"jesters" poems
Use me and abuse me
I love it when I’m all you see
Please be my Queen
I’ll gladly bow on my knees
Treat me like a slave
Punish me when i misbehave
Tell me that I’m nothing
While calling me at 4 am because you “want me”
Let me follow you around
I promise not to make too much sound
I want your punishment and praise
I want to wait on you hand and foot when you just want to laze.
I want you to tie me up
And tell me that I’m just your little pup
And that puppies who don’t follow the rules
And just like jesters and fools.
And need to be punished by their Queen
Until their voice is raw with screams.
Dec 30, 2017
Dec 30, 2017 at 3:42 AM UTC
*Be I worthy
To hold my head above the clouds in your eyes
In a sky blue horizon
She sips nectar with the
Hummingbird queen
In moments of gentle surrender
But still I ask
Am I worthy
To watch upon thee
In these moments so sublimely tender
Spiraling tears of court room jesters
To old to perform
To young to die
Be I worthy
To hold the jewels which bind thee
To the ground
With which you freely walk
See her watching the waves
Which beckon her fate
Sweet necter of a dawn so new
Crystalised in the breathe of angels
Breath upon my cheek before I fall
Sweet mother of life itself
I be worthy
I have never been so sure*
Jan 5, 2013
Jan 5, 2013 at 7:41 PM UTC
Everyone is jolly having fun
The woman in the corner is kissing everyone
The jokers bow to the jester who is leading the parade .
Jesters is lighting fireworks and burning up the place
The freaks scream and shout to see the fireworks .
The circus act is ready to begin
The kids jump with joy when the ringmaster whips the cage
Foolish thoughts
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 2:34 AM UTC
Coming from the shadows a six armed samurai,
Followed closely by glowstick wielding neon ninji,
Grips of *** swigging pirates swing from the rafters,
Swallowed alive by blacklight monsters,
Gangs of ***** smoking gurus,
Armed to the teeth with translucent didgeridoos,
Monks parade in swirling vestments,
Whilst the shaman trip in lotus testament,
Gods transfixed by blood tear beauty,,
As humanity’s heroes slay bejeweled dragons,
The king with two faces is beheaded,
By his charlatans, harlequins, fools and jesters,
Chaotic, prophetic killers run amok,
The order of lunatics chant as the time is struck,
A battle royale then follows,
As robots and aliens envelope,
Brilliant beams and whirring mechanics,
Clash with steel, rock, bone and sticks,
Screams from the heads of the thieves,
As their brains are devoured by zombies
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 11:44 PM UTC
Through darkness, laced in edges of light,
And rain, falling like angels plagued by blight,
Shattering their heavenly bones and wings,
Onto the eyeless dust of their return;
Through paths stranger to the hope of spring,
Where voices of ghosts hang with cries of “Burn!”
And moss mottled trees, like macabre jesters
Dance, limbless, leaves flailing grotesquely
To the secret japes of wind-bourn nesters;
Through corpse-ridden forests of insanity,
To where the rocks dress as the three witches
And chant midst their vainglorious riches
*“All hail, Eremita, bound to the adamah altar,
All hail, Eremita, your blood soma from the mortar,
All hail, Eremita, thou shalt be dead hereafter”...*
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 12:28 AM UTC
My eyes are beyond polluted
By the overflowing inanities
That paint wordless post-mortems
On yesterday's lost fantasies
Rolling over lifeless as dead certains
When obligations fall into disrepair
And the king of all invocations
Awaits power sitting in an electric chair
As darkness shrouds the uninspired
In triumphant ticker tape parades
While the bewildered beast becomes the feast
A million glasses in toast are raised
To the jesters unequivocally blasphemous proposal
To the queen of all frustrated converts
Who Once Upon a Time willingly surrendered
To the impresario pretender
Who fooled the world by laying siege on the empty house of cards
And with all the power granted
By the grace of obscenities triumphant screams
Separating me from reality by infiltrating my failing vision
With the polluted overflowing inanities of these cellophane dreams
Sep 21, 2016
Sep 21, 2016 at 4:39 AM UTC
Trillions of tiny warm pieces of coral, rock, and sea bones run smoothly through the hands and feet of one female being.
She sits upon the shoreline watching the way the tide and waves change...watching the almost reddish-orange sun set.
The sun that she is mesmerized by.
Mesmerized in such a way it causes her mind to open up, like a whales mouth when it's ready to satisfy it's hunger, looking almost as if its about to swallow the whole ocean itself.
With her brain burst asunder by the wonder of God's creation, she starts to think..thinking as she never did before, and putting thought into things that has never even crossed her mind.
Time is now infinite.
As hours pass, which seem like seconds, thoughts are no longer the only thing that surrounds her.
She is now accompanied by a Dream.
A dream which is as sweet as the very breeze that swifts across the ocean tops and embraces the most exotic extracts from the fruits and flowers around her.
A dream that cannot be expressed with words, but more rather jesters, thoughts, and actions...acts of love and uncontrollable feelings of desire and emotion.
Though in the deepest urge of reaching this dream, one never truly realizes how much pain, heartache, and sorrow one must endure to accomplish this ultimate beauty.
The understanding of this so called pain or love-sick criteria is, for some, too overwhelming for them to comprehend..and so we, me, you, or whomever simply just give up.
So truly, the strongest really do survive the pain love brings.
And so now, as the day becomes night, the sunset fades, and the oceans calm...that young female being heads back to another place of paradise, where she will lay her thoughts, dreams, and concerns on a pillow.
Yet as sure as the moon is forever, so was once a dreamer who is now the dream.
-Bobbie Leigh
May 19, 2010
May 19, 2010 at 1:45 PM UTC
Come rest, the weary;
A sheltered bay
Slings and arrows ne’er compared
To the mumbled words never said
Personal perceptions pursued
Come eat, the hungry;
A feast, fit for cattle
Jesters a King’s only friend
The only pest made to ignore
Power ignited so rarely in the strong
Come come, child;
A ***** constructed
Wood timber and sneers
The difference between “survive”
And “thrive” is how fat you get
May 9, 2012
May 9, 2012 at 4:21 PM UTC
Such sweet songs
Fall from faces full
Of open
Hearts holding hands.
Generally great groups gather
Quixotic questions,
Ponder personal perceptions,
Emulating ever entranced emotions.
Love loses leaps, leaves
Broad bruises bypassing
Catastrophically closed creations.
What wonder, what wildly whimsical
Rejoice remains?
In individualistic idioms.
As all allowed anatomical
Differences deal dictations,
Juxtaposed jesters join
Monstrous masterminds
Trivially tinkering, tryingly,
Near non-subjective nothingness
Under unusual
Vectors. Vivisecting voracious,
Zeppelin-esque, zygotes,
Xenophobic
Yodels yell,
**** **** kindheartedness!"
Mar 24, 2012
Mar 24, 2012 at 12:20 AM UTC
Ham took you to a cafe
on London Road;
he was meeting
Bernard there.
Sit there,
Ham said,
indicating a table
by the wall with wallpaper
with a flowered pattern.
You sat; stared
around the cafe;
frowned at two men
at the next table.
Who's there?
You say,
pointing towards them,
wondering where
your Lord Hamlet had gone,
and these two jesters
at his court.
What's the matter, love?
One of the men said,
smiling, eyeing you,
taking in your hair and eyes.
Nay, answer me,
you said, stand,
and unfold yourself.
Ham came over
to the table:
Hush, Ophelia,
he said.
He apologised to the men,
twirling a finger
at the side of his head.
You gazed at your lord;
he contested
with these jesters,
you surmised,
eyeing them.
They looked
away from you;
conversed between themselves;
sipped their mugs of tea,
ate their breakfasts.
You sat gazing at your lord
bargaining with a rogue.
He brought
two mugs of tea
and bacon sandwiches
and sat opposite you,
his back to the jesters.
Bernard will be here soon,
Ham said, gazing at you,
behave yourself.
Bernardo?
Yes, Bernard,
so keep your voice down,
Ham said.
He began his sandwich;
you began yours.
Bernard came in the cafe
and ordered a tea,
and waved.
Bernardo,
you said,
you come most carefully
upon your hour.
Hush, Ophelia,
Ham said.
Bernard smiled at you;
he tried to understand you
and your vocal expressions.
Bernardo,
you said softer
and waved.
He waved back
and paid the rogue
and went, and sat next you,
facing Ham.
Unfold yourself,
you said.
Ham raised his hand
to hush you.
You sat and ate
and drank.
Your lord was speaking
with his minister;
he spoke of battle,
you assumed,
and jested of wounds
of war.
You felt your ***
beneath your dress;
it felt so sore.
Oct 16, 2018
Oct 16, 2018 at 11:27 AM UTC
Carnival carvings seep into your tombstone.
And from the ceiling, we hanging, in red
and black striped pajamas watched you
get lowered.
The jesters
cartwheel in my laugh,
they travel and trial, tediously tar, and rat aches
in to my tartar.
I weep for the wayward west, that
(you never explicitly promised) we were to visit.
I've seemed to begun, helter-skelter a few;
steam trombones
There
are no masonry aemons.
Of ghouls gnaws only poetry,
awaiting our reunion, my dearest Laika-
forever deceased.
Mar 7, 2019
Mar 7, 2019 at 8:16 PM UTC
The beast and the fool the star of the game ready, set, pay to rid the toxic, to live without restrain.
Done, done and over the jesters eyes big and older, standing still The fool knowing the order. Clever, quiet, listening Patiently ready to wait.
The jester knew this tired game and playfully asked the beast to come down the hall, she used her magic and made him crawl,
The beast down on all fours, rolling around, his back up and face down making himself happy reciting the lyrics of the jesters sound.
The beast roared as he helped himself the jester silence watching in disbelief how selfish his lies, how deep his deceit.
The jester let the beast show her door as he thought he had won once more… The jester took a leap as she needed him to think…
1. Sweet and all fun.
2. He wanted to eat, say anything to get his treat
3. Stuffed, full and cold: tired from his chore then his anger would start to bore.
Click, click, click. One. Two. Three.
The plan fell into place, the jester watched the motion repetitive like waves of the ocean. Predictable as the morning sun.
Now the joker was ready to run. Her eyes filled with tears, The beast set the joker free as if came up with the idea all alone.
The jester was thought to be the fool, playing the games, anything to please, Her words did not matter, as she was his joke
She watched the beasts face beam full and bright to dark and hidden like a moon on a crisp October night.
She started the count down knowing the steps of what would come next and the fool clever in all of her jest.
Shocked at how easy it was to predict, the spell drifted over like the clock struck twevle the beast turned cold making sure he had the power to behold.
Repeating his roar over and over again. The jester continued to run, away so fast, grabbing everything to never look back.
She rid anything that had his mark knowing the beast never consume her space as he knew his doomed lonely fate.
She runs so far away. She did not come to play.
She came to put an end to all, letting him do. So easy to push her so far away using her rules the beast did totally play.
She runs so hard, so fast, so far. She never ever Will he used for tricks and treats for this **** boy beast has had his last feast.
Oct 15, 2017
Oct 15, 2017 at 8:53 PM UTC
Seven New Poems For Seven Days #6 & 7: Live like you're dying
Perhaps you know the lyric, the song?
Live like your dying.
Dying caught my ear, my eye, can't imagine why.
Con-Textual emendation, Natalino style.
Live like your writing.
Yes, that makes sense...
Embrace with passion each new session
Charge every second stanza with ruminating rhythms,
Cut the wires to the air traffic control sensory tower, go solo,
Pulse each word, beat all into a plowshare, even the anger,
Even the hate, dressed to **** in words, forgivable...
Grant the mundane, the insane, even the pain of tragedy,
You refuse so hardily to glorify, grant it and
Record it all - a moment,
A royal audience with all
Your writing parts.
No fancy footing, keep it simple.
No jesters in rain puddles,
Let images of clouds of sand
Born and perish in other's eyes and sighs, let verbal games bedevil other
Wooden puppet princes drinking fairy ales.
Huh?
Write clean and clear,
Let the sheerest wonderment of a new combination,
Be the titillation of the tongue's alliteration,
No head scratching at oblique verbal gestation,
Let words clear speak, each letter a speck,
That gives and grants clarification, sensational.
You, afternoon quenching Coronas, white T shirts,
Sun glazes and later, a summer eve's Sancerre,
Wave gazing on the reality of rusted beach chairs,
Babies sandy naked, washed in waves of Chardonnay,
The traffic-filled word-way highways and bay ways,
Exiting at the Poet's Nook, for exegesis & retrieval.
Write of:
Body shakes and juices, skin-staining tongues,
Taking her, afternoon, unexpectedly, her noises your derring-do!
Broken tear ducts, the Off switch, so busted, write about
Real stuff.
Write not in fear of dying
Angels delivering bad news in vacuum tubes,
Write joyous, psalms of loving life,
Live like your writing,
Write like your living,
So you may die well.
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 6:06 PM UTC
Words hurt
Similar to how a fist can bruise skin
Words crawl underneath your skin and get stuck there
Twisting you from the inside
But what makes it worse is the person the words are coming from.
A mother telling her daughter she isn't pretty enough
Begins the journey of a girl trying to define her beauty
Caking her face with makeup to "enhance" or "alter" her appearance
Wearing clothes that barely cover skin
She does not know or see her beauty
Going through her life seeking approval
By doing things that defile what makes her beautiful
If she believes she is beautiful, then she is
No one else's opinion of her beauty should matter
Only her opinion of herself matters
Just one word can change a person's perspective of who they are and what they believe in
A boy telling a girl he doesn't love her anymore
Changes her perception of what love is
Whether she deserves it and who will be the person to finally give it to her
She pushes away man after man, afraid of putting her heart on the line
Afraid of putting her all into something that's worth it
Sweetheart, just because one man hurts you does not mean the next one will
Don't miss out on your white knight because of a few jesters **** fools).
Words hurt
They can cause bruises
They can open wounds
Even ruin lives
So be careful with what comes out if your mouth.
Dec 13, 2016
Dec 13, 2016 at 12:54 PM UTC
Alas my friend,
we meet again
as seemingly meaningful
butterfly kisses and dangerous pillow talk
turn to candle lit confessions
of past regrets and future sins.
Words whispered in the wind
float past my eardrums to beat upon my brain.
Like I'm insane I strain to strain
them out as scribbles, scrawled and sprawled,
over pages telling stories of painful ages
and chain filled cages.
Once upon a time's and used to be's
are not here's and now's.
But if ups have downs,
and smiles have frowns.
Then fortunately for my dark past behind me
I have blank paper in front of me
and I don't so much write, as
quite literally induce lucid memory with literature
only your mind can see,
in the deepest of its own depths.
More towards the chest.
Where shadows dance
like jesters, dressed to impressed her
with moves so fluent they flow like fluid, I can do it.
Plant a seed the size of a grain of sand and
watch it grow like a Beanstalk, talk
about power. Watch your watch
as the second hand moves like the hour.
Now you're in my time.
So entwined is my mind body and soul
every word I let roll off my tongue
is like foreplay to a *********
And when I hit the rhyme at the end of the line,
its like freedom.
You sit here and bare witness to my words
climbing your defenses with the swiftness
of the worlds most ******** parcor.
So are your
thoughts that pure?
And are you sure you know how to endure
if they never find a cure?
With a view so obscured,
let me make these words clear.
I stand right here as all of your love as well as your fear.
Beyond the dark or the light.
I am the link between tranquil black and blinding white.
Even having no sight my words grip you tight.
And when my body is dead decaying and rotten,
like our children, they will not be forgotten.
Because words are the most immortal thing we've ever taught them.
Oct 17, 2011
Oct 17, 2011 at 10:46 PM UTC
Once upon
I felt the call
To take a midnight walk
And stumbling through
The misty streets
A voice began to talk
Fear not said ye
The angels call
I must have reached the Lord
But falling through
The gravel road
The stone and I’m the sword
The king of far
And futures will
Be beckoned by the light
With fist and tongue
He rules below
The tempting of his might
And yet we see
His gentler heart
Indulging in the arts
The king at last
Usurped from throne
The Jester’s reign then starts
The midnight walk
Turns into morn
And visions fade away
But jesters in
the place of kings
Will never go away
Mar 12, 2021
Mar 12, 2021 at 9:39 AM UTC
Astro space dust peaking over the bows
Jesters prance across your belly causeing blindness
And practical giants pick your clothes for tonight.
Although we have danced together
Yesterdays lunch backs up our crusades.
The spiked pants have formed a crust
Around the water bed
Filled with the tears of your family.
Your halos burn in the fire of the ages
Scorching the carpet.
Liquor and wine fill the packs
A toast to life is a thirst quenching mission
Taking away our lust and bleaches our skin
Forgotten births spread across the floor
Covered in last nights brew.
The night bodies jangle around under the gauze
Bells toll in the distance but the breath drows it out.
Under the bridge, behind the stores,
In the Inns, out inside.
The physics are catestrophic in their own way.
Crys begin once the breathing stops and the men leave.
Today we are creatures but how did we get this way
Who was the one who came up with the idea?
Don't question yourself
The leopards can't chase you forever
Give yourself to the hunters
They starve another night.
May 5, 2010
May 5, 2010 at 4:59 PM UTC
4am sunday morning they broke into song
unable to contain their smiles
they cast aside the spent wine
and took their ribald song to the streets
with a fanfare of sound and light
like jesters of old
they painted smiles on the frowning old men
and placed rainbows over the bridges between
the carpets of the mighty and the halls of fable
by 5am they had made it all
the way in to the center of town
where a roadblock of uniforms thought to make sense
out of tealeaves and mint cookies
as the jesters just dance around their confusions
between their orders and
what the truth of the heart tells em is the song
and then we see the ugly show a pretty eye to the cause
as it marches in through the double dawn
one dawn for the sun
the other for the hearts of the lonely
and a secret one for me and her
in our lounge chairs by the top of the spike hill
kissing our sweet hearts to eachother
by 10am all but the most die-hard had fallen to dreaming sweetly
neath the juniper trees
while thouse few who clung to awakened hearts
sang softly and sweetly
of summer nights and fresh loves
unearthed from the ashes of the desperate pasts
all things made anew from all the things made old
by sunday evening
we had all danced all the dances
and kissed all the kisses till even the heat of passion couldn't fade
held eachothers hands
and smiled sweetly like memory's saying fare thee well till morrow
i would be crazy if it weren't for your hand in mine
here in the tropical sundown
sunday night so deep
and the only one left dancing is old harold
he's doing the charleston with the moon's echo on the waves of the sea
don't think he's ever been so happy
and as i drift off to sleep
with her in my arms
i know that i don't need to explain to anyone
that we are all jesters looking for a
song to dance to at 4am in the tropics
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 6:40 AM UTC
You are hidden from view
You don’t see me
I don’t see you
This makes me nervous,
You see
I know what you have done
Through history
The wars you’ve caused
The blood you’ve shed
Down so many streets
Rolling heads
Armies and power
Rows of stones
Crosses and flowers
Court jesters
And child molesters
Clowning around
Bishops and criers
Lingering liars
Towers and trials
All of the arrogant
Baying and praying
For a male child
****** horsemen
Hunting with hounds
We no longer want you
Around
Sean Hunt May 5 2016
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 6:10 PM UTC
Long live the Queen
Is all that’s heard above the screams
And the parapet crumbled
And her dress was torn
And all they could say
Was ‘we were never warned’
And the Queen lived long
But her heart died long ago
And she could never stop it
And she never stopped to think why
And that parapet still crumbled
And the dress faded more
The King went of to war
And the Prince went off to sea
And the daughters stayed to pray
And the Queen had nothing to say
The poets dreamt in words
And the minstrels spun their songs
And the jesters told their stories
But the Queen was still a stone
The King lost the war
The Prince was lost at sea
The daughters prayers were heard
And the Queen saw it all from afar
And the kingdom went on
And people lived in peace
And the parapet stayed crumbled
And the dresses stayed in the dark
Feb 16, 2011
Feb 16, 2011 at 5:57 AM UTC
I am the rain on a sunny day, destroying everything that is remotely happy,
Absolutely revolting as I cling to unstable dreams of loyalty.
Masked by a dishonest smile, I strive to become the positive person everyone wants around.
A court of jesters surround me to justify my hilarity based on their singular opinion.
Carved out of the ivory of life, I break to shambles under immense amounts of pressure.
Unforgiving poetry escapes my mouth in the most destructive way possible.
Nothing I say can justify the horrid choice in vocabulary I spread out on the table before you in a fit of rage and misunderstanding, and now
Tomorrow is another day of regrettable instances and apologies that mean absolutely nothing to you.
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 8:14 PM UTC
“never lament casually”
Leonard Cohen
*the serious are plenty burdensome,
so if the flight delayed, or the device batteries,
moments away from recognizing that
0% is still a viable digit with a special meaning,
these, none deserving of deploring the human condition
but the weight of leaving her in cold Montreal,
while old promises made, demand a presence in L.A.,
freezey veins, icy cracking inspiration attempts in vain,
all the unrecognizable for crying out loud verses on a
cocktail napkin scribbled, watching ink letters wet melting
your wants simplest, fireplace warmth snap cackling
pop love songs verses for her, the sheets of her dark skin,
silken on your tongue, the wetness of her Oh’s,
left a connect-the-dots map from your nose to toes,
but her fingertip markers, now a thousand miles away,
busy throwing up to the sky, hands filled with leaves of
crisp falling colors assortment, only the colorless no’s left
they play a tune you wrote years ago on the lounge speakers,
modified, wordless, so it’s innocuous, background harmless,
this axes paper cuts on your private places where the songs get
birthed, and now your whole package is tonnage measurable,
the lamentations serious, serious constellations, etching a new song*
*<>
“for the relearning is the crown jew-el,
that jesters rob from their kingly masters,
pride in love is the fall season preceding
Canadian winters, always thinking
you know better, be better at keeping warm,
this time which is the next time
you cannot learn from love,
cause it’s twice, two times,
never the same,
past lessons ain’t no prologue,
the body is maybe in the wafers,
sometimes vanilla,
sometimes chocolate
and the epilogue is
100% of the poem~songs
that I loved writing
and hate remembering*”
Sep 10, 2019
Sep 10, 2019 at 3:03 PM UTC
Once, I looked into your eyes and I saw arrogance, a layer coating sincerity.
Twice, I looked into your eyes and I saw fear and strength waging war.
Thrice, I looked into your eyes and I saw a desire to repair the broken.
But now I no longer see depth, turmoil, or compassion.
I see another broken soul pretending for the audience,
To play the part they're expected to live.
Occasionally I've seen you break the second wall,
And connect to the spectators looking in on your life.
And your character's mask did fall to the floor at times --
Long enough to get a good look at the boy inside --
Before we both resumed our true professions
As tricksters and jokers, jesters and puppets.
The lights are dimmed now, so they can't see our bursting seems.
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 12:55 PM UTC