"hilt" poems
inspired by
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/5120189/love-cannot-be-controlled-or-confined/
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Love is Meant……
and there, I stop…
<>
nnnnyup; continuing on,
this phrase
a self~sufficiency, is it not?
no conditional clause, dangling particle,
no conjunction peg upon to hang your wintered hat,
no adjacent adjective for summer's ending sadness,
no preposition to lead us to sunny places, where we search more
for nouns and pronouns, or to project/protect, in adjectives to clothe our irrationality in logic-e,
logic to define, logic to confine,
illogically
love permits one to say to another human, you mine, hu-mine,
[an aside: "you mine,' (really?)]
a preposterous prepositional insanity notion, that needs no explication,
love is meant, love is meant, love is mean, dream & yet, meant!
stadium sized. concert hall big, mini pup tent,
love is clean+dirty s i m u l t a n e o u s l y
don't you see the self~sufficiency in that?
yet you still seek definition, reasoning, seasoning,
love is meant to-be bent irregular straightaway,
love is meant, to be/not, cold 'n bot, silly hot,
lover is inert, hurt, ert,(1)
love is every point of,
of a sword's length
hilt & blade,
yet ironic,
the tip alone
is a self sufficient *****
to be full~on damaging enough to ****
to fully comprehend,
that love is meant
needs no further modifying defying
pointless phrasal modification of explanation…
s u n d a y
(if the week did not commence with a sunday,
hu-mans would have needed to create one,
to understand,
love is meant)
4:39am
Sun Aug 10
Twenty Twenty Fidelio (5)
in a new york city frame of mine
Aug 17, 2025
Aug 17, 2025 at 8:06 AM UTC
sitting here but not
my insides
in a twist
my organs blooming,
their flower landscapes
rising in my solar plexus
like poetry expanding
its cellular shapes
into
light frequencies
I need way more.
I need the pulling off
and stripping down
of souls
I need to meet in
a depth of falling
I need to be pushed off
the silent gates of madness
into endless sea
no looking back
senses piqued
from slightest brush
of oral butter pouring
on hot cream
my mouth, a searing
crimson wound
oscillates in
contraction radar pulses
ripe for intense
tongue exploration
aching to be filled up with
your distinct flavor
My essence molecular is
overflowing with fluid
giving me life
in throbbing, raw
electric vibes
whipped organic, in
rolling tides
Somewhere, out there
our volcanic impulses
meet in steamy ebbs
and send energyflow
to a new and ancient universe,
magnetic
and I am
a raging heaven's child
wrapped in
a tight little
tourniquet
blood pumping
through these veins
my longing for
dark stretches
of intimate caresses
to soothe
the spikes
of snaking pain
Give me
those airwaves that
let me breathe freedom
into the fields of our skin
Let me run like wild herds
of the animal within
and as I find myself
hanging off
my
own
edges
my many-braided loops
in zigzag split,
a-fray
my skin rips open,
parting fibers
that expose my
very
DNA
helix swivel
undulation
hips grinding into
soul
reaching in to
pull out
fresh rebirth
from between my folds
O help me to allay
this tender affliction
undo me, already
so I lose control
one little shove
and I am over the cliff
deep into ocean
**** over spliff
I am beyond ready
so grind it to the hilt
Give me your
tender-ripped heart,
spill your honeycomb milk
I am here, ravenous
in the pan
uncooked yet ripe
saliva and breath
steaming my own innards
flushing out strife
I am piquant hot pepper
ready to be broiled
my blood is already
boiling
my tender meat oiled
mull me over
in your oral cavity
like sacred wine
until I drip
through your bones
and down your spine
Just meld with me
and flow
into that light tunnel
of dark time and space
so I can stake out
my rhythms
and claim
my
new
sacred
place
Aug 15, 2017
Aug 15, 2017 at 12:20 AM UTC
Laced with ribbons of moonlight
Bangladesh a touched dream at first light.
Land of my father, my mother
sweeter than nectar.
Purer than the driven snow
brighter than raw gold.
Gazing stars’ bumped up bottom
down the untouched moon.
Men and the six seasons
living in one loving fold
our one fertile sweet home!
O Allah rank our martyrs our heroes
up high in paradise in bloom
brought Bangladesh freedom abloom!
Punters cumulus clouds fly
eyes on the sky blue
on a spur hanging low tune into wild coo.
Picture independent Bangladesh
step in on the morning rug
rolls out outside the sun
walk through, the moon is inside!
Bask in, take your time
when the twilight adds a shadow
the beauty spot on your broad daylight
escape to more serendipitous discovery.
Eye on the stars or tuberoses on the ground
our free land is inspiring, beautiful even in the dark.
Laughs free from a tulip glass
across the land, air and the water
upon the reed flute stirred river
flowing downstream to the hilt
from a deep-delved foundation out of reach
her raised high flag flies
over the pivotal banyan trees.
Every flap of our ‘the sun in the green’ shaped flag,
the light of heaven on the evergreen earth!
Ah, sways in the chalice of every flower
on the land cheers beyond the warm South
whispers to our hearts and makes us feel proud.
Mar 1, 2022
Mar 1, 2022 at 10:14 PM UTC
The world was young, the mountains green,
No stain yet on the Moon was seen,
No words were laid on stream or stone
When Durin woke and walked alone.
He named the nameless hills and dells;
He drank from yet untasted wells;
He stooped and looked in Mirrormere,
And saw a crown of stars appear,
As gems upon a silver thread,
Above the shadow of his head
The world was fair, the mountains tall,
In Elder Days before the fall.
Of mighty kings of Nargothrond
And Gondolin, who now beyond
The Western Seas have passed away;
The world was fair in Durin's Day.
A king he was on carven throne
In many-pillared halls of stone
With golden roof and silver floor,
And runes of power upon the door.
The light of sun and star and moon
In shining lamps of crystal hewn
Undimmed by cloud or shade of night
There shone for ever fair and bright.
There hammer on the anvil smote,
There chisel clove, and graver wrote,
There forged was blade, and bound was hilt;
The delver mined, the mason built,
There beryl, pearl, and opal pale,
And metal wrought like fishes' mail,
Buckler and corslet, axe and sword,
And shining spears were laid in hoard.
Unwearied then were Durin's folk;
Beneath the mountains music woke:
The harpers harped, the minstrels sang
And at the gates the trumpets rang.
The world is grey, the mountains old,
The forge's fire is ashen cold;
No harp is wrung, no hammer falls,
The darkness dwells in Durin's halls;
The shadow lies upon his tomb
In Moria, in Khazad-dûm.
But still the sunken stars appear
In dark and windless Mirrormere;
There lies his crown in water deep,
Till Durin wakes again from sleep.
4.6k
Oh, the sensation, the media frenzy,
The spotlight, the fame, the hullabaloo,
When anti-evolution laws
Were challenged by the ACLU!
The year: 1925.
The place: Dayton, Tennessee.
To say it was an extravaganza
Wouldn't be hyperbole.
For many people it was hard
To find a way to reconcile
Biblical accounts with science,
So science found itself on trial.
A young teacher, John T. Scopes,
Was willing to face prosecution
For breaking a Tennessee law for having
Given a lesson on evolution.
The "Monkey Trial" it was called.
The challenge meant swimming upstream
For the feisty lawyer Clarence Darrow,
Who helped to lead the defense team.
A prosecutor was William Jennings
Bryan, who with no apology
Loved to stir up outrage against
Evolutionary biology.
Defendant Scopes quickly found
It wouldn't take long for him to know
What it was like to have a part
In a multimedia reality show.
The courthouse received a make-over:
Platforms for newsreel cameras were built;
Extra spectator seats were added.
They were playing the trial to the hilt.
Concession stands sold food and drinks;
Toy monkeys were on display;
A chimp was dressed in a suit and fedora;
The clergy also joined the fray.
The media and the public loved it!
The country watched the trial progress.
What would win: science or scripture?
The answer was probably easy to guess.
After an eight-day trial, the jury
Deliberated. Nine minutes later
They had their verdict: guilty! How
Could someone question THEIR creator?
Scopes had actually never given
The lesson. That's what he later said.
Strangely, five days after the trial,
Williams Jennings Bryan dropped dead.
Laws later changed, but even during
Current times, some people feel
That stories from the Bible should be
In science textbooks. Now THAT'S surreal!
-by Bob B (11-6-18)
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 9:00 AM UTC
Insult not a memory.
So blessed with kindness.
Touched with honey.
Stoked with decency.
Painted from soft brush.
Gentle sable.
Lower the sabre.
The powerful sword.
With hilt of guilt.
Let it be.
Not aggressive being.
Distressed.
Depressed.
Acrid tears.
Acid tongue.
Lemon lips.
Evil sharp,
So bitter.
Discarded amid leaf litter.
The autumn leaves they fell.
Deep within the mist.
Memories withheld.
Can’t you tell?
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 6:24 PM UTC
My father's long fingers smooth
over the aged scratchy pleats.
The Kilt is magnificent. It has the
fleeting beauty that only a well
kept antique has, that warm
firelight glow of the past.
It has a few scuffs and holes,
but the somber reds and greens of
clan Mackintoish have settled into
the cloth and darkened pleasantly.
The kilt is always the most important detail,
it has passed from grandfather down,
and it looks as handsome now
as in the sepia photographs on our shelves.
The dirks black ornate hilt rests
heavily against his hip, and the
belt is cinched tightly to hold it up.
you can practically hear bagpipes
My grandfather's dark green cotton socks
sit near the top of my father's calf
and he leans over to adjust the frills.
And as his tan wrinkled brow furrows
in concentration, and his admittedly
attractive white whiskers scrape
across his collar, and the image
nears completion, the drum beats louder.
Reaching up from the ancient past
and grasping the future in tradition,
the ghosts of ancestors enter his poise,
and he suddenly appears less like
my father and takes on the swagger
of a cocky fisherman, of pirate.
He is swinging swords
and playing pipes, and cobbling, and
setting stones upright in ancient
forgotten ritual, and tossing cabers.
I know looking at him now,
what my own ghosts will be
when my time comes.
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 8:16 PM UTC
It was an accident! We didt mean to it, well it just happened. The cold steel rhetoric of the kitchen knife cutting into his ribs deep to the hilt. The same way his ***** had accidentally slipped into her best friend. The only accident was her coming home before he came and she went. The rest, the bed, the bend over the kitchen knife. A'll planned my Lord.
Sep 22, 2012
Sep 22, 2012 at 4:09 PM UTC
Fashionable entourage
people dance in step
to the beat of hidden
native rituals
Hidden here and there
seeing a pair clad up to the hilt
with colored shades
cool as mountain glades
that never
shakes or simmers
on fire
a real deep desirous searching soul
Rapping about nothing
even though
face to face
words bounce off expressions
as cool as mountain glades
that soon melt-fade
into the distance
Rap, tap, clap
never nap
the cannibus-filled room
embellished by flashing lights
on nights
that take spatial flights
into another world that enters upon
lounging everywhere
people lost in space,
in time,
in androgynous acts
In vogue, you speak to me
about fashions
that dazzle, frazzel, razzle,
and lip curl
and eye twinkle
me to you,
in real
but unreal
cannibus-sweet-dusky-dreamy-rooms
MTV blotched, bleached
Sergio Valente dungarees,
then a real feeling child cries
in the background
and is soon hustled off to bed
And never a hurt we laugh
and smile
and smile
A frozen smile grin;
take it on the chin sport
Keep up the good front
Keep up the grinning fort sport
A sported fort fortified Disneyland
and life's forever
carousel ride
and sweep the dirt under the carpet
A speak about profits
And speak about"ME" yuppie things;
about golden rings
that wrap around ears, around wrists, and cattle noses
Seek time entwined
to search geometrically
the advertisements
that lead you
and nobody but you to you
A love ballad between
one and no one but you
You and you
and you
and you
Being good you
you being good to you,
Being good to nar-sa-see-you
you being good to only you,
to yoou
to yoou
to yoooooooooou
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 4:18 AM UTC
Wallowing
in a stagnant,
skeptical world,
you must live.
Run river, run
you are no forest,
you do not stand still,
and you can never go back.
Logic need not follow,
but it always will,
and that is all it can do,
it is all
I can do.
Pleasure seeker,
still mindful of the gods;
Dionysus, Apollo,
Hanuman, Saraswati
in your heart,
never at odds.
Show no humility,
only invincibility,
make yourself cry
twice weekly.
Leave your mouth watering,
leave your mothers wanting more.
What if the cacophony broke the barricades?
Noise, noise, noise, noise, poison!
Gasp as the venom creeps to your brain,
grasp at the hilt of the dagger, dilettante, for all we can see
is that friends are always followed by pain.
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 12:35 AM UTC
None of this has been my choice,
I can see now.
All of it is up to God,
and I get relief from that somehow.
It means I don't have to decide
if you and I are meant to be.
I don't have to worry,
if you are right
you will see.
So take my life for You, God.
I believe You to the hilt.
Now do with me what you have willed.
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 2:51 PM UTC
I don’t want to talk to angels,
Not for me, the bleeding priest.
I want my ****** doctor
So I can find some peace.
I want a ****** expert,
Not a hippie with some tea,
Charging excess for the karma,
And no money guarantee.
I can’t take ****** ginger,
It brings me out in hives,
And you can take the Echinacea
And stick it with the chives.
I want the ****** doctor,
Tired eyes and cynic smile,
Who’s seen it all before
And has my details on his file.
Pull out your cold machines,
Test me to the hilt;
Try to find what’s wrong with me,
Before I ****** wilt.
I don’t want to wait for callback,
I’m not interested in online;
It’ll only tell me that I’m dead,
Dying,
Or I’m fine.
Apr 2, 2023
Apr 2, 2023 at 4:53 AM UTC
Upon the gate
Words inscribed
"TRESPASSERS BEWARE"
Behind me mist recedes
Steep cliff revealed
At the brink I tense
My footsteps echo as
The gate looms larger
Damp black rocks under
Hits me the tortured's howls
As I step across the threshold
Legs steady, eyes set
Dense fog obscuring
Flame and body
The torch flickers
A winding path I follow
Patient and unwavering
With sword unsheathed
Cold wind announces my destination
Before me the chasm yawns
From my hands the flickering torch
Fell boucing down jagged rocks
I grasp the hilt of my sword
Light refracting off the blade
I hold it outward through the fog
Its light dimming by the minute
And await the terrors to come
Rumbling from the distance
The gate crashes down
Darkness falls upon this realm
The chilly wind picking up
All sounds coming to a halt
I close my eyes
Steps unsteady as I pick my way
Not knowing how many
Gasping I pull my feet back
As it touched empty space
Then tentatively I inch
Forward with a heavy breath
Until I stop at the very brink
For a minute staying still yet
With a lurch I slip into the chasm
Cloak billowing above me I
Flail around in a frenzy
I feel the cool hilt still and
Point the sword downwards
Taking a deep breath and
Bracing for the impact
Jul 25, 2024
Jul 25, 2024 at 7:37 PM UTC
When he was a youth of fifteen or twenty,
He chased a wild horse, he caught him and rode him,
He shot the white-browed mountain tiger,
He defied the yellow-bristled Horseman of Ye.
Fighting single- handed for a thousand miles,
With his naked dagger he could hold a multitude.
...Granted that the troops of China were as swift as heaven's thunder
And that Tartar soldiers perished in pitfalls fanged with iron,
General Wei Qing's victory was only a thing of chance.
And General Li Guang's thwarted effort was his fate, not his fault.
Since this man's retirement he is looking old and worn:
Experience of the world has hastened his white hairs.
Though once his quick dart never missed the right eye of a bird,
Now knotted veins and tendons make his left arm like an osier.
He is sometimes at the road-side selling melons from his garden,
He is sometimes planting willows round his hermitage.
His lonely lane is shut away by a dense grove,
His vacant window looks upon the far cold mountains
But, if he prayed, the waters would come gushing for his men
And never would he wanton his cause away with wine.
...War-clouds are spreading, under the Helan Range;
Back and forth, day and night, go feathered messages;
In the three River Provinces, the governors call young men --
And five imperial edicts have summoned the old general.
So he dusts his iron coat and shines it like snow-
Waves his dagger from its jade hilt in a dance of starry steel.
He is ready with his strong northern bow to smite the Tartar chieftain --
That never a foreign war-dress may affront the Emperor.
...There once was an aged Prefect, forgotten and far away,
Who still could manage triumph with a single stroke.
2.3k
This empty ***** bottle,
has been cuddled and swaddled and squandered.
In my ***** it seeps to every dame between,
a dad and not knowing her own preponderance.
I **** I **** by the ****** of my hilt,
of the sword of unrighteous, self help,
and filling their wombs with guilt.
I've never helped anyone all of my life.
Though they would tell you different mistruths,
of their positional view, so skewed by proof,
undo, that I sent them through.
It's a fun house of lies and mirrors shaping figures,
of veneers, so botched that plastic surgeon quacks wouldn't own up to
the scars.
I ferment peoples living.
I turn drunk ****** into angels.
I mask charlatan as queens,
and poison my own gut with the fakes in my head.
Crops die.
Crust subdues verdance.
Chronos rhymes the days and night.
Course subjugation to penance.
But now I seethe my own head into my throat,
and end in ink wrote as prose.
Killing beauty. Art.
**** Art.
Today is.
Death.
Tomorrow's not life,
nor living,
breathing nor breath,
oxygen's just a molecule,
it causes no spark,
except in molecules charged,
with dividing and subdividing,
and rejoining and conjoining into something that can use it.
happy flights :)
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 11:01 PM UTC
blood
blood patter and splash
leads us concrete toward
tracing back til the scene
i’ve flashing thoughts of the brutality
the violence that must of cussed
between persons
in fear fray and inebriation
down the steps
my four year old child and I go
the greasing bleed in bronze putters
growing and leadening
on stone labours
glowing citrus the refrigeration
of the underpass
‘flips the bird' at the summer blaze
grey dead coral bricks of urination
seasoned in deep beading now cold
the broke up weapon
candy slates of brittle teeth
glass / bottle / beer /brown
the neck its' hilt
and the main mud of the bleeding
the flies are the thing
that bothers my ‘little nipper’
usually a flapper of queries on repetition
no other queries are raised
just eager for the vibration
of train carriages gatling over our heads
i stopper any words i may have on the matter
he holds my hand with his hot hand
we progress under a port arms
procession of caged floodlights
and walled in by fresh graffiti
fingers dripping retching for the guttering
Dec 22, 2023
Dec 22, 2023 at 3:05 PM UTC
I hope that you're unhappy
I wish that you were dead...
Hopefully psychotic delusions
Dance inside your head...
I hope you contract ******
I want you to bleed...
I hope you never find what you think you need
I hope you fall madly in love, no really I do
'Cause I hope he is abusive, and he cheats on you...
You deserve nothing, I pray that you go blind
I hope you keep suffering until you lose your mind...
I hope every choice you make turns out a big mistake
I hope each promise made to you the promise maker breaks...
I hope you know my hatred is true
Thank God they took my son from you...
I hope you feel guilty you should be ashamed
Thankfully it's my family that shares his last name...
I hope you feel worthless, hopefully no one cares
I hope when you long comfort that no one ever dares...
Hopefully you understand what a ***** paybacks can be
I hope you are scared to death and you never live fear free
I hope you detest the life that you alone have built
while we're loved abundantly and are happy to the hilt...
I hope you know he's finally free
all safe and sound, right here with me...
I hope through time he will recover
Everybody knows
you have failed
as a friend,
woman,
and mother...
Heidi Shavill
2011
Jan 23, 2013
Jan 23, 2013 at 3:20 AM UTC
Confessions of a dull blade, it tasted life as it
seeped and sealed death with Its last ******
It was inanimate but had existence of life seeped
in to its hilt,Voices silent trapped under the hand
Their grip soaking sealing in fallen silence, looking
in to the eyes of so many and then kissed there forehead.
A last rite the au revoir as the dull blade made slow
Work of a mummer, words bleed silence out.
They cherished this moment of intimacy, this personal
Exchange, of life and death, slumped on soiled ground.
Dull blade, tainted handle, of voices silenced this inanimate
Object of desire that crafted by another's macabre thoughts.
Blood congeals as life condenses into nothingness, walking
Away the dull gift takes it now pride of place.
Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 7:26 AM UTC
I hover over your words
not for perfections.
*don't paint me an azure sky
cotton clouds
a field of sunflower
gold crests of afternoon waves
dark labyrinths
inner demons
or even angel faeries*
for my life of half drawn images
half digested joys
faintly lit phantoms
rough edge
rugged walkway
write me out
a flawed poem
imperfected to the hilt
no structure
no style
wild jots of your thoughts
just like you and me
flawed but heavenly!
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 12:26 PM UTC
Am a Templar Knight whose allegiance is to Our Lord Jesus Christ
Sir Thomas de Charney is my name, Master of the fortress in Gaza
Was compelled to quill an account of an assault on the town of Ludd
My heart was also dazed and enamored by a young woman evermore
We left Gaza late in the day; I took 40 of my best knights with me
Fully clad in mail and helmets, we dashed long swords in scabbards
Short swords made at the ready to perlustrate with a days provisions
We headed east prepared to do battle, for God and for the cause
We approached Ludd; saw billowing smoke; heard strangled screams
I dispatched 35 knights throughout the municipality in groups of 5 each
My orders were; execute requisite to save townspeople from slaughter
An appurtenance to the initial order: no parley with these infidels
Before dismissing my men, I saw smolder swell left flank of the border
Saw a hovel, the thatch was burning out of control and spreading apace
Around the corner were three enemy soldiers crowding over someone
Until the last few years, I knew not what **** was; the worst in a man
Despite noise of city under siege, these ******** were intoxicated in sin
The remaining five knights accompanied me and covered the perimeter
I dismounted Petra, clutched the hilt of my long sword, made approach
The three heathen sensed my bearing and turned to meet their death
Then I saw her face and was transfixed
I would yield no prisoners
Today there would be justice for this woman
I pray for swiftness of divine retribution
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
To be continued…………
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 1:54 PM UTC
"Slip it in, go on I can take it,
"Wow,
*"Slowly eager ******
"She groans as a mixture of euphoria and pain,
"Do you want it to the hilt?
"Can you take that much in one go,
"Just push it in slow,
"I can take it I think,
**"I ****** it in her, she bleeds a little,**
"Who is more excited?
"I pull it out slowly,
"Arrr baby that feels good,
Mmm
"That was deeper then before,
"When can I stick in you,
"We never said we would do that,
"Are you scared,
No....
"I'll only do it once,
"Ok,
"She gets ready,
"I can see the excitement on her face,
"Now don't be a chicken,
"Bgirrk bruk bruk bruk,
"Just get it over,
"But not to the hilt,
"I mean it,
"I think your enjoying this a little to much,
"Ouch,
"Don't be a baby that was barely the tip,
"God is the buzz you felt,
"It hurts, I think I'm going to be sick,
"O' my god,
"What are you doing,
Only once....
Only onc
She smiles as he turns silent,
Cherry red seeped out, and he lay slumped
On the ground, lifeless stained,
What had started as curiosity, as twisted trusting fun.
She had done her first, the one she loved.
Now the next would be just a lunge in the ,
Stomach,
Back,
Life
Draining upon different floors. she had put
It in once and was addicted at the felling
Of putting it in,
Deeper the better not just the tip but to the hilt.
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 10:36 AM UTC
Imagine life as one long dark night
Inconceivable, a life sans Light
Heat came with the Light
The earth and the oceans
giant sinks made with great insight
The light turned green with leaves
giving birth to thousands of trees
that served to keep very clean
the air for life to breathe in
The trees also made flowers
and fruits as food in their bowers
to transmit the Light and heat
to diverse forms of hearts that beat
Recycling was cleverly inbuilt
Light, a genius to the hilt
But alas arrived on the scene
the naked ape in all his sheen
He was the proverbial monkey wrench
born with a fist that he would often clench
Although he arrived
late on the stage
the ape thrived
under the delusion
he was all the rage!
Morning and evening
this biped walked
tall his shadows
made by the Light
and foolishly thought
he was bigger than
The Light
With his puny little brain
this ape wore a blinker
And started to tinker
calling himself a thinker
Many inventions he
did make
his own unquenchable
thirst to slake
he never thought beyond
the me
for he was all
he wanted to see!
Now the modern ape dwells
in a world
of his thoughts
dark are his thoughts
for his mind is a closed sky
he lives unconscious
always in deep slumber
till the day he goes under
What a wasted life
he leads
Without living the life
of consciousness
given only to him
by the Light!
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 11:32 PM UTC
*if you're looking for an apple
then you've come to the right place
i'm red and ready for your pouted lips
i'm smooth, glossy and juicy like heavenly nectar
i'm true, wholesome and authentic with no toxics
and with me you're guaranteed full health and happiness
if you want to cuddle
you've come to the right place
i'm long, slim and yellow with a smoothness that's hard to beat
i am good when you travel, sweet without being cloying
your banana boat song is a hymn to my tropical warmth
and i'm suave and exotic to the hilt, you can't do better than me
if you want to drown in sweetness
tangelo is your lady, and you've come to the right place
i'm buxom, round and absolutely oozing with juice and sugar
i'm exotic and you find me only where good taste is supreme
and believe me once you **** my depths and drink my juice
you're forever a great believer in aesthetic cuisine
And for you life can be gulp after gulp of sweetness and joy*
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 2:09 PM UTC
I
Fold upon fold
your origami letters
map thoughts,
images and moments
of three days,
two nights.
Now to unfold
the creased trajectories,
intersecting space,
following time:
bird-like flightpaths
on the radar screen.
Each coloured sheet,
placed on this desk,
becomes a tessellated diary,
and grows beneath the hand.
So generous a gift.
So readily received.
II
Ah, that's your secret:
the power of the list;
this, then this,
then freedom follows,
knowing the necessaries
dusted and done.
Peaceful now,
and watching the clouds
cross the skylight,
Bach decorates your soul
with his meditations
on the possibility of everything.
How did you guess
I love the detail of life-
lived, up to the hilt:
the embellishment of dreams
pulled from the ether,
sound and sense in tow.
III
I travelled North
in the seat opposite.
You didn’t notice me
as you gazed
through your reflection,
sighting the past.
When you look at me
you rarely blink or
glance away (as people do).
Poor nature,
She hasn’t a chance, has she?
Never a mote missed.
As my passenger
I shall care for your silence;
to let you loose on
unbidden thoughts
as they rise above
the scrolling hills.
Oct 27, 2012
Oct 27, 2012 at 3:48 AM UTC
after my first true betrayal
I found myself mumbling
snitches get stitches
shredding the dignity of my conscience
I left a paper trail of trust
-a reminder for those to come
sprinkled the strands over my scars
and let them settle into the backdrop of my pain
I learn from my mistakes
(even kept the hilt as a memento)
but Tre...
Tre is different
Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 5:02 PM UTC