"hoody" poems
there’s a barnacle scar
deeply ingrained
on the basalt stack
at mark thirty two
whispering summer winds
scented oil
cotton and roe
drift
as waves brush
and shape
the sandstone shore
the briny air
and lost erratic
set a tone to this
pollyanna portrait
it's andrews undulations
and gifted benches
its concessions
and traces of the barry burn
its sculpted driftwood
and sanko lines
make this picture
almost perfect
children play
as venom spews
from the caterwaul pair
those odd looking mates
casting smiles
with arrested despair
settling shots
swiping bugs
dipping and darting
as photo men
and muscles
and long neck seabirds
make their turn
the hunched hoody
and his sorted sidekick
get their fill
(of moss and rubble ~ chubby and kelp)
nice to meet your acquaintance
the pho man would say
an odd drop
and ironic turn
from those horrific corners
of timeless desperation
down by cannon bridge
harbor seals
and carriage horse
are fronted by
raven shade
jolly tides pause
in quiet bays
(with curious looters
and *** pickers)
sand merchants
and field totems
all streamed by the light
cirrus strands
blanket the
outer edge
hovering craft
and shimmering willows
bolt the evening frame
blood orange
and tethered
with a filtered glare
bottle-nose dolphins
and seabirds
(and shifting tides)
are all settling in
for the long night stay
Mar 9, 2017
Mar 9, 2017 at 11:21 PM UTC
In winter I bundle up tight in layers of warmth
Like a love I've never felt
Draping scarf over hoody over sweater over skivvy
The wind bites my button nose and reminds me of a love
A love I know too well
Bitter cold brief sickening and harsh
I catch my eye in an ice smitten mirror and I'm torn
My eyes look like hell
How could anyone love me like warmth and fall
For this fat face of shame, tears and freckles
Even if they do
They'll never tell.
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 4:56 PM UTC
An Oklahoma politician
wants to outlaw hoodies
in the hood
It's true, it must be
I read it in Fox News :)
I'd sooner be in Missouri or Cleveland
or New York City where you don't have to
wear a hoody or raise your hands to get shot
There are other things more pressing
than hoodies in the hood
that don't need ironing
like hoods in suits
and the elephant in the room
that needs shooting.
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 10:11 AM UTC
eye sometimes go to bed wearing an old hoody. It has a metal zipper to close the front and the zipper is always cold, unpleasantly so, on my bare skin. After awhile though, my body temperature warms the metal just enough, that it is no longer a cause of discomfort though the metal still remains inherently cool to the touch
While science can easily explain this I guess, I felt this to be a major miracle. That flesh pliable and heart-heated to 98 degrees could conquer the molecules of metal that were made in China struck me as extra ordinary (always two words, please!) and nothing short of a personal intervention by a personal deity
When I put the hoodie on at first I would think
******* (that's cold)
When I awoke, cosy and warm, I would think
******* (that's so cool)
having studied philosophy in Cleveland,
I knew that the logic of the situation,
what I had experienced was not an
interregnum, but the invisible intervening handiwork of god, who, also knocked my glasses from the nightable to the floor,
just cause she/ he was in a bad mood, on account of having to come such a long way, just,
to reheat me
one more time.
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 9:38 AM UTC
The poems that I used to scribble
Were fickle, were fictional
I had no raw words to write
Until I fell in love with you
Until I fell in love with your dimples
Including the ones on your back
Until I fell in love with your heart
And how you fell in love with me
Your brown eyes
Your hands poking out
Of my oversized hoody
And your hand in my hand
Your small *******
How they felt in my hands
And in my mouth
How I felt when your ******* went hard
The way you felt in my mouth
When we would kiss each other
And our lips would not fully meet
But our tongues would still play
I would bite your sensitive lip
And you'd give out to me
Until I would kiss it better again
And you would kiss my neck
And my chest
And my stomach
And all over my thighs
Oh, how we teased each other
We would share our mints
Through kisses
We'd sent ***** texts
***** pictures
We were only fifteen
We had a lot of ***
And now I'm seventeen
And you are my ex
And I don't miss you
But I wonder about you
I wonder about your dad
I wonder about your wrists
I wonder about your lungs
I wonder about your music
I wonder about whether
You wonder about me or not
I feel your stare burning me
More often than not
But my anxiety forbids me
From checking if it is true
Your laugh is ******* adorable
But your muttering makes me want to
Throw a table at your face
Leaving it as raw as this poem
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 3:08 PM UTC
She walks the woods
Stays the night
Everyday at her Grandma's house
He knows the path
Walks with her
Silently he stalks her
"It's not me, it's the wolf"
She swears to her Granma's ghost
"He dug my skin up for treasures"
Found the bones of a pretty young girl
Hiding behind her bright blonde curls
Shed her skin on the side of the road
Picked up her coat and put on a show
"I will go to Grandma's home
And eat her heart out like a wounded soul"
She uses the last of her dying breath
To call out to the lumberjack
"He went all the way to my Grandma's cottage
He wears a disguise, my great red cape and hoody
Don't
Mistake him for another hooligan
He's the big bad wolf and he'd eat you in an instant"
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 5:17 PM UTC
As I finish the book,
The guy in the corner says,
Are you a feminist for real or are you the extreme feminist just like they say?
Trouble,
Tugging,
Tension,
Haven't you ever heard these words my way ?
They spill out my pockets as I find a safe route to home today.
I,
I'm a person, I live to see my kids everyday,
I drive my car with the colt in the back to make sure I reach home today.
I,
I'm a fire, I'm a story to be told,
Yet I lock upon your entrance because for you I'm a singular sight to behold.
You,
You Animal,
You Unchastised Beast.
Struggle,
Strive,
Strenuous,
Strength,
Is the only way I fight your ***** hands off my naked body piece.
I,
I human,
I wrong,
I be the woman that calls hell upon.
You,
You be man,
You be government,
You be aid,
You filthy human being,
But I'm the one to blame.
You,
You liar,
You sniveling little rat,
I,
I innocent,
I sorry,
I right,
Yet I hide like a wet cat.
Naked,
Nauseous,
Nightmare,
The words I have befriended in the absence of the lord.
I,
I hungry,
I scared,
I lost,
I join my hands in agony and frustration for the only consented hand upon me is that of the god.
His,
His mother,
His sister,
His friend,
Be nothing to you,
You tear her body with your claws, your vein's pulsing with *****
You,
You drunk,
You wrong,
You animalistic,
Yet as you slide down my skinny jeans, in tonight's bet I'm the innocent one to lose.
I walk upon the sidewalk and all I hear you say,
You ****
You *****
You ***** from across the shore,
Why don't you slide that hoody up above your shoulders and show me some breast?
You look at me like I'm a chicken piece,
You drool and spank as I pass by
And look at me like I'm the one who suggest.
You,
You father,
You teacher,
You preacher,
You barman,
You taxi man,
You footballer,
You man.
I,
I wreck,
I cavity,
I ****
I **********
I slam piece,
I brothel but no church,
I woman and I naked.
So as I walk up home wearing those tiny shorts,
You pick me up in those black tinted window cars,
I scream,
I yell,
I beg,
I plead.
You shove it down my throat.
You tear my humanity,
You make me bleed.
You,
You stupid,
You arrogant,
You ignorant,
You fool.
You don't know my power for I'm the Gaya to your tomb.
You miscreant,
You rogue,
You bleeding stinking wretch.
You see that halo around me,
I'm your mother,
Your daughter,
Your sister,
Your wife,
Your god.
And every time you look at me with those ugly eyes,
I want you to see my halo glow.
As I picked up my book from the table,
A feminist, A masculinist,
A equality finder,
A woman,
A girl,
I find a name to pick and say,
And I look at your rustic self and I say
'You Don't Even Deserve To Know'
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 3:59 AM UTC
Tell me, what do you know about me
Am I just any other guy on the street
Am I being hoody
Or that type of guy that walk around; moody
Am I the type that always tries to protect all
Or that type that loose confidence in front of the projector
Am I that maths-guru that always take all the A’s
Or that computer guy that’s good with symbolic-gate
Am I that proud guy that always put his shoulder’s on
Or that humble boy that’s always scare to fall
Am I that lover-boy which love makes him to change his art
Or that ugly who walk around with half-broken heart
Am I that man who isn’t good with public speech delivery
But write poems effectively
Am I friendly, annoying, stupid, handsome, ugly, optimistic just to mention few
I exist in different dimension; what I am depends on you
Sep 2, 2018
Sep 2, 2018 at 6:53 AM UTC
Behind tinted windows we all have battles that rage
Its only what's on the surface we
can see
There's the girl you called a **** for being pregnant
There's the boy you made fun of for crying
There's the girl you shoved in the halls
The boy you called lame
The boy you beat up for kissing another boy
Behind tinted windows we all have battle that rage
Its only what's on the surface we can see
She was *****
His mother is dying
She's already being abused at home
He has to work nights to support his family
That's his only reason to live
Behind tinted windows we all have battles that rage
Its only what's on the surface we can see
Her sweatpants and hoody provoked him
Cancer is a *****
Her father is a drunk
His father is in a wheelchair and can't work
His family told him they'd rather him dead than gay
Behind tinted windows we all have battles that rage
It's only what's deep inside we can't see
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 7:36 PM UTC
1. Go under water and breathe in.
2. Take your dinner knife and push it through your heart. Slowly.
3. Open up your skull, and fill it with bees. Dance around a bit to aggravate them.
4. Stare into the sun without blinking.
5. Stick your tongue to a stop sign pole when the temperature is below zero.
6. Walk across a fire pit. Hell, just stand still in the middle.
7. Run as fast as you can and hit the corner of your counter with your hip bones.
8. Bite on your lower lip until it bleeds.
9. Lie on the ground and have someone put rocks onto your chest.
10. Pour grits on the floor and kneel upon them. You'll bleed some, but that's okay.
10. Go outside during an autumn evening with a sweatshirt on. Do you feel that breeze?
9. Read the Bible and wonder why God didn't tell anyone to write a book solely about you.
8. Play with children.
7. Stay up late and watch your favorite shows under thick blankets and pillows.
6. Put up Christmas lights and turn off all the others and think of how happy you were in every Christmas you've ever had.
5. Go to your local ball park and catch a game.
4. Look at how the stars match the same constellations in your eyes.
3. Go camping and wake up early. Make sure you make hot chocolate and fried potatoes and wear a hoody the whole trip.
2. Read poetry and sit at the ocean.
1. Fall in love with yourself too.
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 10:30 PM UTC
When did the measure of your worth become a brand?
Banded sneakers, streaking vibrance,
vibrating mobile nuzzled in hand.
These do not make you.
Backward cap, for a new era,
sagged pants, swagger stance
for this hoodlum hoody wearer.
These do not make him.
Gucci bags and other tags,
designer purse, cursing contraband,
fake names make her gag.
But these do not make her.
They say don't judge a book by it's cover,
so why a person by their assets?
if it were asserted by another...
Belongings do not a person make.
Kindness, courage, compassion, heart,
personality, wisdom,
even a love of art.
These a person make.
Take some time to introspect,
inspect the way you see yourself,
You'll be happier for it I expect.
You make the person.
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 3:00 PM UTC
Black Chuck Taylor's, with motor
oiled stained laces,
always match
Black V-necks or a shirt of any
color with a Black
zip-up hoody
Blue jeans, stone washed, brand
new, old pair, new style,
always denim
Black matches everything,
looks classy, hard to keep
clean
But when blue and purple,
orange and green,
and some shades of green
and yellow look the same,
Fashion isn't so fun and shopping
becomes an exercise in humility
"Excuse me miss, does this shirt
match this tie?"
"Excuse me sir, but can you tell me
what color shirts I can wear with
these shoes?"
The world doesn't understand.
I don't see the same colors of
the world and I'm clothed
Black
not from depression,
no, not that depression,
a different kind
The kind that's only mine
The kind that can stand by you
and watch a different sunset,
The kind that sees different hues
in A Starry Night,
The kind that would love to paint,
but can't even draw the lines
to color inside of, much less
paint the right colors in the first place
It's crazy to think of seeing the world
through another's eyes
but if we ever figure it out
Hold my spot in line.
May 5, 2015
May 5, 2015 at 12:24 AM UTC
I am not not selling my soul to the devil tonight,
not for a 10 bob shilling note or a ***** hoody with your deep scent of pain lined within its seams.
I am not selling my nature,
for my nature has roots as big as the old oak tree that grows in the deepest forest and shelters those that seek.
I am not forgetting my place,
it's right here, next to you, by your side;
it's right here, in front of my son, holding his world in my arms, and his love in my heart;
it's right here, projecting from my heart, arms that encompass the world.
I am not drilling for oil,
I seek no riches from ill gotten gain,.
I am not your past journey,
I walked my own road to get here, i laid those bricks down piece by piece.
I am not who is knocking at your door,
for i am not the fear your heart dreads at that sound of that knock.
I am not here for you to sum up,
I am not a number, an equation or problem you have to solve.
I am not my emotions,
as they are an extension of me as my words are my mouth, and my actions from my hands.
I am not a box of wonder,
I am a clearly written masterpiece of wonder and intrigue, and i love the very soul of me.
I am not your head,
my arms lay weary at my side for the troubles you carry within your mind are too heavy for me to hold.
I am not a carnival horse,
that swings around and around, for applause, for the fame and the glory.
I am not a catch,
a fish, a lock to a door, a bubble to burst.
I am not a master, a magician, a hooligan or a carpet burn *****
I am here, open, here, honest, here, just here.
I am not,
I am not,
I am not, you.
Jan 27, 2013
Jan 27, 2013 at 5:58 PM UTC
got it
up packed...
cold at the
blaze.
cobra hoody.
fang-fulls of
elephants lumbering
rooms.
getting fat off slow
death.
straight sippy-cups
brimmed with
reorienting brew.
i watch Ganesha
remove his own
obstacle.
i blow his
shadow off.
code blue on lock...
Shiva~
Jan 12, 2019
Jan 12, 2019 at 12:35 AM UTC
“Have you seen the chicichita?
I have waited hours to meet her.
I’ve been lurking in the wood
And truly, truly, mean no good.
I am hid behind this tree
Hoping that she won’t see me;
Her Mom will send her to see Gran
And I will catch her if I can!
I know she’ll have to pass this way;
So now I’m here, it’s here I’ll stay.
My teeth are sharp, clean and shining;
It will be no good her whining.
We are miles from Granny’s house,
Where it’s quiet as a mouse.
She can run and scream and shout
There will be no one about.
I think today I’m on a winner;
I’m going to eat her for my dinner.
Here she comes all dressed in red
With her hood upon her head.
Wait a minute, if I can,
I’ll go with her to visit Gran.
Then when my day’s works complete
There’ll be two of them to eat.”
“Where you off to on your own?
Don’t you feel unsafe alone?”
“I am off to visit Gran.”
“Well I’ll escort you if I can?”
“No! You can’t! I’m in a rush!”
She knocked him over with one push.
He followed her but had a trip;
That’s when the girl gave him the slip.
At Gran’s cottage, she was smiling, but
The Wolf had made a smart short-cut.
He was waiting in Gran’s bed
With the covers pulled about his head.
Gran was tied-up out of sight;
Following her awful fright!
The girl cried out. Good God, Oh Grief!
Twas then she’d seen the eyes and teeth.
This was not Gran; she was undone,
It looked as if the Wolf had won!
“Where is Gran?” She screamed and cried;
Believing that her Gran had died!
Now she was terrified and scared
But in the woods someone had heard.
In he dashed, with chopper waving
Knowing Wolf was misbehaving.
The Cutter chased him round the bed
Threatening to chop-off his head!
Wolf realized he’d lost the fight
And off he ran into the night!
In the cupboard, they found Gran;
Red Riding Hood then thanked the man.
His arrival, just in time
Means a happy-ending to this rhyme!
Oct 4, 2011
Oct 4, 2011 at 1:57 PM UTC
Up the stairs and then right.
Down the hall, 2a, 2b, 2c.
Here it is.
Unlocking the door, finding the light switch, lights on.
Kitchen, living room, bedroom, bathroom.
So here I am.
Backpack on bed.
Check pockets, phone, wallet, change, keys, cigarettes, and lighter.
Lighter works.
Check wallet, I.D., license, gift card, another gift card.
Just in case.
Library card
Never.
Blood donor card, cash.
$43.
$20 in the dresser and $23 back in the wallet.
3 sets of clothes, boxers, black ankle socks, shirts, one long sleeve, shorts and 1 pair of jeans.
Hang up hoody, clothes in the dresser.
Toiletries, deodorant, toothbrush, toothpaste on the counter.
Shampoo and soap in the shower.
Razor in the cabinet.
Need food.
Shopping or celebration?
Celebration.
Lights off, out the door, locked, down the hall, stairs, lobby, door.
Outside, check cigarettes.
17.
Smile.
Jun 29, 2012
Jun 29, 2012 at 2:22 AM UTC
_White nights, grey days,
Phosphorus and gin;
Graffiti-laden pavements,
Diamond rain and paraffin.
Chalk dust reveries,
Aerosols and spit;
Zero-hour freeways,
Magnetic parapets.
City high, city low,
Monoliths in drag;
Silent spaces, dwelling places,
A hoody and a bag.
Freestyle evangelists,
Salvation strikes a pose;
Train tracks, kitchen hacks,
The rapture and the snow._
Nov 14, 2019
Nov 14, 2019 at 2:52 PM UTC
A poor room homed me in the childhood
With cold stone walls and a leaky stove;
Some days were spent under cover
With a hoody, a hat and pair of glove.
Nathless, there was no poverty of food;
My mother managed well the stew
With rice, potatoes and some carrots,
Her care cook'd a lot out of few.
Beside, the careless neighbours stood
With a lil bowl of sugar and eggs,
Trading on a sip of juice for gossips,
Paying the fee of the one who begs.
Way-outie, we were never even gloomy;
Despite the days of water and light off,
Mother managed the waves of hardship
Like the sailor's star never falling off.
Is a grace of God, the unfortunate broom
In which I scarce tasted thick happiness?
Sugar tastes sour after golden honey;
For rich, my treasure was unhappiness.
I enjoyed the oxford blue sky of the moon
While mom sweeped the streets for stubs,
I jumped up moon-high finding pennies
Far away the parties' hubhubs.
What a pity I feel now, for all the poor
Who had money, goods and no misery;
They know nothing what is life like,
But for true rich, life itself is glittery.
Oct 5, 2019
Oct 5, 2019 at 2:37 AM UTC
If you see my ex girlfriend can you tell her,
tell her i took her t-shirt and ripped it up,
tell her i made something good, **** good out of it;
can you tell her, tell her,
i still have her shelves she left me,
and on the shelves lies a card she wrote for me,
because it reminds me to be strong,
and tell her this card,
even thought it sits on her shelves,
it is no way a regard to thoughts of her, now, still.
Can you tell her,
I threw away all the kitten food i had left over,
I took the kittens to a new home,
because they would be better with someone else,
i thought, that was for the best,
can you tell her that?
Can you tell her that,
I miss her, but i don't mourn her,
I don't care to feel anything for her anymore,
as i look at the pictures,
i left of us, messing around,
in the park,
the two most beautiful girls we knew.
Can you tell her it took a year and another girl to get over her?
Can you tell her,
it was her that made me get over her?
In her hoody as i walked home,
from the night before,
i realised i had cried so many tears for the wrong person,
but i still loved who she was,
can you tell her?
Tell her that i love her and always will,
because there is something inside of me,
that is broken,
broken like a record,
and it never stops, going around, and around,
like she was the record player,
and i was the record,
and she scratched me,
and i was never the same.
And now can you tell her,
tell her that i killed me to love her,
and she should never be afraid to die for someone she loves,
because i want her to know,
that in the midst of all the broken pieces,
i was inside of her, outside of her, and had her,
but i never let her know,
because like a broken record,
i was stuck at the same spot from the last ride.
Can you tell her?
Tell her i think about the times she made me laugh,
and the time she officially asked me out,
and i had no clue,
and i loved her for that.
Can you tell her,
she is missed, and loved,
and though we will never be,
she played me a song i had never heard before,
and i fell in love with the music right then.
Can you tell her?
Jul 17, 2013
Jul 17, 2013 at 4:53 PM UTC
I saw a hunter by a country road,
In tandem with me he sailed as I drove.
His hoody-head set monkish to the soil
Conjured up music so soundful, sacred,
And I unmoving over a tired flesh—
Coloured vehicle felt naked and dead
For he so saintly robed and dressed to ****
In the colours of the sky prayed with wings,
My harrier, his eyes cleansed purity and gold
While mine unsightly piebald pale and blue.
But want of food dovetailed two craving
Creatures, yet— over fed I felt rusty
Below his steely hunger and what saving
Grace God might offer either mice or men.
Sep 21, 2012
Sep 21, 2012 at 1:06 PM UTC
I saw a hunter by a country road,
In tandem with me he sailed as I drove.
His hoody-head set monkish to the soil
Conjured up music so soundful, sacred,
And I unmoving over a tired flesh—
Coloured vehicle felt naked and dead
For he so saintly robed and dressed to ****
In the colours of the sky prayed with wings,
My harrier, his eyes cleansed purity and gold
While mine unsightly piebald pale and blue.
But want of food dovetailed two craving
Creatures, yet, over fed I felt rusty
Below his steely hunger and what saving
Grace God might offer either mice or men.
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 2:31 PM UTC
If you see my ex girlfriend can you tell her,
tell her i took her t-shirt and ripped it up,
tell her i made something good, **** good out of it,
and it fit real well,
in all the places i've got left;
can you tell her, tell her,
i still have her shelves she left me,
and on the shelves full of heavy books and antique cameras,
lies a card she once wrote for me,
because it reminds me to be strong,
and tell her this card,
even though it sits on her shelves,
it is no way a regard to thoughts of her, now, still.
Can you tell her,
I threw away all the kitten food i had left over,
I took the kittens to a new home,
because they would be better with someone else,
i thought, that was for the best,
it was for the best,
can you tell her that?
Can you tell her that,
I miss her, but i don't mourn her,
I don't care to feel anything for her anymore,
as i look at the pictures,
i left of us, messing around,
in the park,
the two most beautiful girls we knew,
that i never deleted.
Can you tell her it took a year and another girl to get over her?
Can you tell her,
it was her that made me get over her?
In her hoody as i walked home,
from the night before,
i realised i had cried so many tears for the wrong person,
but i still loved who she was,
regardless,
can you tell her?
Tell her that i love her and always will,
because there is something inside of me,
that is broken,
broken like a record,
and it never stops, going around, and around,
like she was the record player,
and i was the record,
but something scratched me,
and i was never the same,
played in repeat, over and over, again,
a line sung of love, hate, misery and lust,
in a song that never stopped playing.
And now can you tell her,
tell her that i killed me to love her,
i wore my heart proudly,
bleeding on my chest,
from old battle scars and war wounds,
and tell her,
she should never be afraid to die for someone she loves,
because i want her to know,
that in the midst of all the broken pieces,
i was inside of her, outside of her, and had her,
but i never let her know,
because like a broken record,
i was stuck at the same spot from the last ride.
Can you tell her?
Tell her i think about the times she made me laugh,
really laugh til my soul fell out,
and the time she officially asked me out,
and i had no clue,
and i loved her for that
because she made it part of us.
Can you tell her,
she is missed, and loved,
and though we will never be,
she played me a song i had never heard before,
and i fell in love with her music right then.
Can you tell her?
She left a legacy, and changed the clocks when she left.
Can, you, tell her?
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 6:37 PM UTC
I saw a hunter by a country road,
In tandem with me he sailed as I drove.
His hoody-head set monkish to the soil
Conjured up music so soundful, sacred,
And I unmoving over a tired flesh—
Coloured vehicle felt naked and dead
For he so saintly robed and dressed to ****
In the colours of the sky prayed with wings,
My harrier, his eyes cleansed purity and gold
While mine unsightly piebald pale and blue.
But want of food dovetailed two craving
Creatures, yet, over fed I felt rusty
Below his steely hunger and what saving
Grace God might offer either mice or men.
Jan 11, 2013
Jan 11, 2013 at 12:32 PM UTC
I saw a hunter by a country road,
In tandem with me he sailed as I drove.
His hoody-head set monkish to the soil
Conjured up music so soundful, sacred,
And I unmoving over a tired flesh—
Coloured vehicle felt naked and dead
For he so saintly robed and dressed to ****
In the colours of the sky prayed with wings,
My harrier, his eyes cleansed purity and gold
While mine unsightly piebald pale and blue.
But want of food dovetailed two craving
Creatures, yet, over fed I felt rusty
Below his steely hunger and what saving
Grace God might offer either mice or men.
Jun 1, 2012
Jun 1, 2012 at 7:46 PM UTC
I saw a hunter by a country road,
In tandem with me he sailed as I drove.
His hoody-head set monkish to the soil
Conjured up music so soundful, sacred,
And I unmoving over a tired flesh—
Coloured vehicle felt naked and dead
For he so saintly robed and dressed to ****
In the colours of the sky prayed with wings,
My harrier, his eyes cleansed purity and gold
While mine unsightly piebald pale and blue.
But want of food dovetailed two craving
Creatures, yet, over fed I felt rusty
Below his steely hunger and what saving
Grace God might offer either mice or men.
May 20, 2013
May 20, 2013 at 9:26 AM UTC