"merrick" poems
Merrick, was he
And now farmer.
The ghost of the Euridi wars
But now simply father.
She gave unto him Ilo
And then passed.
A treasure from her *****
For what more could he ask?
The grey in his hair
And the wrinkle upon his skin.
As his daughter kissed his cheek
He thought not of past sin.
Ilo sang as the angels
And glided with beauty.
But her sickness had doomed her
To waste away rudely.
Traveller Nner spoke of
Arcadia and the four ghosts of God.
Far away, over mountains
Plagued by demons and monsters odd.
Ilo can live again,
Warrior-farmer-father.
Across the desert, ocean, and mountains
Do not falter.
Staff in hand,
Upon Kerona he rides.
Eastward towards the ghosts
With Ilo's body by his side.
Dragon of desert lands,
From the sand to the sky, fly
Breathe of fire, brimstone
A war through the night.
Cut deep
The flesh of the fire breather.
For your daughter Ilo's soul
Hangs in the ether.
Victory and blood
But her body lies still.
No gain from this battle.
Only sorrow and hatred to feel.
Forward to the ocean,
To the lair of the giant serpent.
The one who drinks up the waters
And will not relent.
The mighty beast,
He steals away Ilo's body.
To the floor of the earth,
Beckoning Merrick hotly.
A foul beast has stolen
The body of my daughter.
Merrick breathes in all the air
And follows after.
A war under water,
Flesh and blood in twain.
****** into the belly of the beast.
A nameless grave.
Burst forth from the entrails,
Ripped, bitten, and torn.
Another beast overcame.
Another victory, though forlorn.
He holds her body
And her head against his.
A tear he permits.
His life would he give.
To the forests of Zalvest
To the lair of evil.
Black magic awaits
To unravel his meddle.
Trickery of the mind,
Manipulated with horror.
Recalling the gruesome battles of Euridi
And comrades lost to war.
Blinded by fear,
By the demon wizard of Zalvest.
How helpless he feels.
Lay the ghost to rest.
Acceptance of sin,
Parting with guilt.
A wizard rendered weak,
The evil-willed welps.
To the four ghosts of God
Atop the mountains of Arcadia.
Breathe life to Ilo
I have bested the sons of Echidna.
Not ghosts of God,
But of the devil.
A sacrifice for a life,
A hero laid low to their level.
And Ilo is raised,
Her breathe is now her own.
With his parting words
His love is shown.
Oct 28, 2013
Oct 28, 2013 at 4:23 AM UTC
Joseph Merrick once told me,
"We are superficial *****
Beauty is only skin deep.
Mankind is the FREAK."
Mar 16, 2013
Mar 16, 2013 at 7:29 PM UTC
Si yo tuviera un millón de dólares
Si yo tuviera un millón de dólares
Bueno, me compraré una piel una capa
Pero no es un abrigo de piel auténtica, eso es cruel
Y si tuviera un millón de dólares
Si yo tuviera un millón de dólares
Bueno, me compraré una mascota exótica
Sí, como una llama o un emú
Y si tuviera un millón de dólares
Si yo tuviera un millón de dólares
Bueno, me compraré los restos de John Merrick
Todos esos huesos de elefante loco
Y si tuviera un millón de dólares me compraría tu amor
Si yo tuviera un millón de dólares
No tendríamos que caminar a la tienda
Si yo tuviera un millón de dólares
Nos tomamos causa de una limusina 'cuesta más
Si yo tuviera un millón de dólares
No tendríamos que comer la cena Kraft
Pero nos gustaría cenar Kraft
Por supuesto que nos gustaría, acabábamos de comer más
Y comprar ketchups muy caros con ella
Así es, las más elegantes ketchups Dijon
Si yo tuviera un millón de dólares
Si yo tuviera un millón de dólares
Bueno, me compraré un vestido verde
Pero no es un vestido verde verdadero, eso es cruel
Y si tuviera un millón de dólares
Si yo tuviera un millón de dólares
Bueno, me compraré un poco de arte
A Picasso o Garfunkel
Si yo tuviera un millón de dólares
Si yo tuviera un millón de dólares
Bueno, me compraré un mono
¿Siempre ha querido un mono?
Si yo tuviera un millón de dólares me compraría tu amor
Si yo tuviera un millón de dólares
Si yo tuviera un millón de dólares
Si yo tuviera un millón de dólares
Si yo tuviera un millón de dólares
Si yo tuviera un millón de dólares
Sería rico
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 12:12 AM UTC
I took your photo from the whiteboard
where we keep our memories
safe from being worn and old;
where we remain forever
in youthful pleasure.
I hated how your bright playful eyes
stared back at me in love
and how I couldn't see them anymore.
In a grey picture
I rest my head upon your shoulder,
I'm trying to be my regular goofy self.
Looking at it now,
seeming so far away,
I cough up a laugh.
My nose is stuffy with the memory.
Merrick
Feb 28, 2012
Feb 28, 2012 at 11:13 PM UTC
Euphoria.
Its waking up from a deep sleep, warm.
Its consuming a large meal,
seeing a good friend,
Sharing a laugh.
Passing a beautiful woman on the street,
creating something with your own hands.
It's entering a woman,
it's being intimate.
It's falling in love,
and ultimately letting go.
When I touch silk,
when I touch your skin.
When I see a star
and think about my atomity.
Its my bed when I'm tired,
its a hug when I'm sad.
A place to rest my head when I'm afraid,
excitement on a snow day.
Its listening to good music,
dancing mindlessly with friends.
Telling your father he's your friend,
telling your mother you love her.
Its 20 dollars found in your coat pocket,
nailing a skill you can't quite get down.
It's jumping up,
and running without pain.
It's christmas day.
Its reading a good book,
its telling the truth.
Its Pay day,
and new technology.
The smell of a new book,
a memory with a loved one.
These are the things I feel now.
Merrick 2012
Feb 28, 2012
Feb 28, 2012 at 11:32 PM UTC
once, when I thought I
had smallpox, Doc Cochran slapped
me across the face
Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 9:12 PM UTC
today in class
i was reading a short story
for American Lit.
The Sculptor's Funeral
by Willa Cather.
it's about a man who has died
and his last wish was to be brought
back to his cruel hometown
to be buried.
"It's not a pleasant place to be lying while the world is moving and doing and bettering," he had said with a feeble smile, "but it rather seems as though we ought to go back to the place we came from, in the end. The townspeople will come in for a look at me; and after they have had their say, I shan't have much to fear from the judgement of God!"
a man that worked under him,
Steavens,
brought him home in a casket.
everybody had something
bad to say about him.
Laird,
a corrupt lawyer in the town,
had enough of it.
he yelled at the townspeople
and outed all of those who had
asked him to bend the law.
he made them realize that
they had done more wrong than
the man who was now dead.
"Well, I came back here and became the ****** shyster you wanted me to be. You pretend to have some sort of respect for me; and yet you'll stand up and throw mud at Harvey Merrick, whose soul you couldn't ***** and whose hands you couldn't tie."
"Harvey Merrick wouldn't have given one sunset over your marshes for all you've got to put together, and you know it..."
this story makes me
want to believe that,
if i'm ever lying in a casket,
someone will stand up for me
and try to clear my name.
even in small, ****** towns,
like the one i live in,
maybe there's at least
one person
with a kind heart.
Jan 25, 2019
Jan 25, 2019 at 4:14 PM UTC
I decided I would walk downtown today,
past the irish pubs
and the fancy restaurants
on the oldest street in town
The icy air pulled at my cheeks,
making them hurt and go red,
like my grandmother.
I stuffed my hands into the
wool encases,
two fingers for each arm.
it comes as a shock,
feeling the final gasp of autumn
at the hands of winter,
triumphant.
I approach the familiar red globe
and two curvy tails
perched atop the glass titanic
reaching to the sky,
scraping our gas giant
with the edge of it's mirrors
But it is in this reflection
that strikes me,
more than the blinding light of the sun,
or the loud music across the street.
I walk alone.
I do not see your hands in mine
or your modest black skirt.
your beautiful bright brown eyes
no longer look into mine,
your glowing face no longer comforts me.
I can't see your hair,
or smell the smell of j-lo
coming from your skin.
I can't see your smile
in the mirror reflection,
and I can't see your beauty;
not for awhile.
A man takes your place for a moment-
he walks promptly past me,
grey briefcase in hand.
Stiff shoulders replace your soft skin.
he stays only long enough to snap me back.
back to without you.
Merrick
Nov 24,2011
Feb 28, 2012
Feb 28, 2012 at 11:22 PM UTC
A teenage alcoholic
Stumbling up the stairs
You believe that no one understands
That nobody cares.
You have friends that cut themselves
And friends that take hard drugs
It's been years since you recall
Ever getting hugs
You believe that you will never change
You may even love your sin
But though it may be ugly
You're Beautiful to Him
You're middle aged and overweight
You've lost your husband/wife
You're weary of the daily grind
May even hate your life
You look in the mirror
Apply your makeup/shave
You see the crow's feet and gray hair
You're ready for the grave
You believe that fate has cursed you
That you will never win
But no matter appearances
You're beautiful to Him
The "Elephant Man", John Merrick
Was found in a cage
In a horrendous "freak" show
They said he was estranged
From basic humanity
Because of face and form
But Dr Frederick Reeves
Proved all of them wrong
He didn't look upon the face
Which was deformed in whole
He looked into his pleading eyes
And saw a lovely SOUL.
Though Joseph "John" Merrick
Was ugly by our ken
He was blessed of our great God
*And BEAUTIFUL TO HIM!
BRIDGE:*
No matter what society
Will say or do or think
No matter if you hate yourself
And your on the brink
No matter what
No matter how
You can yet begin
You're precious to the Living God
You're beautiful to Him.
SoulSurvivor
(C) 2/18/2016
Feb 18, 2016
Feb 18, 2016 at 12:05 PM UTC
I am a pretty quiet guy.
I love math.
No matter what happens,
the rules don't change.
She is always quiet,
and I know what to do to make her happy.
She doesn't change her mind,
and she's always a constant.
I like to write.
I like the way words roll over my tongue
how they fit through my lips.
Language will always be there,
she will never take her self away,
leaving my lips to quiver in silence
I love music.
It is the kiss to my cheek when I wake,
and when I fall asleep.
Major or minor, her notes stay the same.
Always will she whisper sweet nothings in my ear,
never will she change.
I like to observe others.
How they interact,
how they mingle with each other
and show themselves off.
How they give subtle hints of their motives
in the hopes others will notice.
At a distance, I will never get hurt.
No one will ever call me out,
or tell me they're not sure whether they love me
I like to be alone.
I like the silence that only I can provide
I don't have to make light conversation
Or worry about whether I'm saying the right things,
which is good, because my mouth is a grave.
Merrick, nov 20, 2011.
Feb 28, 2012
Feb 28, 2012 at 11:27 PM UTC
they always, always!
they always throw this *******
debate into a juggling act
between joseph merrick
and stephen hawking...
always! **** gets boring...
choose another pair of cripples!
maybe they had ulterior
motives of sadism to prove
someone wrong... **** ain't working...
choose some other excuse
for you little tabloid philosophy
to have page 3 **** dangling
over your pressurisation
of that famous english unmovable
utilitarianism movement -
apparently the hammer was utilised
without nails hammered in in mind,
it was also used for crunchy skull floating oats!
Apr 16, 2016
Apr 16, 2016 at 9:45 PM UTC
Are freaks electric?
Do they shock you? Do they put a fear into you? Are the oddities that odd in the light of the day?
Are freaks taboo?
Do they deserve they shadow hand? The second hand citizenship of fellow country men? the shun of woman and the mockery of the children?
Are freaks limited?
A rare breed, something fresh and new, something strange and beautiful. Are freaks uncommon to your life? To your world?
Are freaks diseased?
Riddled with the plague? Cursed with disability? Are freaks inhuman?
Are freaks freaks?
If respect is odd, if simply civility has gone, if that is so strange and we are paranoid of one another then mayhaps we are freaks in our own way. Just because the body lacks deformity does not mean the mind does.
Does not mean the spirit or intent does.
The worst freaks look like humans, they learn how to speak like us, to walk, talk and dress like us. All the while the dark intent lies behind the smile and jokes, behind the kind gesture.
Joesph Merrick was not an animal. Ted Bundy was.
May 31, 2018
May 31, 2018 at 1:31 PM UTC
oi! pretty face it talking!
lean in to hear!
lean in to hear the story!
a pretty face like that
can't talk before a campfire,
such a pretty faces talks into
a mirror!
by now Achilles should
look like j. merrick...
and those stories should be dry
prunes right now...
when there was once a campfire
and a congregation....
there is now but a mirror,
and mirrors are less than shadow;
for even the ancient greeks sought
no demigod in it.
what happened to pretty face
and the ergonomic of simply
being required to pose in an advert?
who asked pretty face to
tell a story?
Feb 1, 2017
Feb 1, 2017 at 11:16 PM UTC