"hackles" poems
Chieftain Iffucan of Azcan in caftan
Of tan with henna hackles, halt!
****** universal **** as if the sun
Was blackamoor to bear your blazing tail.
Fat! Fat! Fat! Fat! I am the personal.
Your world is you. I am my world.
You ten-foot poet among inchlings. Fat!
Begone! An inchling bristles in these pines,
Bristles, and points their Appalachian tangs,
And fears not portly Azcan nor his hoos.
3.1k
Well, what a week, full of revelation
Enough to stir this talk of revolution
Makes your hackles turn on end
Then send you round the bend
The southern gentry have found oil
Right beneath their derriere boil
Now most of us on this golden isle
Need not worry about this pile
Those who wear weekend country tweed,
Built their fortunes from housing greed
Have already decided
That it will be one sided
They’ll say it’s theirs, by rights
And if we argue, will read our last rites
The South will declare independence
In certainty of their full ascendance
Over the outer reaches of this nation
They pounded into servitude, by taxation
And if we have the nerve to debate, I’ll be bound
They’ll leave it horded in the ground,
Then blame the anti frackin’ hound
Now I may need a political re - education
In a 1984 establishment for rehabilitation
But I can see it coming a five-nation island
Southland, Wales, Scotland, N. Ireland,
And the Detritus
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 5:27 PM UTC
I was very cautious
I knew if I wasn't what it would cost us
I made sure the bedroom was perfect
I wanted MY romantic affect
I hung the plastic, then the curtains
Bed exactly in the middle, I had to be certain
Lit a few candles
Then sliped on my dress, and my sandals
I cruise the street
For my baby to meet
I pick him up at the corner
My heart beats faster, my body warmer
We go back to my house
Where we start to mess about
I lead you to my bedroom
We'll be making love soon
To my bed you are shackled
You have no idea of my feeling of hackles
Straddling you, and ridding you like a horse
All the wail your loving it of course
With you still in me, I bring out my toys
They are only for my collection of boys
They are bright and shiny
I will not treat you kindly
They are so sharp they can split a hair
And in their refection you just stare
You can't believe what you see
As the look on my face is pure glee
You body starts to convulse and thrash
Then with my blades I start to slash
I plunge my toy in
With the evilest grin
I love the squirting gushing sound
It's all so profound
I have loved all my men
That's why I let no one chase them
Forever in death they are mine
I'm one of a kind
I slash him to ribbons
It's as fun as the dickens
He's still alive
And feels every vibe
Covered in blood
Our bodies fit like a glove
I slowly climb off top
And lop of his part
Blood sprays the room
Death will be here soon
I'm so happy I made it romantic
And taped up the plastic
I'm the Black Spider
I **** all I desire
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 2:21 PM UTC
i. My mother's elbows. They
are too sharp and they twitch
in the direction of your ribs
when you invade
her personal space.
ii. Needing anything too much. Cutting
or writing or even
my own friends.
iii. Fast rides down mountains. I
remember each one, looking
out the window, wondering if
tonight was the night
finally we would go
plunging over the tiny
railing.
iv. Gangs of little kids. Don't
tell me they don't know
what they are doing. Children
are cruel.
v. Metaphors of fists raining down
all over your body. I'm
sorry, I cannot listen
to your metaphors, when
they make my skin tingle and
my hackles raise and
my heart play out the dance
of old fears.
vi. Anyone having leverage. Too
many times, showing caring
for a thing has seen it
confiscated. Also, anyone knowing
I care at all.
vii. Discovering that the scars gifted
to me are not healed and
long car rides and
her elbows and
cruel children and
impending addictions and
openly loving and
your metaphors make
me bleed along
old fault-lines.
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 6:14 PM UTC
She showed up limping and my hackles were raised.
I know that limp.
I know that gaze; 1000 yards away.
...(what happened?)...
She could hardly sit down, kept shifting her weight side to side, unable to find comfort, even on a padded bar stool.
"He's a good guy," she said.
"I don't know why...where it came from...I tried to do everything right."
"Trick-ass-ho-bitch!! Lucky I don't **** you."
"At least I've still got my teeth," she offered.
I listen with an open heart to her,
say it's not her fault.
She knows, but why does this keep happening?
I wish I had an answer.
She flinched as I touched her shoulder.
I see now that this, too, was violence. Physical invasion.
Blurred lines of cruelty and concern, warmth and wickedness.
"No one will believe me...cause he's a good guy..."
I hear you and I believe.
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 11:23 PM UTC
Do you look through me?
Am I invisible?
Screaming for attention
Just letting me be
Notice me, I am right here
Drowning in my sorrows
Drowning in my despair
We are so disconnected
We are meant to be one
You are unaffected
A chain is only so strong
And without me you'd be gone
My feeling without you is equal to none
I add a little metal
Subtract a little sun
I multiply my sadness
And boom sounds the gun.
Splatters on the page.
I demand you leave
Hackles rise up
Jaw clenched
I cannot breathe
Faces over my shoulder in the reflection
Life
Death
Nothing is true perfection.
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 1:23 PM UTC
There is dark magic
Here in my attic
A magician’s tactics
Cause pain emphatic
This magician gives me all I can handle
Until one day I’m dismantled
Like a once lit candle
Extinguished by the ice near Ymir
Birthing the Titans I fear
Bringing death here
Morphing me into a rigid wreck
Here in the frigid depths
I wish I left
The violence of violins
Lamenting the vile sin
Conjured by riled kin
Like they’re wild djinn
Can’t be muted
Only diluted
By becoming rooted
In thinking stupid
Avoiding Cupid
To join the putrid
The magician concocts potions
That excuse my emotions
As I forget devotion
For a temporary motion
The magician gives us difficult obstacles
And easily medicated excuses
So people won’t make things optimal
While purpose eludes them
Like Jekyll and Hyde
My hackles I hide
With shackles of pride
Covered in mystic thorns
So my wrists are torn
From the pain adorned
It’s my brain I mourn
The magician erects walls so thick
They separate healers from the sick
With magic bricks
Imbued by the magician’s enchantment
He builds a wall and then expands it
Until those inside become tantric
From the prison wall’s antics
Every time I turn the page
I am given rage
On the magician’s stage
Of the wars we wage
Under a curse of anger
Dehumanizing strangers
To deploy the Army Rangers
Perpetuating harming danger
The magician lies
The magician steals
The magician hides
What is real
Until I feel
The cold steel
The magician wields
Piercing through my electrified body
I guess the magician finally caught me
Mar 14, 2019
Mar 14, 2019 at 6:42 PM UTC
Written not to thine appraisal accord;
Words that aim to torch the infernal loom,
Seeking the world of sorcery and sword
Unconfined to thine astringent courtroom.
Methinks thy hackles must surely be raised
For hours laboured, tempering such sleight...
Yet adamant this pen, wielder unfazed
Mirrors many thou haplessly indict.
Scholars of insight construed only thee-
So feebly traced was this artistic lie;
A labyrinth from which my muse soars free.
Minoan mentor, dare not I deny:
It may be an Icarian Ascension,
But stands it staunchly, lacking pretension.
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 6:32 AM UTC
I am fond of "Spackle"
and all "ackle" words.
That makes him cackle
and it tickles my tackle
I scream like a grackle
and my ******* crackle
which raises some hackles.
Nov 28, 2013
Nov 28, 2013 at 3:38 PM UTC
Telltale signs of paranoia ***** at the hackles that run from head
(to heart)
down the spine
drown the mind
Psychotic neurotic autistic artistic
Imagination whirls like wind through the pines and
The hair along my spine
Is standing
Jan 2, 2017
Jan 2, 2017 at 9:29 PM UTC
palette
russet, olive hues
yellow ochre
bird's egg blue
vastness held
within a bowl
turned over earth
to heal and hold
moisture from
the morning rain
thus the painter's
eye is trained
cadmium white
a fan-like brush
sketch mare's-tail clouds
an artist's touch
far horizon
grayish blue
a woman reclines
in the ****
her form reveals
the breasting hills
her hips the mountains
hushed and still
mid-ground
blurs of olive cacti
the saguaro
rise like hackles
Palo Verde lie in lumps
yellow flowers
bloom in clumps
point of brush
tweaks out the trees
turn of branches
stippled leaves
small are they
to catch the light
but the moisture
loss is slight
ochre foreground
brownish stones
blue-gray shadows
light source shown
grayish purple
prickly pears
ocotillo
here and there
spindly with splash of red
barrel cacti nod their heads
buff highlights
saguaro flowers
I could sit and
paint for hours
there's time to write
but now I pray
look upon these
words today
they paint the desert
you will find
If only in
the poet's mind!
SoulSurvivor aka
Write of Passage
2017
Mar 28, 2022
Mar 28, 2022 at 5:42 AM UTC
I have raised hackles
And wear grey shackles
They're distractions in my brain
They kind of sound like chains
They hold me still
Until I get my fill
And secure myself
To endure this hell
You tighten the screws
I'm beaten and bruised
Please don't stop
You're like the cops
I depended on your aggression
Then shocked by your secession
I wanted to be shot through the palms of my hands
That was the most pathetic part of my plan
You called my bluff
And put me in cuffs
You took away my agency
And then exited hastily
You're just part of the chain of rain
That will eventually stain my brain
I wear shackles
I hear cackles
There's amusement they find
In the fact that I'm blind
In the fact that I'm crying
In the fact that I'm trying
My miserable life is a joke to them
They think I have a broken stem
They callously disconnect my links
So they can crawl through my fence
Trying to change what I think
Making me constantly feel tense
So I can be what they hate
That'll make them feel great
I have to restrain reactions
Throughout our interaction
They're looking for reasons to hate me
And ways to grate me
And deflate me
I must dial my love back
Before they attack
My mind must be restrained
In this life I'm engrained
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 5:01 PM UTC
Oh, Tepid Girl!
You insipid fool,
Beware your step!
Your bank-less waters,
Brackish, deep.
Keep your head
above the break, girl!
You're gonna sink.
You're neither here
Nor there, girl!
Can't go back,
Stuck, stand still.
Oh, paint your face girl
It doesn't change,
Face the light!
You aren't beauty,
You're that grey area,
In between,
Smart but mute, girl.
Blinders on,
Hackles drawn,
You're neither hot
Nor cold, girl.
Can't hang on,
Quick, patch up.
Oh, Tepid Girl!
You insipid fool,
You burned yourself.
On Monotony,
So Robotically!
Tragically,
Girl.
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 12:59 PM UTC
My hands shake and thoughts clash
I revise life, like flashbacks
I won't last living in my past
Pull back, snapping leash he attacks
The scent is strong he's on the prowl
A predator of beings foul
Revenge dished he's hellbound
Took a vow as hellhound
His loyalty holds no borders
He's borderline disobeying orders
He's ordered but he ignores
Okami, a lone wolf
In midnight his eyes shine
Blood red it contains skies
He's hunting down a worthy prize
Defending honour he can't die
Vengeance and fuelled rage
Powerful and untamed
For too long he's been caged
He suffered so, debts be repaid
With head high and hackles raised
He's raising hell, his endgame
All cards held have been played
Run and hide, its too late
May 24, 2017
May 24, 2017 at 6:42 AM UTC
I was very cautious
I knew if I wasn't what it would cost us
I made sure the bedroom was perfect
I wanted MY romantic affect
I hung the plastic, then the curtains
Bed exactly in the middle, I had to be certain
Lit a few candles
Then sliped on my dress, and my sandals
I cruise the street
For my baby to meet
I pick him up at the corner
My heart beats faster, my body warmer
We go back to my house
Where we start to mess about
I lead you to my bedroom
We'll be making love soon
To my bed you are shackled
You have no idea of my feeling of hackles
Straddling you, and ridding you like a horse
All the wail your loving it of course
With you still in me, I bring out my toys
They are only for my collection of boys
They are bright and shiny
I will not treat you kindly
They are so sharp they can split a hair
And in their refection you just stare
You can't believe what you see
As the look on my face is pure glee
You body starts to convulse and thrash
Then with my blades I start to slash
I plunge my toy in
With the evilest grin
I love the squirting gushing sound
It's all so profound
I have loved all my men
That's why I let no one chase them
Forever in death they are mine
I'm one of a kind
I slash him to ribbons
It's as fun as the dickens
He's still alive
And feels every vibe
Covered in blood
Our bodies fit like a glove
I slowly climb off top
And lop of his part
Blood sprays the room
Death will be here soon
I'm so happy I made it romantic
And taped up the plastic
I am the Black Spider
I **** all I desire
Aug 2, 2016
Aug 2, 2016 at 2:21 PM UTC
i feel a rumble in my chest
and a jitter in my leg;
my hackles are raised
and my bared teeth aren't just a jest.
you think i'm a *****
you haven't seen anything yet;
your words bit too much so revel in that cold sweat
'cause this rising whine is just the right pitch
to make you crumble, to make you humble.
don't think about coming near my makeshift pack, coalesced.
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 6:26 AM UTC
Today she wore curlers in her hair
looking like cannons staked out ready to blare
Her lipstick and powder
like bouillabaisse chowder
And when she demanded a goodbye "peck"
I said "No way!" to the wreck
Which made her rear back and bray
"Go home then and kiss a stingray!"
She cackled and cackled
raising my hackles
Thinks she is the second Joan Rivers
but she only gives me the shivers
Soon I was fearing another fight nearing
seeing her witch's eyes evilly peering
And when she rose in those clumpy army boots
I heard an arpeggio of loud flatulent *****
Forcing me out the door needing fresh air
and away from her threatening glare
But one day I'll be back
once I can align myself on the proper son-in-law track
Aug 9, 2016
Aug 9, 2016 at 11:08 AM UTC
I've never worn a peacoat in July,
until today. Today will be the first time
I've ever gotten goosebumps from
open subway windows on a
lightning blue underground.
I'll need a hat too,
anxiety and age has
removed what was left
of my skull cap and if
I don't tend to my head
I'll catch a chill.
Stale summer smell
still lingers in the kitchen air.
From the balcony I see many men,
men walking alongside my
building below in shorts
and tank tops,
pretending they can still feel
fingertip rays from the sun.
But they know it's gone.
For today, maybe the week,
the heat has gone off in search
of a more deserving city
for the time being.
Pretending won't make these men
feel it, but hope keeps
their leg hair raised on point,
similar to the hackles of the runt of the litter
when he snarls for the last piece
of meat in a ***** metal bowl.
Jul 23, 2013
Jul 23, 2013 at 9:33 AM UTC
palette
russet, olive hues
yellow ochre
bird's egg blue
vastness held
within a bowl
turned over earth
to heal and hold
moisture from
the morning rain
thus the painter's
eye is trained
cadmium white
a fan-like brush
sketch mare's-tail clouds
an artist's touch
far horizon
grayish blue
a woman reclines
in the ****
her form reveals
the breasting hills
her hips the mountains
hushed and still
mid-ground
blurs of olive cacti
the saguaro
rise like hackles
Palo Verde lie in lumps
yellow flowers
bloom in clumps
point of brush
tweaks out the trees
turn of branches
stippled leaves
small are they
to catch the light
but the moisture
loss is slight
ochre foreground
brownish stones
blue-gray shadows
light source shown
grayish purple
prickly pears
ocotillo
here and there
spindly with splash of red
barrel cacti nod their heads
buff highlights
bring out the sand
thus paint creates
this desert land
SoulSurvivor
(C) 2/13/2017
Feb 13, 2017
Feb 13, 2017 at 9:54 AM UTC
The wood chimes are clunking
with each sweep of breeze,
lending melody in this space.
This is where I dig,
dividing root from soil,
time from life, and us
from everybody else.
Squirrel scampers the border,
raising hackles and creating a
two-legged dog and mayhem.
This must be his habitat,
passed down through generations
until the brick and concrete conspired
to break the oak stronghold.
The view from the decking
throws itself through other gardens
to the far distant fast lane.
Noiseless here, with only
the high haunting whistle
of the slow circling
red kite.
Jul 7, 2011
Jul 7, 2011 at 11:46 PM UTC
slight music
quite instrumentals slither through the space
now an ethereal silence and a curled, gnarled hand rest at the table
weather-worn pockmarked face twitch
a common occurrence
a scene worthy of a masterful painter
the air sighs, not in sound but in feeling
it is demure, languid,
a seamless bond of hunched figure and wispy breaths
a heart feels light and hollow with pulsating winds surrounding it
a man's hide tingles, prickles
pores gently widen in anticipation
a boxed room
a shackle room
dark, yet for the dim lantern
and a speckling of pinpoints in ever shifting pupils
patterns shift with tightening skin, hackles raised
billowing smoke against snarling and jolting
our West is not kind
a child stumbles with its chittering and chattering, back into its hole
an equalizer delicately rocks upon the floor
hot in its despondence and billowing smoke barrel
the metal becomes cold, uncaring; what despair was impacted upon it has left, as is the same with all objects subject to human emotion
Old blood sleeps in the shackled room
with chattering mumbling children in their holes
life is but glorious process, while we all wish for results
how deplorable
Apr 3, 2010
Apr 3, 2010 at 4:16 PM UTC
I was very cautious
I knew if I wasn't what it would cost us
I made sure the bedroom was perfect
I wanted MY romantic affect
I hung the plastic, then the curtains
Bed exactly in the middle, I had to be certain
Lit a few candles
Then sliped on my dress, and my sandals
I cruise the street
For my baby to meet
I pick him up at the corner
My heart beats faster, my body warmer
We go back to my house
Where we start to mess about
I lead you to my bedroom
We'll be making love soon
To my bed you are shackled
You have no idea of my feeling of hackles
Straddling you, and ridding you like a horse
All the wail your loving it of course
With you still in me, I bring out my toys
They are only for my collection of boys
They are bright and shiny
I will not treat you kindly
They are so sharp they can split a hair
And in their refection you just stare
You can't believe what you see
As the look on my face is pure glee
You body starts to convulse and thrash
Then with my blades I start to slash
I plunge my toy in
With the evilest grin
I love the squirting gushing sound
It's all so profound
I have loved all my men
That's why I let no one chase them
Forever in death they are mine
I'm one of a kind
I slash him to ribbons
It's as fun as the dickens
He's still alive
And feels every vibe
Covered in blood
Our bodies fit like a glove
I slowly climb off top
And lop of his part
Blood sprays the room
Death will be here soon
I'm so happy I made it romantic
And taped up the plastic
I am the Black Spider
I **** all I desire
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 9:58 AM UTC
I have seen the fear it leaves in the hearts of those who trespass.
The fear is the fuel that fires the beast.
It prowls, basking in the moonlights deep ominous glow.
Watch it hunt,
I dare you.
A toast of celebration to anyone who catches the eye of the beast,
and lives to tell the tale.
He is not fussed with man,
there is little that is amazing about a man, except his fear.
He waits for the perfect woman, for she is great at all.
Hackles high, the scent is there, the meadow grass dances with the wind.
The wolf howls in hunger, as his hunt finally begins.
Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 8:58 AM UTC
At least some will say: jolly good fun,
When civilisation crumbles, comes undone,
Enraged fish, a horrible toxic dish,
Who would have imagined, laughable,
That we could poison an ocean; truly!
But we will do just that; so very soon,
This ***** bites, consumers shall say,
Leaving the tills, oh, have a nice day,
This ***** bites back, nature cackles,
Unwary fools, shredding on her hackles,
And all will pay, every single one of us,
Protest all you like, march: kick up a fuss.
But you who ruined the sea, polluted the air,
Oh not me, you cry, voice filled with despair,
Yes you, ****** the land for all she’s worth,
Stinking parasites despoiling green Earth.
And when at last, we are all but done,
Through hazy smog, viewing a setting sun,
At least some will say: jolly good fun.
© Paul Chafer 2014
Mar 1, 2014
Mar 1, 2014 at 5:44 PM UTC