"goads" poems
Breeze bellows,
leaves echo in
quivering psithurism,
dithering like
unbroken smoke,
this approaching omen goads.
Dozing crows
slumbering in rows,
droves of locusts'
silenced drone,
almost comatose in repose;
nighttime overtones
choir of toads'
raspy croaks
answered by alto
of crickets' orchestral strokes.
Gust encroaches;
robed boughs
cloven open,
bring into
scope and focus
me juxtaposed,
suspended apropos.
Although motionless
and petrified in stone,
provoked by zephyr
coaxing to and fro;
swaying pendulous
and no longer frozen,
locus gently thrown.
Death rattle moan
evoked from throat,
reflex can't say no
to rigor rigidly posed,
final sigh in silence,
awoken vocal,
expelled and disposed.
Smote by
morose emotion,
gun loaded then exploded
by neurosis,
now bloated
necrosis decomposes
into gross ochre.
This trophy
and this ode
both an opus to
my inability to cope;
romanced i proposed,
eloped and betrothed to
my own
inappropriate composure.
Pocket full of posies
plucked when luck bestowed
and tears in a cup, a toast;
crying copiously,
tempest runneth overflowed,
eyes swollen and soaked.
Dipped my toes
in the coast
of this ocean's
amorphous folds,
gripped by undertow
holding control of my soul;
swiftly shipwrecked in
shallow shoal,
an old atoll.
On sandy floor,
water burrows roads;
digging, carving, roams
through unmarrowed
silica and sandstone
eroding into a cove.
A host for
opal geode trove,
enclosing a
technicolor rose,
from the depths
a glowing mosaic shone
Unopened lotus floats
on foam
of lapping waves,
a boat;
prone to no
grandiose notion
or motive,
adrift as wind stokes.
I suppose
this only shows
the total corrosion
into which I dove,
the only foes to oppose
are those of burdens, so
only weightless can I atone-
I must let go.
Mar 11, 2024
Mar 11, 2024 at 11:02 AM UTC
The lotus, I choose the lotus!
The ebb and flow the shore it goads us
Static focus, a layer peeled off and cast aside
The tide it whispered it spoke to me
but I turned I looked the other way
Upwards roads and downwards roads
Set the rock aside Sisyphus,
Bear the weight no more
Stare in lost, in vacant eyes at a boatless shore
The lotus, I choose the lotus
Wayward streams, down and around it floats us
And spits us out,
Our isolated Elysium or tortured chamber
It’s a matter of where you spend your days, in or out
On what you rest your eyes upon,
The whirlwind, the spinning cannon
Fates bolt it shoots us in twirling spiral
And all along from the corner lit dim
Float the soft tunes of a harpist,
Deft fingers pluck the taught strings,
And her eyes overcast, cloudy grey
Stare vacantly out like person drowned
The lotus, I choose the lotus!
The sweet nectar it covers it soothes me
Puzzled pieces glue me, paste me together
Pluck me, toss me, say that I flew
Let’s play who knows who
Be honest who really knows you
Reflection from the lake,
a familiar face it greets me
Whirlpool tides, how they rip they pull us
Oh the lotus, give me the lotus!
Apr 26, 2019
Apr 26, 2019 at 12:03 AM UTC
511
If you were coming in the Fall,
I’d brush the Summer by
With half a smile, and half a spurn,
As Housewives do, a Fly.
If I could see you in a year,
I’d wind the months in *****
And put them each in separate Drawers,
For fear the numbers fuse—
If only Centuries, delayed,
I’d count them on my Hand,
Subtracting, till my fingers dropped
Into Van Dieman’s Land.
If certain, when this life was out—
That yours and mine, should be
I’d toss it yonder, like a Rind,
And take Eternity—
But, now, uncertain of the length
Of this, that is between,
It goads me, like the Goblin Bee—
That will not state—its sting.
2.7k
a butterfly caked with dust
a cathedral black as rust
an **** of satanic lust
but who, O fool, can you entrust?
you prance and sneer, put on a frown
call Believing people stupid clowns
in moors with bogs to drag you down
a place of darkness where you drown.
Marilyn Manson had his kicks
devil's music, Satan's licks
laugh, say Jesus is for hicks
ignore the goads, ignore the ******
we're all worked up? in a stew?
while you scream like skewered shrews?
kohl your eyes with blackest goo
party's in hell?
**THE JOKE'S ON YOU.**
SoulSurvivor
(C) 12/13/2015
Dec 13, 2015
Dec 13, 2015 at 11:22 AM UTC
fleeting, as the earth to
rising sparrows,
life stretches beyond
swinging feet. in a breath,
it shrinks
to mere marbles in
a childhood pocket,
drips from faucets on
upturned faces, squinting
through joy and soap.
life rolls over sidewalks,
around first steps, grating
on scratching pavement.
*we've had our scars
more often than skinned knees*
like piano wire, life
ties tune and blood through throat
it muzzles and goads
hyena, perched vultures cackling
life crams with cracking and
static in hope, panic.
it slips,
on the outbreath
as the earth to rising sparrows.
so we all go-quiet.
only marbles, only scars.
Jun 9, 2013
Jun 9, 2013 at 8:14 PM UTC
These one-shot wounds are piling up
Hit me again, one bullet’s not enough
Don’t stop firing till we’re corpses walking
Measly hateful human bodies rotting
My lashing tongue goads you into the fight
Broken bodies fighting for bruised pride
Burning tears are your only defense
And beautiful make-up to hide battered flesh
Meanwhile, I’ll wear a costume made of words
To hide the melted plastic burns
We can both easily lie to a world of fools
At least, until the next uncivilized duel
Apr 14, 2017
Apr 14, 2017 at 12:14 PM UTC
When I first Woke, it was bright outside
I was standing in a field of green and butterflies
Liquid warmth and the smell of copper metal
Filled my mouth and nose, and in the meadow
I caught sight of a fawn startled by my peculiar
Form, before running off into the deep woods
Where I must go, into the dark deep woods
Where I go, dark deep woods
Something urges me on like instinct, perhaps there
are people nearby who can help
I must find help, people near help
When I come to the edge of the wood an Elf
I catch in the corner of my eye goads me, begs me
Come hither into the wood and I Go
Go and go further into the dark, deep wood
But I am not scared, only following the sweet copper smell
Until I fall upon a Shadow in the Forest, and into the Black I fell
When I Woke again I taste more copper, and crimson stains
and red are upon my shirt and legs and boots
It is dark now but I can see, see the Fire in the deep woods, and I
follow the light, follow light--tread light! Follow deep into the fire, fading
And the forms awash in the ember glow, asleep and I must go...
Jun 10, 2018
Jun 10, 2018 at 2:59 PM UTC
She has never taken a silver spoon to the contents of her head,
or buried her body in a lover's empty bed.
She is not the old jacket hanging on the back of the chair-
but the inhabitant, a throne's rightful heir.
I imagine a life where there are no ghosts in the mirror;
when friends talk about their fathers, there's no bile in her throat-
the thought of spilling the contents of her stomach is an unfunny joke.
She doesn't change into her clothes as if a gun ha
d been pulled,
or dream of Icarus’ voice, “Jump” he goads
She looks both ways before crossing the road.
Her fingers don't pry at a laceration's half-hearted mend
or dig into her womb when the wind howls for her end.
Substances don’t brush away her thoughts,
Or birth them again.
This stranger version of me-
probably so easy to understand-
not a martyr in the least.
However,
I imagine without these callous grooves in my flesh;
I couldn't figure out how to fill the empty spaces of others
or hide myself
just right
under the covers.
May 23, 2017
May 23, 2017 at 12:50 PM UTC
*Dream I
We are underneath a treehouse.
He pulls the cord
to raise the platform on which we stand
and I splinter my hands
gripping cedar as we swing against gravity
stomach lurching in the heights.
He chortles
as I beg to be let down again.
Dream II
We are in bed,
yet I feel lonelier than if he were
a million miles away, or under another's sheets
and I grimace
as he tells me not to speak -
that my voice annoys him
even when my whispers, my caresses
are merely my love incarnate.
Dream III
We are in a bar without walls.
He smiles, dances on the bar top
backlit by a blue mirror and bottles
with a dark-haired wisp of a girl in white
and she isn't me.
No, I was unexpected.
I say hello and his smile disappears.
This observation spears my guts, as
he pretends not to hear.
I order a drink and pretend I never tried.
Dream IV
He leaps and gestures and goads,
poking fun and inspiring deepest belly laughs
and I should be blissful
but he flits from table to table
always passing mine.
Saving his jokes and witticisms
though I can think of a billion replies
better than everyone else's.
I turn to our mutual friend
who shrugs and lets it slide
saying this happens all the time.
Apparently, I am an audience
now considered too cheap
to buy.
I Wake...*
The television flickers.
His heads lolls onto my shoulder
and his longshank of a leg twitches.
I want to weep or ***** so
I move and
his arm tightens around me.
I want to shake him, when
his lips that are even softer, pinker than mine
uplift at the edge, and
part to whisper,
"Stay."
Each night I fear I have lost him forever
and each day I wake to find he loves me still.
What will it take to convince me in the dark
of what I, in the daylight, know by heart?
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 7:14 PM UTC
these days
i look upon the weary throng and sink my teeth into the pith of dreary
but sup luscious the wrung jewel with my wet lips decanted in the mid night.
i clutch the vocal point in a deep silence and patch the quilt of our unusual tapestry
cinching the knot in our not known, knowing the difference is the same light.
i suspect the heresy of my devotion longs for pink sheets of syndrome and theory
but my church has no steeple. it merely goads hydrocephalic angels to play bingo
in the right light.
i kiss peaches where they hurt. i drive a hard bargain to drink; and I keep my worms
in apples that bob for your eyes.
but not for nothing.
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 12:38 PM UTC
Racing.
Days run on,bounding over life's hill.
Dash behind haste goads time on further.
Each frantic hour intends keeping still
But in racing along, pace begets ******
Met are all needs when busy un-bridles.
Quiet rest heals weary saddle-sore self.
If haltered, rush ceases and gallop tires.
As slackening reins never cry out for help.
Staying the ride dismount heady steeds.
Break awhile to pick life's sweet flowers.
Age weighs after taking life at high speed
Yet seizing each moment makes days ours.
Jun 21, 2016
Jun 21, 2016 at 12:44 PM UTC
Beyond the walls of sandbars and streams
waves break into silent white foams
often I've crossed them in my dreams
beckoned by the distantly looming haze.
The sky goads me to traverse the stretch
clouds hinder to ask what if rises the tide
the sea is all around in deadly embrace
her monstrous curls in hunger bared wide.
Climb the sandbars and reach her remoteness
calls the wind of the sizzling September
days as this would be gone in haste
shelled in memories to be ever remembered.
I slip into the lagoon in a drunken trance
the ripples break into a victorious song
the sea she breaks into a joyous dance
the time is here and the tides won't be long.
Sep 6, 2016
Sep 6, 2016 at 11:33 AM UTC
.
Little kitten wakes me in morning,
Before even sun has time to shine,
Little kitten wants to play pouncing,
Before I am even awake at noontime.
Why does little kitten make me smile,
Is it because she is my doll in disguise?
I shall play with little kitten, it is so fun,
She goads me with eyes, beguiling as sun
And when little kitten is finally appeased,
Maybe, then I shall nap with her, O please!
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 11:03 PM UTC
I question Never the Dark Reaper,
Neither His claim final, on my Dregs.
At the back of my mind He sits calm,
Brooding on His last,Lousy Victory.
I know him not, But I grant Him,
My final sleep,The last Weary bones.
Life is Mine.Mine are all values sacred,
Mine is this Heart,and all that flows out.
His Reality makes Me keen,so Aware!
Of my time,my deeds and My Pleasures!
He goads my SELF, to fly so high and true,
So beyond His clutch, an Infinite Being!
Bright and most Human am I, in His shadow,
Pains hurt less, Joys feel a million fold more!
Loves are Loveliest, feelings felt true and sharpest,
I revel grimly wise, in total abandon, truly Free!
Max Chelur.
Aug 12, 2012
Aug 12, 2012 at 7:49 AM UTC
Sport that quiver in the dancing sun
so brazen that an arrow head is over ****
parting lovers as wide as the
Memphis river
dissapate the sands
as we are left blown by Jeremiads
offering soliloquies
that **** elevated sycophants use as obituaries
and McCarthy's ghost goads the progressives
like history repeating itself
Dec 6, 2012
Dec 6, 2012 at 4:55 PM UTC
My heart leaps up when I behold
a skinny-lit vein split even the sky
and I am held, scared as a child,
by the wonder of its roar, my cry's
like that of a lint quietly set alight
in the large of the pitch-dark night.
I would not move from the bed
and yet, I cannot help but stare
through curtains like a coward,
pared apart by curiosity to where
I wish to slide open the window
and see what the sky did sow.
The Child is son to the mother,
and should he ever need forget
he only need look to a shatter
in the sky. The crash on his head
that follows goads, “You know
where your father goes to crow.”
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 3:39 PM UTC
My Art... HAH! A joke--
But not one worth telling.
Bad in the burly existentialist sense
Unlike the golden Grandpa goads.
No. A joke that waves
Comedy--Tragedy--Obscurity.
In the gutters it would not be so.
In the gutters I may be alone.
In the gutters the fat of the lamb will hear my heart
And then, in the gutters, it--I--we-- shall find our home
For, you see, us three, we be
Friendly ******* of Filth and Froth,
The Filthy Fat from which loathing Bubbles.
Yes. Only in the gutters to mine own--all selves-- be true.
For you, yes you, and the fair few, you vessels, you
Of objection and projection. Yes, for you.
Apr 15, 2013
Apr 15, 2013 at 4:10 PM UTC
I took a walk with Misery
we've been walking for a while
sometimes he says I go too slow
but I'll go that extra mile.
We don't say much and that's okay,
I'm not much one for talking
Silence makes good company
though some may find this shocking.
Well Misery's been up and down
these old familiar roads
prefers to walk with strangers now
who'll kick against the goads.
He's seen his share of Trouble
it invites him in for tea;
he walks the sullen pathway home
alongside Sympathy.
They take the train quite often
and meet up at the bars
Self Pity's always waiting
with her bottle, wounds and scars.
They buy a round and toast the clown
whose always got one-liners
to keep the crowd distracted
from the sad-sack whining piners.
Adversity can test your will
and take away your smile
you might meet up with Misery
and settle for a while,
to dwell upon the negative
will limit where you go~
and stuck inside, you'll just abide,
and surely miss the show.
Reflecting on old Misery,
I've often let him lead
through disappointments,
heartache,
and my own uncertain need.
I slow my pace and let him pass,
and turning up the sound
I bid farewell to Misery,
it's time to turn around
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 6:14 PM UTC
Disciplined with life’s goals, but lauding the journey the more important.
Goals, focused and carefully chosen: the way rigidly planned and marked: milestoned and measured.
Socially supported, to soothe wounded hands and lift weary feet; justified pleasures in righteous social schadenfreude, as goads to keep and help deviants in their Chosen Ways.
So much fear in the whims of the seductive winds: shunning strange shores, sallying strong and bold, with sendoffs and fanfare, into the wilderness, just beyond your garden’s walls.
We cannot see what we cannot see. As truths are inaccessible to reasons, so wisdom, unsearchable. And who knows if the unknowable fickle winds is for or against us.
When the wind blows, persistent, strong and consistent, even to the Moon is without doubt. Then the winds died.
Your boat absolutely still, your sail limp and lifeless; not a ripple from horizon to horizon, not a sympathetic cloud in the brazen blue sky. The food’s out, the water’s low, a day or two, at most.
Sun shines impartial with no fear nor favor, as blindfolded Justice dispensing justice. Nights, frigidly cold, and time ceased.
The journey will always be: goal or no goals, socially supported or as a lone nomad: the wind blows, always and irresistibly, never futile. Walking in fear and trembling the only wise, for all else, futility.
Jun 1, 2019
Jun 1, 2019 at 1:36 AM UTC
I go where all my going -
goes. And seldom
circle back.
II
I feel like Black, tastes like the Moon -
Tastes like the heel of my bread
Tastes like my hands...
Thrown up in the
Air.
I have no love, save the prerequisite doom
that your lips prove
a less dangerous
ploy.
And from this height
I might regard you
As a Goddess
to dispel.
But nothing goads -
a comet, from it's entropy
like a private
Hell.
or a public distortion
Of the Truth...
we tell.
Jan 31, 2017
Jan 31, 2017 at 12:09 PM UTC
in a tiny room I stay
all by myself
loneliness is my only friend
it goads me and it chides me
into the tiny space I created
for no one but myself
inside my tiny little body of an 8-year-old
where no one, not even my only friend can find me
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 11:39 AM UTC
There are shadows,
where there is light,
and darkness when
all seems bright.
A sense of good, where
there is bad.
Better to see through it,
than to be had.
Piercing eyes and hypnotic
stares.
Fighting off the evil
glares.
The mind can see what the
eyes do not,
and to win I cannot
be bought.
There is no price or quote to say
that in them will I believe.
Only to know I'm strong and feel sorry
for those that are lost and naive.
I go to bed at night with a peace inside
my soul.
That forever I will be true to God
and to see what I am to know.
Strong willed and strong mind I cannot
be moved by the one that goads.
I look ahead and see a fork in the path,
they are two totally different roads.
I stop and look to see one that so many take and
many follow.
I think its best to take the one with less,
that seems narrow and less shallow.
For in the end all I need is here
and always will be.
For He is always love and truth and I know
that Jesus is the one that loves me.
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 4:48 AM UTC
I want her again.
She's the rush that always hit you first, and made you less wary.
Takes any edge of yours that cut me, off clean.
Gives you no reason to be mean.
I want her again.
She dampens me quicker
than you could think you're not enough without trying.
Goads you into wanton wanting.
I want her again.
She pulled us closer together and then made us grateful.
You claimed she was synthetic,
but to me, she was my love undressed, tenfold.
I want her again.
She may have been fueled by chemicals,
but pulled your guard down for a little.
Just long enough, for my magic to work.
I want her again.
She set me free in your eyes.
But mostly
because she let you want me.
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 8:24 AM UTC
Emily Dickinson (1830–86). Complete Poems. 1924.
Part Three: Love
VI
IF you were coming in the fall,
I ’d brush the summer by
With half a smile and half a spurn,
As housewives do a fly.
If I could see you in a year,
I ’d wind the months in *****
And put them each in separate drawers,
Until their time befalls.
If only centuries delayed,
I ’d count them on my hand,
Subtracting till my fingers dropped
Into Van Diemen’s land.
If certain, when this life was out,
That yours and mine should be,
I ’d toss it yonder like a rind,
And taste eternity.
But now, all ignorant of the length
Of time’s uncertain wing,
It goads me, like the goblin bee,
That will not state its sting.
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 1:47 PM UTC