"hornet" poems
Buried alive, beneath the rhetorical lies.
Of a thousand broken-prayer beads.
Surrounded by all of my....
False hopes.
Fake friends.
&
Some, hornet priests
who are exorcising their own demons.
On a ******* fueled ****** of sadism in it's own right.
On the dark side of the confession booth. This is nothing.
But a divine
waste of my time.
I'll see you all, in Hell.
Jun 21, 2012
Jun 21, 2012 at 1:19 PM UTC
May I present a challenge?
Imagine if you will
You have created a flying explosive device
And it needs a name that will thrill.
A name, a good name, which name?
Well, none of those below.
Some twisted suits have already used them.
**** EVEN Tacit Rainbow.
What really goes through their minds?
As they sit and discuss the name
Of their creation that's destined to ****
Butcher, destroy and maim.
Just try if you can
To read the whole of this edited list
Imagine how many have exploded of each
With out angrily clenching your fist
Little John
Honest John
Hellfire
Matador
HARM
Terrier
Nike-Ajax
Corporal
Sea Sparrow
Redstone
Bullpup
Mace
Nike-Hercules
Regulus II
Atlas
Thor
Lacrosse
Jupiter
Quail
Hawk
Tartar
Falcon
Polaris
Hound Dog
Pershing
Entac
Firebee
Shelduck
Jayhawk
Cardinal
Firefly
Petrel
Redhead/Roadrunner
Redeye
Mauler
Skybolt
Nike Zeus/Spartan
Condor
Phoenix
Typhon MR
Falconer
Overseer
Taurus
Kingfisher
Cardinal
Walleye
Hornet
Maverick
Big Q
Minuteman
Blue Eye
Viper
Firebolt
Bulldog
Harpoon
Focus
Perseus
Firefly
Stinger
Compass Dwell
B-Gull
Agile
Seekbat
Delta Dagger
Thunderbolt[7]
Patriot
Aquila
Teleplane
Streaker
Tomahawk
Firebrand
Roland
Peacekeeper
Penguin
Pave Tiger/Seek Spinner
Sidearm
Skipper
Wasp
Sea Lance
Ripper[7]
Trident II
Midgetman
Tacit Rainbow
Pave Cricket
Have Nap
Peregrine
Exdrone
Javelin
Pointer
Hunter
Coyote
Skeeter
Outlaw
Wow, you're still reading
And you've managed not to throw up.
Just wondering how many innocent victims
Of a tax funded device called Bullpup.
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 7:00 PM UTC
he tells me the
words she does
not care to read,
nor understand.
his words
are narcotics,
rolling thick
off the tongue,
fat and vain.
i tell him the
words she does
not care to read
nor understand.
my words
are flesh wounds,
festering and
upsetting
to the stomach.
he's a medical
overdose,
drugging
to numb the
brash and pain.
i'm an angry
hornet through
your heart
and your mind,
livid and
vindictively
stricken.
thick through
your veins,
eyes a blur
and head a fog,
he's a medical
overdose
with mind of
a syringe
and tongue
laced with
narcotics.
Apr 5, 2013
Apr 5, 2013 at 12:37 AM UTC
"silence is worse; all truths that are kept silent become poisonous.” ― friedrich nietzsche
like poking the hornet's nest with a stick, you are a rose with stems and thorns so thick,
your skin is protection from oppression, keeping the world out of your private channels
like i'm AM and you're FM all of which are static with distorted voices only science can pry through your enigmatic cacophony on a molecular level, and any evidence of who you are, i couldn't find with years of knowledge, a indestructible ship could speak more evidence about
why it was annihilated, obliterated, disintegrated under the ocean for months at a time without
any current survivors, and the last person i could be described as would be Sherlock Holmes
every detail washes over my head like a flood of details that can't enter because a force field
surround my head like it's a crown being so clueless, but it feels like i'm wearing a dunce hat
and maybe i do realize that there will be a position where you will be put out into light
there is no way out of your mind, like a schizophrenic, if kryptonite killed superman,
can it **** the infectious virus spreading like wildfire through these veins, can you stop
worrying about when you will finally break down and open up to someone?
****
- kra
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 10:13 PM UTC
So it has come to this
insomnia at 3:15 A.M.,
the clock tolling its engine
like a frog following
a sundial yet having an electric
seizure at the quarter hour.
The business of words keeps me awake.
I am drinking cocoa,
that warm brown mama.
I would like a simple life
yet all night I am laying
poems away in a long box.
It is my immortality box,
my lay-away plan,
my coffin.
All night dark wings
flopping in my heart.
Each an ambition bird.
The bird wants to be dropped
from a high place like Tallahatchie Bridge.
He wants to light a kitchen match
and immolate himself.
He wants to fly into the hand of Michelangelo
and dome out painted on a ceiling.
He wants to pierce the hornet's nest
and come out with a long godhead.
He wants to take bread and wine
and bring forth a man happily floating in the Caribbean.
He wants to be pressed out like a key
so he can unlock the Magi.
He wants to take leave among strangers
passing out bits of his heart like hors d'oeuvres.
He wants to die changing his clothes
and bolt for the sun like a diamond.
He wants, I want.
Dear God, wouldn't it be
good enough to just drink cocoa?
I must get a new bird
and a new immortality box.
There is folly enough inside this one.
5.6k
If I could be a cartoon character
Which one would I be
I thought about being Fred Flinstone
But he's too old-fashioned for me
And then there's maybe George Jetson
A man who knew electronics
Nothing like Yosemite Sam
Who needed to be hooked on phonics
And what about Shaggy and Scooby
You gotta love those scooby snacks
I've never really considered a Smurf
And their tiny little mushroom shacks
Or maybe I'd become a super hero
Who comes to save the day
Batman , Green Hornet or Underdog
Who puts the bad guys away
Maybe I'd live in Jellystone Park
Where Yogi is still the king
For "Hello Mr Ranger Sir"
Is just the funniest thing
© All Rights Reserved
Dec 7, 2010
Dec 7, 2010 at 2:11 AM UTC
Spy Kids (the original)
A 5 dollar matinee with your mom
A box of Bunch A Crunch
Or a plastic sack of
Dip N Dots
Ninja Turtle walkie talkies
Flare denim cargo pants
Bobby Jack zip up hoodies
With blue Fla-Vor-Ice stains
And hide and seek
Now That’s What I Call Music
Volume 17
Playing from a 10in x 10in
Silver box TV
And high frequency noise
To accompany
Akon’s latest bass line
A razor scooter
The foot powered kind
When the Preacher’s Daughter
Has a shiny blue one with a motor
Weeping to Secondhand Serenade
Because your mom won’t let you have
A Wii
And your crush checked “no” on the
Note you gave them last week
Detention after pre algebra
From shooting a girl two seats over
At “close range”
With a hornet
And she was unfamiliar with the school wide
NO SNITCHIN’
policy
The words
Beastly
And epic
Used to describe what your
8th grade field trip is gonna be like
A phone call from your best friend
About finally finding Ben Franklin
In Tony Hawk’s Underground 2
Now
The OK symbol is your most used emoji
There are too many guys with long hair
And beards
White girls all have a weird obsession
With house plants
We’re all at least 50 thousand dollars in debt
And I think we all
Just really hope Donald Trump
Isn’t our next president
Mar 14, 2016
Mar 14, 2016 at 12:19 AM UTC
A hornet fell out of the sky
"and I…."
I am sitting
watching it suffer
noting the smell
of bleach on the wind
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 11:07 PM UTC
Gracious god, I Am
handcuffed to the bed
(white wine and
cigarettes)—
I will not forgive regrets.
This hornet’s nest, a home—
I choke on church bells,
starved of faith—
an empty sternum, bellyache.
Among the living dead,
I speak the language:
“Let me in!”
But I cannot betray my sin.
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 1:06 AM UTC
*Rise the way you want to rise
keep not ambitions in disguise
go as far go as close
with your finger touch the tiger's nose.
Do it the way you want to do
be not scared of jeer and boo
walk the path bled in thorn
with your hand grab the bull's horn.
Act the way you deem it right
you have in you the needed might
fight the enemy in its own den
in your fists clench the lion's mane.
Speak the way says your heart
say it straight never skirt
tell it all even the bitter thing
with your finger catch the hornet's sting.
Live life the way you want it
once committed no retreat
brave hindrance of the darkest night
in your wings soar the eagle's height.*
Feb 4, 2014
Feb 4, 2014 at 10:18 AM UTC
The ten speed biker was coasting down hill
about 20 MPH when he took a spill,
He's moving on, He's moving on!
He hit the brake a little too late, He's moving on!
The ten speed biker was do'n ok,
Till he an old Tom Cat got in his way,
He's mov'n on, he's a mov'n on.
He tried it to miss, but the ground he kissed,
He's mov'n on!
The 10 speed biker broke down in tears,
climbing up a hill he ran out of gears,
He's a-moving on, he's moving on.
He had to call his nurse, when he went in reverse,
He mov'n on, he's mov'n on!
The ten speed biker was a do'n ok, till he saw a pretty girl,
and he looked her way, he's mov'n on, he's mov'n on.
His bike is a wreck and so is his neck, he's mov'n on.
(She wasn't worth look'n at any way)
Welll, the ten speed biker was hav'n no trouble,
Till he tried to ride through a big mud puddle,
He's a mov'n on,
Now he's filthy sight, and so is his bike
But he'll soon be mov'n on, be a mov'n on.
The 10 speed biker hit a serious cog,
When he got chased by a mangy ol' dog,
He tried mov'n (faster) on,
But he ran of of luck, 'n got bit in the ****
He's mov'n (a little slower) but he's still mov'n on.
[This next stanza was written by my 7 yr. old Grandson.)
The ten speed biker do'n 'bout 25 and didn't see
the big hornet hive, he's moving on, he's mov'n on.
You could him cry'n "I think Im dy'n!
He's mov'n on, yeah mov'n on!
(This last stanza is a true experience when I was 65 yrs old)
The ten speed biker had good control, till he waved at a friend,
and ran off the road, he stopped mov'n on, stopped mov'n on.
Now he's sett'n home with broken ribs and a collar bone ,
He' NOT mov'n on! yeah he's NOT NO LONGER MOV'N ON!
[I didn't have all these experiences, but wrote this poem to
an old country western song tune. by G.E.Parson
Feb 15, 2018
Feb 15, 2018 at 9:40 AM UTC
A red-hot needle
hangs out of him, he steers by it
as if it were a rudder, he
would get in the house any way he could
and then he would bounce from window
to ceiling, buzzing and looking for you.
Do not sleep for he is there wrapped in the curtain.
Do not sleep for he is there under the shelf.
Do not sleep for he wants to sew up your skin,
he want to leap into your body like a hammer
with a nail, do not sleep he wants to get into
your nose and make a transplant, he wants do not
sleep he wants to bury your fur and make
a nest of knives, he wants to slide under your
fingernail and push in a splinter, do not sleep
he wants to climb out of the toilet when you sit on it
and make a home in the embarrassed hair do not sleep
he wants you to walk into him as into a dark fire.
1.8k
Superheroes rule they say,
They are all the rage today.
But Jesus Christ's the one I seek...
He is strong where I am weak!
-chorus-
Jesus is stronger than Superman,
Jesus is mighty He has a plan,
Jesus could save the whole wide world...
Every man, woman, boy and girl!
Could Ironman ever heal the sick?
Thor or Jesus, take your pick!
That Green Hornet has a car,
But Jesus is the Morning Star...
-chorus-
The world has Fantastic Four
But Jesus Christ can feed the poor,
Can Batman walk upon the sea?
Could Spidy die for you and me?
-chorus-
There's no reason to wonder why,
Jesus Christ's my kinda guy!
He will save you! Yes! He can!
'Cause Jesus is stronger than Superman!
Jesus is stronger than Superman,
He saved me! I am His fan!
Jesus Reigns! He'll rule the world!
Every man, woman, boy and girl!
Soul Survivor
Catherine Jarvis
(C) 2011
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 9:34 AM UTC
The wandering minstrel,
sung a song that kept hidden,
deep in his lonely heart,
it touched the dancing girl so much,
she sprang up on her feet unprompted,
and danced the way the song spoke to her.
Oh! it was marvelous and she was swift
like a lightening during monsoon,
there was a subtle absence that heightened her presence,
her admirers, a whole lot, was caught by surprise,
strangely, they got agitated,
as her move was unexpected,
that stirred a hornet's nest
which, then led to a melee of sorts,
every one was running helter- skelter,
while the whirlwind swirled around,
the girl still danced like possessed.
Only now they saw the Dervish,
with long white hair and flowing dress,
while he gently circled, his aura bright
created a dazzling circle of light.
It became difficult to see what happens,
to most, without the inner light.
**To the few with opened inner eyes
it was revealed at once thus:
the swirling dervish, the ecstatic dancer
and the wandering minstrel lost in his song
went beyond,
became one in spirit.**
Feb 6, 2013
Feb 6, 2013 at 11:46 PM UTC
The Bodacious Blonde
she is a portmanteau a blending of thought
voluptuous yes but yet down-home too
she'll bake you a cake or a sweet tasty pie
with flour on her face a bomb shell sacre bleu
she is courageous audacious and a spirited soul
fiesty like a hornet you'll feel her sting
graceful and kind be careful not to raise her ire
and please pretty please don't ask her to sing
she can haul out the trash and mend a skirt
carry large loads and cut the back nine
she doesn't mind playing in the dirt
but when she dresses up oh my god she is fine
her grey eyes sparkle bright in the light
her long golden hair down her back
it's hard to let go when she kisses you good nite
pressing against you with her incredible rack
a friend forever and an incredible lover
who wouldn't be proud to have her on your arm
although not a spy but great under cover
yes she is bodacious and her kisses are warm
Gomer LePoet ....
Nov 4, 2011
Nov 4, 2011 at 11:43 AM UTC
Day debt
night wept
sleep crept
Attachment.
Where is my attachment?
evening out of balance
The line of my life has broken
off into separate identities
Flower feather
Hollow weather
Moonlight Canyon
Skylight childhood nostalgia
Stolen star
Battered cheekbones
Of weary workers keeping to
The hornet's nest
Reality a constant terror
Of city structures swallowing
them whole.
Blackbird rests
on an Autumn branch of
hidden meadow
checking its wristwatch obsessively for the
Hydrogen Volcano
INEVITABLE.
Termite Corporations
Cavernous Hilltops
All that green is gold
(A straw man in Byzantine robes approaches
the frosty Manhattan
to become a relic in it's Libraries)
People fall in Love with coincidence,
(The illusion of order beyond our field or reach)
All that love is kept in a
Conservatory somewhere...
Glossy stems connected to palpitating blossoms.
Our tired eyes are focused to the asphalt confluence
whether fever or handhold.
Hymns ring throughout the forests of
Vancouver Island
Dreamers hang from the Niagara Trestle caught in
overwhelming sunlight
Doused in spirit.
Holy Melancholic September
Sweeps away the dusty Summer,
everything seems renewed
In the rain..
Sep 2, 2015
Sep 2, 2015 at 8:29 AM UTC
My obsession lays only with Calvin Klein.
A proper noun with capitals.
A drifting strong aroma.
Another obsession in my world.
Is sometimes somewhat lighter.
I am an obsessed pusher.
Obsessed only with my pen.
If I can create an image well.
Then hell so be it.
Real people I don't like much.
It's only words I wish to touch.
Desire fires obsession.
It's just a bunch of words.
Sweet strawberries so succulent bring words of summertime.
Clouds weigh down around my head
Dark winter days of misery.
Moments when I wish I was dead.
I put my pen to work.
Writing darkness scarily black.
About bursting eyes.
Where no-one dies,
Except emotion cruelly slaughtered.
By the one known only in kindness.
As the smiling devil's daughter
Definitely no relation.
Just the mother of eccentricity.
Kindness in persona.
To be so dark.
That's very rare.
In a heart that's ribbon bound.
I write my words with tender care.
Sometimes, just to remind the world that I am still there.
Moreover, like a hornet.
I cheese you off and get stuck in your hair!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 6:28 AM UTC
prepared for any kind of fight; rifle, helmet, knife, even glaring teeth
she comes at me like I'm a hive of bees
but who can blame her, after all, who's really adequately prepared to handle me
she only cuts shallow and jabs, never stabs for the heart
unlike me, she won't **** unsuited to play that part
she's a survivor, she heals, I'm a comet in it's one bright radiance before breaking apart
anxiety makes you shudder like a dump truck coming down a bumpy street
depression dictates who you call, when you work, what you eat
if you're not bipolar then i'm afraid the three of us will probably never meet
punching clinched fists through doors is a cheap circus trick
but taking out the anger is dangerous without something to hit
because it pours it up, tries to drink itself down, and drowns everything around it
my remorse stiffens me in bed next to her sleepless I wear the darkness, rigamortis and black suit
I feel my poison wilt her, bend her stems, dull her colors, shrink her roots
i have burned all the wood in her pile just getting started a fire the size of my selfish pursuits
carrying sandbags roped onto me one parent and sibling at a time
dragging the chains of days barely survived still hooked into my skin like the other memories of their kind
I stall her pace, hold her back, make her trudge uphill, I make her climb
but her undaunting patience somehow persists in her, in me: still, calm waters sublime
She comes at me like I'm a hive of bees prepared for any king of fight
only wanting to save me, to heal me, to give sleep back to my nights
bread for it, I show teeth and cut for blood and she continues to be the definition of grace in my life
Apr 26, 2012
Apr 26, 2012 at 1:12 PM UTC
i find it strange to be politically correct,
without actually exercising any political
career-motive as a member of a government...
because that's what's we're being sold:
to be politically correct, without a career in
politics. doubly strange, to foster non-antagonising
views on everyday matters,
to later realise that whoever we're antagonising
from an environmental bias (rather than
a personal bias) we will never share a dinner with...
so like our opinions mattering in the first place
was by-and-large, just a media hoax to
ensure we were all prescribed the safety of
walking the tight-rope... and never really
designating ourselves the freedom of the constitutional
rights - this leftist bias remains intact,
on the canvas of freedom of speech, however
that freedom allows us to see rural endeavours in talk,
the once appreciated freedom is becoming a polarised
freedom to name & shame... a media hammer or nail...
because it's only freedom when enough people
agree with "us", to allow a bicep expression of
being backed up like some Spartacus...
i mean, i don't agree with most expression,
but i wouldn't **** the hornet's nest with the media
frenzy to appear politically correct... when
so few of us actually have any political power....
being sold free speech, to be later curbed with
political correctness is a bit cancerous....
given that free speech is equated to the voting X
from the age of mass illiteracy...
i don't see how free speech became a vehicle for
acquiring constrained speech dynamic -
when did we forget the chastity of speaking the airy-fairy
things in life on the informal basis, and when did we
become so ****** friendless, estranged, outsiders
to everything that matters... and now, supposedly
between butcher and greengrocer, talking about
the weather in cocktail smocking and bow-tie?
free speech gave us the rights to not ask for political powers...
on whatever governmental tier...
prescribing us political correctness has given the everyday
John the delusion that he can process political power...
the once famous strive for speaking what the hell you want
but not wanting political power changed into
being prescribed political correctness but no political power...
so i ask you... what's the point of being politically
correct, if you gain no political power,
unless you're a rat, a snitch, spying on your neighbour
to grass them out? because that's what political correctness bred,
snitches... those given political correctness laws
were never given any other political power...
added to the fact that they wouldn't have said anything
interesting / provocative anyway.
Aug 21, 2016
Aug 21, 2016 at 9:50 PM UTC
Drinking allnight just to get right.
She claims she never but it sure dont seem tight.
Im half off the wagon but I just went for the ride
Passed out at the keyboard found out a friend called hello died.
Went to the funeral what did I see.
A ****** new place it did appear to me.
One for the road okay i took the case.
Hopped in the coffin.
felt like i just came back from outter space.
If your camper's rockin.
Better hope your husban dont come a knockin.
cause bulletes leave ya sore.
So just hide in the floor.
Cause if your dead it's pretty tuff to get some more.
I like beer and poetry what else did ya think i'd say.
like a kid throwin rocks at a hornet's nest
nest with danger i will always play.
Im guessing my wife must be outta school.
Honey you can ride the bus for free.
No need to blow the teacher and being he's the janitor it's not really cool.
I like beer and pushing the envelope what can i say.
just cause you like to snuggle on fishing trips
people call ya gay.
I write like a demon sometimes i even think.
When did God invent *******
Come on lets mix a drink.
Cartoons are great ever watch fritz the cat?
got busted last week trying to spend some alone time.
guees it's not cool to **** off in a laundrymat.
Wow im so impressed okay maybe not.
Love the new site.
Wonder if the new designer on his meds
are really doesnt care to think alot.
Wonder if my new will stay.
I love beer and poetry
What else did you ***** little hamsters really think i'd say?
Mar 4, 2011
Mar 4, 2011 at 8:25 AM UTC
Today I felt my weakness
so deeply more than ever.
I am only just a man,
a man full of dreams,
I can't seem to find any help
to rescue me for
the impossible visited me.
My vulnerability
overwhelmed me.
I looked at the world
as it unfolds before me.
I can't fully understand all
the happenings for my
understanding is not yet
sufficient but I felt
the surge of emptiness
of it all within me.
I can't help myself because
of my unknowing.
In an uncanny way,
everything has changed
revealing only that which my heart
cannot describe or decipher.
I know the pain of
my brokenness.
The sound of hopelessness
engulfed my being.
Where do I begin,
how do I start again.
Only the spirit knows what
the heart desires,
and how to nurture and strengthen it.
The impossible didn't know that
I'm possible.
And now the sleeping giant awakens
for the problem of the problem
is the problem.
The whole trouble is now in trouble
for the hornet nest is stirred.
Inner strength is resurrected
and the void and emptiness are finally
filled with unimaginable force of will
to drive and to do the impossible,
making it positively possible.
Finally the man of the earth now
became the man of God.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Sep 1, 2018
Sep 1, 2018 at 5:51 PM UTC
.
When you’re not here
nothing seems real
I’m lost and alone
this is how I feel
Broken and twisted
like barbed wire candy
Pinched like the pliers
I used to keep handy
Scratched on the surface
with sandpaper swinging
Cursing a hornet
my arms it is stinging
Caught in a nightmare
with someone named Freddy
Dreaming of Turtles,
of Flo and of Eddie
Stuck in the past,
well maybe tomorrow
Calling a neighbor
in hopes I can borrow
Something of value
they’re no longer needing
Maybe a band aid
to help with this bleeding
Unable to rock
to a song by Van Halen
Hot for (the) teacher
and spellin I’m failen
Hung out to dry
with a shirt on the line
Writing a poem
I just cannot rhyme
But so soon I know
Everything will be right
When you return home
later tonight
Then we will dance
neath the moon up above
Happy together, (Imagine me and you and you and me)
forever in love
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 3:22 PM UTC
What is the secret of being the best poet?
Did he tightly wring every reader's heart
by chewing every word of an epic sonnet
or did he sting their dead minds like a hornet?
Where is the premise of a great poem?
Should it be smell like lemongrass
planted in a coarse sandy loam?
or must it be supple and soft as a foam?
Has anyone ever been born with a golden hand?
Or is it just an accidental discovery of a man?
What is the mystery of being the best writer
holding his pen with a stupendous power?
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 9:04 PM UTC