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"grazer" poems
Desensitized by the sands of time I'm abhorred you're a cultural cog Bobbing on the surface you find eating gulls disgusting but don't bat an eye at nauseous oil slicks I wish I could set it all ablaze so we'd pick our destinies more carefully Or more care freely You see me as a motley mesh Flesh covered by cloths from mismatched fads Yet, you're a pretentious simian that's forgot our past Just a gussied up grazer, disavowing discomfort scoffing at any endeavor that isn't grass flavored The chimers on the lawn are all robed outcasts bellowing to the fodder eating fodder the posh set the stalks to be mowed over But for the justice of all the inside out bulls leaving their wallets on the ground the entrail fashion never catches on
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Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 7:20 PM UTC
Buoy Brains
Field grazer acting like her parents Didn't razor better The year of the **** The seat of an empire Dazed by the magnitude Of our satellite flyer Making wishes/ playing games You would find her in the rain Year of the dog Cast out vagabond Didn't trust dad or mom With the blood caked on their hands You demand To know why god won't show himself On this year of the dog Galaxies spread out in the darkness Stars aren't this hot forever
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Jan 27, 2013
Jan 27, 2013 at 9:00 AM UTC
Stargazer
. Etched in smoke, burnished by olden sun, The runner grasses wave below into maze, For eyes in cloud to clutch on mottled vermin, Higher in stations, a judgement for all grazer, Pleated feathers arched in weightless stone, Are blades as steely as any burnt ploughmans And airs that break, lift hawk far into sun shone, As quake of earth strikes up a still haired louse, For blades of green shall call, bleed in grasses And whisper will shout, downing smallest might, Tiny beasts who crawl among waveing masses, To hawk over hill, sheering in raiments of light.
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May 1, 2017
May 1, 2017 at 3:29 PM UTC
Hawk Over Hill
Etched in smoke, burnished by olden sun, The runner grasses wave below into maze, For eyes in cloud to clutch on mottled vermin, Higher in stations, a judgement for all grazer, Pleated feathers arched in weightless stone, Are blades as steely as any burnt ploughmans And airs that break, lift hawk far into sun shone, As quake of earth strikes up a still haired louse, For blades of green shall call, bleed in grasses And whisper will shout, downing smallest might, Tiny beasts who crawl among waveing masses, To hawk over hill, sheering in raiments of light.
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Jan 19, 2016
Jan 19, 2016 at 5:33 PM UTC
Hawk Over Hill
Etched in smoke, burnished by olden sun, The runner grasses wave below into maze, For eyes in cloud to clutch on mottled vermin, Higher in stations, a judgement for all grazer, Pleated feathers arched in weightless stone, Are blades as steely as any burnt ploughmans And airs that break, lift hawk far into sun shone, As quake of earth strikes up a still haired louse, For blades of green shall call, bleed in grasses And whisper will shout, downing smallest might, Tiny beasts who crawl among waveing masses, To hawk over hill, sheering in raiments of light.
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Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 3:18 PM UTC
Hawk Over Hill
I thought I'd grow up and become a cloud ranger; I wasn't ready to live a life aligned. I couldn't become a fin grazer; I've barely skimmed the surface of this life. I was this synthetic stranger-- too unfamiliar with my own mind... Life was pure when it was linear And not some bird -short-lived -unbalanced -unaware -somewhere. That tore off it's own wings to land itself right here. When I couldn't see where I was going I-- believed songs. They could. --they might. tell. lies. I didn't see where I was going I I didn't think I could go that high I didn't think I could fly (What are they going to remember me by) I didn't see what was coming I I thought this song could save my eyes I was wrong. Well, Maybe I was right? Because diamonds meant more to me than saving a life. In the end, I didn't think I would become a butterfly; I thought I'd become what the airplanes leave behind.
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May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 6:46 PM UTC
Magnum Focus
Becoming fiercly personal with no physical contact, the crescent moon ultimately occults the Venus. The grazer now turns into fugitive. Was not the knower, was not the known. No past, no future, you move with your eyes down to deny the assault, the flirtation. Your silence was unthinkable. I will bring home the dead. Light is gone. The slapper sleeps. In emotional agony I start prowling for the body.
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Apr 7, 2017
Apr 7, 2017 at 12:13 AM UTC
Not Prurient
. Etched in smoke, burnished by olden sun, The runner grasses wave below into maze, For eyes in cloud to clutch on mottled vermin, Higher in stations, a judgement for all grazer, Pleated feathers arched in weightless stone, Are blades as steely as any burnt ploughmans And airs that break, lift hawk far into sun shone, As quake of earth strikes up a still haired louse, For blades of green shall call, bleed in grasses And whisper will shout, downing smallest might, Tiny beasts who crawl among waveing masses, To hawk over hill, sheering in raiments of light.
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May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 5:30 PM UTC
Hawk Over Hill
. Etched in smoke, burnished by olden sun, The runner grasses wave below into maze, For eyes in cloud to clutch on mottled vermin, Higher in stations, a judgement for all grazer, Pleated feathers arched in weightless stone, Are blades as steely as any burnt ploughmans And airs that break, lift hawk far into sun shone, As quake of earth strikes up a still haired louse, For blades of green shall call, bleed in grasses And whisper will shout, downing smallest might, Tiny beasts who crawl among waveing masses, To hawk over hill, sheering in raiments of light.
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Nov 27, 2017
Nov 27, 2017 at 8:54 PM UTC
Hawk Over Hill
Usher in epoch of sentimentality Grazed arms with hickory, penultimate grazer mud nails. An entire room filled with people I thought I loved, when thinking was entertaining the thought I once had. Vocal retention. Left and heard, not wanted but understood. Can you bring me back? Is it possible? Can you take me back? Is it honorable?
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Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 7:48 PM UTC
Father Flannel
I don't feel like a writer I feel like a wave grazer In search of the perfect surf under a lantern moon
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Aug 12, 2016
Aug 12, 2016 at 2:35 AM UTC
The Mightiest
I had a puppy I'm happy to say But my puppy He died one day I had a mom To me she said ******** I think Your puppy's dead So my puppy I took Way out in the yard I dug her a hole And read her a card **** you puppy How dare you die Leaving me here Alone to cry" The more I thought About her death And how I watched Her last breath I began to hate This ****** mutt Just laying there Her eyes are shut How dare you die And leave me be "It was a truck What didn't you see?" Stupid dog I hate you now You broke my heart I'll get a cow A cow you see A gentle grazer For when she dies I can braise her Until that day She'll be my friend We'll play fetch My heart she'll mend So **** you dog You're inedible This here cow Will taste incredible
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Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 9:31 PM UTC
Cows are better pets
It is secret In gloomy light . I buried a grazer in pasture I swept leaves for burning his grave But I had captured by somnambulism Firstly I entered in way of confession There is a seed of god It heard this bitter secret After forty silent days a seed rose its head with arrogance It revealed it
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Dec 27, 2018
Dec 27, 2018 at 7:18 AM UTC
Wild confession