"marauder" poems
I know it's wrong, but tonight I need it.
It's never at it's worse, some night's it's just too heavy.
Back has been tight for days, wound up like a Jack forgotten in his box.
My mind stretched to weariness and it feels much older than my heart.
Tonight I will kick myself.
Tonight I will give myself hell.
Tonight I will get a little too rough.
All I can do will never be enough.
I can do good for months on end all the while knowing that this night always arrives.
One long night of tearing my fingernails off, trying to remind myself that I can still touch lives.
The Masked Marauder
Aug 17, 2015
Aug 17, 2015 at 2:40 PM UTC
'O godmother, open your mind to me and tell me of your woe!'
'My dread spouse, he is to joust on the morrow's night; Death cannot accompany him, else I shall be left bereft!'
'O godmother, he is no longer a marauder; he shan't greet Death on the verdant hill where he shall joust,'
'My dread spouse, what will he suffer if he were to fail?'
'O godmother, ye of little faith! Your dread spouse shall joust with a fiery spirit,'
'My dread spouse, what would become of me if he survived, only gaiety!'
'O godmother, worry not, for he shall battle under a gibbous waning moon, a good omen surely!'
'My dread spouse, if he shall be pierced by an arrow whilst on his stallion, I shall weep to the moon!'
'O godmother, if his blood is to stain grass browned by heat, he will lay peacefully knowing his courage.'
Aug 5, 2019
Aug 5, 2019 at 7:25 PM UTC
106
The Daisy follows soft the Sun—
And when his golden walk is done—
Sits shyly at his feet—
He—waking—finds the flower there—
Wherefore—Marauder—art thou here?
Because, Sir, love is sweet!
We are the Flower—Thou the Sun!
Forgive us, if as days decline—
We nearer steal to Thee!
Enamored of the parting West—
The peace—the flight—the Amethyst—
Night’s possibility!
3.5k
Dans le fond des forêts votre image me suit.
RACINE
There is a panther stalks me down:
One day I'll have my death of him;
His greed has set the woods aflame,
He prowls more lordly than the sun.
Most soft, most suavely glides that step,
Advancing always at my back;
From gaunt hemlock, rooks croak havoc:
The hunt is on, and sprung the trap.
Flayed by thorns I trek the rocks,
Haggard through the hot white noon.
Along red network of his veins
What fires run, what craving wakes?
Insatiate, he ransacks the land
Condemned by our ancestral fault,
Crying: blood, let blood be spilt;
Meat must glut his mouth's raw wound.
Keen the rending teeth and sweet
The singeing fury of his fur;
His kisses parch, each paw's a briar,
Doom consummates that appetite.
In the wake of this fierce cat,
Kindled like torches for his joy,
Charred and ravened women lie,
Become his starving body's bait.
Now hills hatch menace, spawning shade;
Midnight cloaks the sultry grove;
The black marauder, hauled by love
On fluent haunches, keeps my speed.
Behind snarled thickets of my eyes
Lurks the lithe one; in dreams' ambush
Bright those claws that mar the flesh
And hungry, hungry, those taut thighs.
His ardor snares me, lights the trees,
And I run flaring in my skin;
What lull, what cool can lap me in
When burns and brands that yellow gaze?
I hurl my heart to halt his pace,
To quench his thirst I squander blook;
He eats, and still his need seeks food,
Compels a total sacrifice.
His voice waylays me, spells a trance,
The gutted forest falls to ash;
Appalled by secret want, I rush
From such assault of radiance.
Entering the tower of my fears,
I shut my doors on that dark guilt,
I bolt the door, each door I bolt.
Blood quickens, gonging in my ears:
The panther's tread is on the stairs,
Coming up and up the stairs.
3k
Starving artist,
Hungry and cold,
Dive in a fountain
Of wishes and gold
Counts fifteen bucks
In quarters and cents
Steals wishers' lucks
To pay for her rents
But she hopes for the best
That all of those wishes
Were already blessed
And that marauder of dreams,
of wishes, of love,
She paid back in gleams
Silver spilling from glove
And those wishers?
Well, they had their fortunes
of hearts reunited
of kisses goodnight
of beds warm and cozy
and dreams taken flight
All but a handful
Remained in her pocket,
and never again saw the sun
Oct 9, 2012
Oct 9, 2012 at 1:50 AM UTC
Crashing like an ocean marauder,
Dragging me into open waters.
Engulfing me in love so infinite –
Falling into depths,
So intimate –
As you drain my last breath
Yet denying me,
the horrors of death.
Apr 9, 2021
Apr 9, 2021 at 12:07 PM UTC
You see, I know this guy,
with bright and gentle eyes—
sunflowers against blue skies . . .
A true angel in disguise.
He’s known since before he could fly
that he wasn’t like the other guys,
or the him in their minds, that decoy,
that never dreams of kissing a boy
for the purest joy. . .
No, he’d have to strengthen those wings
not to tangle in the strings
that sting, and cling, and sling,
to save his prince—
his king.
A feathered, armored knight,
he soars with grace and might.
In a weary world of fright,
he’d invite any height –
loyal beyond first light.
And you see, there I was, drowned in muddy water,
with gills choked on death’s slobber,
****** by the wave’s merciless slaughter
of hope, that bled and foamed atop the marauder,
and lost like the sea king’s youngest daughter,
I, a merman bobbed below the knight’s shadow.
He saw the faintest blush
of my lost soul and rushed
to grace me from my grave, flushed
and bathed me amid the rainbows in the waterfall, hushed
my toxic tears, that cursed and gushed,
and pecked my lips, as sweetly as a thrush.
His feathers fluffed, my scales standing on edge.
I nested in the angel’s white down hedge
till my heart and soul was nursed to fledge.
Our skin taught with tingly warm bumps, an intimate pledge.
I a he fell in love with he a him, and love became our kedge.
So you see, while my worries ebb and flow like the moon’s tide,
bringing questions of where a bird and fish can reside,
I trust in him I can confide, never to hide, but cast my fears aside.
We’ve already broken the surface where the air and water collide,
we need not the world far and wide,
we need only to carry each other inside
our arms, and together glide,
feathers and scales side by side.
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 10:39 PM UTC
It comes after heavy rains.
Naked amphibious marauder
crouched beneath dampened stars
bip-bipping its personal intercom;
soporific in sleep-weary bleary-eyed dreams.
I imagine a Cop on his elbows
zig-zagging, belly-flat
under cover of darkness;
he not naked; peaked cap askew,
shoulder pips glinting in half moon;
he too, predator on a mission -
Echo - Charlie - Zebra.
The freezer kicks in
out-droning night sounds.
Light eases between blinds.
I slurp chocolate dregs from a crazed mug.
Over and out.
Mar 21, 2010
Mar 21, 2010 at 7:23 AM UTC
This pond is where I will die,
Squandering in owl hours to ****
Still, the Ducks swim by.
The blue moon is a Julia Dragonfly
Haunted by a lethal, green dream thrill.
This pond is where I will die.
Threadbare Marauder Rooks squawk a cry,
The stickleback flakes its dithering gill.
Still, the Ducks swim by.
Importunate possums chase ducks to comply,
How could my moon mother be so ill?
This pond is where I will die.
Bluebirds deflate their keels with a sigh,
I gravitate towards their beauty, I am still.
Still, the Ducks swim by.
Aureole Sirius tip toes the sky,
Nimbus withers, Kamikaze men shrill.
This pond is where I will die.
Still, the Ducks swim by.
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 8:51 PM UTC
Violet Valley
Violent Valley
In unison
a painted progression
possession
Seen to the point of intrusion
Illusive
In a cloak of mercenary wander
A violet valley
of a crimson dawn
Drawn from scarlet billows
Where I seethe
Into a prison I saw
A vision blurred from yours
Under the heath of an adolescence
comes a lapse of time
in a spiritless essence
Godless
Unsheathing itself
In the beds of silence
the voice of a cobalt rebellion
Freedom stricken
Gaslit onto your lips
The index of incendiary
Rearing fruits of wonder
Where knowledge is set without bound
born from the dusk
of a violet valley
No truth knows where it has risen
For curiosity is kept unkempt
inside obscure tides
of thought from yours to mine.
Apr 1, 2019
Apr 1, 2019 at 4:25 AM UTC
Sky is a taut, grey net spread,
at its best in creating panic,
relentless day a brutish marauder,
drained of color of every kind, bleak,
even thought of you distant, my nectar
plays hide and seek, I am plunging
in a hallucinatory spin, down, down.
From inside a furnace closed
with a tight lid under which heat
in it's fiery glory permeates
like never before, a full- throated roar,
without any sound it travels around,
in waves after waves after waves,
to scorch every single thing under
the blood thirsty sun, on a hurried
march for revenge,green turbaned
trees and scarf adorned branches
changed all those embellishments
gone bone dry,now stand apologetic
like kids that made bed wet and caught
red handed, shrunk in shame and pain.
Narcolepsy reigns, drowsiness
day and night, like marijuana haze
follows.
This summer makes its name stick
in bad books,making T.S.Eliot look
shame faced for calling one past tame April,
uncharitably the cruelest of it all.
But this, this is an unbridled wild horse
none can in no way do anything to stop.
When even the last drop of water from
the pond evaporates,sunburn peels the skin,
sun stroke down people, who are unaware,
cruelty of April, becomes monumental.
Perhaps in few days time May could barter
that bad name from April,I'd easily guess.
Buildings , in rows and rows lie, til horizon,
like blood drained corpses all though the day,
the appetite for life, they evidently has lost.
Song birds on flowered trees, have gone mute,
doves scamper, dart in to the air, with hope
to get few drops of water from somewhere
Kindhearted few fill water and feed on containers
for stray birds,taking cue from the practices of forefathers.
Change in climate is an ogre, that could with bare hands
smash pompous attitudes and other human constructs!
Will there ever be a limit, to the red eyed monster,
avarice, we all pamper, within our inner courtyards,
that forces human beings to to do "Harakiri"
like a proud Samurai does with his own sword.
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 8:13 AM UTC
Come marauder, sword unscabbarded, lay
siege by deceit, wound mortal my coil again:
I live in aeons where millennia are puddles -
you will be assimilated, your venom spat out.
What of nations but the notions of separation,
people go, languages die like colours and petals
but here lies anchored, the soul of the world.
Deep in that recess where no man has gone,
by moonless nights, unfurled ancient
the song of the stars flowing in distant skies
Who knows when time began? Who clocked
the beginnings? Here I asked of nought and nigh,
here the endless vast, and out of a featureless past
speaks the wisdom that lights continents afar
heroic the call to selfless action in the field of war.
Here was love born, in all her colours, and the lore
of the unhinged compassion of the liberated soul
here I asked of the highest god, why none above?
and came war beating its chest, lust laden again
pillage and plunder of the savage kind
but, I live, I live, I live,
I live in the cave temples of the unknown world,
I live in the music of the evening sun,
I live in the dance of the spirit drunk of love,
I live in the ruins whose soul is beyond plunder,
I rise towering from the ashes,
There - flies the wheel of law on the horizon high
There is yet a mighty dawn waiting to rain
down light on the veiled world, free free,
I am a spark of that thirsting fire!
Aug 6, 2015
Aug 6, 2015 at 4:39 PM UTC
*Water color painting of her mindscape
visualized by an artist of repute
and its map, though not drawn on a scale
yet shows the topography and neighborhood,
gives a concrete idea to plan the conquest.
A route map to her heart, meticulously prepared
marking all shortcuts and blockages of passages,
that may lead to confusion and mix up
is an essential tool now at hand
A modern day marauder is just that
he has no time for sentiments of a pusillanimous lover
sentiments are bothersome, portend troubles in store
if logistics are right, plan is great, any peak will stoop,
But yes, the moon they say plays havoc,
love poems that knead the hearts, songs and music
too, if comes between, the project may go bonkers
the problem here is the reign of unpredictability
when love starts its gallop and emotions the other horses
just follow without rules whatsoever,
isn't it unwise trying to stop a dam breach?
Not even the dam breach software be of any help here,
no study is yet available on dissipating such passion,
dynamics of love is an unknown country altogether
no intelligence available is effective to move
against it and make the conquest certainly possible.*
Mar 30, 2014
Mar 30, 2014 at 8:01 PM UTC
The collocation in relation .
The delineation of misplacement .
The inhabitants of Kismet , the third .
The depletion of mortality .
The marauder of consumption .
The lamentation of Raul , the bird .
The offing of defence .
The pardon too myriad .
The submission to Pentateuch , the word .
The agrarian underground war .
The capricious rule of super-cities .
The ebb of vulgarity is heard .
Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 11:56 PM UTC
ADD: fractal minds for a fractal era/error
Bulimia: self-reduction through the eyes of the others
Sociopathy: economy
Stockholm Syndrome: or, everyone loves a good marauder
Münchhausen: recognizing the physical necessities of a compulsive liar
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 4:18 PM UTC
You’re leaving.
There was so much to be said.
Words, thoughts, feelings,
goodbyes.
The moment has passed—
too quickly—
but what should I do with unspoken words?
Where do they go?
They begin to lack vigor and tangency.
If thoughts could fly like birds,
then I would be watching mine approach the horizon
growing smaller
and smaller
and then
gone.
But they’re not gone--
just elsewhere.
Have they flown with the rising sun on their backs
to that place you’re fated to be?
Or am I erroneous to think as such?
Resting in the recess of my mind—
the lucre of a passive marauder—
these words remain
buried.
Life’s situations changed between acts.
Distance drew the curtains shut.
Intermission.
The curtain draws again—the characters altered.
I, the observer, surprised by the act’s new backdrop, notice
the players have matured.
Quickly, too—
but my view has not yet adapted
still remembering the beautiful set of life’s passed scenes.
Alas, the show must go on.
May 30, 2012
May 30, 2012 at 12:05 AM UTC
On the swampy fields of an exhausted war
Of a country torn apart in strife,
Warriors fight for their own causes,
For peace
For bread
For glory.
But one has loyalty to neither side.
A shadow
A snake
A Traitor.
A spy infiltrating their defenses.
She knows all their secrets, and yet she knows nothing—
For who doesn’t question the point of their existence?
She knows nothing of the future.
Why try? You find nothing by searching the murky waters of destiny.
And nothing is what she cares about.
She leads a lonely life.
A mercenary
A thief
A Snitch.
The **** of existence.
But it’s an interesting life.
At least for the time being.
Apr 28, 2010
Apr 28, 2010 at 3:27 PM UTC
Night sky over Paris, doesn't speak starry love tonight
intimate soul, maker of my spirit's whole,
Paris would love to hold close to it's broad heart,
didn't we elope through the Metro tunnel
of experiences,then I made you wear my coat
to protect you from winter cold, hid you
in the cozy interior of my memory well lit,
where you wait on a hope, unsuspecting
losing all sense of time.Still at Arc de Triomphe ,
I wait for the train that never comes, I suspect
you are a prisoner, in the urban jungle of La Defense
beyond the lonely whiteness of Grande Arche
time the marauder comes in without knocking,
he must have took you away, none will know when
the tunnel of our experiences, once we knew are bare
I'll be going alone soon in a dark train to nowhere
where are you, where are you, my voice chokes and fail
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 7:13 AM UTC
An inkling of something from nothing has broken free and come unhinged.
I doubt we have stood in line so long just to turn around and come back later.
Who new blue Shew?!?
What's a masked Marauder look like peeking outside her shadows, twinkling like timed Christmas tree lights on an Eve with no presence?
I don't care for 20/20 in a life with no Zen on a scale without balance ranking 5 out of 10.
"Go back to the front!!", scream ten Stone men.
Who new blue Shew?!?
"...just what, why and when??"
black Crow down, caws the cackle of Raven.
I'm sick of being broken
...let me come unhinged.
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 11:52 AM UTC
Standing here in the present of peers is "love"
The word
the knife
the fool
the deceiver
A tyrant filled to the brim with good intentions
Only to leave confusion and chaos in it's wake
The accused pleads no wrongdoings
But evidence proves otherwise
The dying heart
The unhearing ear
The voiceless pain
The witnesses to the marauder that disguises itself within a word
Here stands "love"
Charged with extortion
Robbery
Vandalism
Assault
Crimes of passion
But crimes nonetheless
Claiming it's victims with a poison in the thorns of a rose
The shiv made from a pen
Slicing through their better judgement and sanity
Here stands "love"
Barely containable
Roaring, foaming at the mouth
A twisted creature unrecognizable behind it's mask
A mask of a word that abounded in wonder and grace
That was ripped from it's seams in a world of horrors
Here stands "love"
We the jury find the defendant....
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 9:29 AM UTC
Vaguely I recalled
something crawling,
clawing its way into
the bed from the bottom
end.
I thought I was dreaming,
until it worked its way
up beside me.
I must have thought
it to be one of the
cats except they
were all dead.
In the morning
I awakened to something
scratching at my shoulder.
I slowly peeled back the
comforter to discover
a small sleeping possum
enjoying the warmth
of my bed.
My blood curdling scream
ushered him out of the room,
and yes, they can move
quickly.
Disappearing into another
of the bedrooms,
he could not be located.
Left with my fear, the indelible
sight of a long grey naked tail
and the inability to locate
the marauder,
I removed a pistol from the
safe, closed the door,
and went back to bed.
The next day after a fruitless search,
one have a heart trap was purchased,
bated with tuna fish.
In the morning, 2 am, wham;
one possum secured in cage.
Come daybreak a fussy but
unharmed possum was released
far from the house. I felt like
an SPCA chairperson. After all,
even possums deserve a second
chance.
-James C. Allen
Jan 11, 2017
Jan 11, 2017 at 10:20 PM UTC
It could possibly be magnetic
Something in the caligraphy of my actions
I cannot control
When the wind blows
I follow
If the word had not been abandoned
I would swear this was perfection
My marauder
My undoing
Speckles of tranquility settle
At the bottom of my subconscious
Like sediments in a lake
Slowly it thickens
Slowly I am no longer the fraud
Now I open my eyes into miles of sand
Looking to the sun with eyes closed
An insect sheds its skin so delicately
That he appears a ghost
And if blue were blue
I would already be gone
The twisting kaleidoscope of colour
Confused for one shade
Again the corners turn in
Becoming a cocoon
Mar 4, 2012
Mar 4, 2012 at 5:43 PM UTC
Summer days are past and gone,
And colder days now hurry on.
The lily draws her tender bloom
deep into the cloudy gloom, and
soft mists risen in the night,
turn to frost at dawns first light.
In the margins of the pond
The ice holds fast the frozen frond,
and under hill the mole curls tight,
safe and warm throughout the night,
pink paws, pink nose, a velvet coat,
all safely hidden from the stoat!
The swans, clothed in their purest white
glide, like ghosts in black of night
as safely on the lake they sleep,
while the coot and moorhen peep
in their dark and sombre suits,
from the tangled willow roots.
The fox that cunning red marauder
creeps stealthily along the border,
as the weakling winter sun
Announces a new day begun.
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 9:37 AM UTC
Staring at the minute hand,
Waiting for her drowsy marauder
A Roland for an Oliver
To wake in melting ice
Armless, legless,
A looming ellipsis
Echoes and slurs his howls; his speech
Doubts a towel's in reach
Hand-trembling certainty the air's too cold
She agrees simultaneously
Piling their shivering,
Knocking their knees together
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 2:01 AM UTC