"heraldic" poems
I am the barbed thorn
the serrated reward
facing savage cruel winter;
sedition in transmission.
I am the only pawn
on your chequered board
facing a feisty queen;
of restricting submission.
I am the demonic exon
a heraldic discord
facing bleak futures;
an inherent disposition.
I am the stillborn reborn
the aberration restored
facing anomalies instability;
violation on a mission.
I am broken and worn
a fallen sword
facing a grim battle;
outnumbered by division.
I am the brass horn
the out of tune chord
facing orchestral expulsion;
a musician in remission.
I am history's forewarn
the contrite accord ignored
facing penitent absolution;
clemency in transition.
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 10:32 PM UTC
sword-shaped
wild iris leaves
pierce the meadow sod,
reaching outwards
from cold reclusive shelter
beneath native strawberry
carpeted repose
juxtaposed ― smoke rises
to the sun
like the basal verdures
of fleeting winter's escape;
crawling up an invisible
spiral staircase seeking
the azure heavens
r e n a s c e n c e
a nexus ―
stormy winter’s windfall
and,
irony of a wooden match,
gathered winter tinder
inflamed, sacrificed
to the heraldic spring skies
of the begetter;
just like
the wistful soul
beheld a simple man
that impatiently rests
on the threshold
of a dream,..
unnoticed
by the billowing silence
of evanescent
winter exile:
daydreaming
a peaceful ascendance;
dissipating puffs of smoke
drifting away
unto the ether,
weightless as light
harlon rivers ... spring 1st, 2018
Mar 18, 2018
Mar 18, 2018 at 1:07 PM UTC
The minutia of cotton fledglings, I play them over and over
In my head, the most enjoyable, a layer of dynasty added to
The mallard kingdom. And a rocking horse swims across
Each pond too, its head heaves and nags creating massive, huge,
Undulating circles around circles. One more coat of gesso and then
Even I, in my speckled red paint Commune jeans, and holy holy Protestant tee shirt, I can travel the world; maybe even brush up on my
Cuyp.
Whipping through the sedge-brook grass, busting out, shooting Through the other mucilaginous nimbuses rolling
Outward first, then fled upward into the beacons of the heavens-
Shouting, whistling, oozing albicant heraldic pillars and shields.
Twenty more colours to mix.
Together, the mallards and ewes and rocking horse, and I;
prancing, little dots, filing into order. Where nursing
Against the sunken pillows of grain, I enter each round of
This papyrus jungle. Neatly folding my hands around each
Milky white shade, rushing out into the aurulent sunglow. .
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 6:40 AM UTC
There was a time when I sang on you forlornly,
So wistfully heraldic,
That I might have thought you worthy
Of a gilded biblical throne of purple-prosed petals.
Let us be grateful then, for the song of perihelion,
And the whispered wisdoms of the dear tropics,
For the fresh breath from these friends whisks me
Back to my wakening, aurelian self.
I weave the holly in my hair,
I hang the mistletoe anew,
For solitary trees stand strong,
Though weighted by the winter’s dew.
I am Helios’s rantipole
I’ve no more time for tears of old,
With so much in me left to grow,
And so far in me left to go.
Dec 11, 2012
Dec 11, 2012 at 11:00 PM UTC
The face of the precipice is black with lovers;
The sun above them is a bag of nails; the spring's
First rivers hide among their hair.
Goliath plunges his hand into the poisoned well
And bows his head and feels my feet walk through his brain.
The children chasing butterflies turn around and see him there
With his hand in the well and my body growing from his head,
And are afraid. They drop their nets and walk into the wall like smoke.
The smooth plain with its mirrors listens to the cliff
Like a basilisk eating flowers.
And the children, lost in the shadows of the catacombs,
Call to the mirrors for help:
'Strong-bow of salt, cutlass of memory,
Write on my map the name of every river.'
A flock of banners fight their way through the telescoped forest
And fly away like birds towards the sound of roasting meat.
Sand falls into the boiling rivers through the telescopes' mouths
And forms clear drops of acid with petals of whirling flame.
Heraldic animals wade through the asphyxia of planets,
Butterflies burst from their skins and grow long tongues like plants,
The plants play games with a suit of mail like a cloud.
Mirrors write Goliath's name upon my forehead,
While the children are killed in the smoke of the catacombs
And lovers float down from the cliffs like rain.
Apr 28, 2010
Apr 28, 2010 at 12:34 PM UTC
I felt the earth at the back of my hand
Resting my head in these warm grass
As it tickles my skin
I look up keenly
A caprice has struck my reverie
Drawn to this tree
laden with plethora of leaves
Whilst the wind sings a familiar melody
You engulf my miseries
Hues of orange, red and green
Heraldic of revivification
Mesmeric elegance
You flail these leaves
Scroop of vigor
with the glint of sunlight
Scintillating glow
Gentle serenity
Where do you hide your sorrows?
Your mystery enthralling
I am defeated by your beauty
-Talisay, Margaret Austin Go
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 11:11 AM UTC
A luminous forest, a weeping evergreen, a tall waterfall that the breeze bounds o'er, a spring of dreams that doubles back and cycles - sky in endlessly they do: the wavelet course of the orbs or a calm stream, tearful eyes overflowing with heraldic thoughts thru the night, a singular occupancy in a surge or flood, crest followed by crest ' till they disguise all, a reign of emerald hue that has no decay, like the flapping wings in the unfolding sky. A gigantic mountain standing tall and strong, not showing how lonely it is to be alone. A calming sound of the river flowing, swiftly the current goes like the days passing by quickly along with each memory. A passage thru the valleys of our future days, and the sunless elegance of such sorrow takes this wealthiest of natures and turns it to industry, and the eventual joys within loving arms that seek out company and some necessary duty in vain at this time, for the day time moments are chipped away by other moments, for all this, I finally admit that I need your happiness to bring me back from this wasting away, because I desire the multiform pleasures that you could bring to me -and I to you.
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 7:04 AM UTC
Get your hat from the peg sweet child.
Protect your skin from mottling.
The sun is baking gently.
For here we are walking along the river side.
Where we shall pick banks of bluebells for free.
We shall smile and giggle.
Watch swans swimming by.
Heraldic and beautiful catching our eyes.
Behind the fence live the goats,
Strange creatures they are.
"Watch your bonnet Dorit,"
They'll steal it if they get a chance.
Curious creatures they are.
A family, of three.
Billy, Nanny and Delilah .
They are so very friendly.
They'd love to break free.
But their sweet release has nothing to do with thee or me.
Their eyes follow us.
We carry along on our summertime jaunt.
Nearly home now.
To our right a large cow.
If cows can smile at us, I'm sure that she did.
Indoors now.
Our bluebells in vases.
Bonnet hung up.
Undone ribbons and bows.
Shoes off.
You said your feet were sore.
I'm rubbing your toes.
To make them feel a bit better.
Evening is coming and she's needing a sweater.
Evening chills not thrilling.
Her bed is calling, she is so willing.
She's falling asleep, at the end of the day.
"Goodnight Dorit. "
(c) Livvi
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 12:36 PM UTC
In twilight sounds of Louis Prima,
I blast the clouds of milky *****
Loosies falling through cracked plastic casings. The leather race.
The skin race. Mother Goose's shoes gave me a foot fetish for starving
Innocent women children- how I love
All. The lintels excisions' forgiven,
My libations intended for an astronaut of solemn jazz solos.
Puking narrative, out a gentle cough gives way.
To the colors of Mars candy bar caramel coatings. How we gloat.
Glowing of paradigms, distraught by the quiet ring of the cup & string.
Earned from an evening of perfervid pervert cacophonies
Often where I where the shoes with backs cut from shreds,
I know have uneven shreds. The Dead plastique of alligator cleats.
Ichbarken, lucifers *** drawings of Darwin, making alive the living Room shackles where I pack backpacks of narrow-minded princess Girlfriends, and I
Trespass reason for every hedonistic reason I please.
Whilst I onward huddle(belly out) guarding the Heraldic heretics of
Every disgruntled guilty Jewish mother- hands and toes I nibbled on.
My name is The Bill, and I am fasteeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeer than goblets of lye which decompose wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 2:50 AM UTC
*Unstable, used, she picks up the bill
and walks out.
Looks to the heavens
no miracle tonight.
At least she looks good,
no clown eyes.
No, running mascara
Just a woman emerging
She, snorts at her inner monologue
'Emerging' ha, in more ways than one.
The palatial house, gone,
the unfaithful spouse, gone,
the demon on her back, gone.
Her mother named her well
Sable 'heraldic word for black'
The darkest colour
Jet black, ebony.
Bonnily she steps out, ironically
clad in a Sable
she drops the coat to the floor
wearing nothing at all.
No need to conceal anything
she does as the flashing lights tell her
(Blue lights)
gets down on the floor*
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 7:30 PM UTC
Brought up by fate,
As miracles from the carcasses remain;
Melted down by the Sun,
Heavily molded by the suffocation of none.
She grew up with nothing else,
Than the ever-burning star for company;
Void of everything but hope,
For the foreign feeling of being wanted.
The allusion from the radiation,
Made her dream of heraldic luminescence;
To be a necessity for existence,
And finally find the purpose of her own.
As the darkness hover over,
Comes the dejection of the recognition;
That a shooting star like her,
Was meant to crash and burn eventually.
Dec 10, 2016
Dec 10, 2016 at 7:34 AM UTC
heraldic entry (ii)
god is the secret god wants us to keep. I hold onto my leg because you cannot return without it. children drop in on women men murder. this, I share.
heraldic entry (iii)
we junk the stove by not thinking about it. I hide my gun inside and then find you doing the same. we survive and believe it’s a sign from television.
heraldic entry (iv)
the wee sharpshooter is scratching his ear with a sprung mousetrap. you tell me, listen, when I am not.
heraldic entry (v)
the healthy son has a sick. well I’ll be. of all the implausibly hedonistic, god is the one who didn’t get away.
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 3:23 PM UTC
A luminous forest, a weeping evergreen, a tall waterfall that the breeze bounds o'er, a spring of dreams that doubles back and cycles - sky in endlessly they do : the wavelet course of the orbs or a calm stream, tearful eyes overflowing with heraldic thoughts thru the night, a singular occupancy in a surge or flood, crest followed by crest, ' till they disguise all, a reign of emerald hue that has no decay, like the flapping wings in the unfolding sky. A gigantic mountain standing tall and strong, not showing how lonely it is to be alone. A calming sound of the river flowing, swiftly the current goes like the days passing by quickly along with each memory. A passage thru the valleys of our future days, and the sunless elegance of such sorrow takes this wealthiest of natures and turns it to industry, and the eventual joys within loving arms that seek out company and some necessary duty in vain at this time, for the day time moments are chipped away by other moments, for all this, I finally admit that I need your happiness to bring me back from this wasting away, because I desire the multiform pleasures that you could bring to me - and I to you.
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 8:54 AM UTC
I am a person away from receiving the baby. my arms, like yours, end. my wife is elsewhere as even elsewhere is needy. my wife hollers into a pillow. my hands are the many crippling fights over which is echo.
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 1:02 PM UTC
Unbeknownst to me if royal
gilded crests comprised
my rusty dust caked coat of arms
hence, I take liberty successfully farms
productive crop to contrive fictitious
Medieval Age forebears
with favorable charms
strong agile hands
hurling crude accouterments
centuries prior to invention of firearms,
which weapons (of mass sieve construction)
privy to proto gendarmes,
this inventiveness of mine conjures
courageous knights in shining armor,
perhaps monogrammed,
hammered chain metal,
nonetheless such endeavor quite a chore
where love's labors not lost,
viz hub bully accepting, condoning,
and employing embellishments extempore,
whereby solar rays alight,
flickr, and glint glore
re: us astral motifs, the stellar
craftsmanship one (even a poor,
indigent destitute beggar
like yours truly)
could not ignore
exquisite baldric, exotic, and heraldic
trappings incorporating magical lore
aesthetically pleasing
fascinating, and appealing to one poor
uneducated disheveled rhapsodic bohemian
incumbent jibber jabbering, hallucinating,
and fancying deplorable basket case to restore
himself, the legitimate true heir,
who could double as
courtly jesting troubadour,
whose slain grand papa Aaron Harris
violently ousted during Uber Vodafone War
constitutes dreamy gotcha your
attention fabricated and
facilitated to Zoar,
an actual ancient city
anachronistically inserted here
thanks to Lot, whose Biblical reference
Google made me aware,
which ye probably care
nary a fig about, but
placename linkedin mere
to allow, enable and provide bare,
lee tenuous appeal dare
ring me to trump
poetic formality near
rolly returning full circle (one tough Job)
manufacturing prevarication
recounting "FAKE" heir
essentially envisioning, imagining,
and jimmying gallant
high in the saddle career
timeless lifeline chess piece
of centuries gone by
enshrouded with reverence by this air
rent considerably less provocative
then missives by Baudelaire.
Jan 15, 2019
Jan 15, 2019 at 10:07 PM UTC