"mangling" poems
the poem her belly marched through me as
one army. From her nostrils to her feet
she smelled of silence. The inspired cleat
of her glad leg pulled into a sole mass
my separate lusts
her hair was like a gas
evil to feel. Unwieldy….
the bloodbeat
in her fierce laziness tried to repeat
a trick of syncopation Europe has
—. One day i felt a mountain touch me where
I stood (maybe nine miles off). It was spring
sun-stirring. sweetly to the mangling air
muchness of buds mattered. a valley spilled
its tickling river in my eyes,
the killed
world wriggled like a twitched string.
7.3k
It must be buried under the skin,
what makes your body tremble.
What makes your taste consistent,
just here for me to use.
You came on bended broken knees,
spread on top of a rustled bed.
You left with empty breaths,
blushing sweat, and blends of regret.
Your smile speaks so well of you,
but your dignity hides it under covers.
With a twinkle in your eye,
and a flicker of your smile.
Gave me battered pleas,
just to have you pleased.
Crude interpretation of sounds and breaths,
Legs loose with a rug dress.
Working record rhythms of nervous lips,
heavy syllables swaying off those hips.
Your hands and wrists like chords,
pressed around my skull and neck,
mangling hair and skin with defect.
And that?
That is the steadfast scar I have,
from loving you.
Although love doesn't pass through here anymore.
May 20, 2011
May 20, 2011 at 8:34 PM UTC
I've heard of tornadoes
Mangling buildings and structures
Or hurricanes
Destroying landscapes and neighborhoods
Or earthquakes
Splitting the earth in two
But no one told me
A girl with green, wandering eyes
Would be my most destructive
Natural disaster
Mangling,
Destroying,
Splitting
My stomach, head, and heart
Stripping them from my ground
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 9:55 PM UTC
I find that chromium-vanadium steel,
while holding glimmer and shine
through much abuse,
is harder to hone
to that razor-like edge
that truly makes chopping a breeze
(watch the fingers, please),
merely mangling fine fruits
and tomatoes, instead.
(just tilt your head, thus)
It's a tool best left
for whacking at meat,
as its heft and its strength
make short work of bone;
more cleaver than scalpel,
if truth will be said.
I've always preferred
the high-carbon alloys,
though now out of fashion
in today's haute cuisine.
While rusting and blackening with age -
not the type you'd put on display -
the blades stay as keen
as the day they were minted,
and wipe down nicely on sleeves.
Oct 23, 2010
Oct 23, 2010 at 6:48 PM UTC
Musclebound masked man
maniac mangling most everything he touches
Suicide squad serving the League of Shadows
Venom infuses his insane frame
Villainous tactical masterminds
should never be able to snap spines
and smash skulls
a faceless hulk
surgical tubing and tanks
delivery systems for his calcium crunching extremities
Every Dark Knight has their Bane
brash brutal backbreaker
Such a sordid past
a disaster
You're a slave to the Venom now
how do you live with yourself?
Scarecrow knows
the solace found in affecting fear in others
Poor Bane
insane and in chains
How weak you will become
when they take away your drug.
Aug 4, 2012
Aug 4, 2012 at 10:31 AM UTC
i think a lot about the things i can’t change
why the sky is the shade of blue it is
why worms move the weird way they do
why i still love you when you don’t seem to love me
all things that make no sense to me
you treated my body like a piece of land
and every mole, scar, and stretch mark was an eye sore
you said my paranoia was cute
and me locking, unlocking, and relocking the doors was ‘precious’
now you said it was an annoying habit you wished I would break
sometimes i wonder if you miss me the same way that i miss you
i wonder if you stay awake at night twisting and mangling your body into the positions that ours would fit together
i stay awake at night and lose hours of sleep thinking about you
and even when i find myself drifting to sleep i find your image fluttering underneath my eyelids and manipulating my dreams
even as i’m unconscious in the only place i felt safe you are still a constant reminder
i trace my lips with my index finger just like you used too
you always did this before we kissed
i remember clear as day the one time you didnt
that was the last time i saw you without tears in my eyes
begging you not to leave me
you told me i was a burden
I was a lost cause
and i knew that meant you had found someone else whisper sweet nothings too
i know you kiss her the way you kissed me
there was a girl before
and I don't doubt there will be another after
i was nothing to you
and you were everything to me
you will climb mountains
well i drown in the lakes that sit peacefully below
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 2:01 PM UTC
She'll be digging her toes in the California sands
Only Being catered to by the loveliest of hands.
Her heavenly vocals will take her to the top of the charts
Mangling and delighting a billion hearts
She'll be the next Beyonce or Lana Del Ray
But probably something better, many would say.
She'll get everything she wants, all and more
I just hope she remembers me when I see her on tour
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 11:30 AM UTC
****** hands
By :Mehrdad Nosrati (Mehreshaer)
After a puerile toil to gain more of their bike
Now are sharing their limbs cut off and diffuse
None of these two brothers would go this far in that
And won’t accept the mangling tank driver’s excuse
***
Our disputations had a pen of words as proof
Not a weapon of brutality you offered
Ghazza kids, our witnesses at the divine court
Testify by the change ****** hands hope covered
***
I’m a shia and a sunni is my brother
With the same moslem’s heart hate your savagery
But not we alone feel like this, real jews, christians
And other believers of overall world boundary
***
You seem not be aware of Ghazza long history
And what a marvelous role it had played during times
So go and read the bravery of Batis against
Alexander, When chanting and clapping for your crimes
***
Once again I and my sunni brother tonight
After saying our common prayer will decide
How to expose your red hands to criminal court
To affect most the history’s heart by our new pride
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 3:46 AM UTC
She's like a switchblade dancing across my tongue.
She's like a hurricane crashing through my lungs.
She's like a nightmare strangling my dreams.
She's like a sobering feeling faded screams.
She's like a ... (kiss)
She's like a ... (fist)
She's like a ... (kick in the teeth)
She's like a firefly shining through my night.
She's like a lioness killing with all her might.
She's like a devil stealing to save my soul.
She's like a guardian angel I don't know.
She's like a ... (kiss)
She's like a ... (fist)
She's like a ... (kick in the ******* teeth)
She's like a switchblade dancing across my heart.
She's like a hurricane crashing from the start.
She's like a nightmare mangling my dreams.
She's like a sobering feeling torn from the seams.
She's like a ... (kiss)
She's like a ... (fist)
She's like a ... (kick in the mother ******* teeth)
She's like a priceless painting inside my mind
She's like a permanent image that I can't find.
She's like a devil lying to steal my soul.
She's like a guardian angel I still don't know.
She's like a ... (kiss)
She's like a ... (fist)
She's like a ... (kick in the ******* teeth)
She's like a switchblade dancing across my wrists.
She's like a hurricane crashing through the mist.
She's like a nightmare dangling my dreams.
She's like a sobering feeling without means.
She's like a ... (kiss)
She's like a ... (fist)
She's like a ... (kick in the teeth)
She's like nothing you've ever seen.
She's like nothing you've ever had.
She's like nothing you've ever gleamed.
She's like nothing you've ever read.
She's like a kiss, a fist, and a kick in the mother ******* teeth.
Oct 26, 2011
Oct 26, 2011 at 3:12 AM UTC
Beauty is whispered after silence
In emptiness.
I am beautiful
Tonight I don't remember why,
I will never remember why.
Haunted by memories of times I was tamed.
Beauty is wild and free.
Tender and grotesque.
Regrets when you stop holding my hand.
Whispered in a busy crowd.
baby
I'm sorry. Beauty is not this.
Out of breath, out of sleep, tender mangling of love letters
Unrehearsed tango of the lips in the dark.
I will love you forever.
Will never stop trying.
And your silence is beautiful.
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 2:59 AM UTC
A metallic seat.
Hard orange plastic.
Strip light sickness.
And I look at you.
Disinfectant scrubs my throat,
sterilising the language I want to use.
And I look at you.
Naked feet, white tinged with yellow.
Invisible socks.
Cotton top welts left in your ankles,
flattening the spidery hair.
So much hair.
And I wonder,
when did you get so tall?
And I look at you.
Sallow face, a dehydrated
caricature of youth, erased and lined.
Needles **** the marrow,
the muscle tone gone but
stubble erupting, handsome underneath.
And I wonder,
when was the last time I saw you?
And I look at you.
Frail arms, thick bandage cuffs
giving little comfort to the empty purple beneath.
And I wonder,
was it how you imagined?
Clean blade?
Neat slices?
Choreographed claret leaving a poignant splash
on your final soliloquy?
Head to camera, atmospheric lighting,
ready for your close up.
Someday you’ll be a star.
Or was it sordid?
Brutal?
A smashed bottle?
Hacking, mangling,
uncontrollable blood
aimlessly gushing, drenching the rambling note
so the words washed away?
No camera angles.
No haunting memoir.
And I look at you.
And I wonder.
When did you become so lonely?
And I turn away.
Dec 16, 2010
Dec 16, 2010 at 9:46 AM UTC
This poem is a suicide note.
Tonight, this pitiful life is finally coming to an end. I,
have finally accepted that much.
No longer suspended in a lost, hopeless state:
Not quite asleep.
Not quite awake.
Oh, I've been trapped for too long.
Wrapped up in you.
A translucent bubble wrap.
My voice has given out by now,
Absorbed into this shell.
Thrown back in my face.
No.
I feel like a marionette,
Losing control over what I do
And yet,
Despite my best efforts,
I'm just tangled.
Up
Around
Over
Through
So much so,
There's a knot so tight,
The only way out is to
Cut
Right
Through.
There is simply nowhere else to turn.
Oh, but I tried
I ran.
I hid.
I fought.
I cried.
Bled.
Froze.
Got burned.
And you can say it'll get easier.
It's easy for you.
But I lost my drive to please
Everyone around me.
And I hate lying here,
On the ground.
In it.
In this grave that I dug.
I'm scared,
But only of what I might become.
So, I'm gonna cut right through
the ties from the lies I've been living in.
No.
Not living.
More like spending time lost in the darkness
Of a dead, dead end.
But Death will be attending his own funeral.
Tonight,
I'm gonna restart.
Gonna be brand new.
No.
Better than brand new.
Better than the best, and yes,
That means leaving you behind.
You are the weight of the world on my shoulders.
If I can't get you off my mind,
Then how will I be set free?
I might be on a leash,
But you don't get
the choice to let go or not.
You don't get
To hide me behind a curtain
And, prop her up on a pedestal.
You shouldn't have knocked me off in the first place.
I'm gonna crawl away to a brand new place.
Where I'm loved
And live properly.
After what I went through,
You should have known.
Something had to give.
So,
I'm giving up on this life I planned with you.
I'm moving into cloud nine.
But I'm not leaving.
No.
I'll be weaving my way through
your conscience.
Leaving a trail of words so sharp,
They could cut
Clean
Through.
All the while,
I'll be moving on.
I am the rising sun
Here to **** the "me" I was
When I was, with you.
Your Envious Moon.
My heartstrings may be tangled,
And tearing,
Mangling my innards.
But I will not let myself be hanged.
Tonight,
I'm taking your picture off the shelf,
Waving good bye to my old self,
And praying I have the strength
To make it home.
Apr 14, 2012
Apr 14, 2012 at 6:04 PM UTC
roll up! roll up!!
you fine hearted boy.
time now to put down,
the store made toys.
time to make magic...
with the inside,
of your mind
roll up! roll up!!
to the dream circus
let's see what we find....
melamine monkeys
mimic monstrousity's
mangling, minor majorities
in musical mayhem
symphonies, sublime
playing mozart in part on
a shiny yellow kazooo
meanwhile marshmallow
crocodiles smile with
mincing beguile
at ****** moo cows
meandering miles
in crooked zig-zag lines
making milkshakes
all the while...
mouses and mices
are avoiding becoming
itty bitty pieces of
rodent and crabapple pie
by milling mindlessly
around the mound
of milliners, by the by.
now to
meet and greet at the
zoo
mrs hippopotomus
has ginger biscuits and
mango milk ready for you
while you watch the fleet of zebras and their plataypi crew,
sail in the xebec regatta
twice around the isle of goo.
before saying
huzzah and hooroo
they won the championship
whoohoo!!!!
it's all a happenin,
at the bing **** bingle zoo
but for all these
amazing thing to occur
my lad
you have to pay your dues
so close your eyes,
and sleep .....
and you will see
a wonderful dream or two....
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 4:32 PM UTC
I read a book
it doesn't seem to end
thousand pages i have read
and yet the end is nowhere near
characters keep appearing and vanishing
no apparent design no apparent destiny
sarcasm without wit
irony without intent
maybe i should finish this chapter
close the book and pick up another one
Perhaps I have to read this one
cover to cover
a trail of talking pictures
it seems like the soap opera
it never ends
new twists, new plots
new actors for old cliches
facts stranger than fiction
no sir, no truth here
just an unabashed indulgence
no shame, no remorse
take it or leave it
but leave it i can't
the reels keep rolling
am glued to the spot
till end credits roll out
I witnessed death the other day
a giant came from behind my left
missed me by a few feet
carved an arc towards my right
mangling everything in its way
for a moment there was deafening silence
followed by a wail from a child
then the honking to get out of way
people rushing to destinations
destinations important than crushed humans
I stopped for a few moments
then continued on my course too
shaken but not stirred
Feb 13, 2010
Feb 13, 2010 at 4:44 AM UTC
I cannot hear you on the days you dream
Saying lover like a curse word
I overheard what you oversaw
The scene we waited for
To save our lives
We’re older now
And school is out
We're older now
School is out
*These streets are lined with car wrecks
Thousands of crashes
And tonight I sound of your collision
Pulling you apart and mangling your edge
Feeling the glass staining our eyes
So that we can tell
The nebula is exploding
When we collide*
I wish I could take your hand
And pull you closer to me
In this wreckage of scrap metal
Twisted our lies into a new religion
I’ve been waiting for you
To stay for the night
But I can only walk away
From this point on
*These streets are lined with car wrecks
Thousands of crashes
And tonight I sound of your collision
Pulling you apart and mangling your edge
Feeling the glass staining our eyes
So that we can tell
The nebula is exploding
When we collide*
There’s something I want to tell you
But you have to lean in to hear
There’s something I want to tell you
But you won’t hear me tonight
There’s something I want to yell you
But you can’t hear me over the crashing
Jun 9, 2012
Jun 9, 2012 at 9:40 PM UTC
I'll not be your knife, honey.
If you wish to bleed,
Cut yourself with somebody else.
If you love pain, don't go reaching for me.
I am not pain.
I'm poison tipped.
I bite like barbed wire, deep, not where you want.
Not only a blade,
I've got fangs.
You might think you want it
But you are young and tender,
And you'll learn.
Don't slice away your ignorance with me-
The lesson will be your last.
You want an ironic scar?
The embodiment of your suffering
Mangling your flesh?
Want a little shocking thrill?
Don't pick me up, sweetie.
I ****
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 7:59 PM UTC
We always did wonder if a piece of her brain fell to her neck
For she did sometimes—oftentimes when things were of great or grave importance,
think and talk through the side of her neck.
It was a condition we had come to diagnose in her quite early,
For she’d **** her head, sing a hum as her eyes wandered following her thoughts
And when she came to, suddenly jumping with a clap of the hands and an “aha!”
We would lean in and listen intently
But she would say something positively ludicrous, absolutely ridiculous!
Like in talking about cicadas and hibiscuses,
She would throw a hippo in there. And like last time, a stinging, mingling mangling ray!
We would all raise our brows and sigh in disappointment.
For that is what you would feel when you oftentimes hear her speak.
But sometimes, it did feel like she'd think with the piece of brain left in her head;
For she was practically logical,
Analytical to a score—sometimes. Less than oftentimes.
Then, she’d place a finger to her temple and her eyes would stare fixedly above at the ceiling or below, at the ground.
And after a while of staying so, she would speak in quite a serious tone and tell us the answer to our inquisition.
Those times, there'd be surprise and awe.
Like in talking about dark matter and soft matter physics, she, after thinking a while, would throw in some astrophysical knowledge.
So, although she'd oftentimes think through her neck, she'd sometimes think through her head;
And that is when we would cheer for her.
But the cheer would hardly be over when she'd say something utterly preposterous that we'd know, for certain, that the piece of brain that fell to her neck when she was born, was rather a large piece.
Jul 11, 2019
Jul 11, 2019 at 5:35 PM UTC
Glass roses of blue
Cigarettes and amaretto
Served with milk tears
Candy giggles take it back
Build a house from
what's lacking
Break black ties and
Want to wear heels out
For no one but
The television and
Steam mangling in a box
I need to get off frail mind lines like
Dreading time
Loving this lipstick and
I am not a girl anymore
I filthy my own nest
And i'm blind as I am blessed
Jun 3, 2019
Jun 3, 2019 at 11:10 PM UTC
You came like a season,
quickly passing by.
You made her so high,
brought her up to cloud nine.
She couldn't piece them all together,
it wouldn't tell a story.
They came in form of random parts,
from time to time, in folly.
She couldn't question why,
you wouldn't grant her the rights.
She finds herself in a cold love case,
of forbidden treats of the night.
Like a merry-go-round,
you keep her hanging.
Her heart, you're mangling.
She knows it adds up to nothing,
for with nothing was how it started.
They were sweet nothings in this tango,
and with sweet nothings it ended.
You came at the season,
quickly passed by.
She just wants to know...Why.
Nov 15, 2011
Nov 15, 2011 at 12:38 PM UTC
There must have been seven chimneys
In the great house on the hill,
I never actually counted them
While the house was standing still,
But the years had brought their own neglect
And the house was well run down,
By the time we pulled the place apart
For a new estate in town.
We couldn’t just use a wrecking ball
It was too immense for that,
When we took it brick by brick apart
We could build a hundred flats.
The chimneys were the hardest part
For the flues had twists and turns
As they rose up through three storeys with
Each hearth, soot black and burned.
It had been the home of Dukes and Earls
Back in Victoria’s day,
With gardeners, cooks and pantry maids,
All with a place to stay,
There were ***** and more for the gentlefolk
For the vicar and local squire,
And after the garden parties they would
Huddle, in front of the fire.
We chipped away at the chimney stacks
And gradually brought them down,
Brick by brick to the local tip
As red dust covered the ground,
But then a guy gave a sudden cry
During a working lull,
‘I think I see, what it seems to me,
The top of a human skull.’
The top of a human skull it was
Of a child, no more than six,
Jammed up tight in the chimney there
Imprisoned by old red bricks,
We managed to pry him loose at last
And lifted him from the flue,
But then the horror came home to us
For his legs were missing, too.
We saw the mangling hook they’d used
That lodged in one of his ribs,
That tore the body apart to clear
The chimney, for His Nibs,
The kid was lodged in a twisting flue
They knew that his case was dire,
And tried to make him climb up and through
By lighting a smoking fire.
We couldn’t tell if the sweep was dead
Or simply allowed to choke,
When someone ordered the fire lit
And sent up a cloud of smoke,
Perhaps he screamed as the smoke had streamed
And the fire burned, but slow,
He was just a sweep, his life was cheap
Compared to the guests below.
The little lad’s in the cemetery
He was laid with special care,
With everyone but nobility
Gathered to lay him there,
It’s a page at last from a cruel past
That we turned, but won’t forget,
Great wealth destroys our humanity,
Have we learned that lesson yet?
David Lewis Paget
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 4:43 AM UTC
My dreams are drugs;
my hopes are dope
–the joie de vivre
of old so-so–
from waning eyes
to waxing grace
my spirit seeks
another place
And rhythmically
on pain of death
from newborn cry
to my last breath
with rancid teeth
and rheumy eye
around the globe
cutting soft sky
filling the stars
with water high
to flood and pour
to light and soar
to anger each
contented *****
But not so boiled
nor never baked
swathed transcendence
of all mistakes
melancholy left un-churned
around young danseur
crapping wealth unearned
fueling no immortal work,
marching still
against the dark;
Freshest grass-scent
Lingers long
past broken tractor
at break of dawn
as crumpled shrapnel
and sticks of oak
remain wedged throughout
the auger's blades,
refusing to reap
or shadow wheat;
Therefore, this vision
pulls and holds
on wisest minds,
with fools endures;
musty marble crumbles too
all garish gold
rusts through and through...
spinning slower
then Bosons are gone...
sunny sleep stops
mowing lawn
(All things must break
when left untouched
but touching wears toucher
oh so so much!)
Arrows fly,
inertly tickle
all that's evil
whatever's wicked;
But nothing so so much
as hope
fades quietly
oh so so much.
Slumping shoulders
warring forward
searching ever
for temperate porridge,
concluding all
to dust from dust
Inciting all
from lust to lust
But rarely ever
dreaming truths
science mangling
interstellar flight
because nothing good
rhymes with truths
devoid of pretense
and heckling youths
After crops have rotted
that fed our needs
One contemplates
tending the weeds.
I've lost you now
(I surely hope)
Because at last,
here is the dope:
Riddling madness
is a cancer.
Reading answers
is disaster.
We're much too late
to break the tractor.
Grapes left on vine
do not make wine,
so smiling scythe
will give me mine.
And in the end
it's not defeat:
For Beauty Grew,
And Many Ate.
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 12:06 PM UTC
There's blood on my hand
That same **** spot"
It won't go away
I will get caught
There's blood on my face
Shame to wash it away
But I mustn't lose my composure
The spot, though lovely, cannot stay
There's blood on my chest
I can't seem to find how to remove it
I do so like it, just where it is
But there'd be many of those who'd pitch a fit
There's blood upon my feet
I must find the way to make them clean
Not at all because I mind
Because blood ought not be something casually seen
The blood, it's stretched itself to be everywhere
With that savory, metallic scent
Sweet and salty, this crimson, tacky blood
And I'm the keeper of the secret; what this has all meant
O these slashes of blood, the drying puddles, brimmed with love
The power that is the grip of life
Shed now in a glorious display of our purest contempt
Flesh weeping after the stabbing, mangling by a bladed knife
The blood has painted me
Always shall it be there
No amount of scrubbing could wash these marks away
Scent eternal, lingering in the air
This bloods borne a stain on my soul
Death a companion who'll never be far
I'll hold hands and walk with it
To hell's blackest star
Feb 28, 2013
Feb 28, 2013 at 2:32 AM UTC
Bumble down the always halls
Awkward in the way they walks
Desperate in the way they talks
Gaze flings hundred miles per hour inside
The tower of intimidation
sweat gets regarded as a river
Floor by floor the floorboards wable
Claims it’s an earthquake
Not the inner mechanical failure
Mangling the last shred of sanity
Processes of a rabid animal
Brain quivers, spine soils
Not gonna die in fight or flight
Metal smears apart to the moonlit tapestry
Strewn across the pathway
Climbing up the rotting yellow walls
All but tumbling
Running past the train of thought
Faster than a bullet
Clings to his kryptonite
In hopes she will solve him.
Jun 14, 2017
Jun 14, 2017 at 1:57 PM UTC
The howling wind tore in from the sou' west
Ripping, tearing, destroying
Horizontal rain striking with the force of darts and arrows
Shredding and mangling fresh green leaves
Mangled bruised and battered flowers
Yesterday so fresh and vibrant
But now the shattered remnants of natures
Phsycodelic show
Small birds huddling in water logged nests
Mice and small creatures now drowned remains
Fledgling chicks now damp reminders
That nature always has her way
But nature always has a way
To repair the damage she has caused
With the warmth of a new sun
Fresh leaves appear
And on rent flowers fresh new buds
With the warmth new life begins
Thus is natures way
Eventually the storm will pass
To herald a brand new day
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 5:31 PM UTC
darling i have meat stuck in my teeth
i have not a wreathe on my dome
i have a long measure of water
rammed in my throat, hemmed in like
your body’s canopy in the stream of me
i chase the silence like a tractable beast
in this hollow den of nothing
darling
i have not hands but chains
i have volcanoes and not moons
i see past the banners, an army of light
unfastening itself from the poles of foreverness
I have in my eyes again the frail azure
and the gyration of clouds mangling themselves
to figures, assumptions, colloid
endless snow, frayed beings moseying towards
rows of lengths and the autumnal abode of hills
turning green, brimming with the sex of pastures,
feasting in this fill of such heaviness, a name of what I cannot recall
darling the yellowbell darling the lignified amaranth
darling here at such meeting I am starved
with little movements of flesh
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 6:59 AM UTC