"mashes" poems
Human directives, veracities unverified
Bellies belching with anger, murderers
Udders dripping hate, foundling banters
Hunters striking the hungered, unfortunate
Glare sight to seek the truth, hold me lets sink
Tear motions and debates of inequality
My Dafur, the realm of the fur, demise
All armed in Sudan, the arid, a battlefield
Emergency alarms sirens from 2003
The indefinite complications and hunger
A land of the displaced, starving nomads
Hear me out in these non-dissolving conflicts
Guantanamo bay detention a prison vicious
A base for “war in terrorism”, reciprocal laws
Inhumane human interrogations persists
A breach, a revolt, the hunger riots devolve
Force-feeding, torturous measures applied
All undressed, humiliated, genitalia exposed
A Rwanda slain in divide and rule
Civil clashes, mashes, all trashed
Swaying war rapes, tapes, the raves
Machetes slashing necks and hands
A lust of power, a genocide slaughter
The Tutsi slewed and unsewn from a patch
Autocratic regime boring divisions
Territorial ethnic cleansing, a holocaust
The oppression of Jews, Romanis, Poles
Homosexuals, the disabled and mentally ill
Indifference pooled in pits and camps
The institutional social indoctrination
The honor and killing to expose shame
The violation and dishonor of moral fabric
For what is “good”, “bad”, fixated moral values
Buried waists and head, awaiting stones to hit
Confessional secrets of only what lays within
A torment watching witnesses, all dangling
Marxists calls ships to stow ashore
Masses kidnapped, confused in deceit
Invalid contracts awaits signatures
The white immigrants to be enslaved
All aboard, now abroad to revolve labor
Wage packages taken to pay for freedom
Humans bought and sold to be owned
Slaves yorked and counted as assets
Bounded to serve plantations and homes
A human, non human, a chattel, a slave
A debt ******* offended and *****
Untamed and made to obey a master
A falling global strings unturned
Tunes strumming hate, war and pain
Human trafficking, violence, inequality
Child abuse, civil conflicts, capitalists
Commercialism, zero hour contracts
For if we have no rights, I have none
For if we have no peace I have none
Jan 20, 2016
Jan 20, 2016 at 6:54 AM UTC
Vivacious, atrocious
Super capricious
Precocious and ferocious
Precious and gracious
Malicious and facetious
Long lashes
Gory gashes
Fiery slashes
Tunic mashes
Souls igneous
In the end, it’s all ashes, just ashes...
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 2:26 AM UTC
Pencil, chalk, charcoal and erasers
Walking hand in hand on a canvas
Stretched and condensed observations
Obstructions as concentration pins
A walk and talk in a dark museum
Stored birds, killed preys, stuffed game
Tall giraffe, the lion, lionized Victorian art
Quirky strokes of eccentric dashes mashes
Staring in glasses to capture emotions
Art resident mumble whilst erupting muscles
The ***** strikes to meet my ****** gaze
Slandered, pasted and matted with prejudice
Mouth flowing with filth like a sewage drain
Don’t we all come from holes, sticks and bones?
Don’t we all come in holes, sticks and bones?
A lost sight of an insight, a skin stratified
Misted and tainted with toned stinky ****
A pigmentation structured in perceptions
A plea to ****** stereotypical resolution
A streamline of vagaries, unsettle the gallery
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 5:38 PM UTC
Do you remember that night?
The night you died?
You ran to the sea
Almost unconscious.
Your body craved to be exposed
To the cold winter air.
You could almost hear
As your bones were trembling
Underneath your dry frosty skin.
The waves were calling you,
Beckoning you towards your future.
They stole your future.
As you were embraced by the water,
Your head was already filled
With nothing
But dread.
You almost fought for survival.
Submerged underneath,
The water was singing your name.
And you were dancing to the melody
That had you drowning.
And you were willing
To give it your last drop of air.
Your body
Was not yours to control.
It was already consumed
By the Sirens of the sea.
And your purple lips
Were singing
In sync with the Water Nymphs’ song.
And you were enjoying every second of it
For you have had enough
Of everything going wrong.
Your attempts
To go above water
Were more than plain hopeless,
For you had already soled your rightful place
In the world of the living.
Your skin was not yours anymore.
It was hardly even human flesh,
For it was blue like the sea.
You almost looked like a Nymph yourself.
Your teeth cracked
To the exposure of the winter air.
You were not welcomed above anymore,
You were to be endlessly in water.
Your whole naked body
Was chained
With invisible shackles,
Pulling you down,
Showing you mercilessly
Where you were now belonging.
Last attempt.
And the bottom cried your name,
Melting your fragile
Naked young body
In the icy depths.
Do you remember that night?
The night you died?
You ran to the sea
Almost alive.
And you seem to be pleased
With how the waves play
With your unsteady corps.
You seem fine
With the way they spin you around
Until you can’t understand anymore
Where is up
And where is down.
You don’t seem bothered
By the way the water
Mashes your head in the rocks.
You seem okay
With the sea draining your blood.
And you don’t seem to care
How the cold winter water
Takes your empty life.
Simply
You reached to Heaven.
And it reached to you.
You were endlessly searching
For something
More Than This.
And that consumed you.
Jan 18, 2017
Jan 18, 2017 at 3:53 PM UTC
Rolling skin shifts from side to side
This beating hit mashes
The backs of my knees so they are kissing spirits
The low beds here make you feel like a salmon
Caught in some fisherman’s net
Its obstructs your vision of the world
All you can classify from the passers by
Is the smell of their voyage
And the sand falling from their scalp muscles
The heat confuses your senses
Your insurrection causes you to plead for a truce
A plea not to be hearing German overtones in your own head
Where am I now in this weary plane crash?
Even the monsters make noises of bliss
The streets are filled with Technicolor tropics
2 joints for 8 dollars from homeless Anthony
A land of unbearable strangeness
Reality left us when the water fell
Completing an oasis of vibrancy and nutrition
The earth cracks beneath the roaming
Of infinite stray dogs and feral humans
Everything here has a tale
But you may not know it until it is wrapped around your inner thigh
A sixth sense of blasphemy
Forms a pit of fear in your stomach for whatever you left behind
Such creatures never meant to be seen caged between your very eyes
They grasp as if you were some ancient tree
Equally deserving of their devotion
I am just an eroded soldier
And this armor is really starting to eat away at the cause
One can not find zen in this confusion
But we will all float down that path eventually
Zen can wait for I would rather wade with the sinners in the pool of exoneration
Nov 30, 2010
Nov 30, 2010 at 9:15 AM UTC
Fresh Direct
Exit
I used to sleep
With pen and paper on my nighttime table.
Nowadays, my iPad tablet rests upon my chest,
Not only does it keep me warn,
It takes my poems from within, Fresh Direct,^
Edits, credits, and delivers them to your door,
While I'm still sleeping.
Which is why they come at all hours.
It is also why they call them,
Love's Labour's Lost saving devices.
Refill
My woman, my number one fan,
Grabs her pillow, mashes her face
Into my iPad warmed chest,
Without asking permission,
Thus fulfilling her mission critical.
Restoring the balance, refilling the tank
With high octane mystical, thru skin umbilical,
A first edition of the day blended mix named,
All's Well That Ends Well.
7:45 am
July 14th, 2013
Jul 14, 2013
Jul 14, 2013 at 9:21 AM UTC
Chewing and swallowing is a hassle.
I wish it weren't taboo to cut
open my stomach and insert the meal through the wound. Nothing would go to waste.
Mastication is unsightly. It rots your mind and teeth. It tears and mashes what you love into paste, leaving nothing but bones.
At least **** the marrow dry.
Would you eat something someone else spat out? You are food too. You are slathered in someone else's slime.
I try to slice away the mold that consumes him but the mold is all over. Even a little bit of mold on a treat like him is a sign that it's everywhere, that it's toxic, but I keep carving away, believing there is something that can be salvaged.
Dec 11, 2017
Dec 11, 2017 at 11:48 AM UTC
This reality, different from yours.
Sandpaper ice-cream cones sold
in engulfed, aflame stores.
This body, tense yet soft
tears underneath
the rub of rope.
My friend's feet swiped
a flailing chair,
And her neck did snap,
feces everywhere.
This sky, wrapped in saran wrap,
becomes pregnant when it rains,
the plastic weighed down by water,
slumps down the aquarium sky,
we slump down as it kisses us,
crushes us, mashes us, thrashes us.
- It all changes here,
from god to god,
from year to year -
Her hips lay like cursive,
pale, promising, pent up
like the shoulders of
an anxious angel.
Her hair a burnt brown,
wrapped around a whatever-count pillow,
like a L'Oréal snake, sleeping sullen,
drifting off into a designer dream,
unsure of this, unsure of me.
I see her as a child --
No, I see me as a child --
No, I see us as children.
This. This surreal feeling I get
when you're around me.
When the world is around me,
vibrating underneath my Toms.
Vibrating in my prescription bottle.
Vibrating between her legs, my ribs.
Between each page, so much is hidden:
my early swearing that my late love
is slowly draining.
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 4:34 PM UTC
762
The Whole of it came not at once—
’Twas ****** by degrees—
A Thrust—and then for Life a chance—
The Bliss to cauterize—
The Cat reprieves the Mouse
She eases from her teeth
Just long enough for Hope to tease—
Then mashes it to death—
’Tis Life’s award—to die—
Contenteder if once—
Than dying half—then rallying
For consciouser Eclipse—
1k
I want my heart to feel like the great Salt Lakes, reaching towards each other, constantly suspended in the moment just before contact. I want to build this anticipation, but my patience is shorter than your last haircut, when we sat by the river to discuss model trains.
I want my mind to feel like a hummingbird when it finally lands to rest on the red plastic device filled with sugar water outside my mother’s kitchen window, but I’m quite a ways from home now and have been for a while.
I want my stomach to feel like the tree roots, the red oaks, the ones that dwarf me and that I know would let me get my favorite kind of lost in their home, the kind we planned on visiting after graduation, but I am usually stuck in maple sap.
I want my mouth to taste like strawberries, ripened scarlet in the sun, the kind my tall friend’s mother mashes up with sour rhubarb for the perfect jam to last us through winter, but more often than not, my teeth are coffee-stained and my tongue tends to be too sharp for delicate berries.
I want my skin to feel like satin ribbons, the kind that tie little girl sashes before holy events and parties where they dance on their father’s toes for the first time, and find it perfectly marvelous, but I am covered in scratches and marks from building enormities.
I am a patchwork from the most meaningless scraps. I was a junkyard doll with mismatch buttons eyes and melted cardboard shoes. My head is a garbage heap left out too long, my eyes are scooping all of it up, and my dress is made of someone else’s throwaway linen. My aluminum can hands stretch out for anyone’s how-town while I think of shoestring revues and paper mache.
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 11:52 PM UTC
Trees loom in the shadows.
Forbidding and threatening.
It reeks of 3am.
The animals hush their cooing.
The cars drive a little slower.
The rain is a bit colder.
It pierces the skin.
Each drop an ice dagger.
The sounds all around.
Enormous in weight.
The silent screams out.
The shadows come out to play.
Monsters and demons
make homes in the hearts
of the lonely still awake.
Of the poet
who feels 3am
as a kindred spirit.
Who knows lonliness in the pits
of his stomach.
He swallows sadness
and mashes his pillow
fighting the urge
to just cradle it to his chest.
It reminds him of
the eternal her
The girl who loved nighttime
who craved the cool dew
of the sleeping grass
under her barefeet
as she waltzed under the moonlight
with owls hooting
their sweet lullaby.
She swayed and danced
light as feathers
and she always danced
in his mind.
And she always danced
in his mind.
Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 3:24 AM UTC
I dreamt of your fragil face tonight
The same skinny way it was when you were mine
Your grip on reality frightened me
You lost yourself in your calories
I hooked you up to your feeding machine
It wouldn't leave me alone, it wouldn't let me be
On and off it beeped and beeped
The alarm so high pitched, echoed, like your screaming
Nothing I did was good enough for you
Coffee was too difficult
Eggs was all I could do
I sang to you our song, chew, chew...
I am a bag of wind
Blowing meaningless sense into you
You dropped your cigarette, stepped, crushing, ashes
The same you did to me, throwing, mashes, crashes
I treated you like royalty
You deserved the best
On your death bed again
Varying on the wish that your small life would end
Why did you leave me?
When I needed you most
It was a tragic ending
I won't see you again
I listen to the sirens
File at my house
They remind me of your feeding tube
Why did you rip it out?
I'm hiding in my neighbors tree
I need some hope, don't find me please
Eventually, I could describe you as this tree
Never to be the same again, never to love me
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 2:47 PM UTC
Suddenly she wakes alert,
Her senses keen, she stares,
What does she see that I can't?
The tension raises hairs.
Focused, stealthy, she hunts the prey,
Staring, sniffing wide and vast,
She catches - mashes - the mouse to death,
O sweet this child of Bast.
May 1, 2017
May 1, 2017 at 3:06 AM UTC
Eyelids pinned back,
Lack of sleep I let
my arms keep track
Of the time.
As skin cells fold over,
I leave some on your collar
They used to be dashes, slashes,
Eye lashes and spicy mashes.
I watch you turn around
With an epiphany found:
There is no life span to your well wishes,
We are all just dead fishes.
Jan 3, 2014
Jan 3, 2014 at 3:34 PM UTC
A flying Leopard - roared for Love -
She stalks - hunts - the skies -
Catches - bird - between teeth -
How resplendently she flies -
Suddenly she rise - alert -
Her senses keen - she stares -
What does she see that I can't -
The tension raises hairs -
Focused - stealthy - she hunts the prey -
Staring - sniffing wide - vast -
She catches - mashes - the mouse to death -
O sweet this child of Bast -
Aug 3, 2017
Aug 3, 2017 at 10:05 PM UTC