"marauding" poems
The sparkling delight
of shining light.
So elusive,
how intrusive.
Marauding when not wanted
but hiding when its glory should be flaunted.
A glowing reflection of eras gone by,
once a god with a throne so high.
As the ancients crumbled,
all reverence tumbled.
Now feelings of insignificance
grow for such magnificence.
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 1:28 PM UTC
A storm,
a sandstorm,
a blinding sandstorm!
Grits of gold
inebriated with a haunted hurricane
danced with a fiendish fervour
in its search for identity.
Glare of gold blinds,
grip of greed delirates.
Like a marauding butcher,
slivers of gold
gouged out your saneness.
You danced
like a possessed,
with the yellow glister
holding your hand to the funeral pyre of your created destiny.
Oct 21, 2018
Oct 21, 2018 at 12:27 PM UTC
Women bent over in a circle
A quilt is being born
Created with precision
of structure, harmony
Geometrically perfect
wedding band,log cabin.
The men are far away
fishing, hunting bisons
A dying fire, logs glowing
Icy winds wisttle under the door
back out through the chimney flue
Strong women, used to dangers
hunger, incertitude
marauding Indians
hidding out in the woods
Tighten up your circle
warm up your fingers
the quilt must be ready
For the new bride of spring
Colette Anne Naegle
copyrights 2009
Mar 1, 2012
Mar 1, 2012 at 2:36 AM UTC
Save My Soul, (But First), Rub My Feet
thus a poem auditorialy conceived,
but!
the sexuality of the deceiving dualities,
irritates erogenous, exogenous perceptiveties,
plethora of intensifying variables, a not-serious,
harmless remark yet bring us to myriad of
marauding reversals, add-venturing into harm’s way…
much to discuss, but this
topic bettered by much
trading of traditional bantering
brevity bettering our wordless battering
insinuating, sensational signals bring
us backwards & forwards
to an exploratorium of wide boulevards
back to new unfamiliar venues,
narrowing alleyways & places we were before,
places before we were before where,
no unnecessary commas to separate,
distingué, distinct
tween the instinct of old and new,
an uncommon commonality experiential revisionism
now I understand what you said to me,
a tenderizing of
the sole synapses directing
the brain, the old ooh ‘s, aah’s
reigniting what what lay dormant,
at long last,
by opening doors to alternations,
ven diagram of digressing yet intersecting
old & new pathways,
from the souls of her feet,
to, too, two,
we become diamond
on souls of our heat
May 30, 2023
May 30, 2023 at 4:50 PM UTC
A tiny seed once tarried in stoic stillness
treasuring in its womb
an embryo with cosmic imprint on its soul...
and the tiny seed hibernated to a mystical trail!
Frosty squalls, summer torments, marauding insects –
all came in a cavalcade!
It dreamt the mighty tree
slumbering in the core of its being,
arching over the earth,
spreading its majesty for every eye to behold!
It yearned for the calming lullaby of the rain,
for the burning kiss of the raindrops
to fire its soul,
to caress to fullness the dormant life in its gravid womb.
In silence, it gazed heavenward –
and lo, an intense raindrop tugged its heartstrings
to a melodic ecstasy
releasing the music of the seedling
from its womblike soul!
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 3:39 AM UTC
1205
Immortal is an ample word
When what we need is by
But when it leaves us for a time
’Tis a necessity.
Of Heaven above the firmest proof
We fundamental know
Except for its marauding Hand
It had been Heaven below.
2.6k
My use of personal pronouns
Puts me in my poem;
I can roll a rock with Sisyphus,
Be in a ceiling flame in Rome.
I can bring you back to life,
Sharing tales and tea;
Sitting there before my fire,
For all eternity.
I go marauding with Attila,
Walk with Neil Armstrong,
Fly high with Amelia,
Be a Beatle with my song.
My pronouns give me presence
In my lover's residence;
I'm just a specter she can't see;
A spirit roaming outside of me.
I can jot an I with you,
I could pen an our;
But that's just ink on my notebook,
Not as sweet as sour.
I can use my pronouns
To put you in my verse;
And then I lay my pen down,
I'm cursed, but none the worse.
You're just poetry to me.
Dec 29, 2018
Dec 29, 2018 at 11:38 AM UTC
Black Wolf is no pale sheep
He hunts on his own and chooses who he meets
He has no family nor friends to share
They nurtured him and turned death at Frozen Lake
The ice was too thin for it not to brake
Black Wolf stands out
He has no control of how it come out
Not because he has the gift of the growl
Or the raunchy moan of an infamous howl
Black Wolf against the snow white sharp he is
A brilliant beacon marauding over mountain caps
Any lady or foe knows no way to know
How or why he became so black against the snow
Black Wolf respects the old
The tender the wise
But spots the fool and the teenager trying ever so hard to be cool
Black Wolf has no pack
He's not one for looking back
He seeks no attention
But knows where he came from
A wolf mother wise and tender
Black Wolf died in his sleep
In a blizzard that berried him ten feet deep
No funeral was felt nor body skinned for pelt
Just the drift of the snow
As his body let him go
And the call from afar said "come, its time for you to go"
Aug 13, 2015
Aug 13, 2015 at 2:03 PM UTC
Your mind is an abyss sated with emptiness,spore of an ink-jet,
the heart is erupting with repugnant repulsiveness.
Your conscience ravage by your impulsive act.
You indulge in savagery shackled by misery creativity is a mystery .
You diverged from an honest life and now you're perjuring in art you dark-prowlers.
Converged with parasites marauding, Proud-Writers.
Cursed with uncertainty you're embracing lies, in the realm of thieves there's a decaying crown.
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 4:41 AM UTC
she is definitely displeased profoundly disappointed in her latest literary efforts she dreams aches to create deeper discourse higher insight more thoughtful philosophical inquiries about life’s challenges beauty a better world overpowering love inspiration instead she writes paperback television trash stupid inadequate answers to solemn questions she wonders if she is too scratched dented to find love her ******* are definitely changing she is deeply disturbed not ready for menopause too young for menopause she wants to remain a fertile woman with smooth skin wet ******
2
her neighbor Leslie awoke to horrible morning Leslie’s 6 chickens were assaulted overnight precious Mabel dragged off feathers everywhere trail down the street other hens cowering slumped together with wilted necks 3 of them with puncture wounds Leslie carried them one by one inside washed their wounds hugged them cried who did this terrible act a neglected abusive neighborhood cat or some desert predator why didn’t Leslie wake to sounds of savage marauding now this creature knows hen’s whereabouts when will it return for more massacre what modifications need to be enforced to ensure their coup before nightfall
3
she wants to remain a hen keep producing eggs does not want is not ready to enter the next **** stage of this **** existence it was fun being pretty for men inspiring them to say do wacky things she wants to remain a hen she is definitely displeased profoundly disappointed in her latest literary efforts “tucson square dance” (self-referential) ****** bit about Americans came through here last night in “tucson 3-step” ****** perhaps the pinot noir lowered her standards everything is becoming nothing she cannot sleep tosses turns thrashes sheets in humid heat of her lonesome bed is she is too scratched dented to find love worries for Leslie
4
tomorrow is another day they say the rain will come last year’s monsoon never came the baking sun smothered her garden died one by one sleepless she will miss tomorrow’s pilates class the infrequent delightful breakfast afterwards she dreams aches of deeper discourse higher insight more thoughtful philosophical inquiries about life’s challenges beauty a better world overpowering love inspiration she crossed the line tonight her ******* are definitely changing
Jul 16, 2010
Jul 16, 2010 at 8:51 AM UTC
Dust to dust...makes tangible the blondish
breakdown of sun.
The choreography of neutered marauding...
ever amicable to rondure of skull.
The seeping pull of an ever foreign wind...
dust to dust.
Jun 25, 2012
Jun 25, 2012 at 12:15 AM UTC
Our Father
Woe! to these demonic determined downtrodden deceivers,
Woe! Oh Thine merciless mendicants of misery and maleficent mendacity
Woe! Oh common corrupt conniving cunning calumnious crusaders of crucifixion...
scurrilous screeds scribbling sorrows
The Lord will sharpen thou pencils...
Thou pocket protectors whilst melt into thine *******
Thou spectacles opaque and permanently smudged...with other assorted
myriad miseries
Thou mittens will be smitten with interminable degeneracy...
Oh languid leaders of licentious lubricious larceny..
Oh craving calculating copious concupiscent calumnious falsifiers...
Oh maudlin mocking manipulators, multitudinous marauding machinations
**Thy God is an angry God
a vengeful God
a jealous God**
Oh **** pots and gall! Oh sordid ****** insalubrious denizens of depraved degeneracy
Take heed thou names mightn't appear in the almighty book of life when judgement deigns an
opprobrious order of objurgation
terrible tragic tempestous tribulations of treachery
Oh Woe! Alas!
They are fallacious febrile fabricators, fallen , fragmented flawed fugacious furtive falsifiers!!
scalawags and rapscallions..rascals of ribaldry..forlorn fallen away backslidden recalcitrants…
Oh misguided miserable miscreants, maladies and agitation be thy lot!
This rant has been brought to you by:
The Most High and Holy Priest of the Ignoble Church of Alliteration & Utter Skepticisim
Aug 8, 2013
Aug 8, 2013 at 5:54 PM UTC
I am a criminal,
So you and the papers say.
They would put me away
For countless nights and days.
Tucked away "safe" in jail,
All for the choice of herbs I inhale.
That they would only have their way...
Yet I am no marauding mobster,
No gangster for hire.
I smoke in the evenings
When daylight is fleeting
And withdraw to my rooms to retire.
I am no plundering pirate
Pillaging your private property.
I go about my day,
As right as I may,
You will find no evil protégée.
I am spoken in the same breath
As delinquents and undesirables.
The infamously unfavourable,
Mire on our tireless society.
Well I am tired now,
Fatigued.
I've grown weary of living
In your narrow minded
Make believe.
Yet I leave you be.
Keep to mine and own.
It is you who lights the torches
From high deluded throne.
It is you who crafted and rounded
That perfect stone,
Hurled with such indiscrimination
Always many, never alone.
Each night now I wonder,
When I cross that imaginary line.
Such fools we've been,
The waste obscene,
Who really commits the crime?
Jan 8, 2013
Jan 8, 2013 at 8:01 PM UTC
I took a trip down the ecstatic abyss of Amoria
Through narrow crooked bylanes and juniper dumpsters
Peering through moments of insipid laughter
Prime pranksters, nerdsters and gooseberry gangsters
Languishing through marauding beauracratic rituals
Peering through unexpected ideals and benign gestures
Then out in this rugged terrain lay the bear with cold feet
Eyes like blessed blue whales and timid water hyacinth
Narrow corridors of limbs endowed with firm yet hollow muscles
Tuberculosis and octopus gunk lay smeared in every nostril
"Ah! Nauseating yet divine!" said the knight to the pitiful jester
Rowan Moses
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 10:51 PM UTC
**** Decency! I want to live as an animal, marauding the savanna.
To shade beneath the acacia and find excited peace only when and where the shadows hide.
To feed from the tawny grasslands and rest in the hollows of concentric sienna and obsidian.
To procure the lay of the land through deliberate exploration.
To find solace in the peach hillsides that languidly lean into vermillion valleys.
To discover that there is no edge of the world, only beautiful quirks and catenaries where the beginning is the end.
To drink from time, the cool blue stream it is, and truly taste the flux of kinetic molecules.
To prey on moments and capture them with a swift strike of the paw of perception.
To roam.
To be.
Jul 23, 2012
Jul 23, 2012 at 3:48 PM UTC
"Death's gaze ever present on it's tentacles
A weight of power unformidable
Crashing down upon its victims"
Beware the Kraken! A monster of seas
The one sung about in many shanties
Marauding, ripping, and crushing its victims
This a myth by which the crew schisms
But the unsteady seas beneath the hull
Bubbling and boiling, the ocean calls
Unleashing from the bowels of the deep
A beast of lost worlds, oceans it reaps
The Kraken, awaken, outstretches it limbs
The skies are blackened, the heavens dim
With tyrannical force he unfurls his power
The mast snaps, wood shards and splinters shower
Fearful men aboard are pulled to a watery grave
Oceanic law, for this crew of knaves
The last aboard the teetering deck
A captain standing tall within the wreck
Howling at the beast below
Again tentacles high above the sea grow
Dragging the wreckage into the water
Appeasing the beast, the great destroyer
May 10, 2010
May 10, 2010 at 8:46 AM UTC
An army of ants, black, brown, red and white, in disciplined columns,
each one no less than any other,armed to the teeth, ready to ****
on their marauding march,find this giant, not a day too long ago was
too fierce as a man, whose reign of terror was most feared, lying still,
as if all those deeds were incidental,and he in no way is to be blamed.
They are equanimous, the ants, next wave, this is no more than just debris, this relic from the past, for them, something to be dealt with,
the army of disciplined ants, as per their manual, meticulously inspect,
whether the body has some strength left somewhere in the system,
to pull together rise, overcome the fatigue of a life full of misdeeds
not nice to remember, counted all the same as glory by sycophants.
They want to finish the work fast, fearing the return of the nightmare,
busily they went on doing what they are good at,they had their brief,
from the command center ,to clear up the debris from the battle front,
The last of the ants leaving the gnawed white bones, under moonlight,
writes the epitaph on sand,with it's spindly legs,thus:"This fort too fell"
Oct 4, 2015
Oct 4, 2015 at 9:29 AM UTC
Of terrible storms that broke through the town
Strangling, uprooting trees, slicing away
Homes, a gurgling pulsating fury of air and rain
That lasted four days. Unremitting,
It brought huge waves in its wake
From the tormented sea. All along the assaulted
Coast people choked and drowned,
Their corpses tipped
Onto beaches huddled between ravaged furniture
And drying plastic shopping bags,
Swollen limbs nibbled at by fish and *****
And scattered throughout the streets
Picked at by dogs,
A feast that set them up
For the coming cold weather. Fleeing birds
Squalling overhead in clamorous flocks, plucked
From the sky and shattered on rocks;
The cats had a field day until
Becoming engulfed too in marauding waves
Deluging the land. Foxes screamed from the hopeless
Shelter of water saturated dens;
Only jagged ruins remained,
Futile gestures to a once-only god.
Towns inland were wrecked by the hurricane bursts
And all fell silent as the storm
Fled like a Viking raider back into the sea, dragging its
Spoils.
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 5:31 AM UTC
Cloudless confusion blows through the dead mind's sky
All eyes envying the ever nearing end of time.
This constantly reccuring thread.
This secret sentence meant to reinvent this magic.
It is a morbid mirage.
Murdered marriage
A massacre, unmentionable.
Mesmerizing sobriety,
Majestically marauding science.
Mindless moon born madness.
Inner sinner-inner sanctum.
Sheltering some malevolent Mysterium.
This thoughtless thirst for sanctity.
The shapeless shadow wisps which whisper.
Shock of spewing blood against a backdrop of white.
A keenly edged knife ********** grins into milky skin stretched tight.
The shifty sorrow of quick fading light
Deep down dig of fright
Straining: fighting with the last vestiges vanquished
The swallow of sentience, this last candle scarcely alight.
Burial romance.
This slow turned page.
Slow revelation of cumulative age.
Empty vessel volition withering onstage.
Don't weep this ****** burned
This solace we've earned
Good sense long past spurned.
Sadistic disaster our honey and sugar.
Outlined by the end
The smile of evil men.
Sad string stung, star struck spirit spun.
The voice of Us long undone.
Screaming chorus Kingdom come.
Seance chorus all wanting some.
This cracked Kingdom collapses
Each moment which passes
One last squandered synapse and then all falls quiet... at long last.
My lunar goddess
Lunatic
******
Murderess that got it
Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 8:51 AM UTC
(Dedicated to Eric Onyebuchi Jibero)
What an excruciating blow
You have dealt me!
A brute's uppercut offloaded
A smashing hit delivered
Like a monstrous boxer
Desirous of fame
With an amateur to tame
At this one bout too many
Wherein you have hit me below
The belt as a sadist deriving joy
From my anguish
And relish
From my enormous loss
Oh mower,
Nay hewer,
Can't you feel anything?
Can't you see?
Can't you reason for a while
With your prey?
Can't you pause to ponder
Just for a brief moment
So you can take a good decision
Choosing the right tree to fell
Instead of bringing down a mere
Sapling with your obedient saw?
Why deal sweeping blow
On a mere rookie?
Can't you distinguish
Between the ripe and the unripe?
Between the hen and the chick?
But hawks like you can pick
Meat amidst bones as Moses
In a basket amidst bulrushes
Of Nile to spare from Pharaoh's
Infant-eating sword
And in wisdom did you wait
Patiently to visit Methuselah
At the zenith of hoary hair
Master of double standards
Eyes gorged
Conscience seared
Heart cold like frozen chicken
******* dry and drooping
Like a hag's
A ruthless scorpion
That stings even babes
Rampaging ravager
Notorious brigand
Marauding machinery
Eliminating without scruple
Whoever you choose
Whose hireling are you?
God's or Satan's
Or both?
A blank cheque you flaunt
To cash as you wish
But can't you condescend to a negotiating
Table when a mere sapling is marked
For a cutting down?
Being a professional boxer
Long in this senseless trade
You should have seen the heap
Of pain you would leave
In my heart by this cruel blow
Against a budding amateur whom
You have served voracious earth
Whose stomach is a leaking tank.
Nov 2, 2010
Nov 2, 2010 at 5:22 AM UTC
Why is it so, Oh why is it so
That the owners of capital
Inevitably grow
To be possessors of everything
Strategically placed,
Solidly, tangibly
Gunmetal faced?
Owners of newspapers
Head of TV,
Masters of radio
Commercial and free.
Dispensers of policy
Spreaders of gloss,
Keep movers informed
Keep fools at a loss.
Like a puppeteer General
Manipulate strings
Of artillery thunder
And stratosphere wings.
Subliminal ownership
Military wise
Guarantees power
And fortifies ties.
Holding the cards
In Congressional spheres
Ensures positive influence
To leadership ears.
Holding sway
In the ship of state
Commands control
Of those who rate.
Power to publish,
Power to spin,
Manipulative power
To politically win.
Power to generate
Mountains of wealth,
Marauding powers
Of infinite stealth.
Solidly, tangibly
Gunmetal faced,
Owners of capital
Strategically placed.
Controllers of influence
Puller of strings,
Powerful Anchors
...Societal Kings.
Marshalg
@theGate
Mangere Bridge
23 March 2009
Apr 29, 2010
Apr 29, 2010 at 12:53 AM UTC
I'm one of billions out there hanging tough,
I've lived, loved in rain and wind blowing by,
So many fell to ground and kissed the rough.
But steadfast on the rattling stem am I.
Petals that shines on warm of day unfurled.
They hurl their heads to glorious sunlight;
And trees heavenly bounties fuelled
Marauding pests to carnage in moonlight.
Though crumpled by diseases every side;
Yet flowers blooming yielding fruits again.
Youths green to ripening men, time and tide
Of fortunes of life and death remains.
On stem I'll forever not hold, I'll fall;
My flesh to soil in darkest night of all.
Apr 15, 2018
Apr 15, 2018 at 8:46 PM UTC
Has arrived.
Silent rows stand breathless,
Sweating in the dense heat,
Of August.
Blackbirds do not yet circle;
The sheaves are still too young,
Kernels burgeoning sweetness,
Hiding from the ravagers
Soon to come.
The tall field, burdened in the heat
Broods over tassels brown,
Ripens corn beneath a yellow sun,
Waits the pickers' marauding hands,
The tractor-roar of silage foragers,
And relentless tearing of plows.
Aug 16, 2015
Aug 16, 2015 at 2:30 PM UTC
this marauding dark.
a bleak behemoth ---
the head of the chimera.
integer by
blind integer,
life's
absolute emptiness.
a sidereal zero.
caught in the web
of a relentless
tarantula.
this
dead end
or this ***** in
the armor.
life's what you make it.
i make it like this:
intractable like a fiend,
these words unsheathe like
rusting swords in old scabbards.
i astonish death with smallness.
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 10:54 AM UTC
If you think it will stop
Don’t
Hold on to the railing
Jump
Over the edge
Onto the sidewalk
Separated from streets
Marauding, rubber tires pummel
Surveying alleyways neglected and
Trash cans brimming with disregard
It’s lonely here, as if each pebble were a
Reveler
Ambivalent toward you
Unkempt and stiff
As if petrified and disavowed at once
Ignored, timid
Apathetic discharge
Free,
Fallen
From a short, raised canopy
Of steel
And wood and
Bones and
Dust
Chalk; dried on a lesson
Conveyed
Battalions, battalions
Marching
Avid miscreants
Scurrying
The masters couldn’t paint as fast
And each trifling matter
Marches past with
Battalions
Battalions
Battalions
And Stones
Nov 29, 2010
Nov 29, 2010 at 6:49 AM UTC