"manacles" poems
The innocent chilled beautiful sunshine
Lay lonely abaft the ravenous-globe cavature
Chained in manacles of Dusk
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 11:48 AM UTC
Shackled by whims and desires.
The selfless and the selfish, Danse Macabre.
Who holds the key to these manacles?
Is it me?
Or is it you?
You are the spider and I dance through your tangled web of desire.
But your desires cannot be sated by my sacrificial offerings.
Do you desire at all, my dear?
You skitter through the woven webs, devouring the innocents trapped in silken tombs.
I beg of you master, please, show your mercy to your subservient.
Release me so I may release you.
******* is not becoming of you.
1/1/2016
Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 11:23 PM UTC
Days passed without food.
Water was what we had for
Breakfast, lunch and supper.
Seeing a mother crying tears of lost hope
Seeing a child scratching each and every ***
As if he would miraculously find food.
Will it be forever that all we hear, see, eat and touch is Poverty??
Child of poverty, I am.
Dreaming with an empty stomach filled me up for a jiffy.
For a minute I tasted my dream.
For a second I hoped to live it.
I wanted to be in Poverty no more.
With a touch of hope, I dared.
I dared to chase my dreams.
With no mind-forged manacles.
I strived for my belief.
With a touch of God's grace:
Child of Poverty , I was.
Child of Poverty, no more.
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 12:06 PM UTC
Revolution: Part one.
The first French King sentenced to death,
Must have a new execution invented;
So that this day shall be forever remembered.
The execution of your King, this invention of evil;
This is how he will finally meet his end and go to the Devil.
The man behind the mask, the executioner;
Will lead us to change to a new world order.
A declaration of civil war, to stop the oppression,
Has lead France to say, we must fight to stop the aggression.
We must be revolting and begin the revolution;
To put an end to the executions.
The fall of the guillotine, for a life time spent,
Writing the encyclopedia, which lead to his death.
There is no place for God, in an encyclopedia of Man;
This writing is illegal, you are blasphemous! God ****
So the time has come, to take your last breath.
Remember when you see the guillotine... don't lose your head.
Until it's chopped off and ends up in the basket;
Another case of basket case madness.
No fiction necessary, for us to live here on Earth;
But this execution, you surely don't deserve.
So the poets leave France, before the revolution;
All of them heading, back to England.
These prison bars to entrap the young.
Taken prisoner for writing a book.
Follow their rules; free thinking is wrong.
The encyclopedia is evidence enough.
Man is born free and grows to imprison himself;
Then he must follow the orders, of somebody else.
Frances revolutionaries, said let it be, let it be;
But the nation is ruled, by the monarchy.
Imprisoned for what they think, the poets and the artists;
But there are no walls, in the prison inside their heads.
Begin the revolution and make us all classless,
Because they’re chained by society,
For the thoughts that they think.
A fight for equality, a modern day philosophy.
Man is born to think for himself; a revolution is on the way.
Liberty! Liberation for one free state;
A jaded nation must make a change.
Revolution began, after the fall of the blade;
Now the guillotine of power will stop us being slaves.
Preaching revolution, we must free ourselves of these manacles.
Preaching liberation for the masses
And freedom for the individual.
This new guillotine, the machine of death,
Makes the severed head fall into the basket,
As they take your last breath;
But they can't take your words, from the books you have written.
So fight the power!
Revolution! Revolution!
We must have a revolution, that is televised.
Che Guevara, Malcolm X, me, myself and I.
All of us willing to join the fight;
All of knowing our view is right.
(C)2013 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 7:20 AM UTC
I wander thro’ each charter’d street.
Near where the charter’d Thames does flow
A mark in every face I meet
Marks of weakness, marks of woe.
In every cry of every Man.
In every Infants cry of fear.
In every voice; in every ban.
The mind-forg’d manacles I hear
How the Chimney-sweepers cry
Every blackening Church appalls.
And the hapless Soldiers sigh
Runs in blood down Palace walls
But most thro’ midnight streets I hear
How the youthful Harlots curse
Blasts the new-born Infants tear
And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse
5.7k
Capitalism swings securely
from the crook of her arm
while Slavery gently
coils itself
around her
beautifully damaged waist...
Racism coats the
soles of her
brand new shoes
and leaves print print print
on the harsh
unforgiving
unemployed pavement.
The world cried, died
as she dyed her hair
to Honey Suckle Blonde.
It hangs: drab, limp,
strangled by the Ignorance
sitting firmly
on top of that
pretty little head.
Jagged, matted wrists
rattle around inside
imported bangles
(or manacles)
of Oppression and
Depression and
Suppression
They're in fashion.
Her eyes are drowning
in Jealousy Mascara (new)
and I Hate You shadows (old)
and, together,
her weeping heart
and painted nails
claw at Fame and Fortune
but the new shoes
and gorgeous boyfriend
just aren't tall enough.
She limps
past shattered windows
in which she glimpses a girl,
or rather, a young lady
who is very much a
prisoner of today and not
A Leader Of Tomorrow
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 2:08 PM UTC
728
Let Us play Yesterday—
I—the Girl at school—
You—and Eternity—the
Untold Tale—
Easing my famine
At my Lexicon—
Logarithm—had I—for Drink—
’Twas a dry Wine—
Somewhat different—must be—
Dreams tint the Sleep—
Cunning Reds of Morning
Make the Blind—leap—
Still at the Egg-life—
Chafing the Shell—
When you troubled the Ellipse—
And the Bird fell—
Manacles be dim—they say—
To the new Free—
Liberty—Commoner—
Never could—to me—
’Twas my last gratitude
When I slept—at night—
’Twas the first Miracle
Let in—with Light—
Can the Lark resume the Shell—
Easier—for the Sky—
Wouldn’t Bonds hurt more
Than Yesterday?
Wouldn’t Dungeons sorer frate
On the Man—free—
Just long enough to taste—
Then—doomed new—
God of the Manacle
As of the Free—
Take not my Liberty
Away from Me—
5.1k
I watched the old
gray haired
son of a *****
approach my fence
in the back yard
today,
he - looking up at the
beautiful work of art,
a brilliant Magnolia
that had just flowered
like a proud yawning
lioness at sunset,
his gilded tool
with it’s dangling rope
to hang a miracle
because it had spilled
into his yard
like pink paper leftovers
everywhere,
he decided to repress it
bordering the fence
it was annoying him
and his domain
Rousseau was dead-on
about my chained freedom
the manacles were dangling
and I could hear
him severing and slicing
her arms
it somehow made him
feel better
and he moaned
his wretched realm
on his side of the trellis
and he walked away
after the limbs had fallen
to the ground
to make his cheap ***
ground chuck on rye –
it smelled like ****
the amputated Magnolia
and grease spinning
around my head
I stood there, quietly
thinking how this was
so unwarranted
and what a waste of time
this was,
the tree crying out to me
and somewhere else on earth
another yawning
with laughter.
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 8:55 PM UTC
"black-laced ink
semi-coherent
to a lap dance
of the mind
in manacles."
|| shoo.shu ||
Jan 1, 2016
Jan 1, 2016 at 11:48 AM UTC
Orpheus
by Michael R. Burch
after William Blake
I.
Many a sun
and many a moon
I walked the earth
and whistled a tune.
I did not whistle
as I worked:
the whistle was my work.
I shirked
nothing I saw
and made a rhyme
to children at play
and hard time.
II.
Among the prisoners
I saw
the leaden manacles
of Law,
the heavy ball and chain,
the quirt.
And yet I whistled
at my work.
III.
Among the children’s
daisy faces
and in the women’s
frowsy laces,
I saw redemption,
and I smiled.
Satanic millers,
unbeguiled,
were swayed by neither girl,
nor child,
nor any God of Love.
Yet mild
I whistled at my work,
and Song
broke out,
ere long.
Keywords/Tags: Orpheus, singer, poet, William Blake, whistle, Satanic, mills, manacles, law, leaden, ball, chain, prison, song, freedom
Mar 30, 2020
Mar 30, 2020 at 1:34 AM UTC
It hides, soothes, but scares nonetheless
It is what I paint my cages with
Just for an illusion of a possibility of freedom
For a moment forget the manacles' caress.
It is what lies beneath the garb of sanctity
baring us for who we are.
God or no,
Noir-nothingness is where it all began
And end once we char.
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 3:22 PM UTC
I am of different mind.
Strong convictions about
The guilty, the right and the wrong.
And with the Devil on my back,
I scream this strange song.
Sins of the father, falter farther.
His downfall will be my ascension.
Through the manacles of manipulation,
He offers cries of peace, of mending.
A piece of a puzzle, which drew me life,
But the business ends there,
I'll not be intertwined in such affairs.
I'll ******* the old man, in mind and spirit.
The blinding goal of this obsession,
But these fruits of labor utter no confession.
And true, such an unwavering soul,
Is dark, toxic and hell.
Though, with black magic, it is for me to sell.
So it happens, that the devil is me,
Then I'll sit with that in evil glee.
Good, bad, or ugly.
I am left only with myself.
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 9:50 AM UTC
Cords are becoming loose,
Affections floating the boat
To the island of Disappointment
Oxytocin no longer rushes
Staying stagnant
Until a trigger releases the manacles
Tied stiffly
Assumed there is a chance
But you waived the golden opportunity
Embarked on the journey
Of self-indulgence
Into your picked avenue
Casanova
Betrayer
Narcissist
Hypocritical Not I
But you showed me
I will decry
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 1:52 PM UTC
I've always been wary--
and celebrated my potential
Betrayal
and
Certain
death(.) (oh)
At The Juice Joint.
All wet. (incorrrr
--ect.)
Applesauce. (non
sense.)
All dolled up. Showed off my
Gams
And Big Jazz
(eyes).
Wanted to get spifflicated with some
Dolls
and
Jellybeans.
...my fella.
?
Didn't have enough clams.
Any of us.
We
're the new
Lost
...generation.
I thought I'd keep the bank open,
but
interest wasn't given
Cash or Check:
didn't really matter.
Might've been
the
cat
's
meeeeeow.
And
how.
Ahhhhh...
we all had our glad rags on.
the Daddies hit on all sixes.
Let's get ZOZZLED on some
jag juice,
dewdropper.
Deeeeeewdropper. ~errrrrrrrr.....
Though giggle juice is more apt
...for me.
Leave the Mrs. Grundys at home...no fire extinguishers allowed.
How ironic.
You were the extinguisher.
Bring Your Own Knife
, we said.
It's a Stabbing Party
, we said.
I didn't want to handcuff you. Didn't want to exchange manacles.
("No, I'm no one's Wife, but OHHHHH, I love my Life.")
I percolate.
I percolate.
I percolate.
I'm not your quiff.
...not your sheba...or a vamp.
Just admire my
chassis
if you will.
they
all
do
The engine'll purr
for you,
~~if you turn the keys just so
Everything was
Copacetic.
Copacetic...
For a time.
(get'hotget'hot!)
Caesar's here.
Hussssshhhhhhhh...
...speak
~~eeeeeaaaaassssyyyyy.
And then I realized.
I'm tired of being Caesar
( . )
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 7:32 PM UTC
Nature/Nurture
Which one hurts ya?
Born a ***** or raised a *****
Take your pick.
Mother Nature can be sick,
But so can your mother and so can your father.
Look at yer brothers
Look at yer sisters
All of 'em idiots
None of 'em got jobs
What's your prospects?
A life of desk jobs?
Nah, dealing and stealing
Taking without feeling
That's what you'll do
No dreams of being well-to-do.
You were born poor,
Raised to be poor,
Cos you're forgotten by the government,
No votes to be gained from givin' you a helping hand.
Born poor, stay poor.
No cultural capital
To help cast off the metaphorical manacles
That shackle any sense of aspiration that might give you inspiration
To defy nature
To defy nurture.
------------------------------
I'll prove ya wrong!
I was born poor for sure,
Raised poor is right,
But my folks weren't sick,
They raised me not to be a *****
My bloodline shows no decline
Just not born with entitlement,
So don't judge,
That's just ******* lazy
Don't believe the argument:
Nature versus nurture
I am me, now,
So don't get frenetic about my genetics.
I have free-will
I will pay my bills,
Not be defficient,
But be self-sufficient.
And what about you?
Sat in your Ivory Tower
Indulging in your power to judge those you don't know,
Believing them to be a product line of people scrounging,
Needing hand downs from the Crown
Doing nothing but clowning around,
Smoking dope
Being without hope.
But I will be someone,
And prove you wrong,
So put your patronising way to bed
Coz I'm not lazing away until I'm dead.
Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 2:04 AM UTC
Days passed without food.
Water was what we had for
Breakfast, lunch and supper.
Seeing a mother crying tears of lost hope
Seeing a child scratching each and every ***
As if he would miraculously find food.
Will it be forever that all we hear, see, eat and touch is Poverty??
Child of poverty, I am.
Dreaming with an empty stomach filled me up for a jiffy.
For a minute I tasted my dream.
For a second I hoped to live it.
I wanted to be in Poverty no more.
With a touch of hope, I dared.
I dared to chase my dreams.
With no mind-forged manacles.
I strived for my belief.
With a touch of God's grace:
Child of Poverty , I was.
Child of Poverty, no more.
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 9:51 AM UTC
Grimsby, a murky wee northerly town
And lousy with houses of seedy renown
The ladies wear only a loose fitting gown
Transactions are furtive and quick
And every street corner is coated in brass
With a ****** for every discernable class
In a spectrum of hues and selection of mass
All awaiting a dip of the wick
Diseases are spreading and taking a hold
With pimples and blisters and, finally, mould
But just when the punters are starting to fold
A saviour arrives in the nick
Doctor McNaughty, King of the Kink
And his brothel of many surprises
A welcoming smile, a comfortable bed
And some help with whatever arises
The rooms are fantastic, the ropes are elastic
With feathery leather and spikes
It wanders the street on mechanical feet
And it scoops up the punters it likes
There’s something to suit almost every wish
With strawberries and freshly whipped cream in a dish
There’s a bucket of springs and a kettle of fish
And the manacles, shackles and chains
A selection of ******* and optional clamps
There’re pulleys, tackle and half-pipe ramps
A physio suite for reduction of cramps
And the treatment of ****** strains
A marshmallow room with a candyfloss bed
And hookers of platinum, purple and red
And for those who are hankering after the dead
There’s a room full of human remains
Doctor McNaughty, Lord of the *****
A magical, mystical ****
With wonders galore behind every door
And occasional chicken or gimp
His visits are brief, but of major relief
To the multitude often attending
Then he’s off in a flash with a bundle of cash
He so loves a happy ending
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 6:25 AM UTC
it was not so clear, the day. it was hostile and tranquil.
what sort of Day is That ?
I think it sparkles.
But it's gem is mean, beneath carbuncles -
and none shall pass
without wretched disfunction.
without Unpeace swilling the liqueur
of dark sweets.
it was not so clear, the day. but it clarified the manacles.
what sort of Day is that Dark ???
I think it hardens the heart of all kindness....
but it's dream is obscene, and needs the rest of Heaven's Council.
But Love's an ***
that saw the Angel... not the bulletproof glass.
just the the angle of Descent
and the " No Wisdom ".
it hurts Because.
You Live
for no reason at all
and that's the worst
Joy.
Because.
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 2:41 PM UTC
*My heart’s a ball of icicles
In shackles
Of manacles*
May 4, 2017
May 4, 2017 at 4:54 AM UTC
Friction addiction
Hostilities slip from blistered lips
Scald the core of me
The I don't love you
War of words
and absurdities
What will it take to please you
Teasing me with shackled pleasure
The measured moments
Your addiction is friction to my spirit
I hear it in your veiled promises and lies
Defies the logic that tethers me
Responisibility
Civility
The trappings of this plastic
Psuedo humanity
Insanity the manacles I drag
Bound and gagged by your perception
The deception of what you choose to see
Skin to skin we writhe enslaved
I will never be set free
TL Boehm
080708
Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 1:08 PM UTC
I cannot wait
To be free
Of the rusted manacles
That have caught and bound me
Never have I tasted
The brim of the sea
Without the strain of these chains
A bird’s wings
Are not meant to be clipped
Jul 24, 2014
Jul 24, 2014 at 10:15 PM UTC
Feel like i have fallen under the devil's trap,
Under opression,
And my soul is chained up in manacles.
Trying my best to reach to the world,
But that concrete wall bounces my words back,
the louder i become its like my voice is being lowered.
They say they want the best,
But they never assist me in achieving it,
Just like that novel Animal Farm,
they are Squealer and Napoleon.
Only caring much about the result but not me.
It feels like i am back in the Aparthied era,
And like Nelson Mandela,
My 12 years of learning have just become a 27 years imprisonment.
I feel like i am a murdurer being questioned in the court of law,
I dont know anything about being a lawer nor a police,
But am forced to write reports of why i failed.
Looking at their barbaric faces,
i know how much they will never suport me.
They call a school a place of learning,
but today i saw another story in the system.
Jun 19, 2015
Jun 19, 2015 at 11:26 AM UTC
i.
She hath abated mine sorrow's, split mine manacles
Wherein afore day's, I was shackled and trampled;
I was left for expiry, mine soul felt retiring,
Ague gaveth me chill's, I got lost in opiatic pill's,
Death twas I, that I was admiring.
ii.
The world gaveth me none thrill- tis I wasn't meant for this life,
I besought at all costs, to find what was right.
Sent to me then, after all mine thirst and hunger for mine
One and true queen, camest Earl Jane, betwixt the dark shade,
Of Satan and his being's.
iii.
When she stepped in, Alleluia hit mine lung's, I found that one I sought, from so many year's ago, twas not love at first sight, I loved her from lifetime's humans do not knoweth; created in God's light. I loved her all along, ourn marriage was, hast been, and always wilt be abiding, timeless, in Cordelia strand's of song.
iv.
And tis when I do wrong, she sets me on better path's, she straightens me, she relates to me, she's mine kindred soul once again I found at last; she's the consort to mine well-being, she's beautiful, elegant, perfection is her key. Perfect to me, she aligns with the star's. Tis she, yea she, hath broken me from mine own prison bar's.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley dedicated ( Filipino rose)
Dec 27, 2015
Dec 27, 2015 at 7:39 PM UTC
Love, why do you restrain me so?
Your metal manacles are cold and unforgiving
Just like you; and not much can be said
About my weak ankles as well.
Why must you leave me feeling astray
Like a damp labrador in need of a home?
Am I forced to remain street fodder for
The rats and worms in a criminal underworld?
Please release me, or at least
Slice off both of my arms so that
You may keep them, my arms that hoped
To have held you, loved you, written for you;
They shall serve you as a memento
Of a rotting memory in a dark corner
Never to have cherished you so,
But alas! To have cherished you from afar
Was a venture most fulfilling
I had once waited for your warmth
To make my heart of coal dazzle,
Like the diamonds I always saw in your eyes.
God, isn’t it funny how the beguiling wind
Bewitches the leaves to dance for her
Only to be scattered away like trash?
Mar 4, 2010
Mar 4, 2010 at 10:31 AM UTC
Im peculiar, I know it.
I always look well groomed
My polo buttons are always done
My hair is very conservative and rather plain to look at.
no extremes, no tattoos no piercings.
No coffee in my hand, or cigs in my mouth,
No drug abuse for me
And I'm Sex-free.
People call me weak For being the kinda guy I am.
They don't understand, that by doing what im not doing, they're the weak ones!
You know easy it is to say YES your whole life? no inhibitions or rules put up for yourself.
nowhere to go and nowhere to be.
No higher power to keep you accountable.
You know how easy that would be? to deny truth and be "free".
But I am strong. I am strong in my god, For God is bigger than any mountain I'll ever have to climb. I take this truth and march up and down the highschool halls, with Banner WAVING PROUD!
IM MORMON. I KNOW IT. I LIVE IT. I LOVE IT!
So No to your worldly things and your so called "freedom".
Are you not prisoners of your own devices? and is not Godly love the only freeing thing? its you who ties you down. Your Manacles are crafted with abominable sin,
SIN.
A curable disease.
I invite all to repent and come to Christ. It really is the only way to get where we all want to go.
For Christ suffered for all the pains, afflictions, and transgressions that we commit.
He's paid the price for everybody already. Experiment on my words. Prove me wrong! Pray in the name of Christ, with your hearts door open.
Pray with Faith.
You'll feel it, Just like I have.
This world needs stronger people, Join me in the Ranks fellow Christian Soldier
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 12:12 AM UTC