"larceny" poems
a crocus opens and
closes with the stream of
midnight moon.
the playmate of exhaustion
crosses the room
in his heavy, black boots
to close the curtains.
goodbye, light.
goodbye, pride of lions
and boy transformed
into a werewolf.
a scratch
of larceny,
the cuddle of
maple leaves rotting,
the magnet spinning
in rocket-ship orbit.
all secrets held in
feathers,
in hair compounded
into strings of
black opal,
and limbs stenciling
comets around
five feet of woman.
nothing in the talk
can suffocate—a quick
and easy birth of
ecstasy and the emotional
sidestep into the dark
of slumber,
seemingly feminine but
dreams strong as
barbed wire.
when to sleep?
a question finger-written
on my chest.
Aug 6, 2017
Aug 6, 2017 at 11:18 AM UTC
My hometown
is a place
of rustic beauty
and simple people
a population
under 200
meant that
everybody knew everybody
farmer Neville
and his sheep
always on the loose
and the quiz night
at the pub
just another excuse
to get drunker and drunker
and the private boarding school
which I attended
so rich with false academia
we learned the lessons
which would prepare us
for the false prophets yet to come
and the public school
and their ***** uniforms
where I found my friends
friends who at this point
have arrest records
ranging from assault
to petty larceny
and criminally wasted potential
oh how I miss that town
even now,
because despite the racism
and xenophobia
which infest my kinsmen
I still have to believe
that things can get better
that life there
can match the beauty
of North Yorkshire farm lands
and woodlands
and friendly knowing smiles
My hometown isn't perfect
and I wouldn't have it
any other way
Apr 21, 2013
Apr 21, 2013 at 3:13 AM UTC
Ordnance of the wealthy, corrupt
Sculpting the public image.
Garnishing with admiration, cloaking gall.
Mass ****** and grand larceny
Have to, in some way, come clean in the books.
Money is fabricated out of thin air.
Know that you don’t know anything.
When debt is created, pockets are lined
This is the white way in a dark world.
When the receipts are missing, the cash is stashed.
Black must then become white for the sake of tax.
All of this ultimately boils down to charity.
Deplorable or reliable, evil or honest
Easiest way to wash the attic and eyes of the tax officers.
Feigning effigies and respect in the face of media
As they donate to those they’ve stolen from with a hearty smile.
Neither will recognize, but be eternally grateful the other exists.
Just another excuse to wake up in the morning and not feel awful.
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 4:51 AM UTC
Pompeii stood proud near Naples.
Close to Herculaneum.
When in August of AD 79.
Volcano magnificent erupted.
Without nonchalance.
A buried city born.
Complete with frescoes of erotica.
Were subject to ancient censorship.
City modern with flowing water.
Trendy port.
Gymnasium.
Modernist by all accounts.
Population 20 000.
Mostly perished in brimstone's evacuation.
From the deepest depths of hell.
Suffocated nearly all.
Asphyxiated on vile fumes.
Eruption cataclysmic.
City buried far underground.
By written description.
'Tis believed that hell on earth unleashed.
The day following magical celebrations.
Worshiping Vulcanalia the Roman God of Fire.
Ironic tragedy procured.
Few survived the tragedy.
Those that did ran free
Anarchy, starvation.
Mainly petty larceny.
Landscape near destroyed.
Pliny the Younger wrote in a letter.
Vivid description of images seen as Pliny the Elder tried to rescue a few.
Felt perhaps had a duty to do.
Was admiral proud of the Roman fleet.
His life taken in forfeit as citizens from the ash world perished.
Pax Romana followed tragedy.
Dealt such a wicked card.
Embalmed in ash citizens lay.
Locked forever on the spot as they ran away!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Sep 22, 2013
Sep 22, 2013 at 6:35 AM UTC
While Kashmir Slently Weeps...!!
My meadows, mountains, and my rivers and all
Weep silently over the slain children this fall,
Those young buds who sleep in my ***** again,
Their pious blood nourishing their mother again.
How many of my children will miss the golden Sun
As it touches the Harmukh”s proud crown,
Their unseeing orbs telling a different tale
Their mother silently crying a silent wail.
Those silent Jaffers and treacherous Qasims,
Will see their doom as sure as hell..
And when their times comes as it will
Even my ***** will refuse their last morsel.
I gently weep over my slain children
Who went down for liberty and freedom,
The alien on the land will have to leave
I wait for the day as sure as I believe.
O’ Allah what more I have yet to endure
How many more I am yet to nurture
The tyrant is playing his ****** games
Brewing larceny and deception in his veins.
Be ONE my children of The Vale
As only then the enemy will fail
Strike him down like tornedo gale
End his rule from my ***** dale.
(by: Khan, BA)
Sep 18, 2017
Sep 18, 2017 at 5:22 AM UTC
7
The feet of people walking home
With gayer sandals go—
The Crocus— til she rises
The Vassal of the snow—
The lips at Hallelujah
Long years of practise bore
Til bye and bye these Bargemen
Walked singing on the shore.
Pearls are the Diver’s farthings
Extorted from the Sea—
Pinions— the Seraph’s wagon
Pedestrian once— as we—
Night is the morning’s Canvas
Larceny— legacy—
Death, but our rapt attention
To Immortality.
My figures fail to tell me
How far the Village lies—
Whose peasants are the Angels—
Whose Cantons dot the skies—
My Classics veil their faces—
My faith that Dark adores—
Which from its solemn abbeys
Such ressurection pours.
2.5k
1167
Alone and in a Circumstance
Reluctant to be told
A spider on my reticence
Assiduously crawled
And so much more at Home than I
Immediately grew
I felt myself a visitor
And hurriedly withdrew
Revisiting my late abode
With articles of claim
I found it quietly assumed
As a Gymnasium
Where Tax asleep and Title off
The inmates of the Air
Perpetual presumption took
As each were special Heir—
If any strike me on the street
I can return the Blow—
If any take my property
According to the Law
The Statute is my Learned friend
But what redress can be
For an offense nor here nor there
So not in Equity—
That Larceny of time and mind
The marrow of the Day
By spider, or forbid it Lord
That I should specify.
2.5k
I used to love my mother.
I wanted to be like her.
She was the person I looked at as an adult.
Today I no longer love her.
Today she is the cause of all my problems.
From my health problems, due to her drug use while she was pregnant,
To my mental problems, both hereditary and from situations she put me in.
My addiction problems, not only because she’s an addict but also from how she treated me.
My eating disorder, because she used to bully me about my weight.
I have problems making friends because she ****** me up so bad I don’t relate to people well.
I’m afraid of being alone with men because of how many times she left me with random men and every time I ended up getting hurt, from as young as 3 ******* years old.
I lost trust in the system because no matter how many times CPS was called she found a way to keep me and my brother, because she’s ****** her way out of every one of her arrests. Including but not limited to, possession of a controlled substance, driving without a license, prostitution, endangerment of a minor, petty larceny, and grand larceny.
I have authority problems because her parenting left me with no positive thoughts about authority.
I’m currently $1,263.21 in debt because she used me for drug money.
I don’t know how to handle my emotions healthily because for the first 16 years of my life I wasn’t even allowed to have them.
And even though she is also a victim of **** and ****** abuse she told me I was a liar and that she didn’t believe me when I told her her boyfriend’s son had been ****** me for years. She stayed with the man and told me it was a family decision about what to do about it.
She didn’t believe me when I told her her boyfriend felt me up while she was away taking care of her dying mother either.
I thought my abusive relationships were okay because she treated me the same way.
She’s why I was a closeted transboy for so ******* long. And when she finally found out I was screamed at me and told me I was a girl no matter what.
My mother.
My mother doesn’t deserve my love or my respect.
All my mother is today is a model of what not to do.
Apr 6, 2017
Apr 6, 2017 at 7:52 PM UTC
Our Father
Woe! to these demonic determined downtrodden deceivers,
Woe! Oh Thine merciless mendicants of misery and maleficent mendacity
Woe! Oh common corrupt conniving cunning calumnious crusaders of crucifixion...
scurrilous screeds scribbling sorrows
The Lord will sharpen thou pencils...
Thou pocket protectors whilst melt into thine *******
Thou spectacles opaque and permanently smudged...with other assorted
myriad miseries
Thou mittens will be smitten with interminable degeneracy...
Oh languid leaders of licentious lubricious larceny..
Oh craving calculating copious concupiscent calumnious falsifiers...
Oh maudlin mocking manipulators, multitudinous marauding machinations
**Thy God is an angry God
a vengeful God
a jealous God**
Oh **** pots and gall! Oh sordid ****** insalubrious denizens of depraved degeneracy
Take heed thou names mightn't appear in the almighty book of life when judgement deigns an
opprobrious order of objurgation
terrible tragic tempestous tribulations of treachery
Oh Woe! Alas!
They are fallacious febrile fabricators, fallen , fragmented flawed fugacious furtive falsifiers!!
scalawags and rapscallions..rascals of ribaldry..forlorn fallen away backslidden recalcitrants…
Oh misguided miserable miscreants, maladies and agitation be thy lot!
This rant has been brought to you by:
The Most High and Holy Priest of the Ignoble Church of Alliteration & Utter Skepticisim
Aug 8, 2013
Aug 8, 2013 at 5:54 PM UTC
who you been, if you ain't been high ?
my nickles, your dimes. our dub chunks chucklin' in the standard pharmacy,
your loops, open. my loops-deloop.
are you positive
your Spaniard's larceny
will trickle the odd prime.
your canvas ravenous
in the sublime.
with THC ?
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 10:37 AM UTC
you might have to stare into neutrons
to un-bond the Marmaduke con
your large doggerels are farcical in a feline fashion.
what harm you do -
fondles the rabid scabies
of our scathing
debutantes.
we are
an affront to the baklava
where the syrup is fierce
and yet the spirit
is amber
locking swift Hymenoptera
into place....
you might have to stare into space
to see me...
but be me,
and you might
gain a wee thing as fabulous
as when we bent knees to no god
but had demons
in our **** larceny.
you polished the rogering,
you foggy bogged
the biscuit.
had your druthers whisk
the cinch a
bit.
till we nipped, went.
had our coffee
spent.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 2:53 PM UTC
Lets go for a joy ride
I want to take you on a trip
Straight down enormity
I'm talking grand larceny
Trespassing
You know
A little vandalism
Here and there
I think
It'll be fun
To raid someone's home
Degrade their throne
Take what's theirs
And break their phones
Lets not care for fear
We have no time for tears
Just spit in their face
And tear up the place
Paint the ceilings red
if you have too
Just don't forget
To spray the walls
Along with each door
Because we can't leave any
Witnesses
We're still going to need a few
Graves to **** on
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 12:17 PM UTC
A leader, strong of heart
Proud of soul and mind
Sure of purpose and hope
Nor is the Leader blind.
In horrifying circumstance
When nobility seems gone
The leader stands up proud
And the truth marches on.
When larceny and intolerance
Become the uniform of the day
The leader speaks of opportunity
To do things a better way.
The Leader risks scorn of people who
Care more of what is gained today
Than taking care of our future
And not as much of today’s pay.
The Leader does not scoff at us
If we want to make a living wage.
The Leader only objects to us
If we couple wealth with rage.
If we hate people who are not rich
And wish to take human rights away
The Leader objects and points to the law
And has many good things to say.
The Leader may not be the one who
Was elected to protect the common citizen.
But the Leader seeks to teach us all
To save all of our futures for our children
The Leader means to save our world for
The opportunity to be a healthy human.
The Leader so far has mostly been a man
But The Leader can just as likely be a woman.
Brent Kincaid
5/18/2019
May 19, 2019
May 19, 2019 at 12:31 AM UTC
My body rippled as I swam into the river that ran through the town,deep and muddy brown with water washed down from the hills.
And rippling, I got my wish and turned into a silvered fish with golden fins to help me swim, down, down, down and deep within and under water.
Glad I brought a snorkel tube.
With ruby eyes and skies that faded into black,I watched a rack of pilchards passing,no sooner followed by a schooner of gadding tuna who watched two angel fishes trying to copy flying fish and failing.
A sail appeared,quite weirdly in the deep which keeps its secrets free from damp,
and then a lantern shone on me, a voice boomed out,
'what make are ye,
starfish,garfish,cod or roc?
A shock to me under the sea to be accosted by a skipper with a lip of larceny and what would I answer,could it be that I should not swim in the sea?
A fish
a wish,
one unfulfilled and killing off the thought I'd ever be
a citizen
of planet sea.
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 3:06 PM UTC
I'm still caught up
In the faucets
Ive been brought up
My losses thought up
In loss-less
Fossils
soldering
The slaughter
Atop
An my inner adulterer
In the fodder
Of a ****
I am the will
Of my weakest link
Give me a shrink
To **** away at the sheets
Of freedom
Drink away the stink
Of freedom
You cant free them
Cant believe them
Cant be them
Just retrieve them
From this life
Deceive them
To the knife
Bleed them
From the heights
Of ego
Let em flow
To never
In the blight
Of severed stems
With sedatives
And seduction
Isolate the malfunctions
Of my internal combustion's
Busting in
Annihilation
Of the problem
Manifestation
Of the solemn
In columns of regret
Inscribed across my chest
Blessed with contempt
For the clause
Unmindful of the laws
And stalled
I will stand
Where you fall
And call
To myself
From the stealth
Of broken homes
And hungry dogs
I am the fog
Of arson
The discontent
Of the larceny
Of the peasants
I'm blessed in the curses
Of burnt
Churches
But in worse ways
Im versed
In aversive
Silence
Dispersed
In cursive slices
I realise this
Is
The decisive
Moment
In which i wake
For the sake
Of procreation
Infection
Of a system
Convection
Of a prison
Citizen
Of a religion
Under taxation
To live in it
I'm illiterate to the
Commonalities
I cant depict
the squiggled lines
Its a tragic comedy
Giggling to the rhyme
I think it is
Perfection
At its peak
Pulp for the weak
Its neat!
I cant tell
If i am half awake
Or half asleep
But text is cheap
So i bleed
On screens
But dont mean
A thing
In dreamless
States
Dec 9, 2012
Dec 9, 2012 at 4:42 PM UTC
The little bones of clouds
I used to keep; Lethargic Dynamos of odd begotten piccolos...
dainty mint of pish and tosh
a dandy lark
ellipse and farce, surpassing strange.
Are you then, a ' withering fiction ' ?
an addle carp of Cain's insurrection !
Or a less offensive Icarus
who hails from Sweden?
You, who sold me the bones of little clouds
and kept fair all frost and longing...
Hither go, encased in Larceny
a prince of deep wish
and ill-favored, disjoint Harmonies
Soiling Time... Adrift-
Our mad Geppetto
in waning light
But not quite
as redeemed.
For Hell's Bells have brushed
the tips of my wings
and I'm off -
and aloft
And away.
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 6:56 PM UTC
the management
at Hello Poetry
need to be mindful
of grand larceny
those who involve themselves
with this impropriety
would be scooted off
other writing sites
very promptly
theft is theft
and stealing
is a federal crime
they the perpetrators
bear a shingle
of low down slime
taking other's
copyrighted pieces
always their appalling
paradigm
yet these persons
aren't bought to book
they have a free rein
in employing the purloining hook
plagiarists so bereft
of a writing capacity
nicking your works and mine
with reprehensible audacity
Jun 26, 2017
Jun 26, 2017 at 9:05 PM UTC
“SHAME ON YOU”
By: F. Panerio
Shame on you!
Charlatan
Shame on you!
Phony
Shame on you!
Hoax
Shame on you!
Larceny
Shame on you!
Debauched
Shame on you!
Mendacious
Shame on You!
Superciliousness
Shame on You!
Snootiness
Shame on You!
Scoundrel
Shame on you!
And shame on me!
If we both alike!
Jun 24, 2010
Jun 24, 2010 at 6:56 PM UTC
It will be fine with me
If I finally end up to be
An annoying buzzing bee
In the ear of a society
Sated on complacency
And gluttonous dependency
On the masters of larceny.
It is for the future to see
If the rhymes that come from me
Help heal the national infamy
That passes for propriety
When the heads of society
Treat celebrity notoriety
As conditions of acceptability
And even some kind of laudability.
With sad and appalling sincerity,
Maddening sycophantic celerity
And unfortunate lack of probity;
And what seems to be jocularity
All pretense of care or integrity
The villains in Washington DC
So constantly convince me
That we need my kind of poetry.
Sep 14, 2017
Sep 14, 2017 at 2:18 PM UTC
Romance once lived in a tragic heart.
Released.
Now she dances.
Only through the catacombs of ancient Rome.
Where Latin lovers once lived.
Love is a larceny.
A tragic crime in time.
Sent to prison.
For crimes not committed by woman.
Nor man.
Insulted by emotions.
Playing games of idiocy.
In idiosyncratic ways.
Left awarded only agony.
Prize for suffering such pain.
Pain not caused by self.
Self trapped.
With eyes wide shut.
Unseeing eyes.
Hiding secrets.
Broken.
Away from the world.
Don't want to love again.
One more love would be a wonder.
Seared by pain.
Won't love again.
Scared to love again and lose.
Unjustly executed.
Believes emotion's dead!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Oct 3, 2013
Oct 3, 2013 at 4:52 PM UTC
Ebony wings enfold my soul in necrological mercy,
As earth her transient grasp is forced to release
This prisoner to greater worlds in complete transparency,
Where there is no façade, no masks to wear for peace
To ensure, where truth cannot be told for fear of the many
Enslaved to comforting illusions of grandeur they increase
By ascending upon the backs of the oppressed in company
With the devils who rule this world that will never cease
In its wars of greed, self-serving, and unrelenting larceny.
Comes now my angel of emerald eyes; behold her dark fleece!
Feb 4, 2014
Feb 4, 2014 at 5:11 PM UTC
Groaning grunts grows greatly
rendering respect… relinquished, reluctantly
over ostracizing only openly
without withholding weary words.
and
Lowly lessons leave larceny,
emptiness embodies, emanates, emulates
around abandoned admiration, amassed.
Recover reference, reticulate resistance
never negate nostalgia knowingly.
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 8:45 PM UTC
are you strange ? god i hope so.
we could do this all day and never sell a lollipop.
wouldn't that be larceny, and flop sweat
in spun sugar ? wouldn't we be doing things
differently ? choosing our lovely spines
from old books... that's our tick.
are you strange ?
[ It Is What It Is.]
i'll still be licking toads
with everybody's
tongue.
shoving rainbows down sewer pipes
and crossword
puzzles.
I'll still have
a thorn in
the pudding.
regard-
less.
Nov 18, 2011
Nov 18, 2011 at 2:27 PM UTC
My devils make good impressions,
Scoring me high-ranking relations
with those of hereditary positions.
The fuel that sustains my First Class livin'
is their series of sinning
like the wagers I'm winnin',
and eluding from arrest for the felony of larceny,
and disporting Molly's spellbinding potency.
My lovin' is expensive
and luckily not at all pensive
Play, though cards are folded
Love, though fingers are crossed
Dance, though eyes are closed
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 3:23 AM UTC