"henge" poems
****** Poem
1/26/2014
In the mind of a ****** person who doesn't rarely ever get ******
This is nice, getting to watch online videos on my laptop.
It is entertaining to think about.
Wow, what did people used to do in like ancient times when they got ****** without electronic devices?
Back in the ****** Ages, did they talk to horses in their stables or something?
I really wish I remembered to bring that guacamole to my bed,
I don't want to get up and grab it.
ugh, but the salt sounds so tasty right now.
Hey, why do we say stuff like 'sounds tasty?'
Maybe I should write a poem about StonedHenge.
haha henge henge
haha
Okay, that might have been a bit too much.
Do I always follow my stream of consciousness like that?
How long has this song been on?
Wow, it feels like forever.
The point of this poem at the beginning of the high
was to demonstrate some big idea that I thought sounded really smart
but I think I've lost it now that I'm a ****** person who doesn't rarely ever get ******
I'm gonna get up and get the guacamole, bye.
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 8:33 PM UTC
Oh, Tennessee wind is blowin',
Skies been lookin' grey.
**** hounds keep on whinin',
And I ain't seen your face.
Oh... in so many days...
I'd ask you over, baby,
But it seems there ain't no space.
Oh, Mose is in the front room,
Sleeping on the floor.
There's a leaky pipe in the bathroom,
And no henge on the door.
Oh, if I hardly please you,
Can't give you a home you'd like.
When I worry about the things I say,
Honey, that ain't no life.
Jul 31, 2011
Jul 31, 2011 at 3:19 PM UTC
This is the story of A boy whose name is unimportant, and to tell this story we'll have to go back in time.
To Samantha, A name which left foot prints in his mind so enormous that he oftentimes could only remember his own in portions.
See? Such a name is why this boys name is so unimportant, and as for his story? Well we'll have to go back to a time where in his mind, a sense of time is precious and rare to find. Even his sense of mind is torn to portions.
Yet another of the boys increasing misfortunes from Samantha, and her foot prints ever so enormous.
So when the boy decides to try to go back in time to recall the crime which left him oh so distorted, when a robber bearing Samantha for a name rushed into his endorphins. To a time when his cerebral cortex was a door, and a name was its door henge.
He says;
"To tell this story of mine we must go back to a time when- well... when the colors first ceased to shine"
Aug 19, 2016
Aug 19, 2016 at 3:05 AM UTC
I don't wanna die unfulfilled and empty;
I should live my life now or I will never be
Someone destined to make a change;
We are just a spec in time etching a name on a henge
Life is not a waiting room just so you know;
We must learn to hold onto something and learn to let go
A story involving you and me in a one big show;
God is the witness as we all walk life and learn to grow
Forever and ever a scar one way or another will always remain;
A reminder that we took a wound we cause ourselves just to stay sane
So we know that we are still alive by the methods of feeling pain;
God help us for insanity sometimes is what we only have to maintain...
Contemplations and thousand questions why seek answers we don't want to hear;
What's the truth we are looking for is already here breathing, closer than a tear
The one that falls from our eyes every night we feel troubled and praying for guidance;
But then every day we walk the lines of blasphemy and complete defiance...
So what do we want?We want heaven but we live like hell?;
So what do we need?We neglect to stand sometimes but easily grasp the ground where we fell?
Staying as low as we can and cowering deep, instead of looking up and reach for a climb;
So my friend start making up your mind cause' all life offers one thing and it's called "time"...
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 2:50 AM UTC
There among the lushly verdant
Mosses damp and darkest green
Enchanted by a single word and
They call to life the darkness queen.
She slept with one dark resolution
Born of ages long forgot
Sworn to find her retribution
For what his villainy had wrought.
Sorcery built his path immortal
Claimed her castle of the North
Centuries five bring forth a portal
The key? One word to call her forth.
In an old, forgotten oak chest
A parchment found, it told the tale
Three women struck out on the quest
Resisting rain and blowing gale.
Gathered round the glade of green
At time foretold by old quatrain
They prepared to raise the queen
One word to resurrect her reign.
Rising now from forest floor
From deep within the ancient henge
Brought forth she flies to wage her war
Raised-up by one brief word: "Revenge"
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 12:59 PM UTC
Within a mere winds wisp
from the henge,
It stands, majestic.
Built by calloused hands,
Of stone pillar, carved
By centuries of raging Usk,
to rise above Isca Silurum.
The cambion desires and dreams,
Realised by this last enchantment.
Within a mere winds wisp
from the henge,
It falls, forlorn.
Razed by calloused hands,
To jealous rocks, wasted
By centuries of cooling Usk,
to lay beside Isca Silurum.
Staring at catherderal skies
over nights of firefly summer.
Two jacks, used.
I forgive my Camelot.
Oct 1, 2011
Oct 1, 2011 at 5:12 PM UTC
On an island in the west country,..
In the Queen's land, where Black-beard,..
Once played on, as a young child..
And called his home, among the contours...
Chained men and tobaccos..
Once brought fortune lust..
Bridges were built, and train tracks laid..
By the man Brunel, who wore as long a hat..
Ships and cathedrals, sugar factories..
Bansky's graffiti, treasured marks on walls..
And stone-henge laid a stone throw away..
Roman baths, in near by Bath..
And underground passage, of tunnels..
Laid for walks and rivers paths..
Horse mountain and Welsh borders..
Sat not far away on looks, across the channel..
But for the one thing, that makes Brizz so special..
Is the sanctuary, it provides for lost souls..
This here laid land, a place like home..
Gulliver did be so proud, to call his home..
Away from home, as I do, away from home..
Aug 20, 2010
Aug 20, 2010 at 5:53 PM UTC
Cold stone
Circle
Power of the years
I stroke your surface
And try
To connect
To your history
When wondering on how you came to be
I have decided
That Giant's
Must have carried you on thier backs
There is no further explanation
I could possibly find
I have taken a little from you
Power that is
And I leave you a little behind of my own
Feb 5, 2011
Feb 5, 2011 at 2:42 AM UTC
Here I sit still, awaiting the answer,
Awaiting this testament,
Awaiting my retreat.
For soon will these
Closed doors be locked and unopened,
Or pushed to let light in, unshut and unsheathed.
A poor fool am I, who sits on her hands.
Talking in melodies, but ne’er across the land.
Whose voice is a weapon, but only in mind:
In soul, but not earth,
In heart, but not time.
The people have chosen, we stand in defeat.
No triumph,
Their triumph,
Inequality: not deceased.
We’re Animals, savages- away from the fields;
Asleep;
Unmoving;
No weapons to weild.
In silence, pure silence, I seek my revenge.
I seek out their vengeance, But only with eyes.
My mouth is tucked inward, held fast at the henge.
No words will escape me,
Nor actions,
Nor lies.
My heart is not true, so they say, so
I trust.
But my mind does not falter,
I know what is just.
For am I a lost cause?
I know it, I’ve seen it,
I’m not even true in my mind.
But Hope is a strong friend, an outcast as I am:
An outcast that oft leaves me blind.
And now I sit still, awaiting an answer,
Awaiting this testament
Awaiting my retreat.
My heart is a closed door, awaits to be opened.
Pushed to let light in, unshut and unsheathed.
Jan 16, 2012
Jan 16, 2012 at 4:35 PM UTC
The melting toll of empty hours,- chaste
Among the dry-stone steeples,-stirs
The cobbled rune of foetal wonder.
Forgotten waifs, in teasing, see
The scheming torpor of our ways
Then mingle in the vaults of our regret,
Through half closed eyes the
Unremembered rise on drafts
Of innocence, to spell their names
In Spirit in these scuttled, pin drop Realms.
The utters of an arcane tongue that
Whittled horses from the hill, now merge
Into the chiseled henge of lanterned Citadels.
Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 7:02 PM UTC
ta meg hjem
gates bevoktet av Troll
sterke menn
sterke kvinner
sterke folk
la meg kjempe sammen
med deg
bror
søster
den kalde kan ikke skade oss
la oss gå hjem
til skjønnhet og fredelig
til frisk luft
og vennlig gatene
feire til Ragnarök
og henge vår elendigheter
på Yggdrassil
over bro
over Troll
der det hele begynte
la oss være brennende som våre forfedre
smart som vår kin
vi har fortsatt tid
la oss gå hjem,
la oss gå hjem,
la oss gå hjem,
Jan 10, 2015
Jan 10, 2015 at 3:02 PM UTC
I had a great time.
would live to see you soon.
I'm fearful to see you
Because I know when I do that I might tremble.
I'm not sure if its because I don't know you well enough,
Or of its the fact that I am betraying myself.
Mystery girl no more.
I'm am not an open door.
I know what it is I have been scouting.
So here I am mildly pouting
What is this though.
My legs are not a fashioned henge.
So I am a ***
***** and rude because they don't split.
I'll take no banana
And that's just it...
Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 5:59 PM UTC
A
sword
for the sworn
A
palace
for the queen
A
bride
for the estate
A
head
above his fireplace
A
stone henge
of cobbled grace.
May 9, 2023
May 9, 2023 at 2:14 PM UTC
I'm told they marvelled
at the winter sun
rising through the henge
symbol of times gone
times to come, longer days
renewal of life's ways.
We think we understand
the coming and the going
the passage of the seasons
nights days fortunes made lost
death's cost and yet we fight.
Oct 7, 2016
Oct 7, 2016 at 1:53 PM UTC
Solstice midsummer is famous for revelry around the stones
The sacred stones on Salisbury plain
Laid as monuments by our ancestral people
The henge of countless moons and previous seasonal
wheel turns stands steadfast
Silently they hold the history we crave to unravel
The years of news, turmoil and worship
The rising and setting of our life-giving sun
The bitter cold winters, likewise winter solstice
Where few find solace holding their offerings
Or enjoying the feeble warmth from a far away star
The nature of Stonehenge carries the enigma
Which makes it special, mysterious and commands
Respect, awe and love
I believe like it's close neighbour Avebury
The Henge will remain enigmatic
A giant in the soil of the flat plains
Certain to give us the love it once received from Druidic
Peoples laying down their hopes and their wishes
Spending time absorbing, making and mending
Rekindling the connections around themselves
With the earth, through this massive conduit
The sacred stones everywhere hold their story
Close to their chest, the mirrored knowledge
That embraced the folk that built the magickal elements
Will be there for ever
Claiming the fascination of the masses but the respect
Of few that understand the real Stonehenge
Jul 7, 2018
Jul 7, 2018 at 5:15 AM UTC
Beyond our milky way whats there.
Black is the summary, of all space it's tinted with the sun.
So how is there black.
Black is said to be pure creation, right so as birds and planes are full of flight.
We are here spining on a tilted axis.
And have yet to discover the all of its being.
If a simulation, is pure and high grade depition.
Reason of war, our experience is surprisingly devoted to evolution.
If doors didn't have henge would they be so useable.
Some what confusional I know this is.
With schedule being made and projections of completion becoming done.
We all are organized and fit to handle any task.
Achive we strive to ring the bell at the highest climb.
If all was made and designed what's the fun in the vines.
Optical illusion, the eye's can not figure out.
Why is five colors in different contrast make the eye see shapes.
Oh now two, dimensional objects weave threw space huge compared to 3d.
See in space out of gravity and radiation belts.
Sizes of objects get super sized.
There is no time, no limits no occupation.
In space of all concepts.
Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 1:24 PM UTC
back at home they called me bart and they laughed whenever i'd say the word
jellybeans.
threw up on a bearded hipster gothic hermaphodrite on 2nd wave estrogen and on that
punk rock kick with
a hint of nu-metal
and a tinge of hip hop.
suicided inside the Walmart with one of the leaf-blowers and left the cart pusher to
remove of the carcass
and greeted by a nurse in LA.
haven't lost 33 pounds but am triying
with a steady diet of beans.
pinching my nostrils to look more ethnic.
on the board of racial relations and have received the ID
and now
conducting an interview with a guy in a stone tent in wales next to ****** henge when it reopened last sunday.
you know you're gonna have to go back to work tomorrow
and you're gonna have to put in twice the effort because
Jessica is sensing that you're 'falling behind' and it's essential that you
prove to this firm otherwise and pick up the slack
so these numbers don't continue to dwindle in this high-market season.
got a can of tuna, cold to these
lips.
banana up my ******* up to 6 inches half-way
****** for a day.
forehead is split
and eyeballs are soaked in ink.
back to the strip mall to get a free massage and sexually harass the
glass stand.
'NO.
TAKE MY MONEY AND SPEND IT ON ORANGES.
she cries a lot nowadays,
and I feel bad especially in the mornings,
and love has just turned bitter
but mostly tepid and
indifferent
Jun 5, 2017
Jun 5, 2017 at 4:32 AM UTC
starting, this power that's been so very
missed; longing, staring, as instrument become
effigy. no one tried burning it, though. maybe
a stake pre-posted could have helped with
that; then again, people don't like to be told
where, and most importantly what, to burn in
ritual. some family traditions die hard, or more
so, don't die at all. much like turtles - figure it
out; that's some analaphor. (that's some mis-
pronunciation, huh) and, here's a little add-in:
time will find this half-sheet; something, some
intangible being means to an answer. I never
even posed a question; paradoxical. You kept
me aware when a trip went a little too hard.
i have a timidness when thought turns to losing
this vessel. i'll ******* lose it someday, of course,
mind the blind; there, worlds not shined. hasn't
been but their static for some time. work from
the bottom once more; a henge of stones named
a pyramid - that thought crashed, but a quick
wit could bring us back around to the topic of
catacombs. but, nope. nothing.
Jan 20, 2017
Jan 20, 2017 at 8:18 AM UTC