"holdings" poems
Halfway up a mountain
on an ice-bound January day,
I sought to reliquify
a few calorific assets.
I am no fool -
I had been carefully investing
a portion of each meal
in certain holdings
(mainly around the waist).
Of course, I knew the safe route:
balanced diet, carbs, fruit, veg;
but a venture nutritionist such as myself
pays little heed to such extravagant prudence.
Fried breakfasts looked like offering
a quick and reliable payoff
and sure, for a while it worked.
But guess what:
Just when I needed the big windfall,
nothing.
Not a sausage,
if you'll pardon the pun.
"Sorry," a regretful body explained,
"I know you'd think you could call on your investments
"at the drop of a hat,
"but actually they're kind of clogged,
"a bit like your arteries."
Wheezing, waiting
for the mountain rescue helicopter,
I spared a rueful thought
for the taxpayer -
the reluctant buyer
of my safety.
You might imagine I owe something in return,
but I watch the news
and I reckon
I'll get away with it.
Jan 6, 2012
Jan 6, 2012 at 10:40 AM UTC
you cannot finish need.
it fiends in wretched globes of dwarf
swelling to tremendous steam
a Bacchanal of vineyard borscht
a moonlit morsel of demolished dreams...
we serve at the pleasure of the absurd
gilding shadows with clay confetti
and the nictitating membranes of blue crocodiles.
and blank verse.
felling the Yggdrasil, by all means; you maraud the larder
in the night kitchen; nicking blackbird-pies and pinky-russet salamanders
[ the loose farthing ] and the hard liquor... all gone now
your potato sack, rakishly slung from the shoulders of an Atlas, entitled ' Promised Land; betrayed '.
a new map shrugging off old kings from dead valleys
revealing the hour of your worthless estate,
in-lieu of the boundaries of your lost holdings. unhappily -
you inherit the unripe peach
in a hound's mouth.
you slouch rough, slowly
to your beast
of a couch:
there, to remain unholy and due South.
there, to remain unknowing
by all account.
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 10:13 PM UTC
The walls lay in ash.
Soldiers stood brash.
A southern army torn apart
By a Yankee driven heart.
A national wake.
Honor burned at the stake.
Men of like birth,
Forced back to Fort Worth.
Unity broken.
Idiocy outspoken
Maintained holdings in an old life.
Grasping onto a bigoted knife.
Division formed over pride,
Childish remarks seeming snide.
Violence comes with few delays
Sparks up through debate about gays.
No one ever likes to lose.
That doesn’t mean one must corrupt the news.
Accept the nature of a simple mistake.
And end this 149-year wake.
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 3:53 PM UTC
Candlelight
drinks my blood from the vine.
Your soft glow
suffocates me at midnight.
Holding close to my chest
I harbour your love,
Your beauty still dazzles me to my core.
Pretentious blues, ugly truths taking flight,
castles built and then ruined by arrogance.
It's you it's you,
it's all for you my love.
Even though I can't compare to your touch.
I know I know
I know I might be nihilistic,
but baby I know I love you.
Please forgive my ugliness.
Please redeem me, free me
from your holdings.
Believe me, relieve me.
Your love will strangle me alive, bury my bones dead my love.
If you need me, need me,
then say so.
Otherwise I might sniff out the candle.
I want to stop dancing with you in the light of the half moon.
But it's you it's you,
it's all for you my love.
Even though your gentle caresses leave bruises on my hands.
I know I know I know
I might be a pessimist,
but you look so beautiful
In the candlelight.
And what is beauty, if not destruction.
I have killed myself over ugly truths.
Might as well I die in glory, take my chances, be remembered for greatness,
like the tragic romance of Romeo and Juliet.
If your love kills me tonight,
that's alright.
It's all for you my love,
You look so pretty in the candlelight
drinking my blood.
Oct 11, 2024
Oct 11, 2024 at 1:45 PM UTC
Could it have been the self concious views?
The lack of choice- No room to choose?
Could it have been the need for emotion?
The outbursts? The commotion?
Were the cogs rusting? A lack of motion
The cogs of time rusting...
Time not moving with the speed of light?
Could it have been that one was moving faster, then other-
Timing not right?
Like a Cheetah and a Deer holdings hands,
Could it have been tempting chance?
The chance to be amazed at the beauty of this picture,
Then not be surprised with the outcome- An act of nature.
Mesmerized with lies that are there to charm.
Cheating fate, Causing harm.
Could it have been...
That you left me because I was no more an object of your desire?
Or- Could it had been that all along,
I was playing with fire?
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 10:33 AM UTC
I do not love you,
Like the way I did before.
Things have changed a lot,
as it opened passages and doors.
As I struggle to fix things,
please conform, please understand.
That Pressure's never a friend,
not a good mixture nor a blend
With time, oh so precious,
can we give it a ride?
as If it's a wave,
that we can smoothly slide,
as if we can just abide,
like a mind that's open wide,
do you still want to sip,
into a drink that's half-flipped.
and hanging is a fact,
that I am constantly changing,
I am not the same man,
do you find it discouraging?
I do not love you like before,
Certainly I am true.
Not like yesterday,
routine's not accrued.
*For I love you more,
as each day pass,
thank you for showing me,
that you're a class
Holding a lot of functions,
truthful and postive,
I felt the urge
I felt the caring
I see the truth in you,
as I let loose on my holdings.
you've believed in me,
when no one's doing,
You've given way all,
for free and with atttitude,
Now I am blissed,
Now I am loosed,
Like a new born baby,
you've made me fresh and celebrated,
I saw the effort,
A love to be celebrated.
I love you girl,
Sorry if I just started fully,
Now I'm looking long term,
to get with you happily.
I don't love you
Like the way I did before,
because my feelings have grown,
I'll love you, deep down the core.*
Apr 4, 2011
Apr 4, 2011 at 5:05 AM UTC
the white noise is calming due to the interruption of sober silence
depriving senses, seeming like aphasia, looking through peripheral to see
all but what was was straight in the clear, sight insufficiently corrupted
painful holdings and a hand punched into the car door beside me
screaming about the difficulties, a voice that cracked like stained glass
suddenly given a voice, to only express furthermore misapprehension
a voice that spoke words
that could be seen forming in the air above
the words that wrapped around my body and clung like static
pulled me like a rope twisted leash, forming circulating rusted lesions
across a protruding collarbone
stare down deep into the roots of a tender willow tree
look down, and avoid the expression on that face
and the truck that was unnecessarily punished
now pretend you have aphasia, pretend that lesions don't **** slowly
and pray your face doesn't end up like that car door
Dec 4, 2013
Dec 4, 2013 at 9:06 PM UTC
There was a fork in the path and I chose right
And right was the wrong way to go
I could ponder the holdings that left had to offer
But the wrongs of right are all I know.
There was a fork in the path and I chose the less taken
And it seems it was abandoned for good cause
I could regret and bemoan my decisions now
But I am impossibly and urgently lost.
There was a fork in the path and I deviated from the map
Not a single person told me I'd gone the wrong way
And now I meander down roads not meant for me
Looking for shelter, a place to stay.
Mar 21, 2017
Mar 21, 2017 at 10:14 AM UTC
A boy aged young
With a soul of many
Walked down Dreadful Lane
Bravery a plenty
He walk with merry
Where others became insane
No doubt in his heart
He saw a large house
Walking down Dreadful Lane
With large spider legs
And no regard for life
This had made others insane
The boy just smiled
Waved his hand in hello
And continued down Dreadful Lane
It was a busy street
With creatures and teachers
All who were completely insane
Angry snakes slithered slowly
Cockroaches of infinite holdings
Scurrying down Dreadful Lane
Eyes with no home
the fires of souls
The dead madly insane
The bats covering the birds
The grass perfectly parallel to the rain
Flying down Dreadful Lane
A carnivor seven
And the body of nine
Where making six insane
The blood on the trees
The teeth in the curb
Riddled through Dreadful Lane
Screws screaming from the pain
Masks laughing from pleasure
And the boy was still not insane
Still with a smile
He waved fairwell
As he turned off Dreadful Lane
But on the next street
He was surprised to meet
The girl who would make him insane.
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 8:15 PM UTC
The ones with words like love, lust, or
Broken, dust, forgotten, and worst of all,
The ones with I’m sorry or
I miss you. That’s ******
Poetry. To read those words or
Feel those emotions and continue
To repeat them on thin lines of fabricated meanings
Because you have no way of escaping
Or are too much of a coward to admit them;
Writing for emotional advantages or
Disadvantages, to persuade others
Or yourself. That’s ****** poetry,
The clichés and hand holdings, dripping with
Redpinkblack ink, and I’s dotted with hearts.
Just to pretend that for a second in time
They made you feel
Poetry. But it’s not true. You
Did not feel those words, those words
That have hammered the ideals of
love.
Society has us falling for ******
Poetry. Beware of the useless
“jargon” created by ones “love”
For you. It’s all the same.
Now dear,
All I’mtrying to say is I want
You, but not your ****** poetry.
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 5:21 PM UTC
Bastardized holdings in a new world order
Standardized error retained as a border
Manipulate the idealist into a moral hoarder
Tabulate the results, and encourage disorder
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 5:41 PM UTC
The paint warped upon sight, like tears
Over time falling silently to the decayed
Cycle below. I felt its bleak wine pealing's
Upon my fingers And tasted its age.
The aroma of so many memories of what
Was before of all that touched upon its
Brass holdings and It screamed in defiance
Shut so many times, now unending closure.
It wanted to be open to the world not
Subjugated in locked form. Its motions
Were static locked in an unending cycle
Of nothing. It was tearing flakes upon the floor.
It wanted to creak upon the breeze to feel
The wind to scratch at its rings of now slain
Of forgotten time. its creaks are its needing
To be open to the world once again.
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 6:28 PM UTC
Minutes, seconds and hours
Fleeting and innocent
Conveniently avoiding our grasp
They beckon to us
Separate us from our holdings
Declare war on our values
Alluring, provocative
Raising our pleasure
By supplying a deadline
A moment of finality
A time of reckoning
Reasoning
True love
Divided by passion
Mar 26, 2010
Mar 26, 2010 at 11:37 PM UTC
Most often I slip into dreaming a reality
Surrounded with absurdity
And abstract absolution and functionality.
A world filmed in silence,
Where the black and white future reminiscence
Of untold horrific and haunting hand holdings
Are my only bane.
Where I can look into a pair of gleaming eyes
And find with every tic a surprise
That makes my unsettled heart arise
Without any sort of promiscuity or lustful
Over glazing on the perfect soufflé
And then with not even a hug given as a subtle warning
No forerunner to an upcoming silence and mourning.
Morning. Open eyes and wide lids. And forming
In the crevice of the mass, a single droplet
That rains readily into a queer laughter
As satisfaction slyly slips back into the fade
It’s a dream to keep the silence close
With those that, to me, mean the most
Looking longingly and knowingly with only tones
Of bare skin and cloth separating the souls,
The heart, and the passion
Once again, it’s the end
And it comes to an end
And the moments die
And you wake up
To an apocalyptic goodbye
Jun 2, 2011
Jun 2, 2011 at 12:58 AM UTC
Tripping on the fumes from an oxygen tank
Loaned out from the local lenders bank
Grass lit dreams of focused thought
Drifting off, apparently, on the spot
Confidential whispers while waiting
Reverse synesthesia heard in a painting
Chivalrous misconceptions of past life holdings
Spruced up to latch onto misplaced moorings
The intake pulsed with the remnants of entombed regrets
Final draw, for a flattened pack of cigarettes
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 12:47 PM UTC
Catching semiotic holdings from a cow-licked brain ****
Matching periodic scoldings, from a plough of picked-plain art
Filled prescription left for digestive tracts dissolution
Milled conscription cleft as congestive cracks merge in illusion
Temporal reconstruction, as the Adderall seeps into place
Federal distribution, as the admiral heaps the case
Welled as the spineless listen to a cautionary thought
Held as a timeless vision of a stationary plot
Pillbox running on fumes, causing fresh hysteria to solidify
Paradox coming, dawn looms, pausing thresh, staging an area to demystify
Later, new levy forbids pawing fear, spoken rotten, a deloused baiting sound
Cater to heavy lids, drawing near the cotton housed waiting ground
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 1:39 PM UTC
From across the room i watched with gloom in hand
Trembling of the soon to be lost temper of my severed tranquilities, swiveling on my spleen
Fueling the surrendering of my dreams for one squeeze to lead them all
Fear only stalled in my cause for alarm
No harm shall come before the storm
No spawn of thought beyond the forlorn
Here to see
See nothing
Nothing to see
See something
Something amiss
Amiss of the somethings
Some things are best
Best left unsaid
And unsaid is where they burned
Turned out
Out turned
Turned doubt
Doubt turned
Confidence
Confidence with delicately sculpted prominence over loose targets
Scurrying like varmints
Not to tarnish the cries for help
6 flashes for silence, and a taste of hell
By demon be driven, as we all sell when pressed against hell with the means to end it all
Let the chips fall where they may, as in jail i can prey on bigger things, and emerge a king
Solitary confinement will refine my shrine to stardom
But the martyrdom of ***** is quickly forgotten
Spoiled rotten in self indulgence
Emboldened in molten rage
The pages folded before fading away
In cindered fairies playing with my pain
Falling
As Jagged glass from window panes
Empty walls
Walling in the wisdom
Wisdom calls
Calls for blood
Blood from all
I merely heed the call and fall fashionably
Rationally broken in the cities hold on me, in claustrophobic scolding for my holdings in heavenly weapons pointing to the cure
I expect nothing but the allure of spatter, patterned out to the tune of my doubts, coagulated in lieu of the claps, looping through the traps of no take backs, and collapsing to my synapses crackling in the rain.
Smash my brain, in suicide by cop, I jump atop the bridges that i burned
I turn the other cheek
Just to wink at the weak
Before i leap
And never learned
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 12:31 AM UTC
It's not the way to pilot a ship
By standing on its hull
It's AI is busy screaming
But the view from above
Is unbelievable
I found the ship, parked in my
Backyard; a thing of glory and
Invisible, at least to my neighbors
Bringing its ladder down
In silent, smooth as only a
Bullet fired could, almost fired
It was machine quick, and smooth
I'm not the type to jump
Bring conclusions
Incomplete to situations
Boring, and mundane
I'll figure it out, think quick
Invention; that's my cup of tea
Brought to me on the ship
Intelligent as it is, it's just a
Boat, big; sailing stars
Instead of seas
Between worlds
In the stars
Is it too much, having this task
Being responsible for what
It brings with it, holdings of time
Brought with the shaping of it all
I stand here to see it
Braced against the ship
It, held up by nothing at all
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 8:03 PM UTC
No no no.
Please do not leave me.
Keep your eyes closed.
With mine.
Taste from cups of horrors.
The angular rotting flesh.
Take the mean street to visit Bach.
Lay your head and pound your chest.
Well from below.
And saints on deathbed.
I'm tearing down a wall.
Staring at a stillness.
The florist from the sun.
You're breaking your back.
And the crowd sings of unison.
Trumpets.
Peace filled holdings.
Grass in a locket.
Remove your mirrors.
Youth, grow old and free us.
From your peace of yesterday.
The lake is raised.
The sun is stained.
Ruined.
Watching from a funeral.
Cry in the morning.
And sleep on the evening.
Hold close a breeze for a blanket.
Bend and lead.
Sleeping by the intercom.
While you graze and worship me.
Not yesterday.
God.
I know you wanted love.
The twelve dollar stain flickers in my mind.
The walk home and the creaks in his heart.
Dreams of litigation.
Night's separation.
A reality in between.
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 6:16 AM UTC
A billion dollars I have gathered
That’s the billionaire’s way
The bit that I’ve earned
a tiny fraction of that
(only so many hours in a day)
Instead of hard work
I work around rules
that once described the way
that one who worked hard
spending effort and hours
could secure that hard day’s worth of pay
Many have struggled
to build the wealth I’ve now juggled
into shelters and holdings and banks
I could carelessly burn it
‘cause I didn’t earn it
But those who did,
I guess,
deserve thanks
Feb 25, 2021
Feb 25, 2021 at 10:46 PM UTC
I took your
Favorite food
Favorite artist
Favorite ev'rything
And buried it deep.
I took your
Haunting holdings
Haunting thrashings
Haunting ev'rything
And buried it deep.
I took your
Lasting laughter
Lasting impact
Lasting ev'rything
And buried it deep.
With such depth I dug
With hopes to never repeat
I'm reminded nightly
In dreams and restless sleep.
Like telling words I choke on
A secret, seething, breathes
I gathered all your mem'ries
And
I
buried
you
deep.
Aug 8, 2015
Aug 8, 2015 at 2:44 PM UTC
Glazed in white this porcelain skin you entrap me in,
I am sundered from the beauty that clings in detestation
My beauty like a crystallise will be fragmented from here.
Slate crevasses like a web clinging to the surface entwine
Aloft as they perch on every part of its superficial holdings
They edge ever deeper till all that was pearl now descends.
Cascading into oblivion where like autumn leafs magenta tears
Descend like ruins that now like coal wisps fade to nothing.
Now there is exemption from what manifested in thought.
This lingering lucent thought given form, but never seen,
Light permeated off its featureless misgivings a kaleidoscope
Of emotions ran free touching all surrounding, static now standing.
There stood a moment of porcine imprisonment ,featureless
Yearnings to touch, but then a tear of crimson detached and a
Rose web did start to ascend from where it collapsed below.
The circle of what would be what was only a matter of time
Created where form became static then birthed in non caporal
Form touching those near as it had yearned all that time before.
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 5:12 PM UTC
Her cremated hands held the cherub
of her ingrained expression on lipless
holdings. In basins of white did she
linger sight beyond hers, showing all
the creation of depraved meetings.
The child was silent, motionless in
Its satin sinews that covered all but
its unadorned features, yet weeping
was expelled as dark shades wept
Charcoal tears upon nothingness.
Her hair tightly held back, obsidian
in nature like a tomb stone of neatness.
A mothers love, of that which is an
aversion of ill conceived conception.
Purgatory welcomes its inception
May 29, 2016
May 29, 2016 at 6:38 PM UTC