
waiting for a smile...
i basically live next to a mental illness
example, par uno...
and englishman who "thinks"
he's king, rather than a convenient
citizen...
****** won't budge...
guess all i'm equipped with is
my chatter remedy;
and english society still "thinks"
that i'm the "mad" one.
- because it's like...
how can you dictate, what someone can,
or cannot do, on their property?!
like smoking a cigarette,
perched on a windowsill, outside a window,
with the accusation:
the smoke is coming into my bedroom...
oh right...
so...
erm...
you own the dynamic of air
to suggest such a bias?
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 11:30 AM UTC
. tiky torches, and not football hooligan red flares?! i want gnashing teeth.... the red worm... i want the crude.... waiting feud!
you, don't, make,
dictum, in, this,
part, of, the world!
nein!
you, can, have,
your women!
but, not, the, ego,
of males!
**** you, and your
colonialist past
rewrite!
**** you...
dr. dre, ******
so no, what becomes
musicological
click-bait?!
****** ****** yo **
******* term
gets... owned?!
like *vomito *****
making reference
to the black plague?!
you do your ****** bit,
i do mine...
and we meet in the middle...
and then...
we crash and burn...
for whatever it's worth...
now catch me petting
rottweilers...
heavy headed
craniums...
ready to bullwhip
a gnash of a raiding bullish
cranium head-butt...
just, gagging,
to perform,
the jaw-swapping gnash!
sure... big, bogus,
jaw dropping crude...
of a count of teeth...
but...
i'm itching...
itching to fasten onto a feast
of a fist;
not in eastern europe, ******
you come here...
you play by our rules...
the whole
anti-rap...
the whole
hip hop scene of Warsaw...
no, not really...
i'm not exactly
part of either, "scene"...
god...
i haven't even allowed myself
to use edgy words...
girl worth a *****
but to succumb to motherhood?
i'm a heavy drinker,
i'm not exactly the moralizer;
wrap up, clean the shit-show...
and forget i even
managed to circumstance
a narrative.
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 10:48 PM UTC
The ruler comes down from on high
Dragging himself along the earth
Insulation going up like confetti
Take cover, take shelter
Ice the size of softballs
Comes streaking from the sky
There’s nowhere left to run
Huddled under the bridge
And then a sound like rushing water
Feels like a freight train overhead
We weep and cry and gnash our teeth
As the trumpet blares
Drove down Telephone Road
Where it crosses the highway
Sandcastles washed out to sea
Old bills put through the shredder
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 12:50 AM UTC
Last night I reached my hand out to the monster under my bed whose eyes usually glow scarlet and whose teeth typically gnash and snap but this time had the same deep brown eyes and average teeth that I do
Last night I pulled my skeleton out of the closet and we danced to the blue jazz that floated through my window from the sax player below and then we played never-have-I-ever and watched SciFi TV on Netflix
Last night I asked the mermaid down the bathtub drain if she'd like to come up for a swim and we laughed and splashed and sat on my roof in the star light talking about love and sushi recipes and where to get a really good haircut
Last night I called out to the werewolf who roams these parts as he called out to the silver globe of a moon and I gave him some salad because he's a vegetarian and he showed me pictures of his pet bunnies Morningglory and Killer
Last night I covered the mirrors and opened the shades for my vampiric friend Velma, a quiet girl who volunteers at the animal shelter and soup kitchen
Last night I said good night to my nocturnal friends and went back inside to turn off the lights and make sure my dog was inside who I call Albertius Rex but was previously known just as Cerberus
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 8:44 PM UTC
moments and tales that kissed the world.
These Are My Words
they weave.
These Are My Words
fireflies flew.
These Are My Words
tried and wrapped my fist.
These Are My Words
face free.
These Are My Words
being brave I saw demonization
These Are My Words
bravery loved dance
These Are My Words
dignity denied darkness
These Are My Words
flying constant
These Are My Words
she likes treason
These Are My Words
busted mouth and bruised cheeks
These Are My Words
an old flower leaving
These Are My Words
wrong school
These Are My Words
here comes young weight
These Are My Words
a thing called justice
These Are My Words
blue skin and ***** air
These Are My Words
god in his infinite wisdome
These Are My Words
placed a heart here, now -
These Are My Words
breathe and seek consequence
These Are My Words
hide hands
These Are My Words
thank god for your deluded bliss
These Are My Words
but inside she wonders
These Are My Words
dark and bittersweet
These Are My Words
moments that only meant deceit
These Are My Words
work through change as I clench teeth
These Are My Words
gnash and outlive those old memories
These Are My Words
she is a rude stringy blonde beauty
These Are My Words
looking, yes, looking
These Are My Words
years later
These Are My Words
she thinks faster and has out ran
These Are My Words
the villainous monsters make mistakes
These Are My Words
leaving her with her one and only gift
* **
Nov 13, 2015
Nov 13, 2015 at 7:55 PM UTC
Inugami
gnash their teeth
at frigid air that leaks
from florid pores.
Bloodletting makes us weary
so we sleep and bleed
and dream
of Fuji's winds.
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 2:18 PM UTC
so... it's no longer enough that
i learn your language,
into a p.s. of conversational
etiquette -
addressing the confrontational
assertion of the existence
of orthography,
minding your, Germanic,
metaphysical ********
and then...
i'm, supposed, to,
listen to your average citizen,
dictating rules,
like some sort of king?!
i'll drink a beer, walking
past the east ham central mosque...
and i'll be like:
getting the **** eyes ******
you stare -
in reply: you know what?
do it... **** it... do it...
make me a ******* martyr...
but i'm going to drink this beer,
feeding a solidarity of the 7/7 commuters...
hence my teasing...
once i'll burn scissors and
craft a tattoo on my arm...
once i'll put out a cigarette
on my left hand's knuckle...
the everyday englishman who "thinks"
he's king...
i'm thinking... plum hues
to replace mascara... with a *******
fist...
no... private property,
is private property...
now i'm gagging for a fist
frisking! i'm less trigger happy,
and more, european,
i.e. knuckles itchy!
i want to juggernaut something
down...
and then start biting into it!
any obnoxious englighman,
being a **** will satiated my
palette.
GNASH GNASH GNASH...
i want... a chance...
to scoop clean...
the "riddle" of meaty chicken
schnacks of drum-sticks...
fiddle fiddle, fiddle me something...
i want to engage in a 1, 2,
punch & bite something...
attempting to relieve itself
from physical confrontation,
having exhausted its verbal allowance.
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 10:03 PM UTC
I don’t want to go crazy,
I don’t want to be sad
Or depressed
Or enraged
Or hysterical, manic, overjoyed, and delusional
I want to be normal
With a wife and three kids
Live in a big house
Eat steak and eggs for breakfast
And work for my money and be proud of what I do
I want to have a yard,
A dog
Smoke cigars when it’s nice out
I want to listen to dull music
With dull ears in the evening hours
I don’t want to see a doctor
I don’t want to gnash my teeth
I’d like to grow up like my neighbor’s kids
Say only things
That don’t stand out for anybody
At night,
Under my blanket
I would like to feel covered
Warm, but not too warm
Cool, but not too cool
Just, covered
My DNA aside,
Why shouldn’t I be just like everyone?
I can be
Boring
In a good way, can’t I
Be just everyday?
I don’t want to go crazy
But I think
I might
I think I will
But when I do, will you still listen to me,
And tell me how boring the things I say are?
May 26, 2010
May 26, 2010 at 9:05 PM UTC
Under the trees we danced
Around blue made fires
With love and unity
Entertained with flutes and moonlight stories
Dropping from the toothless mouth of our elders
Accompanied with Wise words and warnings
That we may not be blown by the wind
Or drenched by the rain
.
Soon,we became orphans
Left with no breast to ****
Fathers and mothers lost in battle
Against unceasing slumber
We are alone like an island surrounded
By waters of civilization
.
Now we are lost ,lost in ignorance
Our hands,not strong enough
To hold firm the calabash
Given to us by our dead
Filled up with warnings and wise words
So we lost it!
.
Our hen is pregnant
But claims the goat is responsible
We lack fountain
But beg for water
Our barns are full with yams
But we gnash our teeth in hunger
We have golds
But cry for stones
Our eyes are open
Yet,blind to behold
As the beauty of our rainbow unfolds.
Balogun Tolulopez Ayodeji David
(Drunk poet)
ANA AAUA chapter
2017
Jun 17, 2017
Jun 17, 2017 at 12:34 PM UTC