"lupus" poems
She's a skeptic for crystal bones
doesn't believe in God's treasured
zodiac prophecies.
Be jealous
of the wolves we still call sheep.
You were my lover;
now the moon shines
in utmost sympathy for
all those frigid nights stars bit at
your ears for the choices you've
made in cold song.
Stop drumming your heart to
the sound of my sky
Lupus told me to tell you
it doesn't belong a
vagabond such
as yourself.
If you can't cut off my tongue,
then who are you to silence
me?
The moon is flashing like the bullets
I've been catching between
my teeth.
Like all of the night's phases and heartbreak;
**The phases of love will wax
and wane.**
.
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 8:45 PM UTC
●Sunken to my basalisk heart●
○the drums of nebula bursting○
•Saturn sliding down my shoulder•
°-Lupus circling the lunar fire-°
◇A flask of ivory,◇
¤in the diamond flesh.¤
•This mirror glinting•,
○Steel jaws meet my **neck.○**
~Casting amethyst over
my hair.~
| Reflections scratching at the mist. |
____________________
**"You look lovely covered in
words."**
A luminous face, pale and lean.
Spirited as foxes, a shadowman in
gunpowder chain.
Ghost.
*"I think you mean sleeves of
poetry."*
.
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 5:01 PM UTC
My hands died slowly,
with blood vessels surrendering
to the chill. They turned grey, yellow, lavender,
dusky. Dusky, like the sun had been setting
for hours and I only just realized it.
Pills made them pink again,
but I can’t help but notice
you flex your fingers after we shake.
A cold grip doesn’t suit you
yet. Gloves on, or else I’ll hold the
palm over a light bulb in the bathroom
before running it along his spine.
Blood thinned out to
water, bouquets of nerve
endings wilted. I lost a piece
of each pinky promise, the weight
of a wedding-band. Flipping the bird
at the catcallers carries one joint less
meaning, and I have trouble
getting to the point. As I
brush my thumb along my lover’s
wrist, back and forth and back
and forth, I only feel the holes.
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 11:12 PM UTC
The stars aren't as tasteful
as I'd hoped they'd be,
*You fickle moon,
You eclipse of a lover.*
Vinegar. That's what
those cosmic light bulbs we
call stars taste like. Raw
and savoring, bold & eccentric.
*Kissing summer on winter's lips
The cheek of spring still stings from autumn's hand*
And I'm marooned in this fine
red wine hour,
nostalgic in the art of reading
The hum of dragons pulse~
The whisper of the wolven breath,
This time around your blood
was thinner than ice.
Twisting the tendrils of our thistled love
across my snowy throat,
***Crimson is so ******* beautiful***
It was your job to swallow sunsets and it
was mine to throw up sunrises. We
followed the commandments branded on
my cheeks.
*It was the only bible we had,
Because my scars were worth
"something"*
When the roof of the sky meets the jaw of
the sun, the teeth are the clouds & constellations.
I fed the world my spine because it was starving.
chinking off marrow, and mouthfuls of my flesh,
Devour me.
*And in my wake you shifted the lapis void,
forcing my eyes open as gold tears spilt*
Streetlamps groaning at midnight,
will you watch the ravens with me at 3 a.m?
I'm not one for fate but,
destiny is mine for the taking.
Bones wish they're bending,
yet promise they're not breaking.
I bargained my soul and sins with Lupus,
and now I am his poet.
A daughter of aurora borealis,
buckets full of silver sloshing admist
my eyes.
When I no longer love you,
it will be silent,
and tragic.
.
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 11:29 PM UTC
Acquiring the libel of critics
Internally at times I bleat
And snarl, brow furrowed
Like an actress when filming a major motion *****
“Originality bid us farewell” screams my advanced intellect
Nothing more than a social outcast who lacks a catalyst
(though thankfully the universe is an object of open ended philosophy)
The voices of such a generation fail to carry notes
Beyond the octave range
Only Canis lupus familiaris feces, in its rejuvenated appearance,
Delivers abstract imagery
What was once honorable has dissolved into media sewage
Virginal darlings now dissolved into marionettes
Shall my poems alienate the public
They shall at least demonstrate bravery
Sep 7, 2012
Sep 7, 2012 at 10:53 PM UTC
it’s windy i think,
at least the windows are rattling.
the men in hard hats,
yellow motes off in the distance
and their jackets the colour
of poison,
they scale the façade
of the contralateral building.
they’re speaking, yelling,
probably catcalling, singing
their ugly songs on cherry pickers
like some crowned nest
of wagtails.
it’s early i think,
though the lights are always on.
they’re fluorescent, staining,
unflattering colouration, rinse
your skin to poverty,
to jaundice.
i’m here because of pills
i’m here because school is out,
i’m here because i’m tired
and i’m here because of you.
flowers sit at the side,
already dry upon purchase.
gifted awkwardly;
do we give flowers to a man?
a boy in sheets, foolish drunkard,
balloons with helium
to lift my spirits.
its lonely i think,
though it’s filled with people.
wristcutter, lupus, chemo
all thrown into one.
we’re what’s left post-production,
left to sit in an outlet store;
buy me for half-price
or else half an hour of company.
i’m the young one,
nurses scan me with motherly eyes,
the radiator warmth,
their rounded bosoms,
‘you remind me of someone’.
at twelve to three, she washes me,
asks me to lift my *****
so she can get at the two-day grime
of indolence.
it’s sad here i think,
at least the television is boring.
daytime ghosts and broken families
make my bedsheets gain weight;
even the balloon sags
in heavy misery,
nothing is mine.
sleep comes in fits
and starts in blankness.
it ends with my questioning
of where the dream began
and where hope had perished.
you haven’t come,
i knew that you wouldn't.
it’s hard to blame you,
what with my post-use pinings
long after you’d given up
and the way i act familiar
after treating you like a stranger.
i long to leave here,
so much the windows are rattling.
i’m here because i am
i’m here because of my job,
i’m here because i’m tired
i’m tired because of you.
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 11:09 AM UTC
"A man is a wolf to another man",
What utter nonsense! What a silly thing to say!
I see no wolf-like qualities in the hearts of men,
No shy, retiring qualities, or unerring loyalty,
And certainly haven't noticed that men ****
Only when absolutely necessary for survival.
Perhaps it is I who am being foolish though?
As I stare deep into the noble eyes of the wolf
And see no hint of malice, or greed,
Or religious and political ideologies,
Or desire for such petty things as man wants.
Yes, indeed! Surely the fault lies with me,
For I am human, and can't begin to understand
Such simple things that those wild beasts can
Seem to so effortlessly comprehend- compassion,
Love, respect, and sense of unity.
Men are not wolves in the eyes of other men. No,
It doesn't describe the potentially ruthless way
We act upon meeting a stranger of our own species.
I wish such accurate statements as this held sway;
Men are like men to other men- **** homini ****
Since we've proof that men will oft rip men to pieces.
Sep 16, 2016
Sep 16, 2016 at 8:48 PM UTC
.*lex lupus / fuchs zwischen wölfe: ******* Mowglí, somehow... death to the pirate, the one-eyed... Dajjal and the "concept" of money... Tom Petty died... Wayne Static died... the media? zero coverage... so... it's not like they care.. but when they do care, i care: in order to not care.*
you do know
that if you keep pushing
the wrong buttons,
the lone wolf phenomenon,
will become a wolf pact,
a lex lupus...
you know that, don't you?
it would take 3 ****** Jihadi
terrorists to take out 71 civilians...
it takes
one lone wolf Norwegian
to take out 69 civilians...
we. are, horde...
**** your little get-together
wine parties...
i'd rather shove a shoe lodged
into a pineapple up my ***
than listen to this sort of ********
better dead,
than having to attempt a death
while. "trying"...
but wolves do not hunt in groups...
well...
some sorry ************ to howl
at the moon!
who did what?
is there any proof?
there isn't any proof?!
so... what's the argument?!
none...
so...
batman lego movie
giggles all over again?
you irritated me,
just to say this much about
falling in love
with Val Kilmer!
lone wolves...
who's who...
Mr. Speaker / Chief Whip?!
it takes about 3 Jihadis...
to **** as many people
as a "lone wolf" Norwegian...
i was just about
to mind the I.Q. test...
wolves don't hunt
outside a pact of a brigade...
wolves are the closest
associate of the velociraptor...
shove a fox among them?
52 people died from
3 Jihadi associates...
Breivik killed 77 people...
see the ratio?
wolves are not solitary
animals...
they have a pact...
foxes... foxes are solitary
creatures...
thought it was the plain said,
otherwise reiteration
of the "already" said obvious;
so no mention of Jihadi
retards?! no? nothing?!
3 Jihadists killed less people
than a single Norwegian...
oh my... oh my my...
please keep these idiots
on the beach, in the desert,
herding sheep or what not...
keep them busy engaged in
harems...
or whatever the **** they
get up to...
please... keep them away from
what is becoming a sensation of:
a boiling kettle.
Oct 27, 2018
Oct 27, 2018 at 11:44 PM UTC
There was once a fox, a fox whose name had gone unknown, but nevertheless was in truth all on its own.
With a pelt of fire and auburn, and eyes deep and serious, it was no doubt why so many considered the fox "mysterious".
Yet, this tale is different, and I will tell you why, this fox was not like the rest, he sought to be like the wolves- twas' no lie.
He envied their beauty, their ability and strength, in fact his admiration went on to a fractured great length.
He would try to howl and change his stature- hell even his look, it was a matter of great indifference, but try as he might- no matter how long it took.
In time, after so much effort he took to the wolf, they welcomed him and never knew his story, pride and arrogance he was engulfed.
He followed and lived as one for the while he was deceived, but after all the time had past, disgust and mockery from all other animals was what he received.
It was only when the wolves outwitted him and made him a fool, that they chased him and slandered him, oh, the treatment had been cruel.
Now the fox understood why animals each held their own class and identity, when he realized then why he was meant to be.
A fox he was and would always stay, to the start of his life to the finish of his decay. Yet, he was reminded of why foxes were special, it was because they were no one else; it was stupid to compare, whether it be lion or mouse. He saw beauty in an idol of its own, he became so mesmerized and driven, that even his heart he disowned. He saw no beauty in himself, when really all others did, that now his respect and dignity was so pitifully dead.
Though he admired the wolves and tried to seek them without end, let it be known fame and popularity is a horrid trend. So there are others greater and have more to do, but have you ever considered they may wish to be you?
Like the fox who wanted to be a wolf, but in time fell too much in greed, be careful of the lies you choose to follow and take heed! Because not every beautiful face is as kind and free, be happy you are You and can declare "I am me."
❥
Aug 30, 2015
Aug 30, 2015 at 11:11 PM UTC
.
Hello **archangel,
fallen goddess behind my morgue.
Whose complexion equaled the moon,
craters and abysses,
cascading like salt on
an empty**
wound.
**With the crosshairs of nicotine
a mirage on her cracked lips;**
“Leave me,
lowly poet,
Your pity is unbecoming.
I am the 13th fallen sister,
so linger here
no longer.”
“Death is an old friend,
I fear not his company,
nor his demise.”
**I’ve never seen such eyes;
glass-stained,
divine & unpredictable.**
“I’ll **** you.”
“Darling, I’m already dead.”
**Her monologues could summon the dead,
she preached of the lovers
who bore no fruit
and the heartless
that lay eternal
in the eyes of
her dalliance.
I’d often find myself
yearning at the pebbles at her gravestone,
impatient, to be graced by her
ink soul and** rhapsodic presence.
“Are you my friend,
poet?”
“No,
I am much more.”
**And for centuries
of cracked dawns and
folded nights,
shallow moons &
crippled suns,
we’d meet---
poet to god,
at her morgue.**
“Poet,
why must the most beautiful
people die?”
**She once asked me.
Alured, I answered:**
“When you’re in a garden,
which flowers do you pick?”
“...The most beautiful ones.”
**I’d spend my seconds ‘neath the gallows,
among the bones
of her brethren,
all had fallen before her,
from the house of god.
I bargained my soul with Ursula,
my sins with Lupus,
I ignored their tempertantrums
& discord.
That very evening I stitched a universe,
upon her shoulder-blades.**
“What are these?”
“Wings.”
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 8:28 PM UTC
I stood on the pill gray surface of a moon with my eyes closed against the pitch. Deafening silence encaptulates me swallowing every cell as I sit cross legged in the stomach of it. I felt her. The pump of her heartbeat colossal in the deep. I dissolve and recoagulate 20 trillion kilometers from her belly. White dwarf her ultraviolet laughter washes over me charring me black. Just beyond the speed of light I fight the cold vacuum spiraling through fathomless rings of planet sized asteroids she has caught within her gravity. I accelerate through her categorizing every element naming some as I go. Her molten core flows pure silver. Radioactive, attractive in totality, she is stealing my electrons and I'm losing all equilibrium. With reckless abandon I arc through her nitrogen ice eyelashes and lips play supernova melting me again into a pool of shimmering metal reflecting her every facet fractaling in infinitum Eye couldn't capture unable to dilate in time. The mind could not comprehend it driving to madness decompressing time. Switching polarity with her smile I float awhile in her warmth basking in total integration. Resting on the glaciers of her clavicles. I run my lips on the molten surface of her neck, and my hands found the small of her back marble smooth in the bitter black. Hair of plasma on obsidian shoulders cradling me as I reform. Her finger like Olympus Mans presses into my arm and she says something that I could not reproduce even after infinities of calculation. In this brand new mode she runs like code. Strands of proteins or DNA playing over mine becoming prime. The restorative gravity that brought us pulls atomicly until we are not.
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 10:27 PM UTC
and maybe one day you and i will write our own realities
because we are boys whose dreams begin and end with cheeky grins
and dark eyes
and we are boys whose dreams begin and end with mousy brown hair
and hurt painted on forearms
and we are children and young and fierce
we are like the wind
and our love is everlasting
and maybe one day you and i will sign a petition to end the world
bloodstains and a lit match on our cheap hotel bedspread
tornado valley in our hearts and in our heads
i can’t promise you that this is real
but i can promise you that it can be
maybe one day you and i will cut out our hearts
and sew them to our sleeves
and let them bleed down and soak back into our sinew
but right now we are children,and
we are young and fierce,and
we will love young and fierce
(twelve years and thirteen bodies later--)
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 2:15 PM UTC
*Your eyes shift like
clockwork forcing
December into
it's rightful rank.
Frostbite bursting
from jaws of
Sagittarius, iron
staining your
crow -feathered
muzzle. I
plucked Sirius
off the face of the
sinking sky while
weaving his
starlit fangs into
steal wolf teeth
for replacements.
You swallowed
an oath of loyalty
for alunakira
so I will build
and reach into
that heart of
vintage glass,
drag the dog of
war from the
sunset stomach
you own~
and do as Lupus
told me too.
I will construct
symphonies of
tiger -lily
dusks & dawns
to raise the
dead poetry in
basilisk heart.
Lycan, I'll
withdraw the
ashes of
Avalaone just
to get the
Gears working
again in your
a u b u r n
e y e s*
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 11:00 PM UTC
At an old friends birthday party,
and I knew you'd be there, too.
Look at me: I've finally got a belt on
and I finally laced up my shoes
Now look at you:
Everyone eating out of your palm
fed by silver, across the room
But remember what the bald kid once said:
"There is no spoon"
The web of life's had us connected
A Taker, a Leaver
The renown rejected
And The Story of B wasn't what I expected
But at least I finally
finally read it
Again,
Your nose and cheeks,
lupus red,
The blush of wine
leaves you out of breath
Like the bite of a wolf
that leaves you closer to death
You can't escape the web
Jul 31, 2013
Jul 31, 2013 at 1:31 AM UTC
I'm sick then I'm not
Dependent on a cane then I walk
Exhaustion hits me like a ton of bricks
Then I'm and at 'em with all the rest
I see the questioning stares
"What's wrong with you?"
They seem to ask
You're either sick or your not.
There is no in-between
Trust me, if I had a choice I would not have this disease.
Aug 18, 2013
Aug 18, 2013 at 1:02 PM UTC
Lorenzo is what I call my lupus
Because …. Why not?!
From now on, it’ll be just the two of us
So best commit and tie that knot
Lorenzo was the guy I never noticed
Sometimes trying to give out a sign
And when quiet, never really missed
Resigned to be benign
But every signal missed
Simply lingered and formed a stack
Their evolution was dismissed
So came the revolt…the unprovoked attack
Lorenzo was sad, Lorenzo was mad….Lorenzo wanted to be seen
Depression, anxiety, inflammation - my body on fire
Lorenzo hit and Lorenzo kicked…. I found out he could be mean
Fatigue and ….what was I saying?..panic levels going higher
It took nearly a year but finally I met
him
No longer in shadows haunting my body
Here in the open, Lorenzo didn’t look so grim
Now introduced, it took time but I asked Lorenzo to be my buddy
I asked him to help me know
When what I was doing triggered him
He agreed to be patient and take it slow
He’d stick around and wouldn’t act out on a whim
We sat down in the comfort of our home
I asked him questions he couldn’t answer
Where did he come from?
How long had he been around?
Why hadn’t he wanted to be found?
Did I do something wrong?
Was I going to be sufficiently strong?
Would I ever go back to being fine?
But as he shrugged the questions away
Lorenzo said to me : “at the end of the day
I don’t make you better or worse…
I am with you, for better and worse!”
Oct 31, 2021
Oct 31, 2021 at 3:50 PM UTC
saw it coming
long before
rancid flesh
hard to ignore
cast away
tossed to the wolves
among the canis lupus
the depraved rule
far below
a dark
network of caves
await his knaves
patiently plotting and
oh so wise
for they are destined to pose
as sheep
in disguise
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 10:15 PM UTC
We wrote our names on the beach in animal bones
as a vivisection, on our love.
there, she’s whispering into shells
into their Fibonaccian, trumpeted, dresses
and full-cheeked into a razor clam flute.
I, too, gave my blood to grease our domestica
and hung names on stars over the nighttime sea
always accompanied as I were
with the shark-eye, death, of her looks.
We dressed up the walls of home in black and pinstripe,
filled the place up with lit and lightless places,
Shadowboxed, shadowfucked, and silently argued.
Spent hours inside, laying floorboards
and then laying on them
to stare at the sodium lights
and discuss the inkblots on our eyes.
We vivisected our lives,
and splashed it on the walls
and carved it into the carpets.
We set alight to christmas trees
when the kids were sleeping upstairs.
We dressed in each-other’s reddening horror
and answered the door.
Valentines day was full of bone bouquets,
the gripper rods grew through the carpet
so on them we danced.
I prayed for the first time in the first year
and every one hit me subesquently
like I was its anvil.
I should have gone to war.
Because it makes forever shorter
things can only happen right now.
I watched everything in our domestica,
like when the static moved off the television
and played on the window
gutting me of my escape.
The smiles hung on our faces like lupus,
We had people round,
we cooked and coughed and choked
And their faces peeked round from the doorframe
and laughed.
The domestica lives
only to be a bit of fun,
but in the very same span of time
that decided to **** the birds on my windowsill
and my children’s love for me
and my dexterity.
We’ve happened to the whole world too
I promise you, my love,
my little hospice fire,
my flat tire at night at nowhere,
the lie you recognise means it’s over,
A field of a thousand three-leaved clovers,
the brightest night when you’re hiding,
your heart attack on holiday,
your bloodstained bed sheet
And sleep, whilst outside
the sleet and snow makes every emergency
harder to get to, and still the morning
much more beautiful.
I, you, we happened.
Jan 2, 2016
Jan 2, 2016 at 12:02 PM UTC
The first time I met them,
I was met with silence;
These who did not speak.
They were unfamiliar with communication.
They were silent, but pondering beasts.
They looked up to me
With eyes full of fear.
Such beautiful innocence
When you lashed out at me,
For you were only trying to protect yourself
At what you perceived as dangerous.
But I placed my hand on your shoulder,
I rested my head against yours.
In your confusion,
I embraced you.
Feb 14, 2025
Feb 14, 2025 at 4:41 AM UTC
I was once a ravenous creature
bit by the words of my upbringers
generations of lies
I was once one of those ravenous creatures
of whom I despise
but I've learned to find my freedom, without cutting all my ties
to the ones I love (I was once a ravenous creature)
to their love
I've retreated into the deep forrests of my tears
in contemplation I've laid rest, all my compulsive fears
I know my stengths, but I also know my weakness
I am better attuned to this inner dialog, attuned to its inner uniqueness
I was once a ravenous creature
bit by the words of my upbringers
generations of lies
I was once one of those ravenous creatures
of whom I despise
of which I empathize
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 7:43 AM UTC
Doesn't it seem so pointless
How the moon sheaths the sun, and says;
Learn to hold your tears back, darling.
And how the sun, so carefully, replies
*Love, I shall shatter at your dancing will
For as long as it takes to dust off this cacophony*
A beat, and they separate
The sun utters ever so slightly:
*Remember me while you get dizzy
Or when you feel my light for you.*
'Tis as it was, ere the wolves came.
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 2:23 AM UTC
It is the sheep in
wolf's clothing
killing with
a smothering love it
is a viper in the eye
**** the amygdala
condition
It is Zod kneeling down
with both Hands
on the wheel
It is a tied die
shirt we wear an
autoimmune shooting
a Lupus in disguise
an Ewe in disgust
Can I get a witness
Jun 26, 2017
Jun 26, 2017 at 7:49 AM UTC
Fog-grey paint on wood…
Sentry!
Imprisons willing hostage…
Safe!
It jars - jams handle door to floor
Uterine prison seals hermetic hermit
The fawn as naked innocent born.
Cow mother forages for food…
To earn!
Boy buck lay prone; ears twitch.
Waiting to exhale.
Wolf pants foul -
turn handle -
entry permit?
On eves gone by wolf violates fawn.
Cow mother oblivious in her providing!
Crept in!
Kneeled!
As fawn feigned sleep…
Lupus leered, licked - abused like prey
This night young deer escapes the hunt
Lays quiet, tremulous.
Wets itself!
Chair holds!
Patriarchal coward creeps back to fetid lair
Brief reprieve?
Grow strong - pray another day!
©pofacedpoetry – Billy Reynard-Bowness (2018) – All rights reserved
Aug 30, 2018
Aug 30, 2018 at 8:09 AM UTC
oh god, can i still picture snowy teeth
and breaths like wolves blotting the hillside
gray wolves
such teeth
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 10:20 PM UTC