"ilk" poems
Was with a salacious witch
with amazing quick silver tongue,
Confidence personified
she challenged me to chase her,
If I so wish, not in words.
Her liquid eyes and gestures,
made me mad with pleasure
by the time we reached the peacock hill.
Peacocks, big blue eyes painted on feathers,
each, was in love with her, it seemed.
Danced vying with each other,
to please her, while she winked at me.
As if to say"They'll **** each other
to get my glad eye"wouldn't I feel jealous?
Helpless, I did surrender to her spell,
like others in the line, in my front and back.
When just one touch of her index finger,
would evoke magic, I'll get
Transformed to a young peacock
of exquisite beauty, with blue green plumes
none have ever seen before,to flaunt at
others of the ilk, on seeing it they'd back out.
Such a witch is one of a kind,my mind
whispers, it's she who assures me this,
On the full moon night, due in a week
we'll fly to the far away hill where
She'll be with me helping to build a nest,
turning to a peafowl herself,
She'll lay a dozen eggs,
yes, in to my ear, she says, this is only later,
h
When, she with index finger will
gently touche me and proclaim, thus:
"This is the peacock I enticed and
with my witchcraft ,bound for life"
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 8:46 AM UTC
You see me as the bacteria
And yourself as the antibiotic
I see you across the cafeteria
Acting psychotic
Because of what I find ******
You treat me like I'm toxic
But you're seen as normal
So I hide beneath the coral
To avoid your aggression
That will teach me a lesson
About correctly guessing
Where your fists will go next
You tell me I want it like ***
This is your way to flex
To show you have an edge
You single out the marginalized
There's no way you'll hedge
When you have harm in your eyes
And then use charm as a disguise
To make me cry over spilt milk
Because I am not of your ilk
For I am as soft as silk
Like the sheets I want to roll in with you
Instead you shoved my face into poo
As my ***** grew
I think of killing myself
With my gun
When I think of filling myself
With your ***
While pretending I'm your son
And swallowing you like gum
Those are my ideas of fun
Yours is to tell me to run
From your intensely penetrating fists
That make me regret my penetrating wish
As you brandish the weapon
From the movie Inception
That launches you into my dreams
Giving my thoughts a singular theme
As my mouth continually screams
I was born on the wrong team
You wanted to exhibit your power
In this seemingly arbitrary hour
So you broke my nose
To show off for your hoes
An off the cuff
Attempt to be tough
But I found it deeply affecting
When I could feel your hatred injecting
Making me wonder if I'd ever be free
After I saw the only ending I could see
You move to strike me again
This time I have my mac 10
That I brought to school
For a one sided duel
You changed the trajectory of my life
By changing the trajectory of my bullets
You taught me about strife
You taught me how power is the coolest
You taught me to move on to your friends
Their lives I must remember to end
This is the message I'm choosing to send
When they sat back and watched the hate
Like it was 1938
I lost my sympathy
After being treated differently
And gained a ruthless anger
That turned me into a stranger
So I let the automatic gun spray
Faster than they could pray
For their hoots and hollers
I shoot their collars
Creating shade in the halls
That I make when they fall
The feeling goes to my *****
I become strangely intoxicated
By the death of those who hated
So I go back to your dead body
And do what you felt was so naughty
And now there is no one even around for you to tell
That I ****** your corpse while you watched from Hell
Jan 3, 2018
Jan 3, 2018 at 12:18 AM UTC
I just stood transfixed, letting her eyes light
the smothered wick in me that needed the oil of love
with anxious stutter I asked, "Is your name Grace?"
"It really is, you are right there, but pardon me
I am Grace Fallen" I took it as a joke and smiled,
"Dear fallen flower, your grace resurrects my crucified spirit"
I have seen them all, blooms, perfect, fragrant,
the ones that catapult one to momentary bliss
with a wink, a word that touches somewhere tender
or share love, fresh like butter, that seems gushing from the depth
that not even expect any kind of reciprocation,
blowing like fragrant breeze, caressing drooping trees.
Women with such luminance ,bless their ilk
whom one only could think as incarnates
came down to lift this miserable world
up from the quagmire, the ***** pit it has fallen
because of the absence of feminine grace in abundance
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 7:32 AM UTC
You Sir, Are An Electrician!
**technocrat
— noun
a proponent, adherent, or supporter of technocracy.**
This city boy was expert at
Turning the lights on,
Unlocking the front door,
Putting new batteries in flashlights,
And calling the handyman to
"Please come upstairs"
When the degree of diving difficulty was a
Positive number.
Also,
Freezing the semi-permanently the DVR,
Triggering alarms,
Killing car batteries,
Making laptops question
Human sanity,
Tearing up when reading,
"Some Assembly Required!"
Raised in a city of experts,
He was unskilled in things electric,
Becoming apoplectic,
When a device had an
On/off switch that ignored him.
Somewhat famous he was,
For engaging the inanimate,
In a verbal dialectic,
Which included words highly phonetic,
But unsuitable for children's ears.
She was raised in rural pastures,
Corn fields used for hide n' go seek,
Riding goats after school
Just for fun,
Familiar with innards of
Deus ex machina, a/k/a
Minor engine repairs, and
Doing what he called,
Making reparations.
IOS7, heaven.
Cabling laptop to external devices,
Icing on the cake,
Dis and reassembling a German coffee maker,
Did not require calling an 800 number.
She never read an instruction sheet
Without pleasurable laughing at
Japanese English.
He was unashamed of his skilled
Unskilled characteristics,
For such is the way of the world
In the human kingdom,
Some of us two handed,
some of us, bi-standers.
But upon occasion,
He would bemoan his fate,
Decry his inability to survive
On a post-apocalyptic Earth,
Like the people on tv and movies.
Periodically he would grow morose,
Listless, at his inability to adapt to a
Point Oh world.
Uncomprehending
Icons and symbols whose meaning
Were wholly unintuitive,
He secretly ashamed of his need for
technological ******
She would sense his frustration,
Wipe away his inner condensation,
Climbing into his lap,
Whispering the following:
**You sir, are an electrician
of words, a verbal technocrat,**
Plumber of the depths where
Few fear to tread, explorer of the head,
Restorer of human paintings unmatched,
Without your ilk,
this world would be unbearable,
Your heart's warming silk
Comforts bodies and souls,
Speaking from experience personal.
Then, she flicked his
On/Off switch,
On.
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 2:43 AM UTC
slave is someone who does not have authority over their own lives slave is someone subservient controlled dominated by somebody something slave works very hard for little or no pay slave is property of somebody something slave is someone forced to obey
sycophant is someone servile who overly flatters more powerful individual for personal gain sycophant is bootlicker brown-noser fawner flunkey doormat lackey lap-dog yes-men parasite toad-eater (pause reposition) somebody possessed of excessive vanity may cultivate sycophant swarms
side by side they stand clothed in black not quite similar the one slightly taller possibly because the other suffers poor posture perhaps they are related because in odd way they appear alike or of same ilk yet upon closer scrutiny it becomes apparent they have very little or nothing in common the taller one with troubled sad eyes the other smiling obsequiously the taller one more muscular ***** from working menial labor the other with curved spine slumped shoulders because of undue bowing and crouching while blowing smoke up other people’s *****
sadist is someone who attains ****** gratification by inflicting physical pain shame to other people sadist is someone who delights in excessive cruelty degradation to others
********* is someone who achieves ****** pleasure from being hurt humiliated abused dominated punished often self-inflicted ********* is someone who enjoys being harmed misused mistreated ignored by others
sadomasochist is someone who gets ****** gratification by alternately or simultaneously enduring hurt causing pain to somebody else sadomasochist is combination of sadistic masochistic tendencies in someone who obtains ****** pleasure from inflicting submitting to pain cruelty
sycophant slave snakes up leg of movie actress dictator who gains pain through pleasure 2000 miles from equator IED cell phone detonator sycophant dilettante ***** up to sadistic art critic or publishing editor on escalator while below on main floor of shopping mall ice rink figure skater pirouettes bows to nominator surreptitiously bribed by infiltrator mutilator
Feb 27, 2011
Feb 27, 2011 at 4:38 AM UTC
In his glass world
he seems to float
embryonic smooth and white,
not pure white but rather yellowish
watched by thousands of eyes
far from his ilk,
alligators in green, out there,
innocent, harmless
it seems as if they, in the evening
after the last visitors have left,
pull the valve out of his back
and let the air and life leave him
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 10:47 AM UTC
*standing on the threshold of change, I await a fresh-line
but the universe may be unready
if not, I may take to choppy-waters
all by myself*
1.
if we are all stuck in the jam of time
perhaps, if we spread it out real thin
some of us could actually lift off
and catch a ride.. out
free some hostage from the twisting temporal-joints
and the wool-gatherers mind their business
and footsore beggars dine on exotic-things
deep in the heart of the jungle
where Nebuchadnezzar parked his dreams of old
by saving your surprise for a weekday jaunt
we limp on in the vacant-dust of paradox
yet get unavoidably detained by the present
undo the ribbons and the package may unfold its.. things
espy the tick-tock riding the margin of fright
common sense of morn lies delightfully unfinished
and the wrong side of a bold idea gets squashed
the brain-weary ingest their lot and plough on through thickets of tricky-fate
while tiptoeing silent on the farthest-blades of brimstone
holding subtly aloft.. the frankness of aiding-spectres
2.
balloon of green, balloon of blue
hold out your hand and pray you get no inequalities of flame
easy catch of the sound of science scoffing in the parlour
when we try to do something different; take a chance
uncivilised-humour will argue the rings off your punctured-lobes
any germ of new plan must needs be nurtured
let any frenemy go; intolerant-ilk do better by their vacuous selves
remarkably convenient
there's almost enough water in the well
to soak up the ivory-rays and let them fly
and there's a breeze lifting the needle off the ancient-groove
spinning reels on the bay
*no, you will never convince me
that the time-keeper holds all keys
'cos I snuck out furtive.. late one night
and sawed through.. for a whole decade
and well, guess what I have here..*
:)
S T - 24 Jan 2014
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 8:24 AM UTC
Foundlings lament beneath their shrouds
For the Givers they never knew.
Shouts of terror, gone unheard, loud
And bright in the fright of selected few.
Shadows cast beneath sunlight's flags
Are trademarked captions made of stained silk.
They trod the daylit bog in dusty rags,
Secretly living, they and their ilk.
Nov 9, 2010
Nov 9, 2010 at 3:10 PM UTC
ruminating
cogitating
pondering
thinking
the subject matter doth
put the mind into a thought seat
is there sufficient verbs for me
to place on the paper's sheet
verbs by definition are words
which have an action
they on the reader
do have an impaction
so let's explore a topic
worth a thousand of them
how I'll express this piece
shall test my mind's stem
here is the matter I shall discuss
without any duress or manner of fuss
all over the globe there is much trouble
our planet is not as a carefree bubble
the inhabitants often observe strife somewhere
our corners of four not of an according air
were there to be peace and calmed relations
no concerns would beset our world's many nations
yet a propensity for war doth ever prevail
what sane men shall see the wrongs of this pail
verbs shall never explain man's idiocy
as he's ever involving himself in armory
yet a man who did advocate cordiality
lived with his brothers in true harmony
he was a meek man of the Indian land
a message of non-violence he did band
the lessons of history are never heard
man seemingly ever in the warring herd
the middle east is a tinder box of hell this day
exploding bombs and munitions all spray in affray
verbs of dialogue aren't put to good use
an ongoing lighting of the fuse doth suffuse
few statesmen of Gandhi's ilk now exist
so the torture and torment of war shall e'er persist
diplomacy has lost its edge around the globe
our planet shall remain bound in worrisome lobe
the count of verbs in this piece didn't quite reach a thousand
yet deaths in conflicts outdo that number by the thousands
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 5:18 AM UTC
hill
ant hill
an ant hill
a perfect ant hill
a perfect ant hill it was
a perfect anthill erected
a perfect ant hill erected at will
by ants and ants and army of disciplined ants.
ants of many kinds, sizes and colors erected an ant hill
the design was grand, nice to look at like a cathedral,functional.
we love the ants for being so versatile,co-operative and creative
Do ants possess minds, ability to think,organize, put decisions in to actions?Or do they just have an instinct,prompted by nature, how do they receive it?Even if we are yet to find out such secrets,many of us are skeptics."All this is like the crawling leaches, inscribing letters on smooth surfaces, inadvertently" they vehemently argue.And there remains the million dollar question,seeking answer:even tiny ants,could make millions of their ilk do amazing things, why oh! why, the most intelligent of living things, at least replicate the feats the community of ants, at a scale, proportionate ?If these disciplined insects, in spite of their small brains could be a great example, why can't human's be like them, behave more responsibly , take charge of their own destiny, construct, not destroy. Every ant hill in silence, asks us many questions, we walk past pretending that we heard nothing, that could disturb our peace.
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 8:31 AM UTC
Silky cocoon of routine leaves
this metamorphosis stagnating
how the discomfort thieves
the fear of change isolating
The struggle lies in the escape
with no energy left to attempt
monotonous days left to drape
as if life holds me in contempt
Hanging on this lonely branch
sometimes I pray just to fall
monotonous routine's avalanche
creates days so banal
And then a child finds the lonely silk
plucks carefully into a glass jar
Oh how the curiosity of their ilk
creates this warm inner spar
A want to escape
a need to taste
freedom's luscious grapes
make haste happiness,
make haste.
Nov 5, 2018
Nov 5, 2018 at 4:02 PM UTC
Going Off To War (a/k/a Washing The Dishes)
When its time to wash the dishes,
I make proper preparations for this serious business,
I strip down to my skivvies (shorts, in a prior generation)
Cause there will plenty blood and gore afore too long
Soap and water flying about, the ceilings and the walls,
Not to mention big, big puddles on the floor.
Multi-colored sponges of sizes varied,
Some Brillo-sided, like extra armor on a tank,
By Dawn's early light, turn the clear water
Into a heaving, breathing soapy concoction.
Woebegone and woe betide, dried and sticky maple syrup,
You are no match for super-strength orange dishwashing solution,
Of the Greeks did praise, a single dollop packs a mighty wallop!
Ain't afraid of any stain, decomposing, half chewed, culinary rejection.
Don't even bother with rubber gloves, cause that's for sissies.
The dirtier the better, cause I love the sounds of
All out war, the rushing water, the futile screams of
Grease departing this world, down the rabbit hole,
My gleaming, victorious sinking of the enemy shipping
You think I am the first to celebrate in verse
This storied fight of right over dirt?
Recall please this famed couplet, for now be known its true inspiration!
"Oh, say can you see by the Dawn's early light
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming?"
Though Men Like to Load the Dishwasher (You Didn't Know?)
Is another poem of a similar ilk, when technology is unavailable,
It is fact verifiable and unassailable,
That if you give a man some room and some privacy,
Ignore the shouts and war cries from the kitchen emanating,
Male aggression can best be expiated,
When playing war games in the kitchen, a live action movie,
A video game that never grows tiresome,
And violence is necessary, for the enemy's complete annihilation.
Thank you my dear, no medal need be awarded,
Scored this poem as my just reward.
May 26, 2013
May 26, 2013 at 12:23 PM UTC
1. If it doesn't take place at 4 in the morning, immediately change the setting.
2. You should center all your work. Centering makes the piece unique and improves readability.
3. You should invoke the idea of The Mask. Paul Laurence Dunbar didn't do it well enough.
4. One word lines improve readability and do a great job of making emphasis. Use them a lot.
5. On the other hand, really long lines explain points wonderfully. Feel free to be essentially prosaic.
6. The subject should be obvious and everyday, that way everyone can easily understand what you're trying to say. Subtext is dated.
7. Confessions and heartbreak are unique to you.
8. Not editing makes the work extremely human and relatable.
9. Emoticons and the ilk are the cutting edge of the English language. Feel free to use them without reservation.
10. Rhyme scheme doesn't need meter.
11. Making a word into waterfall letters tells the reader you're falling apart (See #3).
12. Journals, diaries, blogs and Tumblr are old news when it comes to venting. Write an angry poem about your day instead.
13. You're probably going mad according to the DSM-5. Definitely write about that.
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 2:23 PM UTC
When biting Boreas, fell and doure,
Sharp shivers thro’ the leafless bow’r;
When Phœbus gies a short-liv’d glow’r,
Far south the lift,
Dim-dark’ning thro’ the flaky show’r,
Or whirling drift:
Ae night the storm the steeples rocked,
Poor Labour sweet in sleep was locked,
While burns, wi’ snawy wreeths upchoked,
Wild-eddying swirl,
Or thro’ the mining outlet bocked,
Down headlong hurl.
List’ning, the doors an’ winnocks rattle,
I thought me on the ourie cattle,
Or silly sheep, wha bide this brattle
O’ winter war,
And thro’ the drift, deep-lairing, sprattle,
Beneath a scar.
Ilk happing bird, wee, helpless thing!
That, in the merry months o’ spring,
Delighted me to hear thee sing,
What comes o’ thee?
Whare wilt thou cow’r thy chittering wing
An’ close thy e’e?
Ev’n you on murd’ring errands toil’d,
Lone from your savage homes exil’d,
The blood-stain’d roost, and sheep-cote spoil’d
My heart forgets,
While pityless the tempest wild
Sore on you beats.
2.6k
Down in the forest,
past the bluebells sits a glade
Hidden from the outside world
Protected, dark in shade
A magic place where fairies live
Behind a silver veil
With a gate made out of spider silk
And guarded by a snail
It's hidden from the normal path
Behind large ferns and leaves
It is only seen by fairie fok
And those who do believe
The snail sits watching up the path
For hikers and their ilk
Prepared to send the warning out
by breaking through the silk
The bluebells let the fairie folk
Know it is time to hide
Behind the silver slippers
Secret signals they abide
A place where water runs as clear
As blue as summer sky
Where magic lights the world for them
Where fairies float and fly
It is a glade not seen by us
If we do not know to look
To us it's just a darkened glade
Fed by a smallish brook
But, there inside the curtain
Is a world of childhood dreams
Where wishes are all granted
And tears help fill the streams
Magic is the hallmark
It keeps the land of fairie well
If you found it, who'd believe you
really, just who could you tell?
Protected by an old brown snail
With his silver trail behind
with a spider web to block the way
It's a place so few will find
Believe and you will see it
Past the trees and in the shade
It will open up to serve you
In that small and magic glade
If you see the folk of fairie
And their wings of gossamer glass
Then you've met up with the old brown snail
And he chose to let you pass.
Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 11:54 PM UTC
you cannot be serious man
in what you say
that is what the brat
was heard to say
on the court he'd remonstrate
about the call
he objected to the linesman's
placement of the ball
you cannot be serious man
in what you say
that is what the brat
was heard to say
in tennis circles he had
a no good reputation
for engaging in
all manner of disputation
you cannot be serious man
in what you say
that was what the brat
was heard to say
unsporting behaviour
he'd frequently show
other competitors didn't much
like the tenor of his bow
you cannot be serious man
in what you say
that is what the brat
was heard to say
another of his ilk presently
applies the same guttersnipe stuff
he's a right royal smarty-pants
with his racquet's guff
you cannot be serious man
in what you say
that is what the brat
was heard to say
Oct 24, 2016
Oct 24, 2016 at 7:03 PM UTC
I am a beautiful song
Humans do not see me
But the stars besiege me
And my vision is for they.
For they see me truly,
In the night sky we play.
The humans beneath are nothing
I forget them now.
(A sign for us alone
We who see beyond
The swans we are are seeping
Into the great pond.
Past the way of milk
We've lost the bounds of silk
Woven for the lost souls
Yoked to sirens' ilk.)
We see.
We sought.
And not for nought.
We sing, we.
Oct 8, 2019
Oct 8, 2019 at 11:10 PM UTC
**** that **** This is poetry now. Can you say it isn’t real? Can you say my lowbrow barbaric mind doesn’t express itself? Can you tell me these words aren’t art? **** that. This outcry is whats comin next.
Them burnt cars and bullet scars,
***** boots and tittie bars,
forget to bathe, **** the shave,
my pillow case is made of pave-ment,
twenty years late on that first pay-ment.
I asked the question but got delay-ment,
on what the **** has this all meant?
My colours just distract, them smiles just an act-
you think I’m tokin and ******* and happy go-lucking,
***** im drowning in the bills I haven’t even seen yet,
throwin off the debts as the horse that rolls the best bet,
and don’t forget,
every second you lay down to lie them eyes and theorize,
youre just getten burglarized,
want a burger and fries?
Twenty years off your life- oh and the change too.
Twenty seven ninety-five,
thirteen plus the years I’ll spend,
locked up with nothing to tend,
no garden, no fruit, no love to loot,
no wide eyes to fill and no breeze to shoot,
just a chain gain filling my ***** with soot,
stabbing by the next poor guy,
jabbing by that suit and tie,
the key is not to fit it right- so that every turn reminds who you belong to.
And this is what I wanna do?
Hold up- I pay for that ****
Now I understand suicide you nihilistic gits,
taking hits while the rest picks up the bits and the red runs the slits but no one sees the slip.
Topsy turvy sliding down the grassy knoll,
the heads tumble but the dough will never roll.
No.
Its busy ******* me in, me and my ilk,
like me too much an *** to be thankful for robes of silk,
mommy’s milk, eleventh hours and the stockpiles of the dowry.
Soft as a baby,
never ****** on the sour but the sweet,
pink feet,
earned on thin green sheet and the red as the man is beat, beaten and burned,
turned spurned despite his age and whats learned.
What is learned?
If only I could tell you.
We’s on the same track , don’t ask me whats gon spell true.
May 9, 2012
May 9, 2012 at 4:10 PM UTC
I can do this too, when I'm not au naturel
And trying to beat all of your @sses with how well
I make the gentleman, how excellently I am the imp,
How swell I step, dancing, aside, how terribly I simp -
Sometimes catch me getting back and giving the barman a chance -
I heeded their call; I washed off the day, and stepped into a trance
Of raspberry, rose and sandalwood; I donned my blue and pink silk,
And my black boots, tights and blazer - She's got style; And in that ilk
I also painted my face, with blues, whites, pinks, blacks, golds
And it was late when I stepped out, and in the very holds
Of the night that a lady like I should find terrifying, but I walked
The quarter of an hour to the Silk Mill; talked
For something more like four or five,
Face sharp, hair artfully mad, alive
In every sense, aided by the fine cocktails in this student setting
I could enchant all in four languages, and I did, forgetting
For a bit that another one of my faces I believe to be repugnant:
Because it begs for attention; and my current, commanded it
Because I came expecting nothing, and asking nothing,
And I quite frankly didn't give a d@mn about much of anything,
But if I wasn't very much a part of the room, and very much she
Whom every boy needed to speak to, and would ideally keep the company
Of, if that wasn't I
Then every lie's a truth, and every truth, a lie.
Mar 20, 2022
Mar 20, 2022 at 11:15 AM UTC
I see you sit expectantly biting lips
on the extended museum steps leading
to a veranda around the building, that invites
a flash mob,of your ilk, effervescent, to come together
perform and celebrate, nothing in particular,
except giving a shock pleasure to all those marked "the other"
Once you made me believe, together we make a whole,
that is the story we live on I was told, I merely listened,
I and you missed few beats and steps here and there
find us now in pages different, why, even ages apart,
"What a fine specimen,!" a pacifist, I can't but appreciate
watching your elan. As if seeing an alien in my home ground,
I watch the spectacle, gulping down my discomfiture dutifully,
while you romance with much finesse,to the cell phone,
you cling on as if it's the beau you want to show off.
"Wouldn't she make a fine museum piece?"
that would point towards the life style,
that highlights only the moment present,
and constantly on the run to remain there,
while past vanishes and future becomes obscure more and more.
With a gentle smile for you to pick up, when you are at peace,
I move on; more than the museum pieces still living,
I am interested in regular exhibits I easily grasp.
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 10:20 AM UTC
The demon fly hath landed now intent upon it's task
**** Demon in its valedictory explorations grasp.
Embedded deep in kidneys, to cause me some concern.
A painful path to endgame and a Hellish lesson learned.
I pause a moment, think it out, it's one way or the other
I lost a mate the other day and last month, lost another.
Seems it is the season for the cataclysmic time
I'd rather it be elsewhere but I fear this one... is mine.
I've run a rough and winding track these rugged years of yore
Pulled the Dragons tail in jest and sought, yet, for more.
Rafted mighty rivers and flew the heavens high
And lifted my perception winging vaulting, clear blue sky.
I've known the velvet touch of love, the softness of her lips
The crash of waves on sandy shore caressing fingertips.
The swelling joy of childbirth, the pledge of mothers milk
And rock like bonds of marriage binding all within its ilk.
With thoughts a million miles away I've trudged this country lane
Pondered why, with voids approach, it engenders me no pain?
Wondering why it matters that the children shed a tear
When saddened, glancing passing eyes, are never really near.
Regret I'll never get to see my grove of rhodos bloom
Or sip the soothing whisky as I tap my toe in tune.
Or launch into the crazy surf and splash out to the rock
Nor lie in sun on baking sand admiring talent flock.
Meat pies with sauce at football with a cold beer in the hand
And the repartee with kindred minds in poetry unplanned,
That flash of inspirations' alliteration sprung
Brings the joy to mind of comradeship in Shakespeare's realm, unsung.
.....And then there's all that's left undone, the words, now, left unsaid
The notes of tragic violin hang in the air...unbled
And you there with the swimming eyes, what do I say to you?
It's all been grand, I kiss your hand....Adieu , my friend.... Adieu!
M.
Foxglove, Taranaki
New Zealand
20 October 2020
Oct 20, 2020
Oct 20, 2020 at 12:21 AM UTC
Lorraine exits outside the realm of life
But in my heart she always has a home
Her choice to stop the demon cost a price
Her mind became a circus too insane
Believing visions of religious ilk
Lorraine exits outside the realm of life
Now she’s at peace, I miss her but not sad
She stopped the madness, stopped the voices track
Her choice to stop the demon cost a price
I wonder what she would have grown to be?
Would she have overcome the chains that bound?
Lorraine exits outside the realm of life
My sister was my mentor, for a while
Until the life she knew lost all control
Her choice to stop the demon cost a price
And may she rest with knowledge we’re ok
The ones she left behind that fateful day
Lorraine exits outside the realm of life
Her choice to stop the demon cost a price
Feb 20, 2010
Feb 20, 2010 at 12:48 PM UTC
Defunct delightful fruits noir
The sacrosanct pheromone of death
Garnishing Hells credence table
Quailled hem and haw sate
Ilk a slew of paper tigers
With a keen prosaic veneer
Consuming vittle of Gaia
Ravishing ichor like dancing water
Spurning a chimerical somatic
Catharsis as creaking doors hang
The longest watching satorial
Flowers wilt nascent by
Tactiturn vespers.
ELEETE J MUIR.
Jun 19, 2012
Jun 19, 2012 at 4:22 AM UTC
"Don't drink that coffee," my friend shouted at me,
"That caffeine will **** you!"
he said impatiently!
Drinking water is bad for your health,
the feds put fluorine in it
to **** you by stealth."
Paternally he whispered,
"Whatever you do, don't drink cows' milk.
the sucklings its made for
aren't close to our ilk.
The consumption of pigs and animals that ****
most certainly will keep you
from obtaining sweet bliss.
And stay away from creatures that swim in the sea,
their svelte tasty bodies are filled
with deadly mercury."
And then he looked aghast at my plate,
"Tell me you're not eating that excrement," he sighed,
"Do you really want to die...
from eating french fries?
Don't you know that fried things are the scourge of the planet,
cooked in hydrogenated fats by
some woman named Janet?
Avoid eggs, if you can, and by no means eat the yolks,
your cholesterol will rise,
that's no funny joke."
Then, with a scowl in his voice he said,
"Avoid plants grown in this country,
sprayed with pesticides and poisons
by corporate monkeys.
And stay away from foods grown in the East,
they're probably fertilized by
humans, dragons and beasts.
Potatoes, tomatoes have starch and acid,
that eats up your guts and
make you grow flaccid.
Lemons and limes will ruin your pretty white teeth,
making you go snaggle
right in your sleep."
With a superior air he ended his harangue,
"Beer, wine, and all forms of liquor,
Can you think of anything that
will **** you quicker?
Don't eat rich chocolate--it'll make you a ****
humping everything in sight
like a mad deer in rut.
Cakes, breads and cookies too,
contain sugars and flours that's
sooooo baaaaad for you.
~~~
I'm hungry and starving and don't know what to do,
I want to eat something
but afraid to give it a chew.
Though all of this leaves me feeling quite uneasy and queasy,
I'm closing the door and
doing as I pleasey!
Jul 19, 2010
Jul 19, 2010 at 7:58 AM UTC