"grimed" poems
did you, even now, hope
to shut your eyes to so huge a crime,
my treacherous one, to think you could
stilly withdraw from my kingdom?
did our love not once hold you?
our ardent vows? or even I, Dido,
preparing to succumb barbaric death?
how could you, callous you!,
take wing to prepare your fleet in winter
—i’m sure to run aground—
when Boreas thrashes against the heavens?
but, if you weren’t pursuing unfamiliar soil
or incited to father a distant nation,
if ancient Ilium sturdily grimed through the war,
would you keep piercing the
wave-washed oceans in your armada?
why do you elude me; is it
because i have acceded irreality?
am i worthless, now?—i implore you!
by these tears, and your troth,
by our wedding vows, and this oath
before ***** we began:
if i deserve anything good from you,
or if you think, i was good enough
for you; pity this household
decaying before us! it was once yours, too.
and if my prayers are still yours,
gut them from my mind!
for now the Libyans and Numidians
hate me! dear Tyre is virulent!
as my honour and once-righteous
stature has vanished, just as i was
about to touch my constellated infamy.
for what destiny, my foreign one,
do you set me aside; ever-knowing
my imminent death?
seeing that only your name endures
from this union, why do i bother to keep living?
am i waiting for my brother, Pygmalion,
to destroy my Carthage’s walls, or a
Gætulian Iarbus to make me his concubine?
if only you gave me a son,
a little Æneas to play in my courts,
a boy to remind me of you;
only then, perhaps,
would i not be so utterly
violated, and
consumed.
Nov 7, 2014
Nov 7, 2014 at 1:06 PM UTC
Weight back, son, back -- now! Pivoting in air, I felt wood crack
and sent one screaming over first. My three mates whirled
around the sacks and fierce joy burst past, or through...
First inning, Father. Bags full. And all for you,
who, miles off, listened hard beneath a static sky.
The radio crowed: "Grand slam!" -- and "You'll be next to die."
Once, you showed me something about the stance,
how the weight came through, and how the dance
of foot in dirt was beautiful and clean --
I don't recall the point -- not now, I mean.
But I still can see your hands, the coiled way
they worked the wood, and how your wrists turned,
mirrored snakes, twin roots, and how the simple day
was shaken by... what was it?... by all I'd never learned?
Your fingers were stubby, grimed with grease, coarse hairs
tangled over bulge of blood. My youth still fares
its way from lost to lost. I move my dancing feet
to match the steps you traced with yours -- and life's complete.
Yet as I gape and gasp in desperate dark,
a voice returns, riding warm winds from that park.
These forty years, I've been turning into you.
I have your hands, your heart -- and these will fail me too.
Jun 16, 2011
Jun 16, 2011 at 12:57 PM UTC
940
On that dear Frame the Years had worn
Yet precious as the House
In which We first experienced Light
The Witnessing, to Us—
Precious! It was conceiveless fair
As Hands the Grave had grimed
Should softly place within our own
Denying that they died.
951
Oh circle of lights,
With your false,
Plastic,
Warmth.
Oh circle of lights,
A firework’s ,
Bittersweet,
Farce.
Down at the bottom
Only a hint
Of your color
Remains.
Water-logged and drowned
Left to dry
In my arms.
Lips parted
And black water spills
Forth
Gathering in matted locks
Like grimed pearls.
When the screams
Go forth
So musically
Left to escape
In whimsical bubbles.
Oh circle of lights
Your false
Plastic
Warmth.
Is all that I see,
Oh circle of lights
Your colors mangled
As a drowned man’s
Farce.
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 4:07 PM UTC
Exhausted by death, we took the car and drove
Away, past gut-torn children and the like -
The stricken hospital, top-heavy despots, dust.
Someone cried, and for a while the earth stood still.
Then on we rushed as sand got in our eyes,
Through states with something rotten at the heart
And effigies that stared with wrinkled lips,
And women crying over families spent,
And gunned-through houses, doors and windows, gone.
And once a grimed-up pick up cut us up,
Tore past in clouds - Land Cruiser tyres churned -
And at the wheel a man's split-second face,
A turban and a beard, fanatic stare,
Long gone in dirt, but at that time,
We knew him to be mad. Then on we drove
To pastures new and sand dunes stretching miles.
At noon, a woman offered food, her children
Clustered round her, shut-up face. We left
Her scratching yet more dust, and sped into
The only sun, into a slap-up village where
The kids in rags kept up their pestering cries
Of hunger, sickness, want, disease, and pain
That stretched back years. They clawed the car,
Tore strands of air between their teeth and we
Were heart-struck at their noise. By dusk
We headed out again – the clamour died -
Catching the western sun before it sank,
We disembarked and tucked it up in bed,
Knowing ourselves at home, and finally
Slept at last where it was warm and dark.
Jun 5, 2011
Jun 5, 2011 at 9:19 AM UTC
Normality
Is how he stays
Awake and warm
Coated in the
Sticky sweat and
Grimed residue
From thoughts of you
The touch he craves
He can picture and
Violate your
Pure young image
Immorally
Is how my mind
Stays plagued with
A cloud of love
Wispy and soft
Adoration
From thoughts of you
Attentions craved
I can’t wish for
One **** handhold
It is a sin
Perhaps this is
Insanity
Feb 1, 2012
Feb 1, 2012 at 10:44 PM UTC
In the night’s shadow
As my frame seeks slumber
Burning eyes of wolves glow
Ready to shred me asunder!
Thoughts lying dormant in the day
Blow up dark and ugly
Inside they warm up hell-bent to slay
My diurnal angel of decency!
Evil visions of wanton desire they breed
Apparitions of depravity grimed and mean
Awakening in me the vermin of greed
Goading me to lust for the forbidden!
A good part of night I grapple with them
The enemies within me in disguise
Knowing in my heart if I lose this game
The demons would have a good feast at sunrise!
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 7:37 AM UTC
**Your bright smiles disquiet me
Something sinister lurks from behind
Sneaking, watching over anything corruptible
An angel
A precious one
Deceiving kindness
Seductive charm
Winged back, fair and pure
Feathers grimed with lies
Oh, I know better
I know your hands are tied to strings
Of puppets which ran
The carnival
The game of manipulation
Whitewashed gown drowning in knives
Hitting two birds with one stone
First, to stab the backs of those
Who made the mistake of trusting you
Second, to slash the pockets
Of those fortunate, enough to be
Unfortunate at your hands
The halo is a burning bush
Bringing in believers of your staged miracles
Pulling them into a greedy covenant
Until such time you can push them off to Mt. Sin
Twisted angel,
I've got you figured out
Twisted angel,
I can see you
Twisted angel,
Careful for I can twist your tricks
Just like how you twist everybody else**
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 3:38 PM UTC
She is a blank slate
pleasant sight of purity,
always caught in mire artistic situations,
attracts nothing but cold, grimed,
treacherous hearts,
somehow, always ends up in tainted hands,
to painters who were not meant
to hold a brush.
Feb 7, 2018
Feb 7, 2018 at 11:02 PM UTC
The doors scream;
The tiles creak;
The wind shrieks, shattering the grimed windows;
The window shutters slam in agony and anger;
The electricity thrums in anticipation of violence;
The wolves howl at the screaming doors forcing a brute entrance;
The silken blood rushed into each crevice running from imprisonment;
The enraged Earth quivers and shakes in pure, undiluted rage;
The inflamed sky rips the ground and everything upon it to shreds, painting the world ruby red;
The universe tears itself apart in a flurry of unrelenting sorrow and agony;
All as the blood of a sheep seeps into the souls of the living.
Jul 8, 2019
Jul 8, 2019 at 8:53 PM UTC
rewind
be kind, i haven't been
so
to others or myself
we are one
behind this teal
veil;
but rather,
i stay bottled up
in a grimed shell;
let's dance,
shall we?
to music unseen,
our hearts soaring
without wings,
but instead
riding upon
the air waves
of compassion
one day, i won't be
here anymore,--
the breath will have
subsided, and my body
given to the coast guard
for safe keeping;
what of my soul?
the mind struggles to
answer this ever-fleeting
riddle by complicating
matters worse: accumulate,
compete, and compare
meanwhile
the smiles, the frowns,
the lips aligned
in parallel design
play like an instrument
behind the curtain that is
the flesh
and what the flesh
desires, it desires
in droves
i hear my mother
in the background,
screaming something
about how i'll never
amount to anything
but she's long been
dead; and what remains
is a dear old friend
those faithful lines of
hers always keep me in check
they dot the i's
cross the t's
i handle all the rest
but let's
rewind, shall we?
be kind, what of that child
who never got much attention
or nourishment?
surely he's still around
here somewhere; waiting
in the shadows to be called
forth, with words such as:
'come out, my friend. no need
to be afraid; death will take us home
some day, but for now
we awake, we live
to love one another'
because I believe
we are birds of a feather.
Dec 7, 2016
Dec 7, 2016 at 1:52 AM UTC
gnarley fingers
veil his face,
skin thin and crusted
at certain spots:
splotched parchment
of years in the sun
moistness
cascades
from his forehead to
his chin
then meets gravity;
raindrops
through his soil-grimed
singlet, jeans and boots;
hours of toil
simmer away
in rivulets
of forgetfulness.
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 1:42 AM UTC
From the Sea of Hoces
to rolling Cape Horn
the sea is vengeful
The ocean rolls and boils
at our dangerous ignorance
and our prideful arrogance
It drifts ****** icebergs here
and chops the windy waves
to assault our fragile senses
It hides monsters in it's depths
waiting beneath the surface
in our grimed gyres they wait
For us to finally choke on
our foolish mistakes of time
the cold ocean will wait
Aug 7, 2019
Aug 7, 2019 at 10:55 AM UTC
A treasury of childhood memories
Forgotten in a pinewood box
Discovered on a rainy Sunday
Turn the key and time unlocks
~
My books, my old friends, lay before me
Restored once more to a loving hand
For cross-legged hours I turn the pages
Lost in a paper wonderland
~
The pirate ship her black flag flying
Stormy skies and salty rain
Trade winds fill the straining mainsails
A small boy sails the Spanish Main
~
Take me back to Smoky London
Baker Street buildings grimed with soot
Top hat Holmes, his coat tails flying
“Come Watson, hurry, the games afoot”
~
Plumed knights astride snow white horses
****** maidens with downcast eyes
Pooh sticks float on sleepy rivers
Under England’s smiling skies
~
Once again I tunnel the covers
Clandestine reading on a winter’s night
Sylvia Daisy Pouncer whispers
‘The wolves are running’ in the pale torchlight.
Jan 29, 2018
Jan 29, 2018 at 4:33 AM UTC
it’s tears and weeping
groaning struggles
that tear down what keeps us from you
Only pain can take us
teach us to enter
Your spirit dimension
the waters of suffering
wash the ***** windows of our eyes
grimed from day to day lies
We can’t keep the dirt from building up
until pain teaches us to cry
cry quickly
to wash it all away in honesty
And in that moment we catch clearer glimpses of You
Slowly memorizing Your form and face
until we can trust
even when our eyes are closed and grimed
Jan 21, 2018
Jan 21, 2018 at 10:32 PM UTC
The living dead are going to
ask for the right to be
forgotten in gender dysphoria.
In grimed apparel,
the deities were deported back
to the barn, for housing the antiques.
The future turns blue,
moon-eyed, hooking up the
hopes of running heels.
Is that true that there
will be mass suicide after
the fall of the fort?
The fat lanterns now
don't throw the light. Incense
of burning flesh floats.
Oct 4, 2016
Oct 4, 2016 at 1:17 AM UTC