"leached" poems
(Quote by Spike Milligan)
One very wise man sat and said
That, long before this world is dead
This planet’s problems won’t be solved
By reasoning which, though now evolved,
has got us, where we now do sit,
Afloat neck deep in mankind’s ****
There’s SARs, Ebola, AIDs, Bird flu
And in the woodwork, West Nile too,
Each replicating viral spat
To mutate, (at the drop of a hat),
To complicate enviro’s stew
Of global degredation’s brew.
Urban spread and over stocking
**** deforestation’s shocking,
Depletion of aquatic life
Intrinsically creating strife,
Industrial pollution’s goo
Ozone depletion... ALL FOR YOU!
*Environmental degradation
Means the world’s a weaker place,
Susceptible to malady
Wide spread across the human race.
Those animals in corn fed stalls
Who never get to see the sun
Or graze green grass where honey bees
Are vanquished by varroha’s fun.
Too late to save the Hector’s dolphin
Conservation’s lost it’s tools,
Rastafarian hootchie smokers,
Save the whales to **** the fools.
Governments sell the carbon credits
Everybody smells a rat
Restorations for the birds
And social conscience creamed the cat.
****** greenies own the airwaves
No one gives a flying ****
That good artesian water’s poisoned
By good farmer’s leached out muck.
CO2 in global warming
Sings it’s song of fast decline
Glacial retreat a-roaring
Bass relief in blood *****
I guess the little children’s future
Most depends on lady luck,
Humankind in mass denial
Most don’t give a flying ****
Marshalg
In retreat to Taranaki’s green haven in the gales of the equinox.
21 September 2011
Sep 21, 2011
Sep 21, 2011 at 2:09 AM UTC
(Quote by Spike Milligan)
One very wise man sat and said
That, long before this world is dead
This planet’s problems won’t be solved
By reasoning which, though now evolved,
has got us, where we now do sit,
Afloat neck deep in mankind’s ****
There’s SARs, Ebola, AIDs, Bird flu
And in the woodwork, West Nile too,
Each replicating viral spat
To mutate, (at the drop of a hat),
To complicate enviro’s stew
Of global degredation’s brew.
Urban spread and over stocking
**** deforestation’s shocking,
Depletion of aquatic life
Intrinsically creating strife,
Industrial pollution’s goo
Ozone depletion... ALL FOR YOU!
Environmental degradation
Means the world’s a weaker place,
Susceptible to malady
Wide spread across the human race.
Those animals in corn fed stalls
Who never get to see the sun
Or graze green grass where honey bees
Are vanquished by varroha’s fun.
Too late to save the Hector’s dolphin
Conservation’s lost it’s tools,
Rastafarian hootchie smokers,
Save the whales to **** the fools.
Governments sell the carbon credits
Everybody smells a rat
Restorations for the birds
And social conscience creamed the cat.
****** greenies own the airwaves
No one gives a flying ****
That good artesian water’s poisoned
By good farmer’s leached out muck.
CO2 in global warming
Sings it’s song of fast decline
Glacial retreat a-roaring
Bass relief in blood *****
I guess the little children’s future
Most depends on lady luck,
Humankind in mass denial
Most don’t give a flying ****
Marshalg
In retreat to Taranaki’s green haven in the gales of the equinox.
21 September 2011
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 3:14 AM UTC
My oh my , dear oh my
Why sole me , deliberate shy
Arrouse me in meself inner sanctum
To cause penises go wild erectum
Why me frail and naive
Touched and grabbed feels so tactile
Breached and pinched gets me unleashed
Fortold and shadowed narrows me leached
Oh how i humble and crumble for pain
Pleasuring may not be enough, but not in vain
Showering me until it rains
Pumping my blood through my veins
Widely and unique i scorge and emerge
Make me *** till i purge
Bright and shiny i humbely traverse
For a non-stoping reverse
Apr 6, 2010
Apr 6, 2010 at 3:54 AM UTC
SPRING
I slowly unfurl to the World
Stretching up to the sky blue
And sense an early morning chill
Of Spring waking me anew.
Each day grows a little warmer
As daylight hours extend
Making this leaf feel fresher,
Tothe bright sunlight I bend.
SUMMER
I’m at my most greenest now,
Hot sun burns upon my veins;
How glad am I to finally enjoy
Those cooling, copious rains.
At which point, I pour in drips,
A refreshing, rousing trickle
That falls on grass and buttercup
Teasing them with a tickle.
AUTUMN
Mists have now arrived, enshrouding
My form with heavy dew;
The greens has all but leached away,
Bled from veins no longer new.
Down below the tree are vivid reds
Browns and translucent golds
Which, increasingly each day now
People their captivation holds.
WINTER
The first frost of Winter
And a biting, northerly breeze
Cut into me,and scores of others
Were torn from their trees.
I’ve fallen now, to the ground
All wrinkled, and utterly fragile
Awaiting my final hour
Until, I meet my funeral pile…
Jan 20, 2012
Jan 20, 2012 at 1:50 AM UTC
The shadows have their seasons, too.
The feathery web the budding maples
cast down upon the sullen lawn
bears but a faint relation to
high summer's umbrageous weight
and tunnellike continuum-
black leached from green, deep pools
wherein a globe of gnats revolves
as airy as an astrolabe.
The thinning shade of autumn is
an inherited Oriental,
red worn to pink, nap worn to thread.
Shadows on snow look blue. The skier,
exultant at the summit, sees his poles
elongate toward the valley: thus
each blade of grass projects another
opposite the sun, and in marshes
the mesh is infinite,
as the winged eclipse an eagle in flight
drags across the desert floor
is infinitesimal.
And shadows on water!-
the beech bough bent to the speckled lake
where silt motes flicker gold,
or the steel dock underslung
with a submarine that trembles,
its ladder stiffened by air.
And loveliest, because least looked-for,
gray on gray, the stripes
the pearl-white winter sun
hung low beneath the leafless wood
draws out from trunk to trunk across the road
like a stairway that does not rise.
4.7k
i was reborn, like a phoenix
but without all the glory.
i didn't set the hospital on fire; i struggled
to pull myself from the ashes
of a former prodigy,
one entwined with madness
in all the right ways
laced with misery like a noir heroine,
so sexily depressing-
whereas now i am just empty
i did not emerge unscathed, no,
not like the fledgling, i
am covered in scars and faultlines from where
the sorrow tried rip itself
from my sorry body
and the crimson glue holding me together
replenishes itself more diluted each time
before i died
i swung through technicolor
episodes of scarlet, rose,
ecstatic white, and the
sapphire blue to haunt my dreams
waking and at night
but the color leached away,
the antiseptic began to pervade, refilled my veins
and purged me of everything but grey.
before my death,
i reigned over the darkness, banished it
when it did not suit me,
manipulated reason, lived in a waking dreamland,
in complete control of my life-
but now, when i am fragile as eggshell,
it's the only place i can hide,
a haven where i can act like the lack of light
masks an imagined vivacity and not a skeleton in flat black and white,
disguises and emboldens me,
allows me to be whole again,
to forget the borders, my limitations
indiscernable in dusk
i used to cast my own light-
now i am my own shadow
and in the dark i fumble for
what i used to be,
reconnect myself with the world
throw myself from the cliff
and hope to find my wings again
Oct 9, 2012
Oct 9, 2012 at 3:41 PM UTC
In the night they searched
For their surroundings to sustain them
For their choices to be enough
For their lives to have meaning
One roamed the nights here
The other roamed its home there
Searching through shadows
Trying in vain
To live up to the task of living
Together only in dreams
Wild and free
Unseen by those who did not matter
Noticed only by those
Whose time leached into the shadows
And in the night they searched
To be fulfilled both within and without
Left hungry wrapped in their thoughtful empty choices
Starved in darkness yearning to be sated
Their bright colors hued gray in the night
Passing, never having been sated
Spirits rose and were united at last
Finding in death what they lost among the living
Never to be seen but in the shadows of yesterday
.
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 12:20 AM UTC
For years, longing long years
I mourned my smooth, young honey-hued, freckle-filled summers.
My tears, pander-eyed tears
Trickled down the furtive, long-sleeved, camouflaged decades.
I hoped hopeless hopes
That the pallid,white-lashed jig-saw stranger in the mirror should leave.
My fears, shadowy fears
Multiplied, forming stark splashes across the carefree canvas of my psyche.
Resigned, and re-designed
The pattern of my life became cheery-faced denial-by-self-tan.
And there, just where despair
Had me in its mottled, stubborn, white-knuckled, piebald grip
The long, long, longed-for thing
Occurred – showering my bleached body and soul with golden shards of joy.
The white, bright white
Which blighted my confidence and leached the tones from my being
Is going, going, gone
And I am once again becoming who I always so secretly and subcutaneously was.
I’m me… I’m free
And blissfully, gratefully, ecstatically aware that the final letters of my life’s curse are…
... "I GO"
Vitiligo © October 2011 Vitiligo Protocol
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 2:11 PM UTC
Awaiting that moment, was it
Meant to be, as two feathers
Floated upon a last breath.
White as if from heaven, landed
Settled upon the left eye.
Seeing, searching the mind of
All the good that was done.
Dark as night a feather as ominous
As night itself fell upon the right.
Seeing, searching the soul for
All that tainted through life.
Barbs did seed upon the flesh,
and all that was known was now
Learnt, nothing hidden all was
seen from within.
Each rachis did fill, leached from
The body of what was drawn in,
Soul, heart, mind now emptied
in to each feather filled.
The quill did drip, with all that
Was taken, the feathers had fallen
Earthbound each partaken upon the
Gateways of the soul.
What did it find within, as a drop
Fell from each upon the lips, and
A last word spoken from each.
But only you will speak these words
Once the feathers fall and see all
Within. One white, one black which
One will carry you, where will your
Afterlife now begin.
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 7:22 AM UTC
A ship sustaining
A tiny crack or thick
Is destined to sink,
Awaits the same story
A pilferers-leached country!
All the grotesque
Faces of corruption—
Embezzlement,bribery,red-tape
Nepotism
Task procrastination
What is more inefficient
Resource utilization—
Must not go out of
A developing
Nation's radar,
Expected corruption to bar
In its bid to spur
The ship of development far!
Needs no less attention
Fighting the new faces of corruption
Such as post placement
By political affiliation
Divorced from talent,
Which should enjoy
A greater weight!//
Aug 31, 2015
Aug 31, 2015 at 8:30 AM UTC
It's everywhere I go :
What once leached over a dark corner
mutilated,
grew faster and stronger
A different shape everytime
yet the same core
Countless,
rot.
Like a radar
shivers climb my spine
as It gets closer
and closer
to Its prey
The strangulating reek
thicker
and thicker.
As I float farther away
from the distorted
distant sounds of the crowds
and dive into utter blackness
I can almost taste the decay
from Its crumbling mask
My body quietly shivers
It gowls
The beast is awaken
Starving
his loathsome breath cutting my left cheek
I feel It growing
ready to attack.
The bus halts
I shut my eyes,
resisting the sudden ray of light
that brought me back to life
freeing me from Its clasp
It crawls back to darkness
waiting for Its next victim
at the next stop.
Jan 31, 2019
Jan 31, 2019 at 4:12 PM UTC
I
Alone
Will suffer
Refusing to share.
The pain and disappointment
Have rusted the hinges on the exit door.
I will not fight, or scream, or break your heart in pieces.
This is my pain, my broken-hearted shattered dreams, my burden alone.
Refusing to drag you to the depths of my personal hell, is not noble.
It is not selfless or well meaning. There is a shameful part lying silently within me.
It know the truth that I have fought hard to swallow, that I continue to deny, the truth that proves I am no martyr.
There is, in fact, some comfort to be found in a pain so familiar that it has leached into the very fiber of my soul.
Jul 12, 2010
Jul 12, 2010 at 10:54 PM UTC
I had a dream
It's coming back in flashes
Making me cry
Making me wonder why
We were crayons
We were being used
By someone else
Acting out a scene
A broken romance scene
Of us
But everyone around
Was tired
Of us
I was blue wrapper
I was attached to you
You were red
You made me feel
Dead
I wouldn't
I wouldn't
Let go
I was blue
Attached to you
again
You were red
You were
So
Red
We were crayons
I think
Because of how childish
I was
To ever believe
Ever believe
I could trust anyone
Faithfully
I could ever trust
Anyone
With my innocence
We were crayons
In my mind
To represent
The childish fun
We had
The innocence
Of my mind
Thinking you'd never
Leave me behind
It's flashing
Flashing
Red
Flashing
Flashing
I'm blue
Still attached to you
Still attached
To
You
Everything
You do
I'm wrapped
Around
You
My whole life
Crumbling
Like a broken crayon
All my friends up
And ran
I have nobody
Alone
Like I used to be
A sad child
Crying out
For sincerity
Always blue
Leached onto
You
You took it all
I'm still wrapped
Around your burning
Flaming
Firey
Hell
I never fell
Off
I still cling
To everything
I'm missing
You stole it
You broke it
I'm just the wrapper
Trying to cling
To anything
nobody wants
Just the wrapper
They want the color
They want to smother
Their paper
In red
And leave the blue
The darkest of blues
To stew
Alone
Like the ocean
So much blue
so quiet
All alone
Always trying
To swim
My way
Back to you
the flashing
Flashing
Red
We had
I'm flashing
Flashing
blue
In my mind
Always still
Attached to
You
May 21, 2023
May 21, 2023 at 2:19 AM UTC
the sun, in harsh stroke,
cuts a sharp line,
breaking the dawn leached wall.
your hand, caught in this sudden brilliance
throws stark contrast to the darkness,
resting quietly over your sleeping form.
motes of dust rise, hang, and then fall,
pirouetting on invisible breeze, and
occasionally catching the light
so that for a moment,
it seems as if you are holding
ephemeral pieces of
the very sun itself.
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 3:20 PM UTC
It was Saturday,
And you said God was with us.
So, we drove as fast as possible-
Into blistering orange and purple,
Into the death of the sun.
Because we knew he was, just as well as wasn’t.
There was sweat on your chest,
And on mine two black handprints of mud.
You called me your Apache warrior.
I made fierce stabs at sol, spears tipped with glass.
I did not **** the fire, only scared him away for a cycle.
In ecstasy you asked if I’d like some-
Fearful to step past my father’s drugs I shrugged you a no.
Sold you the same line from dreams before.
I don’t like being in heaven and hell at the same time.
To which you replied with hollow eyes to hell with heaven.
And together we cried ponds in the parking lot of Wal-Mart.
Beseeching the dams not hold,
Hoping we could wash it all clean.
It was Sunday,
And you said that god was dead-
We danced in the street, maniacs,
Exposed flesh and drumming war cries.
Busted open the fire hydrant and nursed,
Hysterical for love and peaceful tomorrows,
Crusaders of regrettable intentions.
And then your mother called and you had to run off to church.
During this fifth year you were enlightened.
Many people feel that upon reading a book or two.
Labeled me wrong, you of course playing the protagonist -
I didn’t see it that way.
I wasn’t keeping any type of score.
Still bear chested, scowling at king sun,
Howling to mother moon, dressed in pale luminous silk,
Knowing she would never howl back.
With duly noted precautionary tales in mind I set forth-
To coastal plains lush with life,
Trees hiding the cityscape.
Stars sending light at a glacial pace,
Eroding corneal muck.
You had left three sheets to the wind,
And I was inside my own mind without.
Skies bled crimson heat,
Leached from me that passion that once held steadfast
And it was pleasant at best.
But, I am no martyr.
Revitalized in my own indulgences,
Slept till Saturday when you returned-
The world making right again.
Feb 6, 2013
Feb 6, 2013 at 2:09 PM UTC
Autumn drives her wind-horse to the gates of change.
She heaves fresh faced in shadows of a sheltering wall.
Eager to test the lie, so to speak, she sighs-
'Is it time yet, is it time?'
She observes a world half asleep, half dead.
'O dessicate Summer, O thirsty lady,
you have sapped all strength,
mopped the life-blood, leached all colour,
turned blushing petals to withered cusps,
you have turned this world to crumbling dust.'
Cat-like she steals, then with a gust....leaps!
whipping a dry pool of terrified leaves into a freshening frenzy.
'I'm here!' she cries 'It's my time.
Dance your full-blown pirouette!'
She turns to a world where neglected grapevines droop.
In the garden of ripening fruit, she plucks bruised from new;
mouldering black fruit that hangs in the crooked elbow of a thirsty tree.
Saddened, her tears fall on leaf-dead ground.
Slow tears, tears to tease dormant seeds from cracked hard-packed ground.
But listen to that sound.....
count the minims spilling on the quavering split terrain!
Net the hour, capture the perfume of moist grass where there is yet no greenness,
where the fat toad leans towards a blackening sky.
We are but children journeying from one season to the next
'Are we there yet? Are we nearly there?'
And when the storm comes we will know to light our way
into the garden of ripening fruit.
copyright © Caroline Grace 2011
Sep 21, 2011
Sep 21, 2011 at 12:09 PM UTC
Dormant aspirations lie in winter's fallow ground
Burgeoning freedom furrowed in shallow soil; sovereign elements do pound
Infertile seeds in barren hearths tightly wound
A cold wind from on high scourges each, desolate mound
A dreary drizzle from hovering, satin crowns seeps deep; hopes are drowned
Nutrients for spawning growth are leached; blighting tentacles surround
Ambition suppressed, inactive period of malaise doth abound
In due season, warming rays of light shine thawing frozen hearts
Incubating innate desire to fulfill individual destinies, from chained depth departs
In destitute minds, a burgeoning sprout of liberty starts
Branching forth into fertile souls, intestinal fiber imparts
Taking root, it spreads deep, penetrating shielded ramparts
A fragile frond from each wavering limb darts
Triumphing in tyrannous environment, a fruitful future charts
Oct 7, 2011
Oct 7, 2011 at 6:33 AM UTC
There was always an odour of sin around
The nave of that ancient church,
I knew of it as a choirboy,
I didn’t have far to search,
The smell welled up in the vestry,
A sulphur and brimstone tang,
It leached on into our cassocks
When the bell for the matins rang.
The priest, he was old and doddering
And didn’t look ripe for sin,
Old Father Coates may have sowed his oats
With nobody looking in,
But sin was there for a century,
It wasn’t of recent time,
The stories told of a Father Golde
I heard from a friend of mine.
Back in the days when the church was strong
And it ruled the lives of all,
A Father Golde was the priest of old
And preached of the devil’s fall,
When women came to confess their sins
And spoke of their evil deeds,
The priest took them at the altar there
In sin, and down on their knees.
The Nuns attached to the convent were
Obedient to his whim,
And many a cold and frosty night
He would call a sister in,
Her place, he said, was to warm his bed
To deter his chills, and ague,
And many a child was born in dread
To the parish, since the plague.
But one day after confessional
He had ***** a Colonel’s wife,
Who came to him with her petty sin
And described what it was like,
The priest, inflamed by her words and deeds
Had her pressed by the vestry door,
And who could know what she had to show
But the flagstones on the floor.
A troop of soldiers had marched on in
To assuage the Colonel’s rage,
The moment the wife had gone back home
And told of the priest’s outrage,
They seized the priest and they ran him through
With a sword right to the hilt,
Then tied him onto the cross outside
Where a sign outlined his guilt.
And every year on the first of June
You can hear the feet outside,
Marching up to the old church door,
The day that the father died.
A sense of sin that is coming in
As the church doors swing apart,
And blood appears on the altar in
The shape of an evil heart.
David Lewis Paget
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 5:28 PM UTC
what sadness is leached from your heart to your brow?
unable to show what you truly emote
scathed in darkness
your treachery lies there
hidden still by the magic you've used to fog my eyes
but i am here
standing in the street, neck craned up at the sky
searching for hope, light
but the moon does not appear
cloaked by your entity, your shadow
what light prevails there, beneath the darkest blanket?
what bought breaks past your distant window?
is it the stillness inside of you rupturing?
someday it shall emerge
grotesquely from your centre
and devour all that remains
and there your body will lie, twitching
a blood-filled cavity
useless attempting to repair the fatal blow
and i will miss you
for now all that remains is hollow
the lifeless look in your stare haunts me
so i will not return here
for in my mind, you died that day
and all that i had ever hoped for
went away with you too
Feb 22, 2013
Feb 22, 2013 at 11:46 PM UTC
These bristles I stroke,
Rest whistles below,
Test my will; I choke.
Seize my pill, pillow.
Drink tincture I brewed,
Herb censure resumes.
Think is leached, I mused.
Curb is reached, refused.
Wake: writing, I feel
Pain biting receiver.
Stake my claim, I reel,
Slain fighting believer.
Illusion by day, delusion by night.
Seclusion by day, solution by night.
Jun 10, 2013
Jun 10, 2013 at 3:55 AM UTC
Is tonight
Wheezing is still there
Thrilling soul longing hugs
About your beauty, of your story
I chose a name
My night was my decision
A face that is always approached
No tertepis every corner of the night
Sigh it has leached the image of me
Spoiled and ****** my restless
I remember crashing
In a restless night skinning desire
Wild romance getting chills
Strengthen the sense of an increasingly bubbling full of passion
My ***** was increasingly peaked
on a knoll longing in love.
My night was my decision
Longed lull in the swathe of memories
Closely in the hand held
Behind the no man's evening
Story uninhabited ago
It's never wanted cracked ..
Dec 26, 2013
Dec 26, 2013 at 5:54 PM UTC
I juiced the oranges
That grew from my limbs
And poked holes to drain sap from my shins
With needles and pins
You suckled from the fruit
Forbidden, it be
And leached life from this succulent tree
No scrapes on your knees
Tangled vines sprouted up
Took hold on my throat
And my small branches, one by one broke
Along with my hope
Do not follow me, dear
Into these woods, thick
The darkness will creep up on you quick
It's only a trick
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 3:39 PM UTC
You taught me mauler of trent,
on a network relevāre.
Pixel mascots, but when reality sits,
3 hour snapshots.
The unwavering syntax scoped by excluder’s;
“He looks like he’s fasting, dissipating on spot.”
Some don’t know good quality accelerators at first sight.
You’ve got your semiconductor meeting an arranged free space.
Technically, inner currents are controlled by transistors and valves.
A semi-conductor with similar components.
But you are a lone current,
binding with no electricity, leading your own.
Fixating circuitry around and around like flocks when feeding.
As far as nature is concerned, it relates permissibly.
I want to furnish counterpart currents real soon.
If you don’t mind that is. Non divided, or obsolete.
Strict countermeasure meandering from start to finish.
If just no ending happens to occur, and concurrence rises.
We’ll say theory was proven. One of natures surprises.
Sep 22, 2010
Sep 22, 2010 at 1:25 PM UTC
drain full of peelings
broken plunger & unwashed dishes
drops sprinkle from the sky
yesterday hail
leached peas and golfballs cracked
hitting windows
perhaps reflection
back to the hills
to find freshness somehow
crusts too old to chew the grains
birds quiet in the autumnal wash
preparing for another outing of art
therapy.
ginger, shallot, chilli & chicken
rice later
something for the blood which
pumps & beats & never stops
till words release and a
semblance of peace arrives
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 8:26 PM UTC