"hatch" poems
dust cloud heavy
in an apricot sky
cottonwood mucker
under ambrose pale
whippet and shepherd
mill at the earth patch
yellow birch hangs
over red bench park
combine shavings
in crack rust brown
scissors chips fall
at the back stop
whiskey jack looters
sing patented chords
siblings (and 2 wheel enthusiasts!)
give thanks
joyous retrievers
master the criss cross
bare maples stand
at settlers way
barred owl and blue jay
whistle in the fore-wind
ghosts
and goblins
pull on the seeds
wind gusts belt
over the west gulch
a blood rush churns
in the chilling fall morn
hallowed grounds still
at the midday
quiet reflections
of the afghan
and hound
jumpers unite
at the oxbow
route runners bend
(on a sultry foray!)
meadows exposed
in the framework
ball parks empty
with pennants past
barrel dirt favors
the brew house
crimson and copper
find bracken ridge gate
harvest hands savor
the honey and hops
blankets of color
for a winter's hatch
brush fire kept
under steady peruse
bark bites fly
and embers glow
pine cones drop
from the timber tops
3 wick candles
grace the dinner place
shiver and ******
at the piper's call
cob web dew
on the shadowy gates
a chilled mist mellows
the season's return ~
poets and artists
and dreamers awake
Oct 9, 2017
Oct 9, 2017 at 11:55 PM UTC
it falls through the glow of the wintry trees
building a cover under the breeze
luminous lights sparkle and hatch
snow pack high on the briar patch
pine cones fall from rustic fir
squirrel and robin shuffle and stir
sitka spruce at tunnel bluffs
ravens roost on the cedar rough
dusted peaks at hurley pass
snowline cuts the avalanche
fox and lynx are on the prowl
hollow eyes from spotted owl
cool winds up the valley trail
whirling snow round diamond vale
chilling flakes in candle hands
moonlight shines across the land
northern lights in krypton green
the sounds of verve are bitter sweet
curtains hang from a cold dark sky
counting stars, a lullaby
Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 12:17 AM UTC
The belated summer sky is alive
with a D r a g o n f l y ballet
Beneath,.. the rain parched sod
lay sullied, cracked open
by an unsated thirstiness
awaiting the painted autumn days
and the cleansing rain's renewal
A lace-winged hatch rises skyward
— meandering airborne —
drifting upwards like a burst of dust
dissipating in an invisible cloud
of eventide's silent breath
Darting shadows hover
above a seeker's curiosity
just this side the
softening sunset backdrop
A synthesis of fluid motion
– darting kinesis –
swift agile fliers
steal away over the thirsty pond;
their mesmerizing beauty enchants
as the dimming dusk falls silent —-
embellishing the unrelenting ending
another summer's
imminent curtain call;
reminding how inexorable-time
is only a contrived human notion,
a recurring extrapolation
of passing seasons
Heightening awareness:
how we too are only
passing through these
unholdable moments
coming to know
we cannot stop
how life unfolds
The raindrops will quench
the pond's aching thirst
again one fall someday...
— hereafter —
there will be another
beauty of dragonflies
some other eyes will see
preying on another burgeoning
gossamer-winged hatch
and
another beckoning autumn
when the dragonflies hover
below the gazing totems
in the treetops
Jesse Stillwater ... September 2018 .
Sep 19, 2018
Sep 19, 2018 at 12:52 PM UTC
another cup of coffee down the hatch
can't find a reason to stay awake;
another cup of coffee down the hatch-
forced survival.
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 2:45 AM UTC
The robin wakes to magnificent streaks of color across the sky,
But was too busy hunting worms to notice what was up high
She flies through emerald trees dancing in the slight breeze,
But dismissed it as nothing different than what she normally sees
She tends to her vibrant blue eggs as they get ready to hatch,
But fails to notice the importance of the batch
She sinks into the nest in the moonlight, just shutting her eyes,
But wait, what is way up in the sky?
Why, it is a shooting star, glistening and shimmering high above,
She smiles and is suddenly overwhelmed with God's love
In that moment, she realized that life had a meaning,
It was so much more than the hunting, working and cleaning,
It was meant to teach slowly through every new opportunity,
Until one day she and God will have complete unity.
Nov 8, 2016
Nov 8, 2016 at 12:39 PM UTC
Mythical Bird, show me your secret
Hatch forth from your shell
Plumage of orange and scarlet
Emerge glorious from whence you dwell
Fiery Bird, you must reveal
Your astounding, magical ways
Where from these lives you steal
Forever reincarnating well into your days
Aflamed Bird, you must teach
How you reinvent yourself anew
With no help within reach
Without aid, effortlessly you flew
Majestic Bird, take me in
Blanket me with your wing
Listen and acknowledge my sins
With all your wisdom and heart could bring
Magical Bird, will you impart?
What knowledge you keep
Only then, I may start
To make my way out from the deep
Enchanted Bird, you have to help
I'm desperate to rise like you
**** your head and hear my yelps
Of all the things I'm trying to undo
Celestial Bird, if only you could know
Intricate workings of this unfounded fixation
Why I seem to always wallow
An eternal target of sorrow's attention
Imaginary Bird, will you demonstrate
Your amazing fantastical flight
Dipping, gliding, in the air you gyrate
Aggressive dance with gravity you fight
Mystical Bird, won't you display
For unworthy eyes, would you give?
Seemingly easy, aloft you stay
Even when you know you'd die before you'd live
Wondrous Bird, oh how perfect you are
I am in awe, I am swooning
How you become one with the stars
Making the best of the short time you're living
Secretive Bird, is it time?
Reducing yourself down to ashes
Ready to absolve your stint of crimes
Reborn perfect, free from previous gashes
Ensorcelled Bird, please don't retreat
Back into your familiar cocoon
I'm uncertain if again we'd meet
Just afraid I might be gone too soon
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 8:50 AM UTC
Deep down in the inhospitable gloom
Monterey Canyon welcomes an expectant mother
Unnoticed in the distance a whirring sound
and two parallel laser beams
Miss Cellania finds a nook
That instinct suggests is right
A place to nest and brood
A place to guard and wait
1.4 kilometers up a research institute
Guided the unmanned submarine
Correlated masses of data
Stared at live video feed
A unique event unfolded
Capturing such a moment
in this dark abyss
Clinging to a vertical rock
Her precious babies waiting to hatch
Her final duty to
Wait
Wait
Wait
Wait
Wait
Protect from predators and the icy cold
And so she began the
Inky black wait
Detached
Alone
The research crew returned later that year
Miss Cellania dutifully kept her vigil
They returned again month after month
Still she stubbornly stuck to the task in hand
The months turned to years
And still she protected her unhatched young
Clung to the same vertical spot
With nothing to eat
Alert, defensive
Motherly
Patiently waiting
Wasting away
Waiting
Waiting
Untill
F i f t y t h r e e m o n t h s l a t e r
Four and a half years
Finally her wait ended
With a flurry of independent life
Then death.
Aug 2, 2014
Aug 2, 2014 at 5:17 PM UTC
Genderless with scraped knees and
A lipstick crush on one who bore the same name as me
Uncut brown hair untouched by bleach and
Stealing kisses from my best friend while my parents lied asleep
Lying in the grass with a picture book on faeries
Listening to the wind whistle through our dying trees
Jumping on the bed with my ***** and my bubby
Giggling hand over mouth when my mother called him "hubby"
Daisy chains and he loves me nots
Unbrushed teeth beginning to rot
***** shoes and ***** shoelaces
Visiting imagined places
Pink striped socks and a skirt to mismatch
Waiting for robins eggs to fall or to hatch
O, to be a child and to live within a dream
To lie awake at ten past eight, imagination like a stream
Mar 9, 2017
Mar 9, 2017 at 9:31 AM UTC
Im successful head on my shoulders straight
I have my full portion love family job and money on my plate
Im the type to smile every time you see me
But i keep running into angry birds on the street
Im happy can have any girl i want
Im flawless what you see is what you get no need to stunt
I can be whateva a ***** need and i guess they see
And thats y you angry birds keep pecking at me
Gossiping throwing dirt on my name
Saying im not **** added by wanna be truths yall claim
Snatching my nerves one by one
Boiling my blood some one give me a gun
Im bout to go on a hunt for these angry *** birds
Naw not the game im not throwing you ******* at pigs
I dont need you hoes to get to the next level ***** please
But im about to toss you hoes straight rag you in the streets
Im feeling bad for you birds so every now and then i throw yall bread
And in return you hoes ******** on my head
**** these angry birds
Tryna hatch hate on my life
Jealous cuz im a dove and they pigeons thats not right
For all my successful ladies who is a go getta for hers
When these ******* try to dog you, and pull you down just say i feel bad for these angry birds
Hahahahahahaha
Oct 21, 2011
Oct 21, 2011 at 10:27 PM UTC
I was made for abandonment.
Like a sea turtle left in the sand to hatch on her own and bravely voyage into the ocean,
Escaping her idle life in a pure, white shell for a treacherous journey into a polluted, dark ocean.
She will encounter beasts who will attempt to postpone her self-actualization.
She's alone, but brave.
She knows what she must do
With the sound of the ocean and the light of the moon as her only guides.
She pauses at the shoreline,
The tide comes in,
Sweeps her off her feet and welcomes her in a beautiful embrace.
However...
I am still struggling with the beasts who promised me an easier life
Away from the mysterious ocean;
Idle in their arms.
They led me astray before I realized that while the ocean tides change, they follow the beautiful, definite pattern of the moon.
Oct 30, 2012
Oct 30, 2012 at 11:13 PM UTC
Acorns lying by a tree,
plenty there for you and me.
but please be careful what you do,
for acorn legends all are true.
Pick up only one or two,
take them gently home with you.
Put them in a secret spot,
not too cold, not too hot.
Watch them shake, and hatch, then giggle!
Acorns are the eggs of squirrels!
Jan 9, 2011
Jan 9, 2011 at 11:38 AM UTC
With the onset of the sun in the horizon, the little creatures awake
And dance and sing melodies tantamount to a group of chortling people
Oh, how i wish such convival sights be captured
And played back on repeat everytime you feel low
As vagabonds they fly in search of food and shelter
And when the sun does set, off they disappear in their nests
Robbing the nature of its beauty
For every day they have to give a survival test(from their carnivore counterparts)
The broke pigeon was no different, her eyes gleamed better than Cindrella's did
The vicissitudes of life had rendered it to be a mendicant.
But she was a resilient creature and she continued her fight everyday
Her condition started to exacerbate when she laid 4 snow like eggs
Gathering twig by twig and working for an entire afternoon meticulously
She made a perfect home for her babies which were about to hatch
Be it a human or a bird, mothers always foster the children
Off she slipped into a reverie of a bright future with her kids
But the evil nature had its own sinister plans
Her thoughts were interrupted by a cacophony of sounds of other birds
She knew the sound was ominous
Peeping out of the nest she saw a dozen eagles encircling the tree
Her blood ran cold, she wrapped the eggs around her and a teardrop made its way from her eye
The leader of the eagles stoop towards her and hit her with a beak
The broke pigeon pleaded for its life saying-"I will offer myself to you as soon as my kids learn to fly"
The Machiavillian eagle agreed at first, flew up high,leaving the broke pigeon to heave a sigh of relief
The sigh was a short lived one as it swoop down with two other eagles on the broke pigeon
Performing an act of utter perfidy, there was a sly smile on its face
Turn by turn they devoured the broke pigeon
And kicked the eggs down the nest
It was a brutal ****** much more heinous than the ones we see
But there was none to witness the fate of the broke pigeon
And even if there were, they'd never know the events that transpired
Never know.. never know.. never know..
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 11:15 AM UTC
**inspired by
Lidi Minuet
and her poem
"HATCH"**
I found an egg of crystal
it had a little crack
though beautiful as opals
integrity it lacked
I asked the Lord to help me
"whatever should I do?"
He told me to go and plant it
when the day was new
and so I looked for soil
but no soft could be found
so I planted my wee egg
in hard, forbidding
ground
I watered it with tears
for others suffering lack
and after a little while
the ground
began to
crack!
a tentative green sprout
pushed up its tender head
it grew up from the rocky ground
I had thought so dead!
I continued watering
I knew naught else to do
and a tulip flower appeared
the lightest
eggshell blue!
I watered then in earnest!
I wanted for to see
that flower strong and healthy
and what it'd bloom to be!
slowly the petals opened
and lo! there fast emerged
a'singing and a'fluttering
a little crystal bird!
out of the light blue flower
the creature dipped and soared
it was then I realized
my hope had been restored!
flying 'round my head
its feathers sent off light
as brilliant as a diamond
shattering the night
it was only then I realized
as the darkness fell apart
the soil was life's hardships
and the
egg
had been my
HEART
SoulSurvivor
(C) 12/17/2015
Dec 17, 2015
Dec 17, 2015 at 6:17 AM UTC
(what the hell is an incel)
the media portrays one loser outcast
as every man, as if man is one
big-ass monolithic hivemind
spewing their loser germs everywhere
think we got too much time on our hands
at the checkpoint, selfies on various
landmark celebrating the evil dead
as the hero for the living, graffiti
I look good in leather, also I look
lovely in the blood of my enemies
the hate a multifaceted gem
in the cavern of my predatory eyes
Would love you to join me in the unit
the machine’s got to roll until Friday
and then we can hatch our evil scheme
man I think I have too much time
on my hands
May 3, 2018
May 3, 2018 at 4:47 PM UTC
To the exotic fisherman
who may stare at
the silver-scaled fish
in wonder--
this shall be your new catch.
With souls like nets,
and pure-blue eggs that hatch
new ideas in a flash!
Savor this fish as
it flicks its tail in a splash
to return home to sinkship hollows.
For you detect no
like creature
precedes or follows.
Apr 6, 2010
Apr 6, 2010 at 6:44 PM UTC
Pills, pills for the mentally ill
The more you take, the worse you'll feel
So down the hatch
Yep down your throat
Very soon you'll be wearing this coat
A hug me jacket tarnished in white
With buckles and straps wound so tight
But for now some side effects I wrote
Down here on this pretty little note
Increased thoughts of suicide
And harsh voices to which you can't hide
Nausea, drooling, and anxiety too
And whoever seems to be "after you"
We'll put you to sleep
You won't make another peep
Strap you to a cozy bed where you'll slumber
Pump you till you're as cool as a cucumber
To which we'll add you to our lovely garden
No ifs, buts, or beg your pardons
What's the matter?
You seem unwell
You're as mad as a hatter
This I can tell
So don't start a spell
Don't start a clatter
We'll pick up those pieces to which your mind has shattered
Just take this pill
In fact why not stay
You're better off here anyway!
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 7:31 PM UTC
Some days I think I could love you
If the grass was green enough
If I didn't associate your musk with the flannel
I search for at every goodwill
At every thrift store
Trying them on relentlessly
Button up, button down
As if each little plaid square could shrink my ******* smaller
Stretch my back vertically
Aesthetically speaking.
Some days I think I could love you
If was smaller and wiser
If I could believe in nothing
Rather than the absence of something
Every time I close my eyes and pray once more
Beneath the shadow of the hospital-tainted shower curtain.
Some days I think I could love you
If I remember the piercing blanch
Of whiskey burning in the back of my throat
If I recall the tears in your eyes on a mid-May afternoon
Standing closely in a gravel parking lot
Telling me "See ya later" instead of goodbye
Kissing my forehead, nose, and eyes.
Some days I think I could love you
If you told me it didn't matter how prominent my collar bones are
Or that it didn't take the catalyst of pickling my insides
******* a lonely man while you were away
To make you want for me.
Some days I think I could love you
When you trace the lines of my waist
Asking me not to lose any more weight
When you tell me I'm beautiful
That you envy my heaven
When you ask to see me simply to hear my thoughts.
Some days I think I could love you
If you told me you loved me
If that alone didn't set you apart from the rest
Aligning yourself a whole in one with the others
Only greater.
Some days I think I could love you
If I couldn't recall the misshapen line
Between a large vocabulary and eloquencey
Between a man and a frightened boy
Between an eating disorder and self-motivation.
Some days, I think I might love you
If I could silence my mind of all the fragrances of adultery
If I could leap elegantly past the fear of such a concept
Without wondering how I appear to you compared to the rest.
Some days I think I could love you
If I could forget that you can't
If I could remember how to open my own hatch
Without fear, as the key
If I could remember to love myself.
Some days, I think I could love you
Some days, I believe it.
Some days, I don't.
Nov 1, 2012
Nov 1, 2012 at 2:58 AM UTC
*To watch the sun glare,
a rainbow of colors shining this world,
to smell the rain fall
a reprieve from the chaos
splendidness surrounds life
the death of a spider
when the eggs hatch,
the larval caterpillar
wrapped up in a cocoon;
emerges into an elegant butterfly,
the bacterial decay of nature
into flourishing mushrooms,
the ***** of bees
into sweet, sweet honey,
waste and manure
encourage bloom of radiant flowers,
the grace and beauty of youth
becoming the wisdom and dignity of winkled skin,
lessons learned
from hardships experienced*
when in negative light
remember,
there will be another chance to improve
another time to change the next outcome
your view, aspect of the universe
greatly changes the situation
your attitude, your reaction
towards others, towards life
is what monumentally effects the context
so prideful us humans
an ego trip indeed
an argument of the opposites,
a debate of loved ones,
are both sides wrong?
often not,
yet the argument remains
admit your id
profess your apology,
it does not have to
mean that you
are the one at fault,
(though you very well might be)
it does not mean
the other is infinitely correct,
sincere it should be
it simply states,
you are sorry for the distress,
sorry for the difference of opinions,
thoughts, ideas
that could not be controlled,
you are admitting
you value your relationship
much, much more
then your self righteousness,
if you genuinely care
you will listen,
and if you listen
you will be on the road
to understanding
**and only at understanding
can you truly love**
Jul 21, 2012
Jul 21, 2012 at 12:45 PM UTC
If cows go moo chickens cluck, therefore if the farmer has eaten chicken eggs, he will cluck,
and if he had a steak dinner, he will clmook...
and yield eggs filled with milk from his ****
This is why eggs are solely a breakfast food,
while steak is a dinner because mixing the two in one meal only makes the effects worse,
turning a Farmer over time into a milk filled egg.
Note only farmers are affected like this,
since it takes very high levels of exposure to beef and eggs in their raw un-processed forms,
which we don't buy at grocery stores for the above reasons...
First the mutagen's proprieties of the two mixed together must be neutralized.
By filling any crates in which beef are shipped with powdered eggs
and crates of eggs with beef made from a special breed of cow that has been genetically bred to lay eggs,
the hooves and horns go to make that strange astronaut ice cream that you see in gift shops.
Each "netrie-cow cost over 10,000,000 yen each (and you can only pay in yen)
but without them entire crops of beef eggs can be lost.
Oh i forgot... these were pure bred eggs and beef that need to be treated...
Beef eggs are a new advancement of science,
they are normal eggs in every sense but that they moo when you shake them if they have gone bad,
and taste slightly like beef and need no special treatment.
The chicks which hatch from beef eggs grow to be feathered cows which mate with everything in sight,
and usually are killed before they have the chance to grow,
but many a farmer has decided the risk of raising chowkins worth their original flavor and taste,
but many employ steel pant plates to prevent accidents
(since for some reason chowkins Can produce offspring in humen males as well as their own kind...)
The process killing the farmer,
and producing a creature which speaks in only an impenetrable deep southern accent and Farmer slang,
loves milk and grass,
and unable to perform any function in society,
but crops grown by such creatures are noticeably better in taste.
Clmook!
Clmook!
Clmook!
Go get your lifetime supply of cheese?
Please?
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 5:49 AM UTC
Dans le fond des forêts votre image me suit.
RACINE
There is a panther stalks me down:
One day I'll have my death of him;
His greed has set the woods aflame,
He prowls more lordly than the sun.
Most soft, most suavely glides that step,
Advancing always at my back;
From gaunt hemlock, rooks croak havoc:
The hunt is on, and sprung the trap.
Flayed by thorns I trek the rocks,
Haggard through the hot white noon.
Along red network of his veins
What fires run, what craving wakes?
Insatiate, he ransacks the land
Condemned by our ancestral fault,
Crying: blood, let blood be spilt;
Meat must glut his mouth's raw wound.
Keen the rending teeth and sweet
The singeing fury of his fur;
His kisses parch, each paw's a briar,
Doom consummates that appetite.
In the wake of this fierce cat,
Kindled like torches for his joy,
Charred and ravened women lie,
Become his starving body's bait.
Now hills hatch menace, spawning shade;
Midnight cloaks the sultry grove;
The black marauder, hauled by love
On fluent haunches, keeps my speed.
Behind snarled thickets of my eyes
Lurks the lithe one; in dreams' ambush
Bright those claws that mar the flesh
And hungry, hungry, those taut thighs.
His ardor snares me, lights the trees,
And I run flaring in my skin;
What lull, what cool can lap me in
When burns and brands that yellow gaze?
I hurl my heart to halt his pace,
To quench his thirst I squander blook;
He eats, and still his need seeks food,
Compels a total sacrifice.
His voice waylays me, spells a trance,
The gutted forest falls to ash;
Appalled by secret want, I rush
From such assault of radiance.
Entering the tower of my fears,
I shut my doors on that dark guilt,
I bolt the door, each door I bolt.
Blood quickens, gonging in my ears:
The panther's tread is on the stairs,
Coming up and up the stairs.
3k
Hello little maggots in my doggy's poo
What exactly is it in there that you do?
You're living and you're thriving on my doggies waste
Wonder what it is exactly that you taste?
The taste to you must be good
Living there like maggots should
How is it though you stand the smell?
It is sickening, or can't you tell?
Is it warm inside your home?
Or is it cold, but you can't roam?
There it's moist and food is found.
So why crawl about on the ground?
All your needs are found therein.
A natural home from my best friend.
Squirming and munching in the sun.
There's plenty there for everyone!
You better hurry though, because soon.
Your home will dry up like a prune.
Turning a shade of greyish white
All of the moisture vanished from sight.
Before then, though, you'll grow wings
And buzz about and laugh and sing.
You will search with not far to roam
To find your children a brand new home.
A freshly manufactured double wide
Nice and fresh. Step inside!
A perfect place to lay your eggs,
To hatch and grow little wings and legs.
They'll eat their fill and that's for sure.
There's plenty here and my dog makes more.
But beware of when I mow the lawn,
Your little white bodies in half will be sawn.
And your poopy home, it will be splatterd
And across my yard you will be scattered.
But I can help with a better plan
I'll scoop you up and throw you in a can.
Sep 30, 2012
Sep 30, 2012 at 6:35 PM UTC
The pencil slides perfectly into my grip.
It never slips.
A long, graceful, perfect cylinder
A merciful, beautiful miracle.
I make a mistake and you let me fix it
I have an idea and you let me make it
A dark and twisted world
A bright and elegant creature
You create a beautiful word
You're my best feature
I go nowhere without you.
A notebook too.
She's your perfect match
With you, my world will hatch
On my ear
So my imagination, you may hear.
You're more than a tool,
You're a part of my soul.
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 12:42 PM UTC
No sense for the senseless
Brains for the brain eaters
schools, business, multi media
Mosquitoes with cyber eyes
spreading dull life and exciting lies
Broken records misdefined,
CD’s, USB, mp3
all wasted on nothing real
Color splash, purposeful mismatch
Pop a quad stack down the hatch
quick *** quick cash
no point to living
live life fast
Senseless
Nov 5, 2012
Nov 5, 2012 at 5:36 PM UTC
from the smallest batch to the largest hatch
these cold fleshed beings are hard to catch
lurking slowly in dark places, but quick to find sight
when the cuisine arrives for their morning bite.
pellets, minerals, early catching worms
between swirling and dancing ferns
these wide finned beauties will show you a trait
making it hard to see them as bait
skittish and scattering from left to right,
to watch them and ponder is my true delight.
Jun 23, 2016
Jun 23, 2016 at 9:15 AM UTC
fallow winter does not bring
peace to the restless soul
finger-licked, waiting
on subtle winds shifting
for the tropical taste
of exotic droplets of rain
a salt-stained remembrance
in this time of dreaming
red-light ladies hatch
in raftered minds
a mass awakening
beneath hardened shell
freedom awaits wings
a collective opening
an essential
transformation
Feb 22, 2017
Feb 22, 2017 at 10:07 AM UTC