"intruders" poems
*Honey bee collects nectar
Honeycombs with honey
Intruders get stung
Honey still tastes sweet*
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 9:44 AM UTC
I want to be there when it's 4 AM
and your chest can no longer withstand the weight
of the demons that no one else can see
and you can no longer push them back
long enough to breathe
and the exhales smell of ***** and misery
when your very own fingernails
betray your palms
with blood that looks like it's not even your own
I will bandage your hands
and hold them gently until the demons leave
and when you are afraid
of your own reflection
I will hide all the mirrors
and sit by your side with the lights off and
run my fingers through your hair
as if untangling your hair
could untangle the knots you have inside
I will wait for you
I will not groan when it's three in the morning
and you stumble out of bed
to go sit under the streetlight in the rain
and I will wait inside
with tea in your favorite mug
when you say you must go alone
when your eyes are vacant;
a winter house
with no footprints in the snow
and newspapers piling up in the driveway
the lights left on to scare away intruders
I will be there when you come back
I just need to know you'll come back
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 4:59 PM UTC
I've never been good at
Being touched.
Though the fingers
Of endless suitors
Have traced incomparable
Lines of affection,
They all stroke
The same wounds.
New hands feel like
Recycled lullabies,
Humming promises
Of a new melody,
Singing a remedy for
My impassivity.
Whether words fall
Passionate or
Fearful,
Endearment lines my lips
With an expiration
Long enough to convince me,
But short enough to leave me.
Reminding me:
The disintegration of
Indifference
Remains
My prerequisite
For destruction.
So before you
Touch me with
Promises of a new
Orchestration,
I'm already marking the
Days until you leave.
Because my skin
Is tired of
Intruders hidden
Behind momentary
Infatuation.
So keep your hands to yourself.
Jul 11, 2017
Jul 11, 2017 at 12:24 AM UTC
you are beautiful.
you are tragically beautiful.
you are notre dame
at night.
you are the eiffel tower
amidst bombshells.
you are the house of commons
and the house of lords.
you are the lone beam
standing after Katrina.
you are the one baby sea turtle
who makes it off the beach.
you are the dark side of the moon.
you are the patch of sand
struck by lightning.
you are the remains discovered
after the plane goes down.
you're a smooth puddle in a parking lot.
you are the creaky stair
that warns of intruders.
you are all of the red skittles.
you are Job 3:14.
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 3:38 PM UTC
A forest adventure-we didn't plan it that way at all,
the call of the wild prompted us, is all I can now guess
hand in hand in to the woods we ventured like two possessed,
magical, it felt, we soon disappeared, from the eyes of curious intruders.
erogenous scent of damp earth, after the first sprinkling of monsoon clouds,
pepped up our interest in hunting mushrooms
popping up everywhere, like fragments of white clouds descended,
we pulled out, egg shaped mushrooms that came in to our view
the frenzy we fell in to, possessed us in total,
after all we we are also young and hot blooded,
We competed like hounds in hot pursuit,
ran, collided with each other, fell down,
with a gentle thud, upon each other.
She did lay flat, face down on my chest,
I smelt,musk on her neck a slow intoxicant
and mushrooms hidden in her both armpits,
which I pursued and found out,we were getting hot,
in pursuit of each other's secrets.
the world, we had forgotten completely for long!!
We didn't see evening light melt and
darkness spread stealthily over the woods
that engages the robust body of the night,
from the rendezvous, of these secret lovers,
we sneaked out and saw lighted torches,
approach us from all four directions.
they zeroed in on us,"Who goes there?"
a harsh voice asked,
"This, do you know, is the holy grove,
of mother goddess, strictly watched
for not to be get desecrated
by people who seek some sort of adventure,
such an act never goes unpunished,
we'll search you and find what you did"
We held out mushrooms before them,
and I saw each face turning a lotus!
"where did you get this,? Oh! so much!,
Those are so rare and any one is able to pluck it,
only if mother goddess is pleased"
And then we realized this,
in that forbidden sacred wood,
between us a miracle has happened!
that pleased the mother goddess
of the woods, the blessed presence,
aren't we then the chosen ones?
,
Jul 13, 2013
Jul 13, 2013 at 6:44 PM UTC
You have been told that rapists were men in black hoodies
hidden in twisting shadows and dark alleyways.
****** offenders were always leering old men in rags;
never blonde haired and blue eyed and always smiling-
not once did you think to question the intentions
of his warm and familiar fingertips.
When you find yourself locked in his claws
and he tells you
that you must want it
don’t be a tease.
Look at what you’re wearing.
A sliver of skin mistaken for an invitation.
Do not be surprised when your mother
also asks you what you were wearing-
but do not forget.
Remember this for the next time.
You will also try to convince yourself that you asked him to,
but the scars on your sister
and the tribe of women with cut out tongues and pleading eyes
who stare back at you from your reflection
tell another story.
Tell your mother that no matter how many flowers she throws over the mass grave
she cannot hide the stench of rotting corpses,
do not pretend that you are okay when you feel all the lights inside of you begin to shut off
because your body has grown tired of sounding alarms and raising knives
against intruders who wield toxic gas and atomic bombs.
You have been taught to hold your tongue and to smile like nothing is wrong
but now your mouth is filled with your own bite marks and it is hard to hide the blood.
You should not have to.
Your words can crumble empires
and redeem centuries of trauma embedded in bleeding wombs.
It is time you used them to stand up for yourself.
Dec 16, 2015
Dec 16, 2015 at 4:57 PM UTC
My lover has a scar
Just above her hipbone;
It's not a small ****
a forgotten accident.
They're words -
Straight lines she etched
Deliberately,
Slowly,
Painfully.
I trace my fingers softly,
Not to wake my love,
But I can't soften their bite.
Words of cruel warning,
An order, imperative.
Commanding, even faded,
Echo a silent scream.
They mock me, mock us,
For they still have a hold:
She is only half mine.
They hurt me, cold,
Like unblinking eyes,
Knowing that she stares back
Every day.
I barely brush them,
Intruders on soft skin,
Indelible scripture
Of darkness within.
And they keep whispering:
don't eat.
Sep 30, 2020
Sep 30, 2020 at 11:43 AM UTC
When I look out from the smudged and cracked windows of home,
I know there's no place quite the same as right here;
No place I could find that quite catches my ear,
And no place quite the same that can swallow my fears,
To the depths of this heated and comfortable box,
In which I am protected by numerous locks,
From intruders and bandits,
Salesmen and clerks;
I am the legal intruder,
And for me, that's what works.
Yet I'm here when, in fact, I am meant to be there;
Not far from my home,
I'm meant to be learning whats fair.
I am meant to be learning what's right and what's wrong,
Yet 6 hours of my time a day seems quite long,
To be spending on verbs, nouns and pronouns,
On algebra, fractions, and abnormal word sounds.
This life is not theirs; this life is all mine,
Such an old and used system would appear to be right,
Yet I beg to differ, as revolution now squeaks,
To push through the systems cracks and cause leaks,
In which free-thinking filters the words of the old,
Who believe themselves better, for they're trained and so bold.
When I look to society, what is it I see?
Is it a throng of a thousand people who seem to be free?
Not quite, yet at the same time, that seems quite close,
They are free in a box, in which authority is the host.
*"Civilization has to be defended against the individual,
And its regulations, institutions and commands are directed to that task."**
Quite an obvious command,
And it seems that at last,
Man is learning to embrace what they each see as free;
And it does not simply stop at being free to simply be,
It goes beyond such in mind, matter, soul, and in trust;
For it is the systems denial,
Towards which I lust.
The institutions, and nations,
Corporations, news stations,
Stateism, classism, all attempt to control,
Who I am, what I do, where I go, who I meet;
They tell me to relax, and just take a quick seat;
Yet I know what I want from life is free feet,
To be who I am,
And take all the heat.
To do what I do,
And ignore what's 'elite.'
To go where I go,
And control, as such, my feet.
To meet who I meet,
And next to them, take a seat.
I am not a name,
And I am not a number.
I am always awake in my mind,
As I slumber.
Oct 18, 2010
Oct 18, 2010 at 10:58 AM UTC
On chain they did put me,
tied up to the burglary protector,
handcuffed and battered.
Tortured and meant to be broken.
Poisoned but survived.
Marked for assassination,
and shot twice,
bullets flying around,
resilient and unflinching,
was ready to confront them.
Dead or alive I must choose one.
Must find a way out of this mess,
to escape was on my mind,
but how do I get out of here without
jeopardizing the lives of my family.
Courage summoned I revert to plan B,
the art of fighting without fighting.
Intelligence and wisdom must come into play.
Must outwit them to survive.
Cunning and craftiness must be used,
the uncanny ways of the spirit is amazing.
Become like water,
be flexible,
Yielding but still immovable.
Stealth in action but remain like the firefly.
Understanding their intent
and misdirected anger,
their aggression towards me was contained.
Tranquilized and overpowered,
their capture became imminent for
i am more than a conquerer,
for the greater one lives in me.
Today I stand here to testify of that victory against
the intruders and assassins with a grateful heart.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 7:26 AM UTC
As The Second Hand Clicks,
On A Scarred Clock's Face,
The Days Become Shorter,
Breaths Become Abrupt And Shallow
Brittle Leaves,
Crumble Under Quiet Feet,
And **** Branches,
Give Intruders A Silent Kiss
Words Not Even Spoken,
Are Hushed By The Wind
The Cold Air,
Soothes The Stars,
Making Them Looked Refreshed,
Allowing Them To Glitter,
In Glassy Green Eyes
The Atmosphere,
Begins To Thin Out,
Comets Dive,
Though The Surface,
Like Dolphins,
But They Hold An Impossible Promise,
A Wish,
A Secret
A Star Dangles From Her Neck,
A Wish,
A Promise
What Does Autumn Hold?
What Does Winter?
Spring?
Summer?
Will I Be Able To Curl Up In Loving Arms?
Or Will I Be Curling Up In The Snow?
As The Seasons Change, Shall I?
As Summer Dwindles Into Autumn,
Shall I Change With The Seasons?
Shall I Become Brittled, And Weak,
Like The Autumn Leaves,
Or The Decreasing Sunlight?
Or Shall I Bloom Like The Stars,
In Winter's Night Sky
Aug 31, 2012
Aug 31, 2012 at 12:31 AM UTC
In Parsley, a Levantine munificence accreted together in Tabbouleh,
herbage that covers fractured bedrock in a poultice of healing.
Secreted within, lie igneous outpourings of bloodied tomatoes,
those solid affections that had welled through an ocean floor
as Neptune quelled Gaia's contractions, her waters seeking to burst
beneath the wrinkled surface of a salty sea. She, an underbelly of sky,
pregnant in the overwhelm of magma, sweating out her heart in fire,
muted like a moon of Neptune, in his retrograde soliloquies, yet mirroring
hers in icy resurfacings of skin. The God of the Sea, boils an amnion
to hazy mists, how deep will his trident plunge to dislodge those Trojan ships
of deceptions ? Yet, Triton blows a conch for Gaia, not for man's duelling
and his warring tribes. He soothes her feverish gnashing of thighs
labouring continents. Some fires burn in water, like desultory heartbeats
moving the pace of rocks through the ocean floor, spiriting away
to stranger places still, marking maps of memories in the beauty of
a stillborn magma. The limestone they say is no blood relation to such
alien fructification, those oceanic intruders, bleeding still, spilling
secrets in reds and purples. The acid tears spilled in lemons merely
neutralised in syllables, sedimented to a community of limestone,
that possess no archaic remnants reminiscing through dead bones,
an age of glory. Now beauty lies in herbage over once raucous magma
and traces of a salty sea, freshness of life trailing her veins, in fragrance of Parsley
Jun 24, 2021
Jun 24, 2021 at 7:15 AM UTC
I’ve been inside my head for all my life, listening to the voice within, trying to make peace with silent demons lying in wait.
These intruders remain, unwanted and uninvited,
wishing and praying for someone to banish them from my dreams.
Fearful moments spent hiding in dreams, amusing no one,
wondering, waiting and watching for weakness.
Brief glimpses of hope, wishing away the moments, days, weeks and years until now waiting, watching for life to come and sweep me away.
Living to die and dieing to live, making my way through this life.
Treading through too many souls for me to see my way,
Could you be the hope sent to free me from past haunts, my love, my all?
Aug 22, 2012
Aug 22, 2012 at 10:07 PM UTC
Ötzi
Even in my long sleep,
I dreamed of this.
A waking by strangers
A grasping of my wrist
And I wrench it back from them!
My dreams beneath the ice
Were warm, in summer vales,
Where children played
Under my watch, old but hale.
An easy thing, my guard was then.
I tend sore limbs as supper warms,
And aching joints inflamed,
And muscles tough as ibex horn;
For a while I can be lame.
And see my copper ax in the red-gold flame.
I dream of how it came to me,
After vanquishing a headsman.
Intruders fell before me!
And I earned this talisman.
Weapon, scepter, power of my clan!
Then I was sent across the mountain,
A lone journey I knew well.
To trade with kinsmen in a the northern glen,
With gifts, arrow shafts and tales to tell,
Never guessing betrayal that walked behind.
Alone upon the highest peak
I ate my last meal by the fire.
To me the gods seemed trying to speak,
As men I knew climbed higher.
We had words, but they were my kin!
In my long sleep I wonder why
These false friends turned to hate.
I’d watched over them, yet they cried
That my rule was done, and it was too late,
So I turned from them and faced my doom.
I crossed the last protruding rock
And now felt safe from them.
But then a blow, beneath my heart: a shock!
I fell in a soft, snowy glen,
And then a dull pain in my skull…and black.
Beneath me, I can feel the ax;
They’d never take that from me!
Nor my arrows, quivers and packs;
And risk the fury of the gods.
They’d taken my power and left a naked soul.
Five-thousand years I spent beneath the frost,
Until I was found and freed.
My scattered ions watched, angry and lost.
They dragged my body from its bed
And my soul from another life.
Now part of me lies in a crypt
Another frozen tomb.
If only I hadn’t run and slipped,
All those ages ago,
I would now lie in sacred ground,
Back in the earth to which all are bound.
Sep 9, 2017
Sep 9, 2017 at 10:16 AM UTC
A cider and a minder
Passing time as a reminder
Pink glow and songs flow
A waxy time erodes the mow
Renegades and perspiration responds
Swimming in winded seas of Jordan
Heated in space, evicted in their pace
Libido fails as the liquor dilutes in taste
Catch an esse as the moonlight smite
Hold another to fake a romantic right
Filter to the cards of ace as the one winks
Emotive intruders farm in fields of pastures
Imbued with alcoholic waterfalls
Molehills of termites condense lose soil
A lack of connection a taunt that apes
Future anthems triumph in hungered strums
Amused by the music erupting volcanoes
A morrow blows as the candle slows
To tow the tall grassed disused straw
A spring to summer that promises sun rays
A resolve to moderation to preserve modesty
A kiss stored forever peeping the awing stars
To guard a heart and hatch uniformity
Trembles justly forgotten in termed premises
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 2:42 PM UTC
They came through our Forest
And spread through it their stone,
Through this haven
They thought they could take.
And the Little ones ran,
Afraid and confused -
The play-place was changed,
But it was their mistake.
And the Little ones thought,
*Burn the corruption,
Burn the corruption,
Light it on fire,
Light it on fire!*
The blind mute child came,
And he tried to tell,
So the Watcher came
To see what they'd done.
He brought the rest,
The ones who could help,
But all were needed
So to this scene they would run.
And everyone thought,
*Burn the corruption,
Burn the corruption,
Light it, light it,
Ablaze!
Ablaze!*
So they all gathered round
And trapped the intruders;
They stood in the way
Of the corruption's path.
The New Ones were stopped,
Surrounded, even,
And they could do nothing
To escape their wrath.
And they stood and chanted,
*Burn the corruption, and
**** those who bring it!
Light them on fire,
Ablaze!
Ablaze!*
And the sword of the Angels
Was just over their heads.
They cowered and looked up
So hopelessly.
But the loneliest one,
Who saw so much loss before,
Stood in its way,
And helped them to see.
And they learned they knew not what they had done, and realized,
*End the corruption, but
Forgive those who brought it.
Light it on fire,
Ablaze!
Ablaze!
Cleanse the forests, and
Cleanse those who hurt them,
The flames will renew,
Forgive,
Forget.*
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 11:15 PM UTC
The Fence
A wooden fence once surrounded my home
Which I had hoped would keep out all intruders-
It was the fence my father had built
Years before his passing
Alive always inside a world of my own
I had built myself a different sort of fence-
One made of spoken words and angry gestures
That would ward away intruders I believed were always out to harm me.
A wooden fence can simply be sawed or broken down
When one is motivated to do so
And locks to their gates can be opened with a key
Therefore a wooden fence most likely will not shut the world out.
My own fence has shut the real world out
My soul and spirit are protected.
My special fence keeps me sheltered from the world outside
And is built from barbed wire of my imagination.
My mother and my father have passed away years ago-
They shall never become part of my private world –
It was not my wish that they would have ever been, as
They were forever trying to break down that fence that guarded my castle in the sky.
Now I am living in a different place in time-
Far from the wooden fence surrounding what was once my family’s home
Life is safer and not as threatening now
But I still with caution carry with me that extraordinary fence of my dreams.
Someday I hope that I can find that phantasmal key
That key that would unlock the gate to that protective fence of mine-
So that I could step out side, if only for a brief moment-
And hopefully learn that the real world is not a place to fear.
I hope that one day I shall awaken to a rainbow on my horizon
And that fence I have hidden behind for all the days of my life
Shall vanish as did the wooden fence had after so many years-
And I can find new freedom while I give thanks that I no longer have to be afraid.
Claudia Krizay
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 3:58 PM UTC
renegade memories
relentless effrontery
rogue fractured intruders
a formulable formidable aside inside
man is a modified monkey
a jackdaw in peacock's feathers
contradictions, the multiplicity that is a unity
a patchwork of odds and ends
snips and snails
dreams and delusions
hopes and fears
a mystifying knot of phantasmagoric disquietude
agape in a stupefied bewilderment
as an autistic child swept up in minutiae
inscrutable incongruities
melange of matters beyond explanations
maundering machinates
necessary inventions repeating and reforming
sheltering some aspect of the mind's deforming
'reaction formations' sotto voce instructs the analyst
defending emotions at the personalities bequest
merrily merrily merrily merrily, life is but a dream
psychotherapy is no mere scheme
Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 8:04 PM UTC
Red rooster strut your stuff!
Puff up your chest,
Fill the room with your allure.
Capture an audience with your grace.
Cock-a-doodle-doo
All the little chickies gather ‘around,
Admiring your strong calls,
Sharp claw feet,
Beautiful red face,
Like a stop sign to ward off intruders.
Little chickies now feel safe.
Are you, are you a red rooster?
Standing firm in your space,
No one dares to give you chase!
Cock-a-doodle-doo
Are you one of the little chickies
or Red rooster strutting his stuff?
Admiring chickies or strong rooster?
Cock-a-doodle-doo! Who are you?
Jul 15, 2016
Jul 15, 2016 at 11:21 PM UTC
My world is a radiant caramel dewdrop,
amidst the blissful blades of chocolate grass
that flourish like an expert sabre,
waiting to sever me from bleak reality
and the coldest of darknesses.
My world is the battlefield of imagining,
waged between the disembodied armies
of beautiful youth and frantic existence.
My world is an upside-down fairy tale,
where the princesses are sovereign and joyous,
but soon locked away by charming princes.
Where the absent shoe is found at a ball
and is never worn again.
My world is a creation of innocence,
with generous fountains of exuberance,
and a statues built after words unsaid.
My world is the autocracy of rapture.
I am king, hear me roar.
The invisibles and the less-importants
are tacitly knocking against the door
of my nougat castle, intruders!
Arm the guards! Foot the gates!
Let it be known that my world
shall not fall to mere accusations
of "autistic" and "challenged"!
I am king! Hear me roar!
Sep 29, 2011
Sep 29, 2011 at 7:51 PM UTC
Hidden stigmatas fall from your heaven
Solidly landing as a pathway to your righteousness
Running from your broken land
Broken lamp
To provide you with silver thread no more
Centuries of torment squeal under burnt rubber
And mudslides turn to avalanches
Room for the becoming
Pens leak ink over new white blouses
Draped over chairs like makeshift tents
Next to fireplaces to read
Seclusion from enormous intruders like yourself
Dusty pills litter the night table
Subtle reminders of doom once left
Left to chance
Echoing clacks as ***** scatter everywhere
Across the green felt next to the portrait
Covered by the heavy burgundy velvet drape
Whose eyes are blind to your savage beauty
You put the bell in the jar and cried out lonesome
Too many times before
You tried to pick some mushrooms
But it’s harder than you thought.
Feb 7, 2010
Feb 7, 2010 at 4:00 PM UTC
I dreamt that I'd awoken in my house
But all was not the same, was not as it should
be
There was a strangeness to things, an
unfamiliarity
Myself too, I felt different, felt very small like
a little child (like I'd been shrunk somehow),
Felt very vulnerable and exposed, without
support, all alone
As I stood there in the hall, the shadows
falling about me
I could see that it was still dark outside
It was very quiet and there was this big full
moon shining,
Down by the road, at my gate, I could see that
there was a car or van parked
As I watched, suddenly I heard the sound of doors opening and then being slammed shut
Then I saw these two dark figures emerging, proceeding up the driveway toward my
house
A terrible fear gripped me, I felt a great
danger approaching
These two men, these shadowy figures
They meant no good, of that I was sure
They were unwanted, coming at this crazy
hour,
Standing there in the shadows, all I knew
was they mustn't see me
If they saw me I knew I was lost,
It was then that I noticed the inside door, it
wasn't locked
So I got down and on all fours started to crawl across the floor (so I wouldn't be seen)
But it was hard, so hard, my limbs they were
so slow, so heavy
They would hardly obey me... I could hardly
drag
What was wrong... what was wrong with
me!!! I thought,
Through sheer force of will I finally made it
And reaching my hand up I turned the ****
that would lock the door
I heaved a sigh of relief and lay back against
the now locked door
It was only then that I noticed another
bedroom door was ajar
If they stood outside the bedroom window
they'd be able to see a bit into the hall
But I realized, it was too late... too late now
They'd probably be at the window by now
And they'd be bound to see me trying to close
the door
They'd be standing there right now with their
cold sharp impassive faces
Dripping cruelty and menace
Staring in, souless like mannequins
Their icy looks that'd freeze your soul
Like a Medusa turn you to stone.
So I could only sit there listening...listening
with my back to the inside door
Afraid almost to breathe
Just listening for the next sound
The next thing to happen.
Oct 27, 2022
Oct 27, 2022 at 6:26 PM UTC
STOP!
CROSS ON GREEN ONLY!
ONE WAY!
WARNING DO NOT ENTER PRIVATE PROPERTY!
NO TRESPASSING!
NO LOITERING!
VAGRANTS WILL BE PROSECUTED!
DEAD END!
Oooh my, can't stand this any more sooo...
...Felt a strange urge
in my legs
jumped into my car
wanted F R E E D O M,
craved F R E E D O M,
freedom away from
this imprisoning sign-city
Felt the true call of nature
Felt my natural urge to e x p a n d
needed my
ROAMING grounds
once more
Fled for o p e n country s p a c e s
where FREEDOM reigns
like, like refreshing droplets of spring water
BOLTED out of my car
where mother earth
cushioned my feet,
caressed me,
hugged me,
And go so far as to say,
even crawled into my jeans
and heard harmonious
chirping birds
Felt this strange twinge
in my calves
Ran like a deer
Ran into e x p a n d I n g o p e n s p a c e s
flight
Felt my legs take
practically off ground
Felt twigs, grass and weeds
gently stroke my ankles and calves
Felt country refreshing cool air
breeze my whole body;
and whizz
up my nostrils
BUT SUDDENLY!!
I trip over something,
it's a rusty large sign reading,
"KEEP OUT INTRUDERS WILL BE PROSECUTED
PRIVATE PROPERTY"
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 8:29 PM UTC
Follow me through skies of Grey
through murky marshland mire.
Accompany me through forest
labyrinths and fields of pale rye.
Step carefully through old mine
fields and feel my chest fall silent
for momentarily my heart skips,
caught by the long grass stalagmites.
The imagination coils up horrifying
imagery, a moment in time where
warriors flee, outmanned and gunned
down, the indigenous falls to his knees.
Look up and seize my thoughts
from falling into the past, for life
is like a bike ride, and in order
keep a grasp, head forward
following an orbit and do not
lose sight of the tunnels end
for satellites which go off track
crash, break, smash and bend.
Sat in the grass staring up, you
giggle and pull my legs, I trip
on accord and hear the twang
of an IED before crumpling
like folded paper, onto a jagged
boulder, feeling a pain in my head.
I roll onto my back and face up to
the battlefield where hungry farmers
fend off intruders who gun them
down again, blink and they’re shackled
as the decorated men of war crack
out cigars, sip from crystal and cackle.
Scrunch these lids and rub my eyes
the image raids from red to yellow
crimson streams appear to mellow
as your face above me, draws calm
overhead, forget the cries of war-torn
towns and villagers who bled
to keep their crop in the forlorn
era which saw many a soldier dead.
A soul escapes and floats past
your face we pause and marvel
as it pirouettes smoothly, spiralling
slowly into the fog and falling back
down in the adjacent swamp. Trudge
and trace footsteps west of the border
As the scenery picks up, you nudge
my ribs and point down the valley,
towards the green and golden leaves
of Burma where our journey ends.
May 22, 2014
May 22, 2014 at 12:38 PM UTC
it loomed like a ghost in the falling day.
an hour past the town on the way
the old man's eyes bore surprise
*i wouldn't advise it, sir, not wise
waking them up is no sport
they who're sleeping in the dead men's fort.*
All along i've been a phasmophobic
they ceased never to rule my head
lurking in nooks and under my bed.
it sounds nice to talk about spirits and souls
but at nights when hollows of burning coals
mistily appear and not in a dream
choke me out of scream
to that terror i fall an abject slave.
but my companion on that dusk was brave
looking at those eerily towering spires
he said let's try meeting a few vampires.
there was no door opening with a creak
but inside was a musty dark hole
where daylight made a quick retreat
as if to let the dead peacefully stroll.
we climbed up stairs strewn with dry leaves
amid sensing a storm brewing on the wing
for the awakened dead in anger seethes
to have their rest broken by the living.
soon swept us a gale of the squeaking dead
driving us out of that well occupied well
surely startled by the intruders' raid
the winged vampires were fleeing like hell.
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 9:10 AM UTC
My old friends disapear
Struggling to find an other
In a sea of strange new peers
My old house is gone
With intruders making it a home
Now I must try
To make a new life
In a new place
Mar 9, 2010
Mar 9, 2010 at 9:22 AM UTC