"golems" poems
Wilderness their sight, her brown eyes contain the bright
Universe -- she is a graceful phoenix in flight;
Golems of the golden earth bow to this fire bird;
Two fiery wings spread -- she is the light of the world,
Prometheus's daughter, vanquisher of night:
Withered grass resurrect and bloom do flowers burned
Meaning rejoice! she comes with the warm dawn returned!
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 7:58 PM UTC
Over-born and too-
Bright for us treacle-bound.
We'll lay sections
Before us--
But I'm stuck-with-
Sasquatch oaks; --ginkgo golems
If only clouds could lift
The moon which frequents
Venus-speech at night.
Needless for dormant-- endings
We've been untwisting,
Thoughts trapped tightly
In rules-
And it's us again,
That can see or forget the darkness,
When keyboards and pens
Tame the light.
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 6:41 PM UTC
Today is wasted
Not like the others, it
Seems to have a revolution of it's own
Yet, the scent remains the same.
These muscles exude the sangria colored
Muck, these layers of filth jet out like lined walls of a prison cell.
Oh why do they retain this scent.
This cube of cubes I reside in
Where art thou mine Calypso,
How darest thou give teachings
As if your tragedy can give thoughts to we golems of rust.
Stick to staying stuck
Until these brittle cages carry no more
This gluttonous weight
Will we be songbirds once
More.
Aug 23, 2021
Aug 23, 2021 at 6:55 PM UTC
*We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind;
In the primal sympathy
Which having been, must ever be.*
William Wordsworth
stunning and stunned,
perhaps even life momentarily,
stunted angry but enraging confusion
this notion, stirs a commotion,
primal sympathy, spawns poem
not a broken totem
not a stolen token
hand writ, inked in pen,
no golems in a modem
to assist
this just pure human spoken
an omen giving,
notice total,
this is one true ether,
or either it is not!
this primal essential assertion
a conditional propositional
that it is natural for man
to be deep sympathetic to his kind,
*for which having been,
must ever be*
in Syria, snipers shoot children for sport,
in Nigeria, young girls to slavery sold,
the list, matter of many facts, well known,
needs not embellishment or addition,
the history books teach the children well
so vaunted primal atmosphere,
in these places,
are you absent, non-existent?
when primal was pre-creation,
spelled first as primeval,
in the era before the appearance of ratiocination
of life on earth
Prime and Evil,
was a combustible fuel of necessity survival
primeval became primordial,
man essayed to improve,
aging onwards himself to enlightenment
yet rooted in this prime number of humankind
is a cellular tissue that springs to life
in those who allow it, residence of the remnants,
original origin of the evil that can subsume
and assume
do not allow it
I can tell you I
will not lay quiet
for the murderers of children,
I have primeval hatred
the rage of primal sympathy denied
unleashed ten times greater
be wary when the best of us rises up
the snipers and the enslavers will die
by their own weapons
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 6:20 PM UTC
and so... There ! Amid all allurement and soft machines;
the spoiled brat of Venus, knicking the doors and kicking the canned laughter
to the foot of a mountain of existential speculation. Amid the cherry bombs and the Persian rugs; so many menageries of tinfoil origami swans.
so very little Time.
so little rosemary wine in the pickle jars. So few wolves
in the porcupine dens - and only a swarm of hornets
in your nightclothes, this
morning.
and nothing but nettles
in your tea.
well, nettles and golems and orange hope.
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 12:50 PM UTC
The bible said that man was made from
the very earth we walk upon,
but I think God threw a few other things in
just to **** up the equation.
I’m pretty sure he threw a dash of inherent
******* into the mix just to make sure
that men weren’t too attainable or attractive,
after that came a splash of aggression.
Well… maybe he threw the whole bottle in,
either way, these weird tangled up monsters
he created are pretty **** annoying.
They treat each other as if they were lower
than the dirt from which they came,
even though they have no right or reason.
And for every masculine, macho, man out there,
“Go **** yourself.”
Because I’m tired of all of these “Holier than thou,” attitudes,
just because you have a bit more muscle,
or that you’re a bit faster than I am,
or because you may be able to lift more weight than I can.
Apr 25, 2012
Apr 25, 2012 at 2:34 PM UTC
When the memories of your half bloomed love
Shake me from the ribcage out,
I comfort myself with the thought
That there was never really an us at all.
(It must have just been my own narcissism-
What a greedy ***** I was, asking you to love me)
But when this conclusion is less than palatable
And fails to satisfy my heart-hungry belly –
As it always does, it always fails-
I leave the soft haven of my own bed sheets
And venture out onto cold concrete and asphalt.
….
There I become small and carnivorous
Like some half starved rodent or gorging reptile.
I salivate at the scent of even common affection.
….
My heart,
Ravenous and infinitesimal,
Will find another to take your place.
And these others- this golems of a men, these interlopers in our warped affections-
Are easily devoured through hands and mouth and ****
….
The walls of the hollow space where an ‘us’ was purported to dwell
Churn and roil uncomfortably with pangs.
Nov 30, 2012
Nov 30, 2012 at 5:27 PM UTC
its a blur.
I enter the video club and so does my dog after me.
the whole god **** place has been screened by monumental steel animals equipped with cameras down to their ******** monkeys, giraffe, flamingo all ruled by a lemur.
the video club holds an exit.
they require some german skills which somehow i avoid. we drink some beers.
a rabbit whole- thats the way out of the video club
from digital to analog. they say a new system came but their cassettes keep them safe.
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 12:57 PM UTC
One at a time; word by word
They’re laid down like a heavy sword,
Each line forms more syllables come together
A long boundary without a tether,
Sentences not by a judge
That form stories without a smudge,
Short tales; epic poems
Sometimes of reality or of golems,
At times speech is not enough
So I take pen to paper like wax to buff,
When signs and gestures don’t make the cut
The ink flows forth like intestines from my gut,
Things I said once without meaning
Written on paper come out gleaming,
Once in a while the sweetest verse
Can come across solemn and terse,
And formal expression on occasion
Can command a standing ovation,
Yet sometimes I fear profound
That without texture; flavor or sound,
All my sentiments will die
Unable to illustrate a sweet apple pie,
Because it’s just as good to feel; taste & listen
As text to the eyes do christen...
© okpoet
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 2:10 AM UTC
You've eaten two chicken burgers in front of me
and the second time
I realized
you were beautiful.
That sounds stupid, but hear me out;
your eyes
they're perfect
your lashes are so delicate
like gossamer black frames of thin, long, lady's gloved fingers.
I sound crazy, I know
But I'm writing a poem about it
and Art is a license for madness;
So leave me be.
I'm stalking pictures of you on the webs
of the internet
But these golems
these flat, lifeless, smiles
leave me unsatisfied
None of them capture that moment
when I was
suspended
in a state of silent staring
like cobwebs in empty, abandoned room corners
hanging
quiet
undisturbed
your voice muted by the screaming
in your eyes
as you
romantically
perfectly
delicately
bit into that burger.
I wonder how I looked then.
Nov 21, 2012
Nov 21, 2012 at 11:33 PM UTC
Even as my eyes grew heavy
and my body told me to f
a
l
l
into a deep slumber, I forced
myself to stay conscious. For
what I had witnessed today
was awfully frightening!
While walking along the
pavement, I noticed something
quite not right.
The youngsters bolted around in
an unnatural, inhuman fashion.
The males resembled golems.
As I play out each finding, time
and time again, the sole conclusion
I can spot:
They're chemical children and
mechanical men!
Aug 24, 2012
Aug 24, 2012 at 12:26 PM UTC
I wish there was a magical ground
where centaurs would heal
and to protect the land
some giants to surround
Thestrals as a traveling mean
Golems to follow my command
sphinxes to fulfill my demand
some sylphs gatherings
and mermaids to fill the air
with their melodious voice
unicorns with their freedoms
to bring the brightness to this world
Dec 31, 2018
Dec 31, 2018 at 11:52 AM UTC
Pfennig Postcard, Wrong Address
by Michael R. Burch
(for the victims and survivors of the Holocaust)
We saw their pictures:
tortured out of our imaginations
like golems.
We could not believe
in their frail extremities
or their gaunt faces,
pallid as our disbelief.
They are not
with us now ...
We have:
huddled them
into the backroomsofconscience,
consigned them
to the ovensofsilence,
buried them in the mass graves
of circumstancesbeyondourcontrol.
We have
so little left
of them
now
to remind us ...
It was my honor to work with survivors of the Holocaust as we translated their poems and prose accounts into English as a way of preserving them and making them available to larger audiences. Unfortunately, time waits for no one and the Holocaust survivors I worked with are no longer with us. But their words and testimonies remain, if we will only take the time to read and consider them. Keywords/Tags: Holocaust, victims, survivors, mass graves, pictures, images, tortured, frail, gaunt, skeletal, emaciated, thin, malnourished, golemic, horror, terror, inhumanity, madness, racism, antisemitism, slave labor, slavery, death camps, concentration camps, gas chambers, ethnic cleansing, genocide, memory, remembrance, memorial, tribute
Feb 29, 2020
Feb 29, 2020 at 4:16 AM UTC
* REAL NAME ALTERED TO SAFEGUARD IDENTITY*
I know what you’re going through.
Aged nineteen, I wanted to die, too.
I can offer no consolation;
The world is messed up,
A fact that needs no arbitration.
All I can tell you is that you are not alone.
Listen to my words, ‘cause they’re about to hit home.
You need do nothing but be, just breathe;
Let love into your heart, again.
The mightiest tree starts from the humblest seed;
Let love take root, build its little den.
It is always darkest before dawn.
Life feels like you’re facing a firing squad,
And they’ve all got their rifles drawn.
Ten barrels of steel, pointed right at you;
You’ve been running for so long.
Eventually, they finally catch you.
Darling, killing yourself doesn’t solve your problems.
You won’t be around to care, but others will,
And seeing you go will turn them into stone golems.
As such, you just pass on your grief to your people.
They’ll find no relief, like they’re sitting on steeples.
Maybe, you hate the people who love you, or they’re **** at it,
So it’s more harm than good being done to you.
Very few of us have managed to figure this **** out.
In fact, many of us are straight-up ********
That doesn’t mean life can’t be beautiful.
That doesn’t mean love can’t be bountiful.
Everyone’s too scared, though;
Trust is a taut rope,
And there’s very little hope.
I know that love and beauty can be scarce;
I know discourse is sometimes trifling, sometimes terse.
But darling, you mustn’t ever give up.
You are not crazy, nor are you insane.
The world is run by people who actually are heartlessly insane,
And they’ve built a cage to **** with your brain.
But please, don’t give up.
I hope this gets to you in time;
I wish I could say it’ll all be okay,
That everything will be fine.
But, it won’t be.
We are doomed to a lifetime of fighting back,
Either that, or just getting attacked.
I will not stand to suffer any longer,
Not without retaliating in defense, in kind.
Take my hand, for together we are stronger.
It’s time to halt the daily grind.
Jul 9, 2019
Jul 9, 2019 at 11:58 AM UTC
Deep within the bowels of the Earth
immensely distant from the sheltering sky
amidst a thick fog enveloped landscape
with here and there a projected
craggy, derelict chasm
precipitously crooked pointing toward
an infinitely wide yawning abyss
dwelt kindred spirits comprising a soul asylum
where grateful dead (albeit marked
via weathered tomb stones) hermetically sealed
once vibrant corporeal mortals
betook their eternal slumber
One among their number
included a misanthrope
who sported long straggly hair
bushy eyebrows shielding cold eyes of steel
straggly bearded clammy chin
in tandem with a hairy body
which when alive (long time ago)
upheld upon unshod feet a severely
hunchbacked ******
Within dense pitch-black terrain
(Mother Nature enlisting
a menagerie of life forms
accustomed to hellish environment)
awash with unrecognizable
alien sights and sounds
mollycoddling bewitching warlocks,
mailer daemons,
imps of the pervert chieftains, fiery
long and fostered Golems
who called underworld
their private demesne
also alluded to Marcy's playground
holding hostage Alice in Chains
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles,
The Beastie Boys, The Human League, and
Village People a Crowded House
Emitting wisps of ethereal matter
appearing a small medium at large
chat snap ping, flickr ring indeed joyus minions
exalting piety a plenti
Prone ounce sing proud purgatory
promoting protean phantasmagoria
hideous hulu hoop dancing holograms
highly distorted grotesque
silent screaming sinister banshees
slithering across escarpment.
Jan 20, 2018
Jan 20, 2018 at 3:45 PM UTC
forget the danger of losing gold. "In one of the Golems,
he has defeated the aggressive love of all mankind, creates other basic words, the scale will diminish, will emphasize the value of this information,
will end and save all the Goleys."
Also, this translation, Zizkov's version
Prague Tower of the video and the historical part,
a new challenge for me, was when I was a nationalist leader.
This is not available in general Doxosdetzur
Gilead Orthodox, Jewish, traditional, white and white in front of two friends, two nymphs, two basic materials,
shrunk,
fat, you must make black and white peanut, ginger and two blacks, dark, white, white, white, white from Spain to white, white, white
and white. Anastasia will be lost for many years and part of the neck,
19, and they are the camera that "John, for example,
understands, consumed black, black, black, black",
Prince Friedman and Fox. **** white colony of the shameful bird,
the naked sister, the shape of 18, 1-1 is a white collar co with deeper pearls with a lot of Chihun Fu Fu. The deep hair,
the knife, the big test, finally flirting with 4.
So it's a white culture of the nation. Many types of 2 MAMBA are violent
and dangerous at high risk.
In the United States, ultimately, to strengthen the titanium hood
of Mormpidia. At my school,
let me star with three remaining goals! The popular Dora Teen Latina two Face Hong ****** face white face
and white face face to face with her glasses, Lise babe Domme dam, cut! Latina ***** strong whistle with some asphyxiating
white mouths and big baggage, Tight Latina close;
Eva Ellington for ******* ****** thing
and ATM before Ariel works with diligent dioceses
in a prison cell to suffer the embarrassment
of the young brunette dirtbag core people ... Little father and *** ****** power face all the prostitutes bacteria
To find Latin, Latina services running towards the friend
poorer; his ******* train of two men dealing with changing
a person to have sexually transmitted babies
Jan 23, 2019
Jan 23, 2019 at 11:57 PM UTC
Woke up to the cold from a window with a fan that had been off inexplicably the whole night prior still
Chilled from a dream that ended with a sudden wind on the tip of a peninsula that knocked me off again
With the raze of children's games as car doors slam screams for help aloft from voices on my cry's wolf list
What I might give to sleep until rested battling sand men until broken or bested, unworthy of slumber that
Like what my foes get, requisitioning golems and gargoyles seems like a safe bet but ill have a mimosa
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 2:19 PM UTC
I got my eye these golems
As they weasle and breed
See the lust in their eyes
As they watch eachother bleed
The sad sorry truth
They don't wanna be freed
Each wanting to be on top
Some heavy inhuman greed
No empathy or kindness
No truth heard audibly
I wish I didn't see it
Speaking honestly
But it is how it is
And its what they wanna be
So as my act of selfish want
I'll vent through rhyme odyssey
May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 7:37 AM UTC
I did ask a friend
To go with me where is the sand
We did miss each other
Therefore I want to be together
Go to the beach and play
Find what advice can he say
Friendship is more than a treasure
It gives help, happiness, and pleasure
We all suffer from problems
Since we are humans not golems
We don't prefer orders
But we always make for ourselves borders
We need people who love us
Not those who left on our wounds a pus
Others will just say ********
To make you feel within their groups you fit
We don't need everybody to care
Two or three enough for our welfare
They don't do it for benefits
They sacrifice for you and take many hits
For you to love them back
Without considering any reward or payback
It's all about true feelings
Not about strengths or weaklings
Jan 6, 2018
Jan 6, 2018 at 4:33 PM UTC
So soft and warm
You held tight
You love me so
All through the night
Don't ever go
I watched you grow
I watched you learn
And now you know
That it's your turn
To know, where we'd go
Abandoned all our hope
But we're never quite alone
Audrey is waiting at the door so patiently
We all fought much better than the golems, unlike a classy leave
We've fallen out to sea
We wait and slowly bleed
To rest in peace, Eternally
You're eating me
I can't obtain
I can't do anything
Flying free
Please come to me
The blue of dreams
Winning all the scenes
Broken dreams and shattered schemes which seems to me to be the only way to live below the family tree's
Lie on the floor never wanted this to happen, in grief
Didn’t know I loved her more
examining my feelings without feeling anything more
How could I afford to bury all your pain
Much love, so young yet you still aim
I want to lie, but I feel the same
I take up in hopes to chase
The plaguing phantom from its place
This confusing maze, lost state
Its unexplained phenomenon
They've been a while in Babylon
The men cry
You won't hear it all the time
But you're quiet enough to hear it fine
So soft and warm
You held tight
To keep from, the painful nights
You came to me through fogs of time
After a long year, I could finally call you mine
Dec 3, 2015
Dec 3, 2015 at 5:28 PM UTC
Guarding an abundance of ages past and to come;
Outside an ethereal arboretum of
rustling sugar maples, green ash leaves dancing in the wind,
scarlet berries burst from the hawthorn branches.
Were two golems, anchored to their post.
Long green blades grazed their shins,
Discipline echoed off their clay skin.
A path submitted between them
As if the dirt beneath them was at their whim.
The constant breeze caused their skin
To crack, the pressure of perennial purpose
Created small canyons on their skull.
The scent of honeysuckles escaped their open crania.
No matter what approached their garden
Gargantuan locusts, pillagers in the shadows,
Nothing was stronger than the grip of
their hands melding into one another.
Apr 18, 2020
Apr 18, 2020 at 1:42 PM UTC