"menacing" poems
A subtle panic like a slow death creeps, the anxiety within me, for here's where it sleeps.
Quietly loud enough to cover the sound, of the glassware you've thrown, now strewn all around.
Rocking all positive lullaby's to sleep, ensuring all menacing thoughts I'm to keep.
It's adept like the teen who's stayed out beyond curfew, sneaks in armed with oceans with which it will drown you.
All because of the lies that were said, went in through your ears and lived in your head.
The life you once had held aloft like a prize, you breathe your last breath and then close your eyes.
Poetry by Kaydee.
Dec 18, 2017
Dec 18, 2017 at 4:04 PM UTC
I slip under with a cry
and am lost to the depths,
sinking ever deeper
into the blue
as though bound by
ball and chain
What I pass on my way down
is not glittering schools
of fish
or the benevolent
sea turtle,
but a circling, snarling
mob of responsibilities,
a sight more menacing
than even
the most cadaverous
shark
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 10:04 PM UTC
A slow walk up Centennial
and I still can’t find the place
it's menacing cold, and muted
and the street sweeper and winter breeze
move the Turkish blend and dust pack
A novice mixed duet plays
Brahms on broken strings
the erhu and overcoat
veiling a blue heeler and sphinx
Maggianos is settled in the center block’s
luminance and seasonal drape
it's festive warmth bringing home Bedford Falls;
the flavour and character and social circles
Annie’s playing and the keeper's singing
(his word pool and slander
raising everyone in arms!)
the crowd chants and mayhem breaks
as crawlers and contemporaries
smash their steins
Dark alleys and dripping holes
hold a grim reminder of the pierced underside
paddies flutter and forge their words
with a broad manifesto
Night gardens come alive
(slowly sapping the respite)
hunched figures and ladies in lace
shuffle inside the big orange door
Oct 19, 2017
Oct 19, 2017 at 11:25 PM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected])
It is the 30th day of the months in Kenya
State and corporate capitalist have now paid their workers
Wages or salaries or stipends or emoluments all being remunerations
While the rural bourgeoisie and urban bourgeoisie have also paid ex-gratia
To relatives come over-aged workers who have declined retiring
For the fear of looming starvation if at all they go home, where they were born,
Nonetheless; proceed they receive will do nothing whatsoever
As it will be stifled by the monster of desperate consumerism;
So fat and gullible in this tiger of land in the region called Kenya;
The terror peddling rent, courtesy of ruthlessness of the landlord
Bills of electric power in their full monopolistic gear
Bills of water devoid of quality, indifferent dysentery monger
Wages for maid who keep on usurping the food of my child; milk
Bills for gas, all of it redolent of comprador bourgeoisie in fashion,
Hotel and bar bill - a surreptious one, as the bar girl only knows
Airtime and renewal, TV channels and other screen capitalistic ploys
Family trip to local resort in a feat of foolish consumerist venture,
Money to the old mother at home and, sometimes depraved but patient father
ARV’s money to my *** aids stricken sister at the village, my aunt also
Tuition fees for my son at the kindergarten, who goes to schools but learns nothing
fees balance which my wife has to pay at the tailor to ransom out her dress,
M-Pesa and M-Swari loan repayment, this only for Kenyan 30th dayers
They know the agony of dealing with Kenyan mega-capitalist safaricom ltd.
This consumerism and **** consumerism,
It is the menacing bane of the Kenyan poor
It is the avaricious tube which siphons back
The hard earned money from pockets of the poor
Back to despotic account of the pitiless world pigshotry.
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 9:35 AM UTC
There’s a menacing chill
on the air
this evening.
“Had I the wherewithal
I’d leave this place,”
I think to myself
as the first warning is issued
by that unfriendly cloud
hanging low and dark
over the mountain.
While once I thought that
the rain would fall with purpose,
I’ve come to understand
that floodwater has no manifesto
except to place the scumline as high as it can.
We can stack these sandbags tall
around our hearts
without regard for what’s on either side of the dam.
They’re only transient monuments to ineffectiveness anyway.
An assassin stands at the corner
wondering if I’ll ever leave my house
and its warmth.
I have news for him, though…
There’s nowhere to go, and
the weatherman thinks we’ll have a storm.
Jan 25, 2017
Jan 25, 2017 at 3:49 PM UTC
1716
Death is like the insect
Menacing the tree,
Competent to **** it,
But decoyed may be.
Bait it with the balsam,
Seek it with the saw,
Baffle, if it cost you
Everything you are.
Then, if it have burrowed
Out of reach of skill—
Wring the tree and leave it,
’Tis the vermin’s will.
6.9k
Selene.
By the sea, I have been staring,
at your bright colours change.
Erythematous, murderous intentions of
a disease disseminating
on your surface.
The slow, penetrating anguish
tearing the guts,
a one-sided, disdained,
newborn sadness,
I am welcoming in my arms.
On the operating theatre of life
white and now dead moths,
stillborn butterflies
inside the flesh removed,
drowned themselves in a pool of blood.
They, an absurd joy
that never stood a chance
inside this cyanide prison.
Portals of loaned,
disillusioned happiness closed.
The liquid that raced turbulently
through my vessels, drained on a half-filled
with tears palette.
With menacing, impasto knife-like strokes
on the body
Morpheus painted the shadow-covered moon
with memories that refuse to be forgotten
from purulent, open wounds.
'Those worlds you will (never) see.
The people you will (never) meet' he said.
Soul chemicals eroding
the behemoth sky,
as the paint dries out.
Ashes of my Dreams (Not) Achieved,
astral remains;
everything I silently kept inside.
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 11:31 PM UTC
ebola
condemned, invisible
frightening, menacing, terrifying
hope is seeing light in the darkness
hemorrhage
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 6:11 AM UTC
The sun had died down
but he remained.
Smoke filled his lungs,
his breathing was strained.
December had come,
with the wind, both menacing and cold
but he stood like an oak,
unwilling to fold.
His muscles moved like an overworked machine,
his mind was drifting
to the past;
his wife's warm welcome; his children's soft singing.
He continued his endeavour
till the early morn,
then returned home,
to be met with scorn.
Her face was red and her dress was stained.
He looked at her, her words filled his head,
''You don't appreciate what I do, not a word of thanks.''
He did, but he nodded and left them unsaid.
It was his turn to care for the kids,
get them dressed and ready for school.
He fell asleep this time,
his wife thought him a fool.
He filled the fridge, paid the bills.
He had endured,
to see their smiling faces
and their good health assured.
He didn't mind and he never complained
that no words of praise ever passed his ears,
they were his drive,
and his sole purpose was to ease their worries and fears.
Nov 16, 2012
Nov 16, 2012 at 2:45 PM UTC
Dark menacing clouds wander aimlessly in the sky.
The cuckoo sings a sweet melodious tune
in anticipation of the much-needed rain.
The whistling wild wind threatens
to drive away the poor rain.
The fronds of the coconut palms dance wildly
and the trunks oscillate in the fierce wind.
The peacock enters with a proud colorful display.
Farmers look up towards the sky with a prayer in their heart:
Dear Lord, let there be monsoon again.
Little children gather on the terraces of their houses
to enjoy the bliss and wetness of the first rain.
Women hurriedly collect dried clothes from the clothes’ lines.
Birds are utterly confused and don’t know where to fly.
The Sun and rain clouds play hide-and-seek.
A bolt of lightning is seen in the western sky.
Soon the rumbling thunder shatters
the serenity of the evening
as Heaven opens its gates
to pour out its soothing nectar
and we know…
monsoon is here again.
Gita Ashok
9/10/2010, 1:40 pm
Oct 9, 2010
Oct 9, 2010 at 12:22 AM UTC
But why did I **** him? Why? Why?
In the small, gilded room, near the stair?
My ears rack and throb with his cry,
And his eyes goggle under his hair,
As my fingers sink into the fair
White skin of his throat. It was I!
I killed him! My God! Don't you hear?
I shook him until his red tongue
Hung flapping out through the black, queer,
Swollen lines of his lips. And I clung
With my nails drawing blood, while I flung
The loose, heavy body in fear.
Fear lest he should still not be dead.
I was drunk with the lust of his life.
The blood-drops oozed slow from his head
And dabbled a chair. And our strife
Lasted one reeling second, his knife
Lay and winked in the lights overhead.
And the waltz from the ballroom I heard,
When I called him a low, sneaking cur.
And the wail of the violins stirred
My brute anger with visions of her.
As I throttled his windpipe, the purr
Of his breath with the waltz became blurred.
I have ridden ten miles through the dark,
With that music, an infernal din,
Pounding rhythmic inside me. Just Hark!
One! Two! Three! And my fingers sink in
To his flesh when the violins, thin
And straining with passion, grow stark.
One! Two! Three! Oh, the horror of sound!
While she danced I was crushing his throat.
He had tasted the joy of her, wound
Round her body, and I heard him gloat
On the favour. That instant I smote.
One! Two! Three! How the dancers swirl round!
He is here in the room, in my arm,
His limp body hangs on the spin
Of the waltz we are dancing, a swarm
Of blood-drops is hemming us in!
Round and round! One! Two! Three! And his sin
Is red like his tongue lolling warm.
One! Two! Three! And the drums are his knell.
He is heavy, his feet beat the floor
As I drag him about in the swell
Of the waltz. With a menacing roar,
The trumpets crash in through the door.
One! Two! Three! clangs his funeral bell.
One! Two! Three! In the chaos of space
Rolls the earth to the hideous glee
Of death! And so cramped is this place,
I stifle and pant. One! Two! Three!
Round and round! God! 'Tis he throttles me!
He has covered my mouth with his face!
And his blood has dripped into my heart!
And my heart beats and labours. One! Two!
Three! His dead limbs have coiled every part
Of my body in tentacles. Through
My ears the waltz jangles. Like glue
His dead body holds me athwart.
One! Two! Three! Give me air! Oh! My God!
One! Two! Three! I am drowning in slime!
One! Two! Three! And his corpse, like a clod,
Beats me into a jelly! The chime,
One! Two! Three! And his dead legs keep time.
Air! Give me air! Air! My God!
4.6k
They have now thronged brimful, all the barazas
In their elderly gear, in a move to cut off my thing,
The Maasai chiefs and elders have their fangs now,
More glowing in the crudeness of despotic culture,
Their foul circumcisers’ tools sharply menacing,
All focused on my ****** ******** the only joy of my nature,
They want to maliciously cut it off in their selfish solace
Minus mine consent the right of a young girl,
Chided by evils done in the name of culture,
Kwani? a maasai and culture who creates the other?
Can’t we create culture that is so darlingly to rights of girl?
Other than receding back to crookedness of un-gendered past
Denying I your posterity the rights to self worthiness,
Kindly I beg that you don’t cut of my ********
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 4:58 AM UTC
I cried upon my hawaiian departure
not tears of sorrow but tears of former and future joy
my tears trailed down my cheek like the Paheehee stream
before landing upon the ground like a soft hawaiian rain in spring
when my tears evaporated they formed a long flat cloud
in the shape of surfboard voyaging westward bound.
the cloud upon reaching the sea,
shape-shifted into a large volcano, vengful and menacing
with the torential downpour a sign of the volcanoe's erupting
The storm began to thicken The volcano spinning around it's core
like that of a fire dancers stick, scattering the tears evermore
when the storm cleared eight tears washed upon each hawaiian shore
wiating for me to surf upon my tears
Feb 4, 2013
Feb 4, 2013 at 2:43 AM UTC
365Nectar #42 Don't Be Judging Me
Mon. November 4, 2013 8:26 P.M.
Volcanic velvet voices
vibrate the night
like thunder in the distance.
Booming Bassmen
blaze and burn
like ****** fire on a dark corner
in the dingiest part
of a rumbling city that never sleeps.
Sensual saxophones shudder
singing prayers of saints and sinners
while hot horns hypnotize
in perfect high compression swirls
tithing in the holy temple
of Jazzy Blues.
An alluring flutter
of silken harmonies.
A spine tingling spike
of don't be judging me jazz filled blues.
Scorching strings splinter
melancholy prison walls.
Stomping out a seismic sizzle
tempermental tones of
tickling trumpets
torch the menacing hurricanes of life
with warm rushes of excitement.
A spine tingling spike
of don't be judging me jazz filled blues.
"Take Me" Vixens tantalize
tucked up crowds
with thrilling tongue lashes
of silken harmonies.
A spine tingling spike
of don't be judging me jazz filled blues.
Full flaring flutes
gently ****** with inquisitive fingers
and stir a groan
like a religious ritual.
A playful teasing
floating enticingly
like a sly fox.
Such a succulent piercing
of moonstruck madness
pulsing mercilessly
leaving fields of fire
of a funky boogie menace
for a wild child.
An alluring flutter
of silken harmonies.
A spine tingling spike
of don't be judging me jazz filled blues.
Copyright ©2013 Don't Be Judging Me
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 11:52 AM UTC
No strings attatched
They loudly proclaim
As I feel a subtle tug.
This way, that way,
Upwards, down:
A guiding force
So small, so menacing.
No strings attached
They tenderly whisper
So close to my ear.
Do this, play that,
Lie here, forget:
My tiny concious
Easily crushed, easily displaced.
No strings attached
They persistently hiss
As I back away.
But why, what if,
How come, explain:
Life is a stage
So who is the puppeteer?
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 3:51 AM UTC
Floating
Laughing
Smoking
Singing
Flying
Drying
And hopping in again
Something sharp touches your skin
It burns
A thousand needles
Of a jellyfish sting
It has a hold of your ankle
And is pulling you downstream
You look down
It's menacing
It's laughing now
And floating
Singing
It's quite demeaning
You fight and fight
But its grip is tight
It pulls you underneath the surface
As the trees around you
Become a world without you
What is that sparkle?
It's golden, silver, bronze
You see domes and towers
Fruitstands and flowers
You quiver
The jellyfish loosens his grip
As you wipe the blood off your lip
Who would have thought
The key to Atlantis
Was in a jellyfish's grasp
Either that or this jellyfish's secretions
Were super hallucinogenic
Either way
This is cool
*wait, how do they even have a swimming pool underwater
and functioning toilets
fish don't even have thumbs
i really don't understand
****
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 3:45 PM UTC
Out of darkness, crept the little white mouse,
whose beady eyes did squint in the sunlight.
Across the blood red savannah did it crawl,
only to stop in the presence of a giant shadow.
With fear flowing through its little red heart,
it gazed up at the frame of the mighty elephant.
None was more feared than the mighty elephant,
none feared it more than the little white mouse,
who was smaller than the elephant’s own heart.
It stood tall and proud under the blistering sunlight,
casting across the savannah its menacing shadow,
the sun’s eternal gaze forcing the dark to crawl.
Petrified, it could no longer find the will to crawl,
peering up in fear at the large grey elephant,
who was content to simply cast its large shadow,
the dense dark swallowing the little white mouse,
darkness so dense it could withstand the sunlight.
Nothing pounded faster than the mouse’s heart.
Loud and heavy was the elephant’s heart,
its design meant that it had no need to crawl,
just as it soaked in all of the leftover sunlight.
There was nothing to fear, not for the elephant.
That was when its grey eyes looked at the mouse,
a little white mouse that was standing in its shadow.
It was so small, like it was swimming in its shadow,
yet for some strange reason it sent fear through its heart,
nothing else filled it with more dread that the mouse,
it suddenly wanted to fall to the savannah floor and crawl
away from such a beast that would terrify an elephant,
a beast that cannot be touched even by the sunlight.
The elephant stood frozen, cold as ice, even in the sunlight.
Beady eyes stared up as it floated amongst its shadow,
every twitch of its nose sent fear through the elephant,
every blink caused absolute terror to enter its heart.
How could this be? It was so small and reduced to a crawl,
yet the mighty elephant was terrified of the little mouse.
The elephant shrieks, and flees into the sunlight.
The mouse scuttles forward, listening to its beating heart.
No need to crawl, just to cast a shadow.
Mar 7, 2012
Mar 7, 2012 at 9:15 AM UTC
Red herrings tend to be trustworthy,
But lead us astray.
Orange orangutans are trustworthy:
If it looks menacing, it is;
If it grunts, it's meaningful;
If it moves, it's unpredictable.
In captivity they're studied
As evolutionary wonders,
But it's still an orange orangutan,
Pounding his chest.
Feb 1, 2017
Feb 1, 2017 at 7:20 PM UTC
Eyes are open, am I blind
do my arms not work, far they cannot extend
thump, thump
what am I touching, in what am I encased
what an odd sound, like rainfall but more menacing
what is that sound
I hear it above
starting to feel afraid, a dream this must be
air is growing thin, claustrophobia sets in
my nails begin to claw at whatever this force field may be
trapping me in my worst nightmare
bloodied, sore to no avail the trap holds well
hysteria next, screams, wails, laments
please God let me wake up
hours later, numb, deadened my empty eyes stare at the dark tomb
acceptance sets in with the realization
I've been buried alive
Dec 30, 2012
Dec 30, 2012 at 10:53 AM UTC
I shatter on the floor in many pieces;
My jagged edges sharp and menacing.
Putting me back together takes sweat, blood and patience,
but I am forever altered.
From afar I look complete,
Come closer and you can see that I'm held together
only by sheer determination.
Time will allow the painful betrayals to fade
until I'm brave enough to try again.
However, I tip-toe carefully, always hesitating.
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 10:03 PM UTC
He is hot and ***** and menacing
like the naked flame of sexuality
But ah, the girl has cravings
He is dangerous and a threat, maybe
A few ***** dreams to fulfill
But ah, the girl played with him
He might be filthy, in fact
A love affair so low, so black
like Lo and Humbert on the car
She is confused but not abused
Very different things, these two
Try to make her a victim
she refused
She is fatherless
She killed him before he could **** her
So Daddy comes to save the day
She has a hole in her heart
He drinks from her fountain
of youth, of blood
And they go around, they dream on
Sad sad dream by wire
Giving both of them life
Her parents would choke and so would
his wife
She didn't die and he didn't ****
They simply carried on with their lives.
Now they chat on Signal like old friends
with a past to hide, both of them
Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 2:49 PM UTC
The dichotomy of purgatory is sprinkled with the delights and disciplines of a fretful uncertainty and steam locomotives can sound menacing when their pistons seek to establish torque on those rails of pursued destination with mesmerizing force.
I know that time is like a fondling excitement, where constellations of perceived energy fields become intellectually categorized into mechanical parts of a metaphysical ******
Universal parameters of death may generate mischievous laughter, which resound throughout the silent galaxies of cosmological meadows.
I have to say that geometrical co-ordinates automatically invoke thoughts of plain paper and hot chocolate – small figments of homosapien pastures where grazing is not a realistic occurrence.
As we perceive the eternal impressions of epistemological nihilism, let us play the game of religious patience on this checkered board of architectural bliss.
Dec 4, 2013
Dec 4, 2013 at 10:46 PM UTC
But in the end
what unites us is not
the menacing sins of the past
but the braving hope
for the future
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 1:23 AM UTC
Mary Rose, the mighty sailing sea vessel glided majestically across the waves
She had robustly and bravely sailed the briny waves for many a night and day
With the ocean's heaving gusting squalls blowing off proud stern and mast
Sailing victorious and proud - her billowing white sails were cast
The calm, liquid waters of the sea flowed quietly purple for now-
Unaware of the coming storm that would beat furious against her bow
Her alabaster sails whipped violent and furious in the oncoming storm
Impending doom was yelling its cries while the ****** went unwarned
Down below, inside their cabins the ****** peacefully slept
Wrapped in the secure watch that their gallant captain kept
The oceans black, boiling waves beat savage against starboard and port
As Captain Noe standing fearless - at first quake, did not the storm report
The old wooden beams of the Mary Rose began to restlessly moan and creak
While the blackened roaring, rolling waves beat furious against her feet
Her alabaster sails rose proud- beating mighty against wailing squalls and gusts
While deep inside the bow in bunks, the sleeping ****** ******
Suddenly...they heard the captain's distraught voice cry out
When the ****** heard his voice -they heard fear without doubt
“Awake, all of ye’ ”, Captain Noe forcefully roared
“Alive! Awake… all ye’ ****** come quickly up on board”!
The savage spirit of the sea reigned fierce with rage and fear
While the brave captain fought - loyal ****** brought up the rear
They courageously fought together - not silenced by the eye of death
As the sea raged violently against them with its brutal, menacing breath
To save their mighty Mary Rose, they’d dip their very souls in blood
Leaving themselves merciless against this drunken, mighty flood
With plank and bow standing fierce between them and their fate
The raging ocean’s fierce, blackened waves - the sea they could not hate
The morning brought the warming sun which rose broad above the waves
The winds had tamed their violent voice against captain and ****** brave
With unshakable courage and seaman’s wit not once were spirits broke
Each cheered his mate and captain strong as they fought with steady stroke
Their peril fought in days of danger and night filled with pain
Their manly courage did not wane - their fight was not in vain
For all the courageous ****** and their brave Captain Noe
Joined together in hand and spirit to save...their proud Mary Rose
Apr 10, 2013
Apr 10, 2013 at 6:15 PM UTC
Born heavy as adorned many: objectivity lifts ready existance carried more steady with the fist than a switchblade as to fist crave: yall just manisfest id shame when you spit back like all my family here to spit crack bone in been gripped back when at grown taught to **** Macks;
I'm the R to the Mack Marck M heavy to my fam born carried since Nas dropped the bomb that Eminem levied in so to spit back, like ghost spittin the **** shittin at all emcees here to spit back:
only time you'd get a note outta me relative is when i'm posing for death: like tupac menacing his pelvis still for the ****** levy in neglection in pics wack;
i spit bone quick when it comes to being notorious in a jacuzzi playing sega and super nintendo **** be in disrespect to ever understand that i don't spit thick back.
i flow sick that before i flow spit that between to post ****
I pose **** to even to boast fits forgotten what the Ohmegaus finds the rest as undereducated life in being in the sun.
Ghost spittin future written past to see all the conjugatives relative like ****** games on the run:
games on the fun like extension big sides as big sizes like chasing dreams again straight to the the sun is what we've become.
unfinished...
this ain't motherfucken games, and you know id through wish-epic
Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 4:57 AM UTC