"lings" poems
People say they want to live in a small town,
but when I look out my window
all I see is
Zero.
I look out my left window,
Zero.
I glance out my right window,
Zero.
The daily routines,
an Act Without Words.
We go through the motions in a small town,
get up, smile at people we hate,
hope for something more,
repeat.
In a small town
you bite your tongue,
just to keep the peace.
Did you bleed today?
There’s no point in asking
how someone is
because we already know.
Each new piece of gossip
strings us along,
Beckons
teases.
The small town will hold
anything over your head.
It will dangle a divorce
suspend a separation
and hang up a hook up.
In a small town,
the space between people’s teeth
revealed by their fake smiles
serve as cre-
Nells
People rave about the
fields of grass, and the trees.
In each patch of green
lies un lucky Clov-
ers
The fresh air is fetid.
The stink of the town’s
***** laundry is
enough to make
any argument for the town Null.
Zero.
It’s almost genetic,
the little Nagg-
lings in the school yard,
slicing, dividing, cutting
people like cake.
Settling for small town life,
is a fate worse than Hamm-
lets think about it.
No excitement.
No privacy.
No trust.
Zero.
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 3:35 PM UTC
Maybe,
It’s not about finding
The light at the end of the tunnel,
Maybe,
The tunnel doesn’t even
End, and the light isn’t
The warm glow of a
Sun so high above,
But the dim illumination
From a floodlight, dusty,
And draped with cobwebs,
And maybe,
The floodlight isn’t there,
It’s shattered and its pieces
Bury into the skin of your
Bare feet as you step on them,
And continue to trek forward in
Darkness, towards the next light.
Maybe,
That’s a good thing.
You’re in a tunnel after all,
You can’t drown in blackness as
Easily as you can the sea.
Maybe,
The extra darkness
Makes the next floodlight
Brighter, and you’ll
Stop, and bathe in it a
While as your aching lings
Finally rest.
Maybe,
If you’re brave,
You’ll think you can
Live under the light,
Unaware that you’ll
Lose your knowledge
Of the darkness,
And when your light
Finally coughs,
And shudders
And dies,
You’ll get lost in the dark again,
Turned around,
Heading away from the new lights ahead.
Or maybe,
You prefer the shadows,
Carry a bat,
Or a golf club,
Or whatever blunt weapon
Catches your fancy,
And you smash each light
You pass,
Cutting the feet of all those
Behind.
Maybe,
There isn't a light at the end of the tunnel,
Just an endless string of floodlights,
Bright,
Shattered,
And lost.
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 7:12 PM UTC
Who are these? Why sit they here in twilight?
Wherefore rock they, purgatorial shadows,
Drooping tongues from jaws that slob their relish,
Baring teeth that leer like skulls' teeth wicked?
Stroke on stroke of pain, - but what slow panic,
Gouged these chasms round their fretted sockets?
Ever from their hair and through their hands' palms
Misery swelters. Surely we have perished
Sleeping, and walk hell; but who these hellish?
- These are men whose minds the Dead have ravished.
Memory fingers in their hair of murders,
Multitudinous murders they once witnessed.
Wading sloughs of flesh these helpless wander,
Treading blood from lings that had loved laughter.
Always they must see these things and hear them,
Batter of guns and shatter of flying muscles,
Carnage incomparable, and human squander
Rucked too thick for these men's extrication.
Therefore still their eyeballs shrink tormented
Back into their brains, because on their sense
Sunlight seems a blood-smear; night comes blood-black;
Dawn breaks open like a wound that bleeds afresh.
- Thus their heads wear this hilarious, hideous,
Awful falseness of set-smiling corpses.
- Thus their hands are plucking at each other;
Picking at the rope-knouts of their scourging;
Snatching after us who smote them, brother,
Pawing us who dealt them war and madness.
2.2k
Green little elf-ling,
Why do you hide from me so?
Do not be afraid.
I am but a traveller,
From very far away lands.
Hear me green elf-ling.
Why do you bear your sharp knife?
Please do not fear me.
I have come to seek refuge.
In a world where it’s seldom.
Show yourself elf-ling.
Is it true that it’s safe here?
I’ve heard many tales.
Stories of the high elf-lings,
The most prosperous people.
Tell me green elf-ling,
Has my journey been fruitless?
All this way for nought.
Have you not seen the others?
Are you the last of the elves?
Dec 20, 2015
Dec 20, 2015 at 9:24 AM UTC
I don't practice voodoo,
sticking pins in dolls
& playing with snakes
ain't my thing.
Santeria is not what I do,
slaughtering chickens
& shaking up bones
is for ding-a-lings.
But take black magic,
now that's different,
it's boss,
I can cast a mean spell,
mix you up a nasty potion.
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 5:00 PM UTC
When my mind is at rest I think of peace and blissful things
I see the unfettered and innocent smile of a new babe in arms
Or the Omnipotence gilded arms outstretch showering blessings
The shores of a pristine beach with blue waves marking times
Silver sunset sprinkling magic across quiet waters with no stressing
Or me sat at my fathers feet as he reads engrossed in his charmes
My mind rests easy in places of warmth and enriching lovings
My mind has no space to linger in the murkiness of failings
I do not plunge dark dept to court the uninspiring s in terms
To share company with wretches with wasted mental ecthings
Eyes that see dew in darkness and acrimony in fruitless farms
Voices made for howling dirges and apostles of negative cravings
Demented downers who drink from the fountains of fallen vamps
Satiated miserably they seek to retch their stench on followings
My mind finds the luminous stars and praise their spark-lings
It atunes to the silent melodies of sages who now sleep uncramp
It relishes the delights of the million trillion wonders tinklings
Its marvels the joys of the thousand mothers holding new champs
Can share the lifting dreams of hopes for happy new beginnings
Living is never about waste for the Creator avails no dumps
For a mind that lives and grows in the Light is forever inspired and inspiring
Copyright LaurencA.1stAugust2018.All rights reserved
Aug 1, 2018
Aug 1, 2018 at 7:54 PM UTC
Death is as much an illusion as most see and play life!!! So which one is dying daily and whom is born again...
I'd say each!!! Falling away and forever more entwined!!!!
Ever so without
a long time ago
what could be
was too
all ready
but who
could ponder
or be fonder
floundering
alone in the dark
the Great Heart
being torn
loathed
self scorned
firstly folded
grieving
what is Word
with out Heard
but scribbler
to paper
and shred-lings
un-delivered
sliverings
cooling
cold
cruel shiverings
of eternal longing's ...
...so Self
did part
as partner's
Of Great LOVE
In Darkness and Light
tickled so...
..In Love
the Great laughed
and said
'it is Beginning';
'I Willith'
Giving Her
House Aglow...
'then time I better give also'
for soiled eyes to re see eve from the womb
of ALL before they steal the show!!!
So It Is Sown!!!
From,
The Heart of the Infinite Deep Dark Sea of LOVE <3 <3 :) :)!!!
From where she and all is sprung and springs still and still;
Where if some is Good More Is Given!!!!
Welcome to the 8th of Days...
My Dearly departed and imperishable ones of such this very LOVE!!!
Oct 10, 2012
Oct 10, 2012 at 2:02 PM UTC
There once was a very fine cat called Flick.
A more respected cat there has never been.
Well groomed, very proud and much admired.
Flick was well educated and some would say both wise and smart.
So well admired and trusted that even fish looked up to him.
Now Flick ran a local school which offered very specialized classes.
Adult fish would drop their hatch-lings off to learn from Flick.
So many hatch-lings were trusted to Flick's care.
For many years and generations hatch-lings came and went.
Flick's prestige and adoration growing as the years passed.
Then one day....
A former hatch-ling... much older and somewhat troubled by life,
spoke out aloud of his time at Cat Flick School and of how the Cat Flick upon the hatch-lings was Fed A Pile.
By any standard all the fish agreed... such is a Cardinal sin.
Apr 1, 2019
Apr 1, 2019 at 3:18 PM UTC
Arise! Arise you hopeful young tadpoles.
Come forth ye mighty messengers of joy.
To arms my children... To Arms!
This be no game. Don't let it fool you..
Can't you see our trickster ? I know I can.
He's always smiling, eagerly baring his teeth,
flashing them for our prying, unsavoring eyes.
And we, we my friends, are staring dully onward
Blind to his sarcasm, blinded by our own vision.
Oh you young hopefuls.
Why do you trouble us with such ancient questions ?
Why are you not of the learned ?
All you were destined to do was shine and light up the night's sky..
Like earthly Orion's celestial belt.
Why must you burrow now ?
Arise you tender hatch-lings... break your eggs.
Can't you see how fragile your shell shields actually are ?
I know I can.
To arms my children! join me in oblivion.
The fray is but a ruse.
Fear is a coward's excuse.
Be swift of hand and light of heart.
Your minds are but sandboxes.
Were they not once empty ?
Before mighty Morphius visited our backyards;
they were all empty, barren and oh so hopeful.
Oh you mighty brother of Delight... It was your cruelty that dragged her down.
Down into delirium.
where she now giggles, cries, screams and gasps in symposium.
you broke her, although she may have been broken earlier.
Arise you miserable tadpoles. The land is warm and welcoming.
Its soil, sands and snow all ache for your budding legs.
Say No to vegetative awareness.
Say No to boredom's persistence.
Come forth you mighty messengers of joy.
Slip on your armor, this is going to be a rough ride.
Our home awaits.
And now allow me to light your bottoms on fire.
And launch you into space.
I won't stand for no crier.
And when you face your brothers; those ugly friars.
Those frogs.
These acclaimed humans, your so called kin and countrymen;
Do not hide your hatred; bury not your malice, but your sympathy.
So when you see their beady empty eyes and power hungry lashes and whip like tongues;
don't fret and don't seek to befriend them.
For their sweat is poison and they reek of cyanide.
Don't seek safety by joining them.
Arise my children and step into my light.
The cakes are all warm and today's sun is still bright.
Jun 9, 2010
Jun 9, 2010 at 3:51 AM UTC
Maybe writing will save me
but tell that to Virginia Woolf
When my body lays in the soil to
fertilize the Earth maybe
I will come back as an Aspen tree
and the robins could make circular nests
to safe keep their hatch-lings
I was baptized in neon lights
In the city of Denver
like living in a snow globe
driving drunk after hours
I wonder what Times Square
looks like right now
These tailor made dreams
entire generations chasing paper
Get rich quick schemes where the
obstinate promise of prosperity
will be our legacy and anchor
Where's the avatar of our times
Is he or she working in an office
or clipping coupons and getting by
just barely on rent working in
a dispensary selling legal marijuana?
old enough to go to war but not get drunk
off tequila
it seems like massive hysteria
and I was at the grocery store buying
bread and the cashier was talking about
New World Order, the Illuminati and
receiving a red sticker in the mail.
Graffiti-tombs and voodoo
I wonder where Lord Byron is buried?
I wonder if Jesus is coming back
or if terrorists will listen to the Beatles
and declare that love is all you need.
Mar 17, 2016
Mar 17, 2016 at 4:21 AM UTC
Bathsalts,
Oh bathsalts.
How I love to smoke you
and get so high.
I swear sometimes I bump my head on the clouds.
Epson's your hard sharp crystals
sift through my fingers,
stick under my nails
when I scoop you out of your bag
and dump you in my pipe.
I love the sandy sound you make,
the gritty smell you give off when you burn.
I'll hold you in my lings like a lover
and cough you back out.
I'll embrace the munchies
and eat everything in sight.
You make everything taste better,
especially my neighbors.
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 8:24 AM UTC
Western winds whipping with a will
Restless rains taking refuge among the wren
You're on a running rally all on your lonesome
Gallantly exploring the pallet the elements deigned this morn
The ghosts dance, their wispy waltz shattering our heavy hoof-prints
Mosey-on 'round the bend your eyes will lend.....
This scene, near winter's end --in pastel golden air, the shadows turning themselves to where-without mass.
Hold your mouth aghast,
Breathe gently of the metallic merriment, soak it up.
Take it with you as you go.
Feast your eyes on the fresh diamond formed in the re-fined rough..
Then smile with your musings, let the doubt-lings gab if they must.
Against the shimm'ring shivers of the white-gold mists, the grey-blue veil fills out against the frightened forest, anxious of the morn to come.
Not count yourself among those who shrink but those who harmonize with the chorus of the skies.
So be you not fearful of the morn to come, the raw potential of it all,
Rush into the recesses of the mind to find yourself rinsed in silver & gold.
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 1:52 PM UTC
While it's certainly true
That you annoy me no end,
I love the fact that you exist
'Cause my mirth may never end.
You think your soft, comfortable life
Will continue forever; Always getting better,
Never losing lustre - You-butte, Brand-spanking New!
It's unfortunate you Brainwash the Under-feet-lings too!
Now what do we get for our peace of mind?
Defenceless society when the Under-dogs bite!
A deep-set idiocy - distracted, but not engaged;
Living batteries for Another's Pleasure and Pain.
Some people have worked **** hard for their security;
Their privileges and indulgences and perks of service.
But these brave souls are few and far between;
More likely quietly, patiently, happily waiting their day
When they can once again enjoy the prestige
Of calling a F**k-wit or rude ***** exactly what they are,
Without the undue fear of a litigious future looming.
No-one is purrfect, but some people never learn
To accept themselves for who they are;
They need only look inside - reflective thinking -
To conclude that those insensitive arse-ostriches
Should just be laughed at until they see the travesty
Of a farcical life worthwhile while it lasts.
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 1:52 AM UTC
Moon:
“O Sky! How hideous, and dark am I?
With hatred, looks a tiny fly.
O Sky! How evil, and ugly am I?,
Even death is too scared to cry.”
Sun:
“O friend! Don't heed the fly nor death,
They are the waste-lings of the earth.
O friend! Take a part of my breath,
and be renewed, with a new birth.”
Moon:
“O Sun! How can I,
Am I not the ugly one?”
Sun:
“O Love! How can you not,
Am I not the mighty one?”
Moon:
“Thankful, am I to you,
Humble, am I to me.”
Sun:
“O Love! How beautiful you are,
The light, you always scare away,
But night always welcomes you.
But I still for-see, a peaceful way.”
Moon:
“O Sun! Did I not tell you?
I am the ugly one.
Even you ran away from me,
Where do I run?”
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 12:53 AM UTC
before
we
know
kindness
we are silly moons
a primal scream
ids
gaggle of wants
having not yet understood
our own vulnerability
and its connection to others
the agony of self
uninitiated
by the sacrifices yet to come
in effect a criminal mind
as a child growing up in brooklyn
my friends and i would
make a mad dash
out of ching-a-lings
chopsuey restaurant
after eating sumptuously
with out paying the bill
electrified with terror and excitement
at the thought of being grabbed
by a chinese boogy man
and laughing breathless
when finally
out of harms way
sadistically delighting
by the panic
we caused
as some red faced hyperventilating waiter
caved trying to catch
five little hell boys
fury fast
all adults
were filthy rich
compared to us urchins
idling in the darkness and tenements
sniffing glue
in a number 2 brown paper bag
hole in the pocket poor
slow starters
uninspired
pressing through
the dragging weight
of a barren world
not yet knowing
we too will toil endlessly
worry sick for loved ones
and quake at endless indignities
trying to eek out a living
like the waiter we robbed of his pittance
on this Sisyphean rock
our lives
stretched out before us
a white knuckle ride
between hope
and quiet desperation
struggling not to be swallowed
through pitted black holes
and fake floors
into downward mobility
our pin ball souls
like small metal *****
jarred and knocked
from one ringing bell to the next
in a turbulent game
player or not
without an inkling
of the fated
dark signature
written into our genes
by deaths hand
before
we
know
kindness
Jan 31, 2017
Jan 31, 2017 at 7:42 PM UTC
Molding .
Shaping.
Urging.
Opening young minds to my world.
Poetry.
My tossed salad thinking expressing.
Blinking imaginings from my mind to yours.
Lose in translation.
Gain full imagination.
A seed was planted. No.six small seedlings.need-lings rertilized.
Eyes ,open mouths closed.
Ears listing to infinate possibilities. To the torch. To the pen. To the verse
To the meter.hearts afire for the word's embrace. My mind to
theirs.Peeling back onioned layers. An onioned pearl. For the taking.
Young minds sitting on worn chairs in the halls of knowlege like gaping.sponges.poetry.given lineage received. My mind to my pen.
My mind is the inkwell , the quill scratches froward then moves on.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 3:45 PM UTC
the ember, the light
the 4 year old's delight
it stays, maintains
through the darkness and pain
the confusion and shame
it betrays and lays
but choice remains
light vs dark?
light claims and stays
the joy the bright brings
hides the dark cloud that lings
step ahead of the shadow
of sorrow and shame
and follows the glow of the flame
May 10, 2012
May 10, 2012 at 4:02 AM UTC
Sapphire eyes descending my torso
Have I a head, or is there just more so?
That you require upon evaluation
Leading me on orbiting space station
Had no idea, this alien encounter of ours
One of affection; should have brought flowers
Am I your mate-ling, here for devours?
Crystalline follicles free flowing hair
You meet me in spacesuit whilst I am bare
This really be not most fair advantage
Your briefings seemingly micromanage
Intergalactic trans-species inseminations
Are forbidden by Rules of Constellular Nations
Yet admitting magnet-ting emitting vibrations
Super charged particles pucker your orifice
It is enticing this boudoir you have by Uranus
The décor is all slippery, wet and inviting
I must admit to you, it all very ionic exciting
Are we to agree to be astral *** players?
When shall I see what lie beneath foiled layers?
Drop your robes please, I am with no nay-sayers
I travel alone, as Lone Space Ranger
This proposition to me I find intrigued danger
A plus and a minus electric storm lingers
Exceedingly long seem your definitive fingers
Polarities, rarities amongst planetoid creatures
Though I’m quite digging your extended features
I’m glad we’re alone to be each others teachers
May 28, 2016
May 28, 2016 at 1:39 PM UTC
You know those movies where there is someone who can read minds?
They are able to know what everyone is thinking?
That person usually does the coolest things with his power
Except at the end, he kills himself
You see, I have a power kinda like that
Except I feel what others feel
There was this girl I met once
This is how it went
The second she walked through the door, here overwhelming presence of pain and lost dreams collide over me like a tsunami
And she spoke, knives of steel spit from her tongue slice into my lings letting in more of the water
As we go to shake hands, the poison from the blade she once held drips onto my skin burning like acid
Every faulty statement and untrue word is like a **** to my head
She tried to cover up her scars with a smile that fades when the lights are out, and a personality made up of broken promises
If you were to meet her, you'd fall in love
But to look inside her mind is like opening Pandora's box
I smiled and waved as the last of her words ripped my heart apart
With the last of her presence leaving the room
I wake stretching for breath
Opening my eyes to find I'm in my room
Realizing I've just met myself
Mar 8, 2018
Mar 8, 2018 at 2:28 AM UTC
twirl ballroom spritz
'cross abandoned parking lots
weave your lamentations
out in umber mist
gin and panadol
white arsenic cordial
death drive in moderation
bushy dough
down your gumboot towers
yyo faggg
fark your sign'a'lings
carped up in the haddock pouch
in maudlin dreams
swirl your phone sleeve
round your wristflick
nah
you blooster mate
right cranberry
*where the **** is it? where the **** did you put it? it's not funny, hahaha, oh god, hahaa…..*
but later,
radio incinerator
nightcap in sodium cloud
beached tire tree
Jan 23, 2017
Jan 23, 2017 at 6:44 AM UTC
I touched the air today as it gushed past my outstretched fingertips. So fluffy and innocent and yet so crisp in its distinction. I brought her into my lings greedily and then exhaled at her touch.
When she began to caress my senses, I dug into her neck with my lips and brought the mutual satisfaction a notch higher and higher as a sigh of pleasure was whispered into my ears.
It was here that I knew I'd never be alone, this altered reality that changed my paradigm so effortlessly. I never wanted to leave.
I Kissed the rain today while she dripped down from heaven and landed solely in front of me. The swish generated by her hips changed the direction of the water's trickle. And once in front of me, I pressed her form close to mine until every drop in her body echoed my temperature. Each significant drop was one of her fingers holding onto my face, or sneaking close to my lips where I would steal it momentarily before she took it back. I clasped her wet fingers in mine and absorbed part of her.
I played with fire today as her seduction set my body ablaze. Her words heated, I silenced her by placing my lips over hers and ******* the smoke away. As her temperature rose, I became weaker and weaker for her orange flames. She began to devour me. And as I lie there, fire roaring on top of me, I began to burn my soul away like dry leaves. Her warmth captured me like a camera as she grinded slowly and seductively on my embers. A new flame had been kindled.
I created new life with earth today as I felt the heart beating of her heart through the palms of her hands. Scorched soil as the fire of my love slowly dissipated into her shaking grounds. She gave me in return a gift that I can never repay, the irrepressible joy of the birth of my first child. I placed my faith and love and seed into her grasses and she birthed me a tree of my own. A tree that I can groom and nourish and raise as best I see fit. A life untainted by the toxins of the world. And it was here that I knew I could be safe; I knew I would never leave.
Jan 20, 2017
Jan 20, 2017 at 9:09 AM UTC